#and i see the first three and hear alarm sirens in the back of my mind

[mowu-moment]

good fucking gravy scryfall you really had to take that opportunity

[satoruhour]

a/n: fluff today! about 1k <3 domestic mornings (afternoons) with satoru always my fav to write about. pls support this as much as my smut works ty 💟 !! / @crysugu @hyomagiri @satohruu @shotorus @greycaelum

by now, it’s late in the afternoon so much so that you’re sure the blinds are hot to the touch from the harsh rays of Amaterasu and her blessings of another bright, hot day. it’s normal in tokyo to wake up to warm sheets and a throat desperate for some water but you’ve learned to avoid it by setting an earlier alarm — take a morning shower, make some tea and grab a book.

satoru, not so much.

he likes to whine a lot when he first stirs, a plethora of sounds that leave him at how he can’t feel your warmth in his arms (“you’d be complaining even more about the heat if i was, you idiot.”), sometimes about the morning being too bright (“mister, it is twelve thirty-four right now.”) and mostly about sweat. today he decides to do all three.

gojo mumbles something incoherent when you accidentally nudge your legs into his, a childish whine how he missed you. “baby, i’m right h—”

“yeah, but . . oh, jesus christ,” his voice is awfully loud when he complains about the rays. “why is it so bright?”

“sun—”

and like always, in classic gojo satoru fashion, he never really lets you finish.

“oh eeewwugh . . i’m so sweaty,” your boyfriend has reached full consciousness by now and if it wasn’t the morning perhaps you’d think he was drunk from how dramatic he was being.

“you literally live in a penthouse, stupid, just go take a shower in one of your bathrooms.” and you go right back to your story. at the corner of your eye you can hear him pouting, crawling up to you and resting his chin on your thighs as he reads the synopsis of your book. satoru blows a raspberry, which you can feel on your hand and the spittle from his mouth makes you sigh; you think it’s due time to give your boyfriend some attention.

“story sounds boring,” you roll your eyes and put it to the side and the reveal of his stupidly cute face almost makes you cave. there’s a deep frown on his face because you’re insulting him so early in the morning and thinking your book is better than him, when really you’re just trying your best to reach your quota before book club saturday. eventually, you do give in after reading the starting sentences of chapter 18 over and over again and frankly digesting nothing, thinking only now of his body wash on your body.

it hasn’t exactly sunk in how you manage to be dating the gojo satoru, with all his cheeky smiles and inappropriate jokes (and timing too), that you are the only one to see him like this in the morning: all not what people says he is and yet he doesn’t hide it one bit from you. why is there any need to?

it’s you.

“don’t frown, ’toru,” you mumble, fingers that were previously turning pieces of paper now smoothen out the furrow of his eyebrows and the tautness of his expression. they’re soft against his skin, and while he’d like to commend it to the body wash he uses he thinks it’s just because it’s you. every inch of you is soft but not without good measure. you still stand up for yourself and sometimes your feet walk a little too much and he can feel the callouses on the balls of your feet when you accidently shock him under the duvet.

you are soft in the way you feel against him, whether it’s when you ask meekly for a kiss and when you hum under the scorching shower water as he lathers your body. you are soft when you laugh loudly and you have to squeeze his hand as you slap his back with the other, and other times soft as you chastise him for buying yet another big stock of your favourite strawberries.

soft is strong, attractive in satoru’s book, because even when your love resembles the first breath of hypnos, it still pulls and tugs and yanks at his heart to drown in you like a siren luring a sailor; right into the depths of the darkening sea where he’d let you take him anywhere even if it meant travelling blind.

“done sulking?” you asked as a mutter, hands now cupping his cheeks that possibly hold all of gojo’s cracks and insecurities and feelings together. they bring him up gently, sweaty back now quelled momentarily with a strong draft from the windows and it’s like his soul reaches the highest point of existence like he did eleven years ago.

you kiss him gently, lips moving in tandem with his as your hands lose themselves over his body and you huff in surprise when he straddles you. long body hunching over yours as you chase his lips like riko after stingrays and you both after suguru and him after a reformed jujutsu society and—

“whew.” is all he says when he pulls away and you’re equally out of breath and gojo swiftly switches your positions. there’s a big grin on his face from the attention you finally give him, “you love me, huh?”

you roll your eyes again at the stupid, harmless comment, shutting him up effectively when you lean down again and kiss him rougher this time, feeling his wet palms span the expanse of your back and up your shirt. gojo sits up and you follow like choreography, moaning softly when he tugs you closer and suddenly you think you should’ve made yourself a cup of cold tea instead.

“i love you,” it’s a whisper against your lips and you have influenced so much of satoru that he is also soft, “i love you so goddamn much.” you nod back, pulling away lightly and you swear you see okinawa again in his irises. they look just as beautiful as the day he lost his youth and gained wisdom and you still love him the same.

“i love you more than my book, promise.” you quip, forehead against his and eyes mapping out each lagoon to pond to sea in the multiplying blues of his eyes — they seem only to do that when he’s with you.

“you better!” he laughs softly into your mouth and he can taste the tiramisu from yesterday on your lips, and you can taste his intoxicating smile. the absence of you, the sunlight and the heat doesn’t matter much to satoru now, and will settle for being soft in the sheets of cloud nine. satoru will make you forget about the tea you’ve woken up early to make and all the nuances of the characters of your book and maybe the slowly rotting strawberries (you might still eat them).

“you better . .” it’s like a plea the way he repeats it but his doubts are silenced once you mumble i do against his skin like a promise, a vow, and satoru then decides he cannot wait to see you from across an aisle.

yeah, soft laced white would look terribly beautiful on you.

♡

[arcane-vagabond]

Meet Me at the Sea: Chapter Five

Meet Me at the Sea: Chapter Five

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Reader

Summary: Your best friend, Bob Floyd, had insisted you join him for the summer at his family's home along the Carolina coasts. You had been hesitant at first, but ultimately agreed to his request. Now, here you were in a new town with strange locals who spoke in hushed whispers and cryptic retellings about glistening scales, glowing eyes, and haunting songs that echoed from the sea. You didn't believe them at first, but when you wake up on the beach one morning after having fallen overboard the night before, you can't help but think that maybe you hadn't imagine the strong arms and deep, green eyes of the man that had saved you.

Trigger warnings: Language, Mean girl Mandy, Flirting, Alcohol, Siren call, Supernatural elements, Kind of suggestive/smutty but not really? idk

Word Count: 4.2k

A/N: Alright, alright! The ball is starting to roll! We've got a lot going on now, I think. Can't wait to hear y'all's thoughts! Also, shoutout to @goldenseresinretriever for letting me bounce ideas off of her! You the real MVP!! If you're feeling kind/generous, please consider buying me a ko-fi! I will be referring to that Google form from now on! As always, reblogs, comments and likes are greatly appreciated! Asks/requests are always open! 18+ ONLY!! You can find me on AO3 under arcane_vagabond where I also post my updates!

Series Masterlist

“I thought the bonfires happened the other night?” You asked Bob as the two of you made your way down the practically deserted streets. It was late, and the only people out were the young adults still looking to have a good time. The family friendly activities had ended hours ago, and now it was time for the partying to start.

“They were supposed to,” he said, eyes scanning the dimly lit street, “but they got postponed because of all the rain the other week. This was the only night that worked for most everyone around town.”

“That works out for us, I guess,” you hummed, hearing the sound of crashing waves grow closer as you neared the beach.

“Hey, thing one and thing two!”

The two of you turned around to see a grinning Bradley jogging up behind you, and you turned with a smile to greet him.

“Hey, Bradley!” You chirped. “We thought you’d already be down at the beach with everyone else.”

“I was, but I forgot my phone at the house,” he said, waving his phone in his hand. “So I ran back to grab it. Everyone else should already be down there, though.”

“We better get a move on before all the drinks are gone,” Bob mused, already moving once again. Bradley fell into step alongside you, bumping your shoulder with his.

“Feel like I haven’t seen you in forever, Skipper,” he joked, casting a smirk down at you. “You been avoiding me?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” you giggled.

Bradley scoffed, giving you an offended look that was made less serious by the grin on his face. “Me? Avoid you? Don’t be ridiculous. Who in their right mind would avoid a sweet, little thing like you?”

“You must not really know her then,” Bob snorted. “She practically cut my hand off when I went for the last fry at lunch today.”

“That was entirely your fault,” you huffed, sticking your tongue out at him. “You know how much I love french fries.”

“Yeah, enough to cause grievous bodily injuries, apparently,” he smirked. You scowled at him before looking back at Bradley who was also smirking at you.

“He’s being dramatic,” you offered with a shrug.

“Barely.”

“Like you’re one to talk,” you griped as the three of you walked down the stairs and onto the beach. You could see the glow from the various fires flicker in the night, groups of different people huddled around each one. “I have to set an alarm every morning to wake up before he does if I want any bacon.”

“Oh, trust me,” Bradley laughed, steering you towards a fire on the edge of the grouping, Bob in tow. “I grew up with him. I know how much bacon he puts away.”

“I am not that bad,” Bob huffed, earning identical dubious looks from both you and Bradley. You giggled when Bradley quirked his eyebrow at you.

“Sure you aren’t, Bob,” you laughed, earning a scowl from your best friend.

“You made it!”

The three of you turned to see Nat waving at you, the rest of the squad already settled in on the towels surrounding the small fire. You felt a shiver run up your spine as you made eye contact with a pair of mossy green ones. You looked away as your cheeks warmed, letting Bradley guide you across the fire and down on a group of towels, Bob on your other side.

“So,” said the brunette sitting next to Jake, blue eyes calculating as she took you in. She was just as beautiful as the last time you saw her. Tan skin glowed in the light from the fire, body lithe and athletic. She looked like she walked off the cover of a fashion magazine, and her narrowed gaze was trained on you, lips curled into waht appeared to be a permanent sneer. “You must be the tagalong I’ve heard so much about. Skipper was it?”

You shifted uncomfortably, glancing over at Bradley as he stiffened next to you, a glare fixed on his face as he looked at her.

“Yeah,” you said, offering an anxious smile as you looked back at her. “That’s what they call me anyway.”

“It’s cute,” she said, tone indicating that she most certainly did not find it cute. “I’m Mandy. You’ve probably heard of me from the others.”

“Oh, yeah,” you smiled. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“I’m not surprised,” she continued with a smirk. “I’ve known everyone here since we were in diapers. We go way back, you know. Don’t feel bad if you end up feeling left out in our conversations, okay?”

You shifted again, this time knocking your knee into your bag. The shells you carried with you jostled, clinking together, and you blushed when everyone looked at you.

“What was that?” Mickey asked, peering over to get a better look. You lifted your bag as you began to pull each shell out and placing it carefully on the towel.

“Oh, these are the shells and things I’ve been finding everywhere!” You smiled, running your fingers over the conch. “Aren’t they amazing? I’ve never seen so many beautiful shells in my life! And they’re all perfectly in tact, can you believe it? It’s like someone just plucked them up off the ocean floor and set them out for me to find!”

“That’s quite a collection,” Nat chuckled, shooting a smirk off to the side. You followed her line of sight, and your eyes made direct contact with the mossy green ones from earlier. Jake looked at you with an expression that could only be described as awe as he took you in, eyes peering down to where you cradled the conch gently in your hands before looking back up at you. His eyes shone in the firelight, a hint of a smile on his lips as he looked at you. You felt another blush creep up your neck, and you leaned forward to place the conch closer to the fire for everyone to see. You heard a sharp intake of breath, and you looked up to see Mandy with a look of rage and shock on her face as she stared at you. You realized quickly she wasn’t staring at your face, but rather down at the base of your neck. Her eyes darted up to meet yours and her expression shifted quickly into one of cold contempt.

“You actually carry those around with you?” She sneered, scoffing out a laugh. “What are you? Five?”

You frowned up at her, suddenly feeling self conscious as you glanced around the group. Their smiles had shifted into looks of irritation as they glared at the brunette.

“Oh, I just-”

“I mean,” she sniffed, cutting you off, “I suppose it’s fitting for someone who looks like you though, right? You’re not exactly dressed to impress or anything.”

You looked down at your clothes, a frown on your face. You weren’t normally self conscious. Sure, you didn’t look like a model like Mandy, but you didn’t think you were hard on the eyes. You had dressed for comfort though, and it was plain to see in your jean shorts, tank top, and white button up. Mandy wore a pair of cutoffs and a tight fitting tank top that showed off her figure, and her makeup was immaculate. You hadn’t seen the point in putting any on. Should you have?

“Mandy,” Bob growled, glaring in a warning.

“Oh, I know she’s your friend and all, Bobby,” Mandy continued, a viscious smirk poised on her lips. “But let’s be honest. I mean, we’re among friends, right? And friends should be honest with each other. You’d be lucky if anyone gave you the time of day looking like that. Nevermind the silly, little shells you’re carrying around everywhere. You really should have left those back at the house, you know. And tell me you brought something nice to where for the ocean dance festival. Can you imagine if you wore some frumpy shorts to something like tha-”

“Shut up.”

All eyes turned to Jake who was glaring into the fire, eyes cold as the water that lapped the shore behind you. Mandy narrowed her eyes at him, rage clouding her features.

“Excuse me?” She spat, turning to face him. His gaze shifted to her, jaw clenching.

“Was I not clear enough?” He said evenly. “I said ‘shut up.’”

You hadn’t even realized that tears had gathered in your eyes until Bob laid a gentle hand on your shoudler causing you to jump. You looked over at him, sniffling as he gave you a concerned look. You wiped at the corner of your eyes, scrambling to your feet. You felt everyone’s eyes on you as you shifted from one foot to the other, avoiding their gazes.

“I’m, uh,” you gulped, trying to fight back the tears that were threatening to spill over. “I’m gonna go get something to drink.”

“I’ll come with you,” Bradley said, moving to his feet and giving you a gentle smile. “I’m parched.”

You turned to Bob with a watery smile. “You want anything?”

He studied you for a second, eyes uncertain. You gave him a look that you hoped communicated your need to pretend like you were okay, and he pressed his lips together.

“Just a beer.”

“You got it!” You smiled, trying and failing to add your usual cheeriness to the statement. You gave a half smile that you were sure came off as more of a grimace as you made your way towards the line of coolers on the other side of the fires. Bradley followed you silently, and you kept your head down, feeling the tears start to stream down your cheeks.

You knew you were being silly. They were just words after all, and you were a grown woman. You shouldn’t be letting silly words get to you like this. But why did they hurt so bad? You knelt by one of the coolers, fishing out two beers and a coke. You handed one of the beers to Bradley, refusing to make eye contact with him as you pushed the lid to the cooler closed.

“Hey,” he said, grabbing onto your arm gently, pulling you so that you faced him.

You kept your head down, and Bradley let out a sigh.

“Listen,” he started, hesitating as if he were choosing his next words carefully. “You shouldn’t listen to Mandy, okay? She’s a stone cold bitch on the best of days, and, well, she’s never been told ‘no’ a day in her life. She’s always gotten what she wanted, when she wanted it.”

“What’s your point?” You muttered, glancing off to the side as you wrapped your arms around yourself. Bradley let out another sigh, taking his hand from your arm to run it through his hair.

“My point is that she’s taking her new experience with the word out on you, and it’s not fair. I know it’s hard, but just ignore her, okay? She’s just jealous.”

“Of me?” You scoffed, finally meeting his gaze. Bradley smirked down at you, casting you a wink.

“You’re pretty great, Skipper,” he hummed. “Anyone with eyes can see it. Now, come on. Let’s head back to the others, yeah?”

You nodded, and the two of you made your way back to the fire. As you approached, you noted that Jake was the only one still there, eyes trained on the flames in front of him, seemingly deep in thought. He jumped when Bradley plopped down next to him, leaving just enough room for you to slide in between them.

“Where’d the others go?” Bradley asked, twisting the top off his beer and taking a swig from the bottle. Jake grimaced, gesturing around towards the other fires.

“Take your pick.”

Bradley hummed, leaning back on the towel with his legs outstretched towards the fire. The three of you were silent for a moment, and you felt a tingling sensation on your left side. You turned to find Jake already looking at you, eyes soft as they took you in. Your breath caught in your throat, cheeks flushing. You thought you should have been been creeped out with how intensely he was staring at you, but you felt oddly comfortable under his gaze. In fact, you found yourelf sitting up a little straighter, almost preening under his gaze, and a small smile tugged on Jake’s lips as he took you in, eyes blazing as they reached your neck.

You jumped as Bradley suddenly leaned over in front of you, breaking the spell you found yourself under. A shit eating grin was etched onto his face as he looked at Jake.

“Did you know Skipper here always wanted to be a mermaid?”

You felt yourself begin to splutter as your cheeks warmed for a different reason, eyes growing wide as you peered between the two men. Bradley waggled his eyebrows as Jake’s own shot up on his forehead. A smirk graced his lips, giving him a devilish look to his already handsome features. He looked at you, smirk intensifying as he saw your flustered state. He leaned forward, smirk growing into a grin as you glanced away.

“Is that so?” He hummed, warm breath ghosting over your face.

“I will remind you that I was, like, five at the time,” you snapped, glaring at Bradley. He only chuckled, resting his chin on his hand as he smirked lazily up at you.

“I think you’d make a cute mermaid, don’t you agree, Jake?”

Jake nodded with another hum, eyes taking on a look you couldn’t place, but it made you squirm nonetheless.

“Just imagine her swimming around with all her little fishy sidekicks,” Bradley teased, eyes alight with mischief. You scoffed, turning to face him.

“As if,” you snarked, “my sidekick wouldn’t be a fish, it would be a stingray.”

Jake quirked an eyebrow. “Why a stingray?”

“Oh,” you blushed, your nerves kicking up again. “Because they’re my favorite.”

Jake nodded slowly, like he was trying to commit that fact to memory. Bradley snorted beside you, and the two of you looked over at where he was smirking, eyes peeking at Jake before looking back at you.

“How could I forget?” He drawled, taking another sip of his beer. “I met Rusty when you and I were snuggled in bed the other morning.”

“That’s not-”

You were cut off by a growl to your left. You turned to see Jake’s entire expression had changed. His jaw was clenched, eyes trained on Bradley as if he wanted to take his head off. His fists were clenched so tight, you wouldn’t be surprised if he was drawing blood from where his fingernails dug into his palms. He was almost too still as he glared at Bradley, the other man looking smug as he took in his friend’s appearance.

“Are you okay?” You asked the blond, and his eyes glanced over at you, gaze seeming to soften as he took in your concern.

“Bradshaw!” Reuben called from across the way. “Get your ass over here!”

Bradley heaved a sigh, rolling his eyes as he got to his feet. “And that’s my cue,” he muttered.

You watched as he strutted over to where Reuben and Mickey were gathered with a group of people you didn’t know, leaving you alone with Jake.

“He’s such an ass sometimes,” he muttered, shaking his head.

“Isn’t he one of your best friends?” You asked him with a giggle. Jake’s demeanor seemed to relax at the sound.

“Unfortunately,” he grumbled, casting another glare over at where Bradley stood chatting and laughing.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” You frowned, noticing how tense he still seemed to be. He looked back at you, hesitating before letting out a sigh.

“Yeah, I guess I’m just feeling a little overheated or something,” he muttered, flexing his hands as he uncurled his fists. He moved to stand, and you followed suit.

“Think I’m going to go take a walk to cool off,” he mused, rolling his shoulders back. You frowned, rubbing a hand over your arm.

“Oh, okay,” you said, glancing at the ground, shifting your feet in the sand that covered the towel. Jake seemed to hesitate once more, chewing his bottom lip.

“Do you want to join me?” He asked you, his green eyes hopeful as you met his gaze. You felt a smile tug on your lips as you nodded.

“Yeah, I’d like that,” you murmured, moving to grab your bag. You stopped when you noticed it was placed neatly on top of the towel you had been sitting on previously, shells already back inside.

“I, uh,” Jake stuttered, rubbing the back of his neck bashfully. “I hope you don’t mind. I didn’t want anything to happen to them, so I put them back in your bag. I guess I should have asked first instead of just moving them. I’m sorry if I-”

“No,” you smiled, “it’s okay. Thank you.”

Jake gave you a nervous, tight lipped smile before nodding. “You can leave your bag here if you want. No one is going to take it.”

You returned his nod, gesturing for him to lead the way down the beach.

The two of you walked in silence for a few minutes, the ocean waves crashing off to your right, and the cool, night breeze ruffling your hair.

“Listen,” Jake started, stopping to turn to you, eyes earnest as they took you in. “I’m sorry about Mandy-”

“Oh, no, Jake,” you frowned, shaking your head. “You don’t have to apologize for her.”

“No, but I do,” he stated firmly, face serious as he looked at you. “It’s my fault she’s taking it out on you. She’s been so convinced that she and I are going to end up together, and now that she knows that’s not the case, she’s on the warpath.”

“Jake,” you sighed, “I understand feeling some kind of weird responsibility for her, but her actions are her own. You shouldn’t have to apologize on her behalf. She’s a big girl just like I am, right? We’re adults who are capable of making our own decisions and apologizing for the wrong we do. None of this is your fault.”

He didn’t look convinced, and you took his hand in yours to offer him some kind of reassurance. A bolt of electricity ran through you, causing you to let out a gasp, and a warmth rushed over you, causing you to squirm. You felt like a magnet, drawn to Jake in a way that you couldn’t even begin to understand. You wanted to feel more of him, to consume and be consumed by him. You had never felt anything like it in your life, and you looked up at him hazy eyes to find that he wasn’t any better off.

His own eyes had a haze to them, seeming to glow in the moonlight. His breathing came out labored, almost like he was fighting to maintain his composure. His eyes raked over you, a hand coming up to rest on your cheek, and you nuzzled into it without thinking.

“You’re so pretty,” he breathed, voice barely above a whisper as he inched closer to you.

“You’re just saying that,” you muttered, leaning into him.

“No,” he stated firmly, causing you to jump just a hair. His other hand came up to rest on your hip, pulling you closer so that you were practically molded against him.

“No,” he said again, gentler this time. “I mean it. You are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever laid my eyes on.”

If it were possible, you were sure your skin would have heated up even more than it already was. As it stood, a pleasant warmth spread through you at his proximity, and the hand that was cradling your cheek slowly drifted down until it brushed the mark on your neck. You let out a wanton cry at the shock of pleasure that jolted through you at the simple touch, and Jake smirked down at you, stroking softly over the mark again and again as he drew more pleasured cries from you.

“It’s okay,” he cooed, leaning his forehead against yours, nuzzling his nose against the tip of yours. “I’ve got you.”

You couldn’t find it in you to feel embarrassed at the intense amount of pleasure you felt at the simplest of touches, too focused on the way his hands felt on you. You raised your own, one hand cradling his cheek as the other ran through his golden hair. He let out a groan as you tugged gently on the soft strands, and you couldn’t help the small smirk that spread across your face. Jake’s eyes met yours, the green of them so intense that it took your breath away. He glanced down at your lips, slowly leaning in-

“Jacob Seresin!”

You gasped, grasping at your ears at the almost inhuman shriek that pierced the night air. Jake pulled back, placing you almost protectively behind him. You peered around him to see Mandy glaring at him, blue eyes practically glowing with rage. Her gaze turned to you, and you shrank back slightly, hiding behind Jake a little more. This only served to make Mandy even more irate, and she snarled as she stomped closer to the two of you.

Jake bristled, standing taller as he continued to block you from Mandy’s warpath.

“How dare you,” she spat at him, lips pulled back into a sneer. “You’re mine.”

“No,” Jake growled, “I’m not.”

You shifted behind him, moving out from behind him slowly, and the pair turned to look at you. You gave them a sheepish smile, as you inched around Mandy, hands up in a form of surrender.

“I’m just going to head back so you two can talk in private,” you murmured. Jake looked like he wanted to argue, but Mandy’s glare had you moving before he could say anything.

You wrapped your arms around yourself as you walked back towards the bonfires, already missing Jake’s touch. You had never felt anything so intense in your entire life, and you wondered what had come over you to make you act so brazenly. You weren’t one for hookups, but you weren’t even sure that’s what that was going to be. He had held you so gently, like you might break or run away at any moment. You had been so ready to give him every part of you in that moment. You knew you should have been worried at that thought, but a large part of you thought that it felt right, that you should give yourself to him. The more you thought about it, the more you found yourself wanting to turn around and go back to him.

You were about halfway back down the beach when it started. It was quiet at first, distant. But then it grew louder, and you found yourself slowing to a stop, turning towards the crashing waves to your left.

The song was beautiful, melancholic. It was unlike the one you had heard before, this one sounding more animal like than human, but you still found yourself drawn to it. It called to you, begging you to listen, and you did, feeling the sound drift through your mind and pulling you in. You weren’t sure when you started walking, but you felt the sand shift beneath your feet as you slowly made your way towards the water. The fires faded from your sight, the churning waves beckoning to you like gentle hands that promised refuge. The song grew louder, all consuming, blocking everything else out but the need to answer. You felt the wind whip your hair around you, the cold sting kissing your cheeks as the crashing waves grew louder, the song more desperate. The sand beneath your feet grew cold as you ventured into a spot where the water met the shoreline. You’re almost there, the song called to you. You felt a relieved smile tug on your lips at the thought of finally reaching your goal and answering the song. You felt the water come just up to your toes before retreating back. You closed your eyes in anticipation. Just one more step.

You let out a cry as you were yanked away from the water, a strong hand on your upper arm. Your arms reached for the water, your mind still foggy as a loud, keening cry sounded from the water before disappearing entirely. You whirled around to see Javy staring at you with an intense worry, Nat just behind him, worry clear on her face.

“Wha-” you mumbled, pressing a hand to the side of your head as it began to pound. “What happened? Javy?”

“Hey, Skipper,” he murmured gently, pulling you closer, away from the water. “We’ve been calling you for a while now. You okay?”

“I…” you trailed off, glancing between him and the water. “I’m not sure.”

“How about we get you some water, yeah?” Nat suggested, wrapping her arms around you as she led you back to the bonfires. You nodded slowly.

“Yeah,” you muttered, glancing back at the ocean. “Yeah, okay.”

[jensky2000]

In case you haven't heard, I started a new fanfic on AO3. It's a WIP. The first 5 chapters are posted. More to come in two weeks. (or less.) A wee peek below ⬇️ (Readers can attest. Nothing is what it seems in this story.)

"I Love Her First"

In a small three block radius in Glasgow, Scotland, Claire owns a flower shop and Jamie is a firefighter. Claire and Jamie are best friends and roommates. Claire is in a relationship with Frank. Jamie is happily single. Claire and Jamie's friendship is different than most, but it works for them. When things progress with her and Frank, Jamie has to admit to his real feelings before it's too late.

Chapter 1 "The Firefighter"

I set both slow cookers to low. It will be ready before dinner break with plenty of time to spare. I can see everything from the top floor of the firehouse. The sun is well over the horizon. The shops are open, and a few people meander along the street. Howie, Mr. Johnson’s son, parks in the fire lane in front of his father’s shop. He has been warned a dozen times for that. Agnes across the street waters her flower boxes. She lets them overflow while she waits to catch a glimpse of Mr. Johnson. Her neighbor will complain about the puddles on the sidewalk. It’s a very quiet and predictable neighborhood. Quiet is good and it has been all night. The rest of my crew are sleeping. I have an hour before dayshift shows up. I make myself comfortable on the couch and flip through the channels. My phone buzzes next to me. I tap on the screen. My roommate.

Claire: Sorry I used the last of the milk for my coffee. Could you maybe pick some up on your way home. Please. You know I hate shopping for food. Also Frank is picking me up at the shop for an early dinner before he leaves.

Jamie: I will pick up milk and anything else we need. Send me a list. Have fun with Frank.

Have fun with Frank. Frank and fun do not belong in the same sentence. She loves him. And she’s my best friend and roommate so of course I need to be supportive. Frank and Claire have been together since our final year at Uni. Frank is older. She met him at a party. Ironically the one party Claire went without me. I was on a date. If I was there, things would have played out differently. I would have steered Claire away from Frank. It’s not that I don’t like him. Not at all. He’s fine. He’s just Frank. She can do much better.

Claire: You’re the best. See you later.

Hm. I drop the phone next to me and find a mindless show to pass the time.

I must have dozed off because before I know it I hear the banging of the lockers downstairs. “Jamie, my boy. You’ve done it again. Smells incredible. What is it?” Dougal, the fire chief, deep voice echoes in the quiet lounge.

“My Ma’s beef stew. I may have tweaked the recipe. Threw in some extra spices.” I stretch and look at my watch. “In 7 hours turn the knob to ‘keep warm’. You’ll be all set to eat.”

He searches the counter. “Did you make the biscuits too?”

“Aye. They’re in the fridge with instructions.”

“Ah you’ve done good, kid. Now get out of here.” He pats me on the back. I take one step towards the door and the alarm blasts. Dougal rushes to his office. I follow him and lean against the door frame.

He looks up from the screen. “Fire at Sullivans Bakery. We got this. Go.”

“You sure?”

“Go. You need your sleep.” He waves me off. I grab my things and run down the back stairs to stay out of the way. The sirens blare loud enough to alert the whole neighborhood and surrounding ones too. I head in the direction of the flat that Claire and I have shared for the past four years. It’s three blocks from the firehouse. I stop at the corner store to pick up milk and a few other things. My phone buzzes. Another text from Claire reminding me to feed DB. Our cat. Claire named him David Beckham. I quickly shortened it to DB. I climb the stairs to our top floor flat and open the door. Immediately I feel stifled. Claire likes it a balmy 74 degrees year-round. I on the other hand prefer it frigid. I lower the temp and climb into bed with the tv remote..

Hours later, I wake to the sound of my alarm. The remote sits on the bed next to me. I was asleep before I even had a chance to watch the morning news. The tv hums quietly on the wall across from me. I scroll through the channels. Station after station no mention of the early morning fire at the bakery. It’s in the other direction of Claire’s flower shop so no worries there. I pick up my phone. A bunch of missed texts. Claire sent me a picture of a flower arrangement. She does that when she’s particularly proud of one. A text from Rupert going into great detail about the fire this morning. Electrical. Everyone is safe. That’s the important part. Another text from Chloe canceling our plans for tonight. Time to get up. I shower, throw on a t-shirt and gym shorts. DB naps comfortably on the windowsill. I order a pizza. Half pepperoni. Half plain.

I settle on the couch with the pizza on the coffee table and beer in my hand. The doorknob wiggles. Claire. She always has trouble with the lock. I hear voices. She didn’t bring Frank here, did she? She wouldn’t do that. Not since last time and that disaster. She pushes the door open and quickly closes it. She’s alone. I can relax.

She whispers, “Mrs. Cook is such a talker. I lied and said I wasn’t feeling well to get away.” She looks at the pizza then back to me. “Why are you here?”

“Pfft. Hello to you too, Claire.” I take a swig of beer and take in her outfit for the first time. Sleeveless, tight black dress emphasizing her generous curves, bare legs. I quickly focus on something else before she catches me.

She throws her bag on the counter. “Tsk. You’re cranky.”

“My date canceled.”

“What was her name again?”

I grunt. “Chloe.”

“Aw. Why did she cancel?” She sits next to me on the couch.

“She didn’t say. It was a second date. No big deal. I wasn’t that into her.”

“That’s right. She was the low talker. Played with her hair too much.”

“Mm hm.” I reach forward to take another slice of pepperoni and offer her a slice of plain. She takes it happily. Her tongue moistens her lips after the first bite. She groans and leans forward to see the top of the box. Her dress rides a little higher. Now I’m licking my lips. She hums, “Antonio’s. You went all out tonight.”

She settles in next to me. We sit shoulder to shoulder. “How’s Frank?” I ask because I should.

“Frank. He’s good.” She takes a bite and snuggles closer. I glance at the goosebumps on her thighs. The air is too cold. That will be the next thing she says. “What’s the temperature in here?”

“Don’t you worry about that.” I mumble and close the pizza box. I stretch my legs out on the coffee table, and she does the same. I follow the lines of her long legs. “Frank was ok with you wearing those?” I point to her strappy black stilettos.

“No. Of course he wasn’t. I was eyeball to eyeball with him. I might have been even a little taller. Whatever. They look cute with the dress.”

“Mm hm.” I agree and laugh at something on tv.

“Oh shit. I just remembered what I wanted to tell you!” She grabs my forearm. “Frank wants to get a tattoo. Can you believe it?”

“Uh no. Frank. Christ no. What and where?”

“The symbol for doctors. Whatever they call that…on his bicep. He’ll never go through with it.” She shrugs. “It’s a pity. I do think they’re sexy.”

“You do?”

“Oh yea. Major turn on.”

“Really? Do you think I should get one?”

She twists her body to face mine. “Hm. I think one right here would be hot.” She places her hand on my left pec and squeezes. “Your fire station number or truck. Flames. Or…” She traces a design with her fingertip. I grab her wrist and kiss the inside.

Her breath catches. “Jamie.”

“Claire.” I hold her gaze.

“What are you thinking?” She bats her lashes.

“I’m thinking my date cancelled. Frank’s gone. It’s still early.  I thought maybe we could…” I waggle my eyebrows.

She holds back a smile. “I mean we’ve already seen all the latest releases on Netflix.”

“True. And you’ve been stressed with work and such.” I toy with the hem of her skirt.

“It does relax me. Will you go down on me?”

“Aye. If you like…” My cock twitches.

“I like.” She giggles. I stretch my neck and ask for her mouth. She holds up her finger. “Ah ah. You know the rules. No kissing.”

“Claire.” She has all these stupid rules. No kissing. No sleeping in the same bed. Not during the day. She used to make me shut the lights too. I got that one overturned. I want to see her.

“Jamie.” She gives me a stern look.

“Fine. Take your panties off.”

She stands before me and raises her dress. Tiny black lace panties. A scrap of fabric. A thrill runs through me knowing Frank hadn’t a clue what his lass had on under her dress. But I do. Fuck I do. I salivate knowing what comes next. She pushes them over her hips. I slide to the floor and rest my head back on the cushions.

“Sit on my face, Claire.” My voice is hoarse with desire. She straddles me and lowers her body until she meets my mouth. I have the best view in Glasgow. No. The world. She holds onto the back of the couch and rides my face. I’m relentless. I want her to come and quick because I’m aching for my turn. I clasp onto her hips and double my efforts. She calls out. Nothing incoherent either. She’s very clear. My name followed by instructions. It’s a major turn on. I don’t care if the whole building can hear us. Yeah our neighbors suspect something. Frank doesn’t. That’s all the matters. Because if he found out I fuck his girlfriend, she would end this. And that cannot happen.

“Oh God, Jamie. Yes. Yes. Don’t stop.” She holds my head in place as she comes all over my chin. I lick up every last drop. She moans. “Christ. You’re so good at that….”

I pant, “Get down here and ride me.”

“Don’t you want me to return the favor?” She moistens her lips. I’m tempted. Very tempted.

“Next time. You’re tight and soaking wet. I want to be in you.” I push my gym shorts down. My cock springs free. “Get on.”

She raises her eyebrows. “Condom.” I open the coffee table drawer and she takes one out of the small box hidden in the back. We learned a long time ago to keep them close by. She rips the wrapper off with her teeth and covers my cock. She lowers herself down taking me whole. My head rolls back. I pull her dress off and undo her bra. She likes to stay covered. I’m not having it. I like her breasts bouncing in my face.

"Did you feed remember to feed DB?" She changes her angle. Christ.

I grunt. "Yes. I fed him."

"I'm worried about him. He's moving slower than normal." She pants as she picks up the pace.

"He seems fine to me."

“Jamie.”

“What?”

“I’m going to come again.” She bucks her hips furiously.

“Ok, so?”

“I didn’t want to catch you off guard. Then you’ll get excited and it will end too soon. You hate that.” She never stops riding me. We’ve gotten very good at having full conversations while fucking.

“I do. But contrary to what you think, I do know when you’re close. There’s no catching me off guard.”

“You know?”

“Aye. Your walls squeeze my cock so tight sometimes I think you are going to break it off.” I smirk. “There’s other signs too.”

“Like what?”

Careful. “Other stuff.”

“Tell me.”

“You make noises.” And your face has the sweetest, sexiest expression sometimes I think about it when I’m not with you, and I get hard.

“I do not.” She pouts. It’s too cute. I lift her up and slam her down. My balls are getting tight.

“Oh aye. And loud too.”

“Do I feel like I’m close now?”

“No. But I can make you.” I bite my lip and sit up straight until her legs spread wider. I take her nipple in my mouth and suck hard. She whimpers and her head rolls back. That’s it. There we go.

“Oh Jamie. Yes.”

“You’re tight and very close. Ride me and we’ll come together.” And she does. My balls ache. She’s going to have rug burn at this rate. “That’s it, lass.”

She frowns.

“I mean, Claire.” I give her a tight smile. She laughs. It does something. It vibrates through her. Through me. There we go. Her mouth pops open. I’m tempted to kiss her. As I always am. It doesn’t mean anything. It’s only natural. I slam her down one last time. We both call out. I can almost hear our neighbors cursing us out.

I rest my head on her shoulder while we catch our breath. She goes to pull away. I bite her. “Jamie! Let go.”

I release my grip. She stands and walks away still wearing her stilettos. I watch from the living room floor. She’s right. It’s never long enough and I hate it. She tosses me a box of tissues and a water bottle before she enters her bedroom. Minutes later I hear her shower running. I would join her if this was more than sex but it’s not.

[sixhours]

bright spots - chapter 12

Rating: Teen Words: 3.6k Series tags: The Last of Us, The Last of Us (HBO), Joel & Ellie, Joel Miller, Ellie Williams, Marlene, canon divergence, hospital AU, medical stuff, blood, hurt/comfort, angst, canon-typical violence, vomiting, implied rape/sexual assault, I've probably forgotten some so please let me know <3

Joel

It’s been three months since they arrived at the hospital.

They’re hanging out in their room when a distant alarm sounds outside. Joel barely hears it at first, registers it as a ringing, whining noise, almost able to ignore it until Ellie looks up from her magazine, where she’s been doodling on the pictures with her crayons. 

“Did you hear that?”

“Uh huh…”

They go to the window but there’s nothing to see. A couple of Fireflies jog across the street in the distance, presumably moving toward the source of the sound, but then it goes quiet again.

He’s almost put it out of his mind when another alarm goes off, this one closer and clearer. 

Unnerved, Joel sticks his head out of their room where one of the nurses–the young one–is working at the desk.

“What’s goin’ on?”

“I don’t know–”

“Where’s Marlene?”

“I don’t–”

“You don’t know,” he mutters. “Right.”

“Joel?” Ellie pokes her head out of their room. “What’s going on? They’re ”

“I don’t–”

“I’m here,” Marlene says, boots echoing down the hall. “We’ve been tracking a horde on the western side of the city.”

“How big?” Joel asks.

She frowns. “Big enough that we’re keeping an eye on it. We’re trying to redirect them.”

“Is that what those sounds are outside?” Ellie asks.

She nods. “We try to draw their attention with the sirens.”

“That work?” Joel asks, folding his arms.

Marlene shifts her gaze to the side. “Sometimes.”

“What does that mean for us?”

“For you? Nothing,” she says. “We’ve shored up the guards on the first and second levels and we’re moving the labs up to the fifth floor. Just a precaution.”

 “I want a weapon,” Joel says.

Marlene scoffs. “Right.”

“I’m serious.”

She pinches the bridge of her nose. “Joel–”

“You want me to protect her, I can’t do that with my bare fuckin’ hands, Marlene.”

“We have plenty of soldiers holding the perimeter. They won’t make it this far.”

“An’ if they do? You got a plan B?”

“They won’t.”

He snorts. “So we’re fucked.”

“I have it under control,” she says, jaw tight.

“Yeah, I bet you do,” he mutters. “But I’m not gonna let you leave us defenseless–”

“You won’t be,” she snaps. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to deal with this. Stay put.”

“Like we can go anywhere else,” Ellie mutters. When Marlene is out of sight, she looks up at him. “What do we do?”

“Pack your bag, keep it close,” he says. “Just in case we need to run.”

~*~

All the tests are put on hold while they move the labs to higher ground. The elevator at the end of the hall dings constantly throughout the afternoon, running loads of equipment up and people down…until suddenly the lights go out.

“Just a precaution,” the nurse murmurs as she delivers an extra lantern to their room. “The less noise, the better.”

That night, without the hum of the building around them, the wail of the sirens is even harder to ignore, and it’s soon followed by the faint popping sounds of automatic gunfire.

Joel doesn’t sleep much to begin with, so he’s aware of Ellie’s tossing and turning on the other side of the curtain as he sits up that night with his book. He finally gives up and puts it aside. He keeps losing his place, anticipating the next alarm, ready to…well, he doesn’t know what the hell they’ll do if the horde makes it out this far, and no one will tell him anything. It feels like fighting a battle blindfolded with both hands behind his back.

And then a particularly loud siren goes off, and he hears Ellie’s strangled gasp of surprise. It reminds him of Sarah when she was little, woken from sleep by a sharp thunderclap, the pad of anxious footsteps in the hall and the creak of his bedroom door opening, a warm six-year-old tucked against his side for the remainder of the night.

As if on cue, Ellie appears at the edge of the curtain divider, eyes wide.

“Can’t sleep?” he asks.

“Nope,” she says, trying to sound nonchalant, but her voice wavers the slightest bit.

He shifts over and pats the mattress beside him, pulling back the covers. “C’mon.”

“They’re so fucking loud,” she grumbles, climbing into bed. “Every time I start to fall asleep another one goes off.”

“Want me to read some more?” he asks. “Might drown ‘em out.”

“No…thanks, though,” she sighs. He cups her head with one hand, absently stroking her hair.

“Do you think they’ll make it this far?” she whispers after a while.

“I dunno, kid,” he murmurs. “Probably not…”

“What if they do?”

He’s been thinking about it ever since the power was cut. Marlene might not be willing to share her plans for surviving a swarm, but that wouldn’t stop him from making some of his own.

“We go to the roof,” he says, trying to project an air of confidence, hoping to put her at ease. “Not likely to be multiple access points up there, easier to get out of reach. Swarms don’t usually stay in one place long…they’ll move on.”

She gives him a look that suggests he’s doing a piss-poor job of reassuring her, but then nods tightly in agreement. “The roof. Got it.”

Ellie

She’s woken by the sound of boots and yelling in the hall. She finally fell asleep curled up against Joel’s outstretched legs, forehead pressed to his thigh. She feels slightly embarrassed at crawling into bed with him like a fucking baby, but she’s too keyed up to give herself shit about it right now.

“What’s goin’ on?”

“The horde moved overnight.”

Joel’s deep voice carries from the hallway mixed with the voices of others; guards, probably.

“Closer?”

“Shit. Where’s Marlene?”

She flings back the covers, bare feet padding across the cool tile floor. It’s hot already, muggy and stuffy in their room; the central air must still be off.

“What’s happening?” Ellie pulls back the curtain, rubbing at her face with her sleeve.

“Nothin’,” Joel says absently. “Still got your bag packed?”

She nods, gestures to the pack on her bed.

“Good. Keep it close.”

She does.

The nurses don’t bring food like they normally would, not that Ellie could eat right now, anyway. A sense of doom hangs heavy in the air, and the normally bustling halls are quiet. She thinks this is what people mean when they talk about the calm before the storm.

Ellie spends the morning perched on the window seat with her pack in her lap and watches the limited view of the city outside. She sees Fireflies occasionally running, hears the alarms still going off at regular intervals. Meanwhile Joel is in the bathroom making a lot of fucking noise. She abandons her window seat and goes to the door, watching as he draws his hand along the edges of the shower, the exposed pipe underneath the sink.

“What are you doing?”

Now he’s examining the mirror, pulling at the corners, but it’s stuck tight to the wall. “Tryin’ to find a weapon.”

She looks at him skeptically. “Ooookay.”

Obviously the dude’s losing it. She goes back to the window and tries not to think about how fucking weird Joel is acting right now.

The first explosion goes off around ten, a distant roar as the building trembles from the aftershocks.

“Joel! What the hell was that?”

“Shit,” Joel whispers. “They’re bombing…”

She glances at him. “Is that a good thing?”

“No…it means they’re runnin’ outta options.”

She grips her pack tighter and goes to the window again. They can’t see anything, and when they attempt to go into the hall to see if the other rooms have a better vantage point, the guards block their way.

“Orders are to keep you secure until we’re told otherwise,” one of them says.

“Assholes,” Ellie hisses.

“C’mon, kid. Let’s…play a game or somethin’,” Joel mutters, hand to her shoulder, trying to pull her back into the room.

She wheels on him. “I don’t wanna get eaten alive playing fucking Boggle!”

“You’re not gettin’ eaten alive if I have anythin’ to say about it. Now let’s go.”

“Joel, this is so fucking stupid. We’re sitting here doing fuck-all and you’re looking for weapons in the fucking bathroom.”

“I know,” he murmurs. “I’m right there with you, kid, but pissin’ off the guards isn’t gonna help.”

“So what the fuck do we do ?”

“I don’t–”

Another explosion cuts him off. This one rattles the glass in the windows and sends them both to the floor.

“Fuck!” Ellie groans, hands pressed to the tile, still feeling the reverberations as the sound fades to a distant rumble.

“That was closer,” Joel mutters.

Ellie scrambles to her feet, headed for the window.

“Ellie!” he hisses. “Don’t–”

She ignores him, pressing her face to the glass.

“Whoa…oh shit, Joel! Look…”

A rough hand yanks her unceremoniously back from the thin pane as he growls at her under his breath, kid, what the hell are you thinkin’ . But she can’t take her eyes off the horizon, a sickening realization swirling in her stomach as it moves and ripples.

“Joel, out there! Look!”

They squint into the midday sun. Up the street in the far distance there’s a rippling in the air like heat off a hot pavement, a mass of moving bodies.

It would be really fucking cool if it weren’t headed right for them.

“They’re here,” she whispers, mouth suddenly dry.

There’s a flurry of activity from that point on. They watch the horde move in a kind of trance, watch the mass of infected move like a wave through the surrounding streets. Windows in the nearby buildings shatter as the massive group flails against them, the pressure of the crowd enough to fully collapse the least stable structures, leaving the others torn apart and covered with fungal gore. Their groans and shrieks become a dull roar in the background, and Ellie can feel the collective force of the impact when they reach the hospital campus, the floor beneath them trembling like the aftershocks of the last bomb. Soon there’s the shattering of glass and shouting from below, gunfire and barked orders to retreat.

The door to their room opens and the two guards from before have been joined by two more. She recognizes Lee.

“We’re going to the roof,” she says, eyes flinty in the dim light of the darkened hallway. “You’ll be safer up there. Let’s move.”

Joel gets his pack, hefts it to his shoulder, and indicates for Ellie to do the same. Before they cross the threshold, her hand shoots out and grabs for him, palm sweaty, half expecting him to swat her away, but he only looks at her, surprised, before taking her fingers in his and holding tight.

“It’ll be alright,” he whispers, and she nods, not sure if she believes him, but it’s not like she has much choice.

They’re led up the stairwell flanked on all sides by Fireflies. Sounds travel up from the floors below, the narrow column of the stairwell creating an echo chamber of terror. There’s shouting, panicked screams, and the incessant din of the infected underneath. Ellie keeps her grip on Joel’s hand iron-tight all the way to the roof.

Outside, the sounds are deafening. Even six stories up, Ellie has to clap her hands over her ears to drown it out. The smell wafting up from below is all rot and mildew, cloying and rank. They’re led to a small alcove and ordered to sit on the ground, back to a wall, the four Fireflies fanned out in front of them.

Worse than the groans of the infected are the human screams that ring out, begging and pleading each time the horde claims a new victim. Now Joel’s hands are around her ears, too, and she thinks she might be crying, but soon her tears are mixed with sweat and she can’t tell them apart.

They stay that way for what feels like hours, out in the open with no protection from the blazing summer sun until Joel pulls a shirt out of his pack and drapes it over their heads. One of the Fireflies leaves and comes back with a jug of water. Joel uses some of it to wet their clothes and they save the rest for drinking. The dark surface of the roof radiates the heat upwards until it feels like they’re baking from all sides. She’s sweating buckets, but Ellie stays pressed to Joel’s side and his arm stays firmly fixed over her shoulders.

Occasionally the walkies on the guards’ belts crackle, requesting backup, calling out the horde’s movements. Something about outposts being overrun, the detonator on one of the bombs going off too soon and taking out a crew of Fireflies. Ellie strains to hear but between the ringing in her ears and the sounds of the infected, it’s mostly garbled static.

At some point, an explosion goes off directly beneath them, and it feels like the whole building might shake apart and bring them down with it. Every loud noise, every vibration makes Ellie twitch and she thinks she can smell her own fear over the sweat and the fungal rot and the baking asphalt around them.

“It’ll pass,” Joel says softly, in a tone that tries to be reassuring, but his expression gives him away. He’s trying not to look terrified for her sake and he’s fucking terrible at it.

The sun has dipped below the horizon by the time the horde begins to disperse, to undulate its way beyond the hospital and out into the rest of the city, the hivemind having determined there’s nothing left in the vicinity of the hospital to ravage. It’s been dark for hours when they’re led back down to the fourth-floor wing, trudging on numb legs. She expects to find the place ransacked or at least changed in some way, but it’s just as dull and sterile as they’d left it. There’s still no power; without central air, the wing is stifling and stale, but it’s better than full sunlight. Her whole body aches from holding itself stiff and crunched up under the damp shirt, her ears still ringing with the phantom sounds of the horde.

She jumps when Joel puts a careful hand on her shoulder.

He urges her toward the bathroom to clean up, and she goes, still feeling the thrum of adrenaline moving like cordyceps under her skin. When she looks down, she’s surprised to see her hands are shaking. Everything feels distant like she’s moving through a fog, waking up from one of her nightmares.

She peels off her sweaty, sodden layers so she can sponge the worst of the grime off with water from another jug. She still feels gross, but the clean hospital scrubs are cool against her overheated skin.

Without thinking, she wordlessly climbs into Joel’s cot and burrows under the covers. She’s still there when he comes back from the bathroom dressed in blue scrubs and he doesn’t protest to find her. He just takes a seat beside her and puts a hand on her back, rubbing up and down like he did when she was sick.

It’s over. They’re safe. But she can’t convince her heart. It throbs in her chest, echoes in her ears, makes it hard to breathe. A harsh sob works its way out of her throat before she can smother it.

“Ellie?”

She shakes her head, not sure what she’s rejecting. It’s so stupid, she’s been through so much worse than a hot day for fuck’s sake. But something inside her is unraveling at a frightening pace and she can’t stop it; can’t stop her shoulders from shaking or the sobs from coming out.

“Hey…talk to me, baby. You hurt?”

She shakes her head again.

He’s leaning over her, probably looking for cuts or bruises or something to indicate why she’s suddenly turned into a big fucking baby. She squeezes her eyes shut so she doesn’t have to see him, doesn’t have to see the disappointment and worry and all the ways she’s become a burden–

A soft grunt and the cot dips more fully under his weight as he lays down.

“C’mere.”

There’s only a moment’s hesitation before she throws an arm around his waist and digs in with a sob, muffling it in his stomach. He smells like Joel even under the cheap scrubs, like sweat and something woodsy and warm. She’s shaking now, shivering even though it’s like a hundred degrees, like she’s not already buried in blankets.

“S-so…s-s-stupid,” she hisses between her teeth, hiccuping. “I-I can’t-c-c-can’t s-stop.”

“S’alright,” he whispers. “I know. Gotta release the stress somehow. You’re okay.”

He’s rubbing her back again, the same easy rhythm up and down, up and down.

“S-s-stupid,” she spits. “I-I-I-”

“Shhh,” he whispers against the top of her head. “Just let it out. I gotcha.”

So she does. She cries and shivers and she’s probably getting snot on Joel’s shirt but he doesn’t move, doesn’t push her away, just brushes her hair out of her face when it gets sweaty and talks to her softly.

The panic attack or whatever the fuck it is lasts for hours. By the time she’s done, there’s weak light coming through the window and her whole body aches like she’s been forced to run endless laps even though she’s barely moved. Her eyes are raw, her nose stings, her chest burns. The door to their room opens and Joel shifts slightly; she’s too exhausted to make out what he’s saying or who he’s speaking to.

The door closes. His voice is rough and his hand cups the back of her neck, carefully tracing the ridge at the base of her skull with his fingers. There’s something hypnotic about the motion and she misses his next words until his fingers stop moving and he asks again.

“Ellie? You hearin’ me, baby?”

She nods once.

“You want somethin’ to eat?”

Oh. Right. They haven’t eaten since yesterday morning, but the thought of food turns her stomach. She’s still up on that blazing-hot roof, the smell of infected lingering in her sinuses, the back of her throat. She grips at his shirt, burrows closer, doesn’t answer.

“How ‘bout some water, huh?” he nudges her.

She spent most of yesterday sweating and the rest of the night sobbing her stupid eyes out. Her mouth tastes like ass, tongue feels like sandpaper, throat hurts like she’s swallowed rusty nails. She manages a soft grunt.

“Gonna take that as a yes,” he mutters. “C’mon, sit up here.”

Reluctantly, she lets him pull away, face burning with embarrassment as she does as he asks. He produces a cup of water with a straw and she takes it readily.

“Little sips,” he murmurs. “Don’t wanna upset your stomach.”

Too late for that, she thinks miserably. But the water helps soothe her raw throat. When she finally works up the nerve to meet his eyes, she finds them bloodshot and dark-rimmed; he looks about as good as she feels.

“Power’s back,” he says as if reading her mind. “Shower might help.”

She doesn't want to leave him, but she’s not ready to admit that. And the thought of running water, a real shower with soap, suddenly sounds too good to pass up. She wipes at her face and nods, and his face softens, some of the worry lines smoothing out.

He’s right, too, as usual. Clean for the first time in hours and dressed in fresh scrubs, she feels much more calm. And really fucking exhausted, like she could sleep for three days. She comes out of the bathroom and Joel looks up, still red-eyed and mussed.

“Want me to braid your hair?” he offers.

She opens her mouth to say no because she doesn’t need him to braid her stupid hair. But then she remembers the anxious worry in his face, the way he’d stayed up with her all night. Again. Decides she’s saying yes for him, not for her.

She shrugs. “Sure.”

He’s faster at it this time. And it’s kind of nice to have it out of her face when it’s wet. He squeezes her shoulder when he’s done. “All set.”

She curls up in her bed, feels the pull of sleep almost immediately. She hears Joel go into the bathroom, hears the water run for a while. She’s still drifting when he comes out dressed in his usual clothes, rubbing at his hair with a towel until it sticks up in funny spikes. She hears him go to his cot, the creak as he sits down, and some lingering anxiety bubbles up in her chest. It’s so fucking stupid, but….

She sits up.

“Joel?”

“Yeah?”

“Can I…can I, uh…”

He tilts his head, then seems to catch her meaning without her having to ask. “Sure, kiddo.”

His cot is smaller than her bed, not nearly as comfortable, but as soon as she crawls in she feels the tightness in her chest loosen, even more when he lies down, too. She scoots closer and wraps her arm around his waist, hears a surprised murmured oh under his breath. He’s wearing a flannel, one of the ones he wore on the road, softer than any of the cheap scrubs, and she sinks into it.

“Think you can sleep now?” he whispers when she’s firmly tucked under his chin. She hears the rumble of his voice in his chest like a purr and nods, because she’s almost asleep already. 

Her last waking sensation is a faint pressure at the top of her head–so unfamiliar, so foreign, she doesn’t even recognize it as a kiss.

[silverwings22]

Song of the Sea: Chapter 47: Dying of Love

Series Warning: explicit smut, alien anatomy (it's a monsterfucker fic, guys), major character injury, grief, canon typical violence, autistic meltdowns, and my terrible attempts at Mando'a Chapter Warnings: mind control, extreme injury, explicit smut, trauma, disability

Previous chapter:

Next chapter:

Shiani lay back on the bunk of her cell, staring at the grate ceiling. CX-2 hadn’t come to get her for three days, even though he’d said he would. She couldn’t make herself call him Tech, not yet… but he would be. Tech was in there, if her pushing so hard hadn’t had him sent back to the nightmare that had taken him away the first time. She could still hear his cracking voice, in pain and afraid. “If I know, he can take it away again.” 

If she ever got her teeth into Hemlock’s throat, he wouldn’t have to worry about venom. She’d tear his windpipe out.

The whole facility rumbled and rocked a little under her, and she propped herself up on her elbow. The motion was rhythmic and repetitive, a faint thunderous crash in the background of the facility as the lockdown alarm lights came on. 

“Princess?! What’s happening?” Several siren voices called, frightened sounding. 

Shiani sat the rest of the way up and listened for a moment longer. “Laser cannons. The Chainbreakers are here. Everyone into position, and be ready on Omega’s signal.”

There were murmurs and the sirens tucked themselves into the back of their cells, making sure they were out of sight of the Zillo enclosure. 

She heard the quiet movement of children behind the wall and Omega whispered for her. “Shiani. I’ve got four friends here, I need you to cover for them.”

“Four babies.” She repeated. “You go, Omega. I got the babies.”

“Bayrn’s a real baby.” A tiny voice peeped, and Shiani pressed her face against the vent to get a good look at them. A young mirialan boy, a pantoran girl holding a restless tarlafar infant, and an iktotchi girl were all peeking back at her. “And he’s gonna cry. They’re gonna find us.” 

Shiani shook her head. “Bring littlest baby here, close to me.” 

The pantoran girl, Sami, scooted closer and held him near where the siren’s face was. One of her headtresses worked its way into the wall to give him something to hold, while she leaned her mouth near and starting singing in a soft, gentle voice. The baby relaxed and cuddled into Sami’s arms with a happy little sound. The others smiled, unable to resist the infectious peace the siren’s song brought. 

Inside the unit, Omega had climbed out of the wall and pulled a lever to drain the Zillo’s enclosure. Shiani smiled, turning her head to see as the giant angry reptile hauled itself up and started roaring and attacking all the movement it saw. The control station was ripped off the wall and thrown, and the sonic generator they’d been using to harass and control the Zillo was knocked over before it started scaling the walls. “Three. Two. One.” 

The power went out. Jax, the mirialan boy, looked at Shiani. “You knew it would turn the power off?”

“Not the Zillo. Empire.” She grinned, pulling her headdress out of the wall. “Zillo eats power, they have to shut the generator down or it’s gonna get bigger and bigger. Come around the hole Omega showed you, and we’ll follow it out.” 

The kids nodded, coming around to find at least two dozen sirens coming out of their cells. There were hugs as they were reunited, and Shiani crawled to the door of hers and dragged herself out of the cell. “The Zillo went up, we’re following it to the hangar. Grab any weapon you can find!” 

The sirens started yanking pieces of rebar and debris as weapons, while Omega ran over and helped Shiani to her good foot. “You okay?”

“I’ll know if we find a transport.” She smiled, hugging Omega tightly. “Look at you. Sergeant, just like your father.” 

Omega smiled brightly and nodded, up under Shiani’s arm to help her along. They made their way to the service ladder leading from the containment unit to the generator, which they could use to get to the hangar. “Can you climb, Shiani?”

“I got arms and tentacles still. You lead the way.”

Jax squirmed. “I’m scared of heights… I guess I wouldn’t be a very good soldier.”

Omega gave him a calm, kind smile. “My brother Wrecker is afraid of heights too. He’s the strongest soldier I know.” 

Shiani patted the boy’s arm. “Being scared doesn't mean you’re not brave. In fact, the only time you’re really brave is when you’re scared and do it anyway.”

He nodded with a shaky breath and Omega led the way, him following with Bayrn on his back, Eva after him, and Sami after her. Shiani let them get up a little way before waving for the sirens to follow her. She had to drag herself up with one leg down, but she wasn’t giving up. 

She had to get the kids and sirens to a shuttle. Then she could go back and find CX-2. She wasn’t leaving without him. 

We’re going home, Tech. Together. 

Three stormtroopers stood between Shiani and the shuttles that could get the refugees and children to safety, and she didn’t have a weapon. She and the kids were behind a couple crates, the sirens hiding in various places behind them, as the three troopers walked towards them. 

“Scream will attract attention.” She muttered. “If I have to use it, you all gotta run straight for the hangar.” 

Omega put the other kids behind her bravely and nodded, preparing to drag them to the safety of the shuttles even if it meant leaving Shiani to hold the line. She knew it might have to come to that… she hoped not, but-

One of the troopers shot the other two in the back. “Causing trouble, Havoc 5?” 

Omega’s head popped up, eyes wide. “Echo?”

He pulled his helmet off, revealing the much-beloved brother with a smirk.

Shiani giggled. “I forget you have ears sometimes. Where’s your stuff?”

“I had to change clothes to blend in.” He showed her the droid hand he had hooked onto his scomp. 

Emerie Karr walked over from behind him, and Shiani bared her teeth sharply. The woman held her hands up. Echo waved the siren to stand down. “She’s with us, Shiani. Easy.”

The siren closed her eyes and nodded, waving the other sirens over. “Can fit them on a shuttle?”

Emerie nodded. “There is one in bay 4.”

Echo handed Emerie a set of coordinates. “Take them here. We’ll catch up.” 

Emerie looked anxiously at Omega as she backed up next to Echo. Shiani turned and gave orders to the sirens to follow Emerie. “Doctor Karr, you speak Tuskan sign?”

“A little, yes…”

“Close enough to siren sign they can understand you. They’ll follow you.” Shiani told her. 

Emerie blinked in total disbelief. “You and Omega are going to remain behind?”

“We don’t leave our own behind.” Omega said firmly. As long as there was a single clone in Tantiss, she was going to fight.

Echo nodded. “Hemlock’s got the rest of the Batch.”

“And there’s someone I need to find.” Shiani took a bent piece of metal one of the sirens handed her that she could use as a cane.

Emerie nodded, glancing at Omega before handing her a datapad. “This will give you access to the whole facility. Good luck, Omega.” She took the sirens and kids to the bay with the shuttles. 

Omega looked at Shiani and Echo. “Let’s complete the mission.” She didn’t know what Shiani had planned, but she trusted the siren.

Shiani looked at Echo. “If you get back to a shuttle before me, you go without me.” She said firmly. “Understand? I will find my way back to Pabu.”

He nodded, eyes serious. “Alright. But I don’t like it.”

“That’s okay. I have to do this.” She turned and started back into the facility while he and Omega headed for the detainment unit where the clones were being held. They’d need backup to infiltrate where the rest of of the Batch were being tortured. 

Shiani took the left hall, leaning against the wall with one hand and the broken metal crutch she had in the other. She had to find CX-2 and convince him to come with her. She had to save him, bring him back to Tech. He might be near the containment cells, hopefully looking for her too-

She heard a blaster cock before she saw it and turned, finding herself facing another CX trooper with a different style helmet. “You. Princess.” He said in a modulated, dead sounding voice. “You have been a distraction, and a waste of resources. There is no useful information coming from your continued interrogation, and therefore there is no reason for your continued existence.”

Shiani started down the barrel of the blaster, eyes watering. She wasn’t so much scared to die, not after Eriadu and wishing for death for so long after… but she didn’t want to leave Tech. If she didn’t find him, he wouldn’t ever be Tech again.

Crosshair said Clone Force 99 died with Tech. But he’s not dead… I have to save him, and all of them. I can’t-

A blaster shot came from over her shoulder, hitting the CX trooper dead center in the chest. He crumpled like flimsi, and Shiani turned her head to find a soldier she knew still in the firing crouch. “CX-2!”

He straightened up and walked to her, hands moving automatically to her hips to steady her. “What are you doing here? The other cells were all empty. Why did you not leave with the other sirens?”

“I came back for you.” She leaned into his chest, fingers curling into his chest plate automatically. “I won’t leave without you.”

“... you came back for me?” He seemed stunned. “Princess Illumai…”

“No. You know my name.” She pulled at his chest a little, shaking him slightly. “Come with me. Tell me where your tracker implant is and let me get it out, and we’ll go together. Hemlock can’t find you if we run.”

“I have told you, I do not remember-”

“I do!” She shook him again, voice cracking. “And I’ll spend forever reminding you of who you are. Just please, please let me save you. You saved me on Eriadu, and I can save you now. Where’s the tracker?” Tears were rolling down her cheeks as she begged him, shaking, and he automatically reached up to wipe them away with his thumb. 

“It is in my arm…” He said quietly, gesturing to his upper right bicep. “You… can remove it?”

She nodded. “It might hurt, but I can be fast. I promise.” 

“I am… used to pain.” He said, a little forlornly. 

“I’ll take it out, and I won’t let anything hurt you ever again.” She promised. “I’ll keep you safe. I’ll kiss it better, if you want.” 

He nodded, leaning against a wall next to her so he was steady, and she dug her claws under his right paldron. It came off with a click, the siren familiar with how to remove clone armor. She ripped the fabric of his blacks underneath open, revealing a tanned arm. Some scars were new, but she’d anticipated that. 

She slipped a tentacle into his hand. “Squeeze if it hurts.” She murmured before gently poking the arm until she felt the metal of an implanted tracker the size of her pinky nail. She pressed her lips to his arm first, then shifted and sank her teeth into the spot. 

Squeeze squeeze squeeze. 

She leaned back, red blood dripping from her mouth, and spat before using her claws like forceps to catch the little chit and drag it out from under his skin. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” She murmured, throwing it to the floor. “I’m sorry, Tech.” 

She squeaked when they were suddenly in reversed positions, her back to the wall and him leaning into her. “What did you call me?” He murmured, fingers coming up under her chin. All she could smell was blood in the tight space, but she couldn’t look away.

Something had just flipped. 

“Is something wrong?”  She whispered.

“Say it again. The name.”

“Take your helmet off.” Shiani pulled at his shoulder straps. “Let me see your face.”

He didn’t question it this time, releasing the seals and throwing the entire contraption to the floor at their feet. 

Auburn hair was growing back curly after having been shaved. His handsome, angular face bore scars concentrated around the left eye, where his goggles had broken out. One dragged across the bridge of his nose, another through the bottom of the plush bottom lip… but it was him. She’d never forget those beautiful golden-honey brown eyes, staring at her though without even squinting. She was close enough his nearsighted self could see every detail of the scar on her cheek and blue freckles across her own nose. “Tech.” She whispered. “Your name is Tech.” 

His mouth crushed into hers, heedless of the taste of his own blood behind her teeth. His arms wrapped around her waist, crushing her between him and the wall while her arms locked around his neck. Claws dragged through his hair, pulling slightly, until he groaned into her mouth. “Say it again.” He muttered, mouth moving down her chin to her neck and lightly nipping at her throat. He needed to hear a name, to be a man instead of a weapon. If she said it enough, maybe CX-2 would die and he could be the man she had come back for. 

“Tech. Tech Illumai.” She dropped her head back and gave him access, the terror and danger of Tantiss dropping into a background buzz. It didn’t matter. What mattered was Tech, alive and breathing hard against her skin. His heart was pounding under the Imperial chest plate, but she could take it off him later. She didn’t have time right now; she needed him to remember her. “I found you, Tech. I’m not letting you go again.” 

His knee wedged between her thighs as he pinned her against the wall, devouring her mouth. His fingers hesitated at the start of her zipper, but Shiani pressed his hand closer until he took it and pulled it down from her collar to the crotch of the prison jumpsuit. A relieved sigh slid across his lips at her permission, and his fingers slid down her stomach. He could admire her later, as much as he wanted to now, but their time was limited and he needed her right now. 

Shiani gasped when his hand slipped into her underwear, but hooked her bad leg up over his hip to give him more access. His right hand hooked under her knee to hold it there, squeezing her calf muscle lightly. Squish squish squish. 

She fumbled her hands down to his waist, flipping his belt open and grateful for the lack of codpiece. He shoved her jumpsuit down her shoulders  so it dropped below her hips, bucking into her hand when she wrapped it around his cock. Whatever injuries he’d sustained from the fall that she’d have to catalog later, this felt the same. She pulled him free of the tac pants, stroking him firmly. “Kiss me again, Tech.” She breathed, and he eagerly gave her back his mouth. The energy in him was coming back alive, a brightness she hadn’t felt in so long that it felt like daylight after an interminably long night. Tech was her sunrise, and she’d always loved lights.

She guided him into her and swallowed his feverish moan, rolling her crooked pelvis into him to meet every movement he made. “Tech.” She mumbled against his lips. “Tech. Tech. Tech.” She kept whispering his name, sliding sloppy kisses against his lips and jaw. 

His left hand grasped at every part of her he could reach, squeezing her hip and sliding under her bra to palm her breast, cupping her cheek, groping her ass, everywhere. The right stayed steady, keeping her left leg locked into the curve of his hip while he tried to remember what it was like to be a person with someone who loved him this much. It was fuzzy, incomplete flutters of memory and emotion, but he knew it was her. And he knew his name sounded right from her lips. 

Shiani didn’t care if she came, as long as Tech came home with her after this, but the genius turned assassin’s subconscious memory kicked in and his metal fingers moved between her legs to find her clit and work it over in tight circles. Shiani whimpered into his shoulder, shuddering and squirming as she simultaneously rode his digits and cock to her climax. Tech groaned into the curve of her neck, squishing her a little harder into the wall as he pumped her full of his spend and panted against her skin. 

Shiani clung to him, trembling, until he could push himself upright correctly and slip out of her heat with a dazed expression. She cupped his cheeks in her palms before he could get far, drawing him back into a softer kiss. “I love you.” She murmured. “I’ll help you remember, I promise.”

He rested his head against her forehead, brow scrunched as he tried to think of something. “Mirshmure'cya.” He finally mumbled.

“That’s right. Mando’a.” She cooed. 

He kissed her forehead, not sure why it felt correct, and looked at her. There was blood from her mouth on his now, and his arm was still bleeding sluggishly. They both stiffened after a series of six blaster shots. “I must get you out of here. There are untracked shuttles in Bay 4 that were likely not destroyed by the Zillo’s escape.” 

Shiani nodded, quickly righting her underwear and zipping the jumpsuit back up while he tucked himself back in his pants and buckled his belt. He scooped her into his arms, holding her tightly against his chest despite the wet bloodstain. “We can go back to Pabu.” She murmured softly. 

“I will need my helmet. I… cannot see well. The visor is corrective.” He explained.

She picked it up with her tentacles and put it back on his head. “We’ll get rid of it when we get home. We’ll get your glasses fixed.” The people of Pabu didn’t need to know Tech had been the face under the helmet that terrorized them. She’d burn it, that was fine. The friendly faces of Pabu would help him heal, and he’d be back with his brothers. They’d all heal together from this.

They were almost to the hangar and she was trying to decide how she was going to explain this to Hunter and Crosshair, when she heard Omega’s gasp. “Shiani?!”

Tech spun around, finding a rain soaked trio of Hunter, Crosshair, and Omega staring at them. Crosshair’s right arm ended in a stump at the wrist, his hand severed, but he and Hunter were both suddenly moving for him to brace his rifle on the sergeant’s shoulder and Hunter to crouch and draw his pistol. Tech set Shiani down, starting to move in front of her and reach for his own blaster. 

“No! Wait!” She knew what they were seeing. The operative that had kidnapped her, bleeding and carrying her with blood around her mouth. It looked like a fight she’d lost, but they didn't understand. She had to stop them, before something happened that they’d regret- 

She dove between the three brothers before Tech could even unholster his pistol, but the other two had seen the threatening motion and pulled their triggers. 

Bang. Bang.

Shiani was stock still, arms outstretched, when two rounds of plasma slammed into her unarmored chest. One hit just above her left breast, the other her right side ribcage. She blinked, slowly looking down at the burn marks on her jumpsuit, before a trickle of blue sluiced out of her mouth and her sides above her tentacles started to stain from blood leaking from her gills. Her paused breath started up again, shallow and shaky, and she collapsed backwards into her lover’s arms. 

“Shiani!” Omega screamed, but her voice was eclipsed by a scream from the assassin that blew out his vocoder it was so loud. Hunter covered his ears, unable to take it, but Crosshair choked. 

He’d heard that scream before. He knew that scream. He hadn’t heard it since he was a cadet, but he knew it. 

Shiani’s body was going limp rapidly, but she started trying to push his helmet off. They had to see his face. They had to know it was him and save him if she couldn’t do it anymore. She managed to crookedly shove it over his head, fingers trailing across his cheek as she smiled mistily. “B-brothers… Tech.” She mumbled. “D-don’t hurt th-them…”

“No. No, you cannot leave me now!” He scrambled to put pressure on the wounds. His throat was raspy from screaming, but he didn’t care. “Princess!” 

She let her head rest on his shoulder, panting and coughing up more blood. Omega was yelling about a med kit on the wall, which Hunter was running for. Crosshair tried to crouch by Tech, but he blocked the sniper with his shoulder. “Do not touch her!” 

“It’s okay…” She mumbled. “Tech… they’re gonna save you now…” 

“You are not going to die. I will not allow it.” His jaw was trembling, and she could only smile at him. He was here, she couldn’t have been sad about dying if she tried. Tech was right there, arms around her. She’d never been unhappy when he held her. 

“You gotta let Hunter treat her. He’s got the med kit.” Crosshair was arguing, but his voice sounded like she was fading back underwater. 

Is this why the Harmony and Melody sent me back? To save Tech? They said he wasn’t with them… I was so silly to be angry with them. I hope they forgive me… I’ll tell them how grateful I am when I get there…

“Stay awake! Princess, do not fall asleep!” Tech was finally letting Hunter get close enough to pour bacta on her, but he wouldn’t put her down enough to let anyone see how bad it really was. “Princess? Shiani!”

He said my name…. I’m so happy.

[greenorangevioletgrass]

openin' up | b.r.b.

pairing: bradley 'rooster' bradshaw x actress!reader

summary: it's an ordinary morning in their new house, and bradley gets enlisted for help with an... extraordinary warm-up for a morning rehearsal. [part of "the actress & the aviator" universe but can be read as a standalone]

word count: 1.8k

warnings: established relationship, domestic fluff, bradley is a simp but so is the reader, they're engaged y'all, language, smut [blowjob, dirty talk, switch!rooster, switch!reader, brief daddy kink, spit kink, cum eating, this is really filthy but soft i promise]

notes: i'm BACK, Y'ALL! i literally started this fic back in early october but life happened (i worked out of town, got out of a relationship, got into a new relationship. whew!) so i've only got around to finish it now. im a little rusty, so however much love you can give me would be greatly appreciated <3 thank you and happy reading!

✨ follow @ficsbygreenorangevioletgrass to get notified for my latest words <3 happy reading and please reblog if you liked it! ✨

***

The house in San Clemente is new. The novelty of the living room furniture is apparent, bright and shiny and smelling faintly of packing boxes, save from Goose’s old piano they brought home from Virginia. The fridge only has three takeout menus pinned onto it, from the first week you moved in. The shelves and displays have barely gathered any dust on the books and awards and vinyl collections that newly inhabit them.

But the rhythm in how the two of you go about your day in this new home— your shared home… It's effortless and familiar. Tried and tested. Bradley’s alarm sounds off early in the morning, way too early, but you’ve learned to tune it out. But the prolonged absence of the human furnace you sleep with makes the bed all cold and empty, and it’s hard to go back to sleep like that (you wish you were being dramatic, but it’s true.) By the time Bradley gets out of the shower, you’re usually there, sleepily brushing your teeth and giving him a minty kiss good morning.

This morning, you’re already in the kitchen by the time he’s dressed for work. He hears you first; a cacophony of strange noises that would otherwise be alarming if it weren’t for how routine it is now. All the hums and sirens and lip trills and are those meows you’re doing for warm-up? 

“Morning, songbird.” Rooster saunters in with a kiss to your temple. Then, as he pours his coffee, nearly back-to-back as you hold a steaming cup of tea, he chuckles to himself.

You groan, catching the amusement right away. “Whoever thought it was a good idea to have a singing rehearsal so early in the morning is clearly not thinking,” you grumble, voice still gravely from sleep.

“Whoever thought it was a good idea to stay up late and binge Fleabag like she hasn’t seen it 4 times is…” you level his cheeky comment with a glare and he backtracks behind his coffee cup, “…clearly regretting it now.”

You pinch his side, scowling but not really. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

Bradley does a shoulder wiggle in response, so bright and chirpy so early in the morning. A multitude of fun contradictions; tall and broad and imposing in his flight suit, sleeves tied up around his waist, yet at the same time…

Soft and domestic and adorable as he puts the bread in the toaster and cracks a few eggs to scramble (he does it with one hand, too, that cocky fuck.)

You love him so much, it’s ridiculous. It is so ridiculous, in fact, that it gives you an idea…

“Hey, what time do you have to be at work?”

“0900, why?”

You hum, taking a thoughtful sip of your magical concoction of ginger, honey, and lemon. And then…

“Can I suck your dick?”

He bursts out laughing. But then, seeing your completely straight face, he stops. “Wait, for real?”

“I’m serious! For singing purposes. I need to open up and warm up my throat.” He opens his mouth again to comment, but you cut him off, “And don’t ask me how I know this works. But it does.”

People would say your love story is one for the movies. A movie star and a naval aviator falling in love while filming thousands of feet in the air. The two worlds collide, and your lives are intertwined forever. It’s a grand Hollywood romance.

Nobody would ever expect that your happy-ever-after is a comedy.

“Well, jeez, buy me dinner first, ma’am.” He rolls his eyes playfully, as if his heart rate wasn’t picking up. He tries to keep it cool, teasing her right back. “Also, is that the only reason? I am hurt.”

“Well, what do you want me to say?” there’s an air of innocence in your reply —a stark contrast to your request. You come up behind him and wrap your arms around his middle. “That you look so good in your uniform, and I want you to fuck my face? Come down my throat?”

Okay. Maybe it’s a slightly raunchy comedy.

There’s a heavy three-second gap. Three seconds of Bradley’s tightening grip on the spatula and the pan, from the three seconds of your figurative grasp right where you want him.

Three seconds of his slow, bracing draw of breath.

“Honestly?” He pipes up, “Yes.”

Click. You turn the stove off and he has to remind himself to let go, and let you turn him around. Amusement, intrigue, lust, and love painted his face like a swirl of colors. God, you adore him.

You back him into an empty counter, careful not to bump into any hot mugs or pans. “You know I like seeing your suit half done up like this...” Your voice is still rough from sleep, and he swears it’s the sexiest sound his brain can comprehend. “Makes really, really wanna swallow you whole ‘til I choke on your cock. Will you let me do that?”

His Adam’s apple bobs. His lips fall open slightly, but no sound comes out.

You love him like this. All dazed and dumb when you’ve barely done anything to him. It makes you feel powerful. And there’s no power trip quite like knowing you hold the reign.

Even when you give it up.

You bat your eyelashes, sighing just a little when his dick, now fully erect, flexes against your belly in attention. “Please… Daddy?”

Fuck. 

Bradley Bradshaw is still just a man. And as stubborn as he is (and he is plenty stubborn, ask anyone), he is running out of reasons to believe that this is a bad idea. Then again, who is he to deny his fiancée a blowjob for her own sake?

He groans, guttural as he grabs a handful of your ass. “‘Course you can, baby.”

You lean in for a kiss, tender and loving despite everything, and he wants to melt into your touch. It’s oddly comforting to see that amidst the absurdity, it’s still you and it’s still him. And wherever you are, whatever you do —be it having breakfast or doing weird things for warm-up—, this is home. 

And home is where you sink down to your knees, taking his pants and boxers down with you on a random Thursday morning. 

His cock stares right at you, veins running along the sides as it curves ever so slightly to the right. A pearly bead leaks out of his pinkish tip, and you dart out your tongue to taste him. And a taste is never enough —you want to devour all of him.

He can feel the ground pulling from underneath him. One hand with knuckles white on the counter, the other cradling the back of your head. Not quite pushing you, just… caressing you as you adjust to his girth.

Bradley is a big boy, and you say this with no exaggeration whatsoever. It always hurts a little at first when he fucks you, no matter how much he’s made you come before that, and giving him a blowjob is no different. Exhaling slowly through your nose, you relax your jaw and draw yourself closer inch by inch…

“Shit, baby…” His dick is all snug in your warmth, his dream woman on her knees, and he feels on top of the world. “You gonna be a good girl, take all of Daddy’s cock? Come on. Open up, that’s it, that’s… fuck.”

He reaches the back of your throat, making you gag, and it takes him everything to not lose it at the blissful sensation of you tightening around him.

“Breathe, breathe…” he rakes his long fingers through his hair, although he’s probably partly saying it to himself, too. “You okay? D’you need a minute?”

Your glassy eyes look up at him, and he’s praying please please please I might not even last a minute like this… 

It’s a strange, delicate balance of your relationship dynamic. In your obscured vision and compromising position, it’s Bradley who surrenders himself to you. Gentle. Careful. Vulnerable. It makes you feel fucking glorious. 

So you shake your head slightly, and drag your mouth along his heavy shaft.

“God, baby, you feel so fucking good… so perfect, my baby’s so perfect, Jesus fuck—” he swallows heavily, and groans just as heartily. “You’re all mine, aren’t you? I’m the only one who gets to fuck your mouth like this. I’m the only one who gets to come inside you— forever. Fuck, I can’t wait to marry you…”

You look up at him when you hear that, and he finds your gaze, catching the humorous, mischievous glint in your eyes. His brain is in your mouth, and he couldn’t care any less. If you’re gonna tease him all week for what he said, so be it. Because the truth of the matter is, he means it.

With his whole damn heart.

And as the pounding in said heart picks up, so does the rush of blood all over his body. Your hand joins your mouth at the base of his cock, stroking him closer and closer to his release. And he all but loses his mind. His fists open and close as tingles run all the way to his fingertips.

“Baby, baby, baby…” he chants, almost feverishly, “I’m so fucking close, baby, pleasepleaseplease, can I come, please baby, I need to— fuck… fuck. Fuck!”

Warmth pours into your mouth, and you make sure to catch every last drop of pearly white he’s giving— surrendering— to you. Not letting him go until he rides out the very last waves of his orgasm. And when he does, you rise up to your feet and face him.

All flustered and fucked out just for you.

You cup his chin between your thumb and forefinger, motioning him to open. Bradley leans back against the counter, tilting his head up and sticking his tongue out for you. His brown eyes are fixed on you, waiting, wanting like he hasn’t just come less than a minute ago. And when you spit his release back into his mouth… he closes them like he’s coming again.

He takes every single drop just like you did, and swallows it all. But even that’s not enough. He pulls you in by the back of your neck for another searing kiss.

“I love you,” he murmurs into your lips.

“I love you, too.” You kiss him one last time and pull away. Taking a hearty sip of your tea and humming a simple five-note scale. “Mm, much better.”

Bradley watches on, all dumbstruck, as you continue your vocal warm-up while washing your hands and grabbing plates to set up on the table. Carrying on and minding your business as if nothing had happened.

Well. 

Apart from the cheeky look you share as you continue your ordinary morning routine. Making your new home a little more lived-in everyday.

And then, he grins widely, pulls his pants back on and turns the stove back on to finish cooking. “Man, I love morning rehearsals…”

[iknowsescapingjourneys]

(A/N: I have literally never written a fan fiction in my life so this is going to be an adventure. I have an eighteen chapter series planned for this if things go well. I am a white girl that grew up in the middle of nowhere, USA, so if I get any British slang wrong or accidentally mess up something when it comes to his culture, please correct me! I am completely open to concrit.

Other than that, there’s not many triggers in this chapter. Kinda new to Tumblr, I was an embarrassing teenager the last time, pls don’t look at my posts, so I don’t know what needs to be tagged. There’s some fighting, but nothing graphic or gory. Mentions of theft. That’s about it. I am going off of the interview with the directors that say that he is an adult, and there will be smut in later chapters.

Please let me know what you think! I will also do requests for one-shots if anyone has anything in particular they’d like to see.)

Reckless Driving

Hobie Brown x Fem! Reader

Chapter 1

The crunch of glass beneath the PVC of Doc Martins seems to become an increasingly familiar sound. The stretch and curl of fingers in her gloves causes the sound of metal claws scraping together to echo through the showroom of the commercial jewelry store, barely audible as an alarm blares heavily above her head. The night vision equipped in her helmet makes it easy to see the glass case she’s peering down at, and with a slam of a gloved, clawed fist, the barrier shatters into a hundred sharp, sparkling pieces that fall to the floor and the display below. Claws curl easily around necklaces and rings, dropping them into the cargo pockets of her pants.

She knows how long it takes the police to show up, and she knows that she has three minutes left, if she’s lucky. She’s been here longer than she usually prefers to be, having had a difficult time busting the first display open. The police scanner in her ear chatters away, reports of her misconduct and theft a hot topic. She scoots to her left, repeating her earlier process, and zipping up the pocket when it feels heavy against her thigh.

She turns on her heel to dash to the employee exit in the back, but finds herself colliding with something, a mix of blue and red and black. She stumbles back, eyes widening beneath her masked helmet. Her first instinct is Spiderman, who she is more than well acquainted with, and not in any way that could be deemed positive. Her fist flies through the air without thought, stopped short when it’s grabbed mid trajectory and used to push her back into the broken display case. Her back arches to avoid sharp shrapnel, and she kicks a leg up, outsole colliding with a denim clad knee.

Denim? She pauses her onslaught long enough to get a good look at who exactly has wandered into her crime scene. An eyebrow raises beneath the LEDs of her helmet as she takes him in. This, this was not Spiderman. What looked to be heavy liner circled the mask’s eyes, dripping down below the eye holes. The suit was covered in spikes, both built into it and adorned with bracelets, and belts, and even protruding from the leather jacket that hung loosely on his frame. A guitar was strapped across his back, strings messily sprouting from string trees.

She was pulled from her analysis when a heavy boot made contact with her chest, sending her flying back into the cash register of the jewelry store. She could hear sirens approaching over the sound of the alarm screaming, and she knew flashing lights were only moments away. Her eyes flickered back up to the man encroaching on her space like a predator stalking its prey.

“Man, look at the time,” She spouts, notes of sarcasm and nervousness sprinkled throughout her otherwise surprisingly even tone. “Guess I should probably head out.” She continues, throwing her upper body to the side to avoid another well aimed kick. This time she notices the yellow and blue of ladder laced cords.

“Blue laces, huh? Seems like an odd color for someone working with the cops.” She taunts, managing to pull herself over the counter of the cash register, shoving open the door to the back room with her own boot as she backs herself up.

The man seems to pause for a moment, running his eyes over her figure with a look of confused conflict. “Y’know lace code?” He asks, and she can’t help the laugh that bubbles from her throat.

His accent is thick, and it’s immediately apparent to her that he is not from around here, though New York was known to have a melting pot of people. His voice is deep, but not intimidatingly so, and she finds she actually quite likes it, even from the small sampling she’s heard so far. Her eyes glance down to her own laces, strung up in a similar fashion. One side yellow, the other side purple.

“I might,” She finally answers with a grin, knowing that the duration between the question and her answer was probably long enough that he knows she was taken aback by his accent.

She turns the lock to the back exit with clawed fingers, being as delicate and quiet as possible as she continues to attempt to distract him long enough to get herself out the door.

The heel of her palm presses against the metal lever of the doorknob, her eyes locking on a shelving unit just a leg’s distance away.

“I like the pin,” She mentions, gesturing with her head towards the large A of the anarchy symbol adorned on his jacket. When he glances down in an effort to see which one her eyes have locked on, she kicks her leg out, sending the shelf crashing between them, creating a makeshift barrier.

She knows if he’s anything like the Spiderman she’s used to, he’ll make quick work of throwing it to the side, but it’s a divider long enough for her to slam her hand down and barrel out of the metal door keeping her from her motorcycle.

The pads of her non-gloved fingers press down hard on a button strapped to her thigh and the bike roars to life in a brilliant light show, greens and purples illuminating the dark alley. She throws a leg over the seat, straddling across the leather as her foot slams into the gas, lurching forward as the metal door flies open again to reveal the lanky frame of the man she’d fought with moments prior.

By that point though, she was practically a bat out of hell, motorcycle weaving through alleys so fast that she wasn’t much more than a blur. To be fair, she’s well aware that he could probably catch up to her if he wanted to, using the webs to leap from building to building. Track her down, wrap her up, deliver her to the police.

For some reason, it doesn’t surprise her when he doesn’t.

______________________________

He couldn’t be arsed to chase after you, if he was being honest. First of all, this was a chain, and the markups on the shit they sold was enough to make his anarchist blood boil. Combined with the fact that the cops were out to get her, (and he would rather die than be seen working in collaboration with pigs), it seemed less than important to go swinging through a city he wasn’t entirely familiar with to repossess some cliché engagement rings and some overly gaudy necklaces.

So he knew it wasn’t guilt about letting her get away that rattled around in his head a day later. That conclusion lead him to where he was now: staring down at his boots as they moved him through the night, barely cognizant of what was going on around him as he shifted through thoughts that seemed to pop up faster than he could shoo them away, akin to pop-ups on a shady website.

His tongue ran back and forth over the metal of his lip ring, feeling the shift of piercing to flesh with each passing movement. A stem he often found himself utilizing when he was overwhelmed with his own mind.

He’s only pulled from his thoughts when a familiar sound erupts through the silent air from across the park he’s meandering through. His head snaps in the direction of the noise, pierced brows furrowing slightly. The rumble of a bass guitar, clearly played by someone with experienced fingers, because the tune sounded incredible.

Through the light foliage, definitely planted by a city council in order to make the area look more ‘organic’, he was just capable of making out a feminine frame propped on the black plastic playground border. He couldn’t say he recognized the song, but it definitely had an edge to it. A bite. He liked it.

She didn’t seem to notice him as he made his way over, eyes locked on the way her fingers caressed four thick strings, and the way they reverberated as she pulled away from each one, the timbre of each note filling the air.

“A little late to be putting on a show, innit?”

He can’t choke back the laugh that climbs from his chest when her head swings up to make eye contact with him, her fingers stuttering on strings that release a roar upon her mis-strum. He makes note of the way her eyes widen, akin to a deer stuck in the headlights of a car. Clearly she wasn’t used to people stumbling upon her little solo jams.

“Not much of a show.”

The woman in front of him mumbles, her eyes downcast once again in embarrassment, though he was just capable of making out the dusting of blush that adorned the apples of her cheeks. He settled himself on the plastic divider next to her, brushing off a piece of mulch that threatened to fall to the grass outside of its designated area.

“Not sure about that, princess. Can’t say I wasn’t enjoying it.”

He watches her blink a few times, face twisting in confusion a little as she glances up at him. He takes the chance to let his eyes wander the details of her complexion: the little laugh lines on the corners of her lips and nose, the way her eyes shimmer in the dim light of the lamp post, the gloss applied to her lips.

“Princess?”

She asks, and he realizes that she thinks he’s some prat trying to harass her in the middle of the night. He gives an apologetic smile, his lip ring reflecting the lighting and enunciating the gesture.

“Seems like I’m about to make a total cock-up of this whole situation.”

He laughs, rubbing the back of his hand against his forehead, warm flesh brushing cold metal bumps of thick metal captive beads.

“Promise I’m not tryna chat you up. It’s just a ‘abit.”

He watches her frame deflate from the bristled posture it held moments prior, and he relaxes slightly as well, leaning back as palms dig into rough wood shavings. His eyes wander her before he gets to her shirt and the back of his large, ringed hand hits her shoulder.

“You like R&B?”

He asks, fingers gripping on the hem of the black material and pulling it slightly to flatten the material so he can get a better look at it. Her lips twitch in discomfort for a moment, an action he doesn’t miss, and he pulls his hands away, not embarrassed but feeling a little bad for what definitely seemed like harassing this girl now.

“Erykah Badu is the background track to just about every trip I’ve been on.”

She says softly after an extended silence, and the little grin that climbs the corner of her lips is not lost on him. Maybe she wasn’t completely under the impression he’d lost the plot. He pulls his phone from his pocket, glancing at the time.

Then he glances at it again, eyes widening. How had he managed to fuck around until two in the morning? If people weren’t pissed because they were looking for him, they’d be pissed the next morning when he couldn’t drag his arse out of bed.

He was honestly a little disheartened by the fact that he’d managed to absolutely flounder the entire conversation, just to pick himself up right as he had to leave.

“Really should get going. I’m absolutely gutted I couldn’t ‘ear you play more of that bass.”

He says with a grin, long legs pulling to a stand as he tried to remember what direction he’d come from and how to get back. His spidey-senses tingle right before his hand wraps around his wrist, and he yanks it away at the last second out of instinct. She seems dissuaded by the rejection, and he does his best to soothe the burn with a grin.

“Sorry, doll. Just not used to being touched.”

He apologizes, raising horizontally pierced brows as an invitation for her to speak her mind. It’s the least he could do for harassing her and then fucking off right as they started to actually have a conversation.

“Do you think I could have your number?”

He’s no stranger to being hit on. He’s no stranger to being the one to hit on others, either. And he can’t deny that she’s a very beautiful woman. Still, he knows better. This isn’t his universe, and he’s not here to make friends, and especially not here to shag around whatever version of New York this was.

“I’m flattered, really. Can’t say I think that’s the brightest idea though. I could be mad, y’know?”

The woman’s shoulders drop slightly at being pied off, and he reaches out to set a hand on the pewter gray of the shoulder of her shirt.

“Don’t take it personal though, princess. I’ve just got a lot on my shoulders at the moment.”

He reassures, letting his hand drop back down to his side and turning on his heel before he stared at her too long and changed his mind. The last thing he needed to do was find himself attached to a civilian, especially one that he’d have to dimension hop for. The cons far outweighed the pros.

Hobie Brown was a rebel, but he wasn’t daft.

[oswlld]

Eight (8) Shows to Get to Know Me

tagged by @talays-portkey ♥ ty for tagging me and having me walk down memory lane for the past few days (spent too much time in all the tags microdosing on my upbringing)

DISCLAIMER: i wanted to showcase defining eras in my life/made an impact in a substantial way; i’m also recommending an ep to watch with each one, which isn’t part of the tag format but imma do it

--

i. LOST (2004-2010)

this was my whole world for my entire hs existence and into my early college years. half of the shows listed here stems from my first love of the ensemble cast, their interwoven yet clandestine storylines, and the mystery box. at my first sdcc, half of the cast was present when they debuted p1 of the series finale (you’d think i was dead the whole time fksfsk;lv)

the jessi special: The Constant (04x05)

ii. Fringe (2008-2013)

yes, i faithfully followed jj abrams into another insane show. i think it actually altered my brain chemistry, rewired something in me, devoured a piece of me. once LOST was over and Fringe brought in the alternate universe, i dove in head first and never resurfaced

the jessi special: Making Angels (04x11)

iii. Doctor Who (2005-Present)

i think it was technically winter 2010 when i started binging this show because s6 was my first time catching it live (was young and naïve, i caught it on bbca lol) ive been on hellsite for almost two years at the time and fully became a fandom blog, so it was inevitable i would love this series. i think it was the first show i made gifs/edits for???

the jessi special: The Doctor’s Wife (06x04)

iv. Lizzie Bennet Diaries (2012-2013)

oh look, my dna makeup shifts again. i actually started watching this show the week leading up to Darcy Day and can still vividly remember the migraines from binging 8-10min eps times 60ish worth of content. this show got me into writing my first fic, running an rp blog, creating instrumental playlists, making a DWxLBD blog, AND eventually flying my ass back to CA to meet the cast and beloved mutuals at VidCon

the jessi special: A New Buddy (ep56)

v. Orphan Black (2013-2017)

happy international women’s day to this show and this show only! i think of all the shows listed here, this is the first time since LOST i caught all the eps in real time from the very beginning. this was filling the hole Fringe was about to carve deep in me. but if you cut me open, you will find the beth-shaped hole that nothing/no one has been able to fill and likely will never fill til the end of time

the jessi special: The Collapse of Nature (04x01)

vi. Shadowhunters (2016-2019)

im willing to admit that the reason i got into this show was because of the wedding kiss haha i saw the clip, signed the adoption papers on the spot, and went on to write a 100K+ wip series. admittedly, i confess that this was a DNF and never finished the last season... i abandoned my boy.gif

the jessi special: Of Men and Angels (01x06)

vii. Sense8 (2015-2018)

a show about eight children than i gave birth to, that i raised on my own, that i will defend on my death bed and beyond??? that show sense8?? yes that show sense8. fun fact, when they did the screening of the finale in Chicago, the cast ended up sitting three rows behind me in the theater and i could hear them talking in between scenes the entire evening. wish i could bottle that feeling up

the jessi special: I Have No Room in My Heart for Hate (02x07)

viii. Bad Buddy (2021-2022)

and we finally made it to the current decade! its nov 2021, im fresh off leaving my previous job and still getting situated in my new position, yet this show was a siren calling to me in the dark mist of my life. i ended up saving the binge watching for the week of my bday and my whole life shifted again. it must have been so alarming on the outside, seeing me go from making 1-2 edits a month to 1-2 edits a day for almost THREE MONTHS. the fact that i still cont to avg two edits/week since then... oy lol

the jessi special: Ep10 (shocked pikachu.jpg)

and ill also throw some honorable mentions too: Chuck, The Good Place, Vice Versa, Twenty Five Twenty One, Once Upon a Time, and Elementary

--

now tagging @pranink, @icouldhyperfixatehim, @noxclara, @curious-earth (no pressure tho!)

[honestlywrites]

Anemone | Viktor x Magic! Reader (Part One)

Lumen AU credited to my wife: @meliapis

Summary: You are a magic user that grew up in the depths of Zaun, escaping through the only way you know how--the University. There, you hone your skills as a botanist and do your best to ignore the fear of finding your soulmate and that one day, your power will grow overwhelming and hurt not only you, but them. 

T/W: Descriptions of death, nightmares, and paranoia.

A/N: Hi all! Thank you for being here--this is the first time I’ve written in a while so please be kind but special shout out to my Tumblr wife who inspired me to write for the first time in years and is ever the source of my inspiration. Please enjoy!

Part Two / Part Three / Masterlist

Anemone; a genus of the flowering plants in the buttercup family Ranunculaceae. Plants of the genus are commonly referred to as wildflowers. Meaning forsaken, sickness, anticipation, and undying love. 

You see visions of blue, swirls of light emanating out from the darkness, sweetly calling to you like a siren. The anxiety ebbs at the edge of your visions when all of a sudden, a loud ringing grows even louder in the back of your mind, a gentle nudge startling you out of sleep. You had fallen asleep at your desk, again. Your eyes adjust to the bright sunlight and you slap your hand down on the alarm clock nearby when a brilliant golden ball comes into focus, floating two feet away–staring at you as if a ball of light could have eyes. 

“I know, I know,” you mutter, reaching out and gently cupping it in your palm, bringing it over to the crook of your neck. “It won’t happen again.” 

You feel another loving bash against the side of your neck and let out a small laugh. 

“Okay, I’ll try not to let it happen again, but no promises,” you state and stand from your desk, stretching out your sore neck. You hear a few pops and groan at the sharp stabbing pain. The copper ball drifts over your shoulder to the back of your neck and rubs gently against you, warmth building against your skin. You let out a soft sigh as your muscles relax ever so slightly. 

“--hurt your back,” you catch the tail end of his voice as the lumen settles in the hollow of your collar bone. Hearing the accented lilt come through, you smile and cup it in your hands, holding it close to your face. It shines brighter, like the most beautiful piece of polished metal, and fear creeps into your chest as you place a kiss on top and whisper to it. 

“Don’t worry, I’ll be fine,” you place it back in its home on your left shoulder and begin to prepare for the day, walking through your bedroom to the kitchen. Your apartment looks like a forest, plants growing all around you from pots on the ground and hanging from above. It fills every inch and crevice with life, creating a chaotic mess of foliage all around you. 

Finding a spare clean cup, you warm up some coffee at the stove and grab the watering can, beginning the long and arduous morning routine of watering your plants. As tedious as it proved to be, you relished in the simple activity like a reminder to yourself that you could do more harm than good. 

Memories of the dream creep back into your mind. Ever since the use and production of Hextech had been kicked into high gear, the anxiety and fear began to weigh on your shoulders again. The haunting dreams of magic were coming back and you were paranoid at every corner that someone would come out and claim that you could use magic as some miracle of Piltover. But, that wasn’t it at all. You could barely use it, if anything it used you. After all these years, you had some sort of grasp over it–like a transference of energy but you still didn’t understand why only you had it and constantly sought out answers. One of the reasons you chose biology, actually, and yet to no avail. 

You just remember the fear. The fear of your mother, and the fear in that man’s eyes when he tried to break into your small hovel in Zaun. He came in with a mask on and yelled at you to shove everything of importance into the bag, so you did. It was just when your hand touched his skin, he crumpled into ash as if you sucked the life out of him. The room glowed bright blue and the only thing you felt was energy, but the horror that filled your body outweighed any positive that you could have gained. Lines of blue potential thrummed through your veins as you stared in horror, crumpling into a ball on the floor. And when your mom came home, you were so scared it would happen to her too, that you would suck the life out of her like some monster, but she grasped you in her arms and whispered in your ear. That was the first and last time you took a life. 

A weight fills your hand as you feel a pressure lifting up the front of the watering can, a bright light flickering as you laugh and pull it back. The poor plant in front of you had been drowning and the sweet little ball of light had stopped you from causing terror any longer. 

“Sorry about that,” you remark and smile, watching it shimmer with light. It was getting so bright, and had been since the second you stepped onto the University campus. You knew he was here somewhere, and fear had stopped you from pursuing him any further. There was no question that you loved the person on the other side of that lumen, but it was a firm boundary you had placed in front of your heart. If you met your fated soul, you would serve as nothing but a danger to them and yourself. Sure, you could heal a cut by absorbing energy from a plant or a rat, but the man’s face remained in your mind and you couldn’t bear it being the face of your lover. 

The shrill screech of the kettle shakes you out of your stupor once again and you brew some coffee, pouring it into your mug before leaving to change and get ready for the day. A pile of dirty clothing stacked high in the corner stared back at you and you sighed, pulling on the only clean clothing you owned and throwing a lab coat on top of it. 

“What do you think?” you ask the ball of light that swiftly swirls around your body as you stare into the mirror. “I’ll take that as good.”

Grabbing your bag and slinging it over your shoulder, your lumen floats back to its crevice by your collar bone as you grab your newly cooled coffee and head out the door for another day of staring at leaves through microscopes. It was more exciting than it sounded, or at least that’s what you told yourself. 

-

The greenhouse beside your lab warms the interior as you gaze down into the microscope beneath you, observing the cell walls of this conifer tree that grew in a different region than in Piltover. You can see the way that the plant’s cells grew closer together rather than spaced loosely apart and hypothesize that it was because of the climate. Turning to the side, you make a note to ask for more samples. 

Taking a moment, you lean back and stretch your spine from the hunched over position where you loomed over the microscopes. You should invest in a stool rather than the chair, but there’s never any room in the budget to buy a stool because you’d much rather buy more plants or get a new small greenhouse to test different soil samples or even get an invasive species to see how they would react with the native plants of Piltover to ensure that you could identify them when the time came. 

You look down at the little ball hanging out on your shoulder, turning a bit dark golden at the edges out of irritation.

“What’s wrong, hm?” you ask and cup him in your hand, bringing him up to your face. He gently rubs against your cheek and it feels like a caress as you smile and place a kiss atop the ball before placing him back down by your shoulder, the color brightening. And for a second, you think it is because he’s pleased with you, but the radiance only grows, as does the fear building in your chest.  

Your mind is swirling deep in thought when a knock rings out from the wooden doors, startling you and making you jump slightly.

“Who is it?” you ask, looking down at the frumpy clothing you threw on this morning. You don’t remember any scheduled guests and you can only stare at the bright little lumen on your shoulder. 

“It’s Viktor, I’m with Hextech. Jayce and I wanted to borrow some plants to experiment with,” your heart skips a beat when you hear the familiar accented voice and you feel your throat begin to close out of panic. You remember this meeting, yes, you had tabled it somewhere and wrote it down on a piece of paper when Jayce initially approached you about it but all you could think about was the person on the other side of that door. 

“Come in!” you squeak out and watch the door swing open to reveal a man. You never once were able to conjure the perfect picture of what your fated partner would look like, perhaps out of fear or simply because you knew they would always be perfect in your eyes, but this felt different. He was lithe and tall, and when you look up to his eyes–you know for a fact that you’re a goner. The golden of your–his lumen stares back at you. 

The bright blue lumen at the base of his neck almost tries to burrow deeper into his vest and you know that the fear is eating away at you. You shine so brightly and you can see from the corner of your eye that his is too. 

“Are you?” he asks and you slowly nod, your chest tightening as you struggle to breathe. Your lumen burrows even deeper behind his layers of clothing and you shake your head, grabbing his lumen that threatens to fly towards yours. 

“I’m sorry, I can’t–” you mutter and turn, running into the greenhouses that appear to be endless with rows and rows of perfectly grown foliage. You slam back into the wall and slide down, sitting in the dirt as warm tears roll down your cheeks. You try to hold Viktor’s lumen close, to comfort yourself but he flies away from you hovering a few feet away. He’s hurt, you can tell, his usual bright luminous gold dulled down to a dark yellowish-brown. 

“I’m sorry,” you whisper and close your eyes, wrapping your arms tightly around yourself as you shake with sobs. For a moment, it feels like the world crumbles around you. Your chest heaves as you struggle to breathe through the panic and pain. Visions of that man’s face, the nameless man that haunts your dreams every night, appear in your mind as your throat tightens, choking on the thick tears. He’s dead. He’s dead because of you, and if Viktor stays with you, it will happen to him too. No one ever stayed. 

You can hear the swift sound of his lumen flying through the air away from you, making your chest physically hurt. It’s painful like your heart is breaking, that his lumen doesn’t even want to be with you anymore, but you hear a gentle crunching of a crutch in the soil and look up to see him walking toward you.

His lumen flies through the air toward yours and stops right in front of yours as Viktor hesitantly approaches you. The two of you are silent for a moment before he speaks.

“You know, it’s hard to chase after you in the dirt with a crutch,” he mutters and cracks a smile as you peek through your arms up at him. Nervously, you let out a laugh and rub furiously at your face, drying your face to try and look presentable. 

“I’m sorry,” you mumble, watching as he places his crutch down on the ground, leaning over to sit next to you in the dirt. His lumen floats close to the two of you, just hovering carefully as yours peers out from Viktor’s vest wearily. 

“Don’t be sorry, you didn’t do anything,” he states and looks out at the greenery surrounding the two of you. You’re quiet for a moment as the two of you sit, looking out at the greenhouse, the light of the sun peering in and warming the air around you. 

“You did all this?” he asks and looks back at you, startling you slightly. It takes a moment for the question to sink in, but you quickly nod and look out at the plants, suddenly conscious of the fact that he’s staring at your life’s work. It’s everything you’ve made and put together and the strings of thought quickly begin to merge back together. 

“Yes, I grew all of it,” you begin to explain and feel him staring at you, your cheeks flushing with warmth. “I didn’t put it all together by myself, of course, but I planted all of them and cataloged all of them. Some of them are new, actually, thanks to you–”

“It’s beautiful, I’ve never seen so many plants,” he comments and you smile, reaching out to gently rub at a leaf. “And the air is so fresh in here, even fresher than outside with all of the filters and such.”

“Yes, well, it’s the oxygen from the plants. It’s so pure. It’s how I kept my home in the Undercity pretty regulated. I’d like to think my mom’s life was prolonged because of me,” your smile drops a little at the mention of your mom and you think back to her passing when you were away at University and got the letter. You rushed off in the middle of the night to go help her and she refused your aid, stating that it was her time to go. 

“I’m sorry for your loss,” you look back at him, your eyes tracing the curve of his face and the way his hair falls in gentle curls. He is so beautiful, his eyes shining bright like polished metal. You didn’t want to mess it up, mess him up. He was perfect and you would only tarnish the bright gold that he was. 

“It was a while ago,” you mumble and stare down at your hands.

“Why did you run away from me?” he asks and you swallow nervously, it getting caught in your throat like a knot. “I promise, I’m not frightening, I can barely throw a punch.”

Another laugh bubbles up and you shake your head. 

“I was–am scared. I don’t want to hurt you. I’ve never been good at relationships,” you explain and look over, hoping that he understands. Your dreams from last night creep back up into your head as you try to stomp them down. You want this to work out, you need it to. 

He turns back to look at the plants once again and you notice the mole that adorns his skin, just above his lip.

“I don’t think you will hurt me,” he speaks and reaches his hand up to gesture to the plants. “You made all this, and it’s beautiful and alive.  I don’t think you could do anything to hurt me.”

You follow his hand out to stare at the forest of foliage you had grown, each individually and carefully planted with love and for a second, you believe him. This was your garden, your kingdom of greenery in which you ruled. And he sees that, he sees you, just as fractured and imperfect as the details of the leaves you grow. A twinkle of light catches in the corner of your eye as a bright beam of light shines the second your lumen finally takes a chance to venture out of his vest. It brushes his and the light blinds you again, finally solidifying your connection. Your heart warms in your chest as you suspend your beliefs. Choosing, if even for a moment, to enjoy this attachment. 

Your head drifts to his shoulder as you begin to tell him about the plants, mind drifting to the task he had approached you with. You think about giving him a monstera to work with as it’s a relatively easy plant to take care of and are tolerant of irregular watering, not needing constant sunlight. He listens and hums in agreement as you suddenly realize you’ve been holding him from getting back to his lab.

“I’m so sorry,” you jump up and nervously look down at him. “You’re probably busy, I can grab you a plant, I just have to pot it–”

You look around for a spare set of gloves and a shovel, you know you have some somewhere. They always went missing, this place was a labyrinth.  

“Don’t worry about it, Jayce probably thinks I need a break anyways,” he states and grabs his crutch, pushing himself off the ground with it. You look up when he stands, seeing how tall he is in comparison to you. “Have you eaten yet?”

“Today? No,” you check your watch and realize it is already midafternoon as the hunger pangs settle in your stomach. 

“I meant lunch, but now we have to go,” he states as the two of you begin to walk down the pathway, 

“You don’t have to, I feel bad–”

“Do not worry, Hextech has proven quite profitable,” he smiles and you roll your eyes, shaking your head. 

“I think I remember reading somewhere that you weren’t in it for the money,” you state and hold open the glass door for him, rubbing the bottom of your feet on the mat to remove any dirt. 

“It’s a perk,” he shrugs as he suddenly turns to cough, one turning into two and then a string violently shaking his chest. You place your hand on his shoulder, feeling the familiar push through your veins as energy transfers from you to him. His coughs slow and you sigh, thankful for the coffee that morning as fatigue begins to hit you. 

“Are you okay?” you mumble and muster up a smile, even though you feel your body weigh heavily with exhaustion.

“I’m fine,” you scan over his face, and the hallows of his face seem to deepen a bit with solemnity. “Just a cough.”

You nod and feel the anxiety creep back, rubbing your hands together nervously. 

“Why don’t you pick the place?” he proposes as you grab your bag, slinging it over your shoulder. 

“There’s a cafe a block away that serves princess cakes,” you state, trying to lighten the mood.

“I don’t think I’ve ever had a princess cake,” he tells you as you gasp dramatically, quickly explaining to him the wonders of a princess cake. There is an atmosphere lingering in the air, the fact that the conversation from before isn’t over, but it’s only midafternoon and you had time to leave for later. For now, you could just let it take root.

Part Two

[lovely-angst]

the first time they meet you

a/n: im trying things out with doing three quick fics with one prompt. lmk how you like it.

genre: fluff

pairing: bakugou x reader, hawks x reader, dabi x reader

summary: the first time he sees/meets you

word count: 1.6k

08.04.21

bakugou - coffee shop

it was a long, long day of patrol for bakugou.

he had so much on his plate that day from staying late the night before to finish some reports and then having to wake up early for his daily patrol—not to mention all of the inconveniences of catching and apprehending some wannabe villains.

thankfully, he was able to get off work by the time the had begun to set. golden hues decorating the evening sky as bakugou walked back towards his apartment.

his feet were sore and ached from being on his toes all day. all bakugou wanted to do was to relax in the comfort and silence of his home.

taking a seat on a short concrete block wall, bakugou pulls the mask up over his eyes to push his bangs back, allowing the subtle breeze to cool him down as he took a small breather from his exhaustion.

he didn't have the energy to do anything.

"dynamight?" a small voice calls out before bakugou turns his head in their direction. you stood a few feet away from him timidly, but a smile on your face as you gently approached the unapproachable male.

"sorry, i'm not doing any autographs or pictures right now," he mumbled out exhaustedly, but to his surprise, you shook your head. "no, i'm not here for that," you say before taking a step back to gesture towards the cafe behind you, "i was wondering if you would like to come in and i can quickly get you something to eat and drink?"

bakugou glanced over at the empty cafe before glancing back at you and back at the cafe.

"it was a shock to see you outside the cafe and you look really exhausted. it's the least i can do for you," you continue, "you don't have to worry about fans, i'm about to close the cafe right now, so no one should be coming,"

bakugou knew that he shouldn't, but he couldn't help himself when his feet ached with every step and the tiredness was beginning to consume his body.

"fine, just this once," he answered, pushing himself up and off the concrete before following you, who beamed with happiness.

as you walked in, you held the door open for the pro hero before you stepped back out to grab the menu board before flipping the sign from 'open' to 'close', letting the door shut behind you.

"would you like some coffee? or do you prefer tea?" you question as you walk behind the counter, preparing a few things for him. bakugou sat down at one of the empty tables, glancing around at the peaceful and aesthetic atmosphere.

"tea," he states, "i'm not a big coffee person," you hum in response, "i'll get you one of our refreshing tea drinks then. i think you'll like it."

it wasn't long before you came back out with a thirst-quenching drink and a nice hearty little sandwich with it.

"i added a sandwich for you filled with healthy and light ingredients so it'll give you the energy to finish your day. i hope the drink is to your liking as well," you explain, listing out the different ingredients, "i'll be here cleaning up while you finish. take your time."

bakugou was very thankful for the sandwich if he was honest—he was starving, having skipped his lunch earlier. taking a bite of the sandwich, he noted the different textures and flavors that mixed well together. ontop of that, the drink was great by itself and even better with the sandwich.

his eyes drifted off towards you, who bobbed your head gently to the quiet background music of the cafe, moving in every which way to finish closing up your shop.

after quickly finishing off his small meal, he brought the dishes back to you and you happily accepted them, declining to accept any payment, "it's on me! you enjoying the meal is more than enough!"

"also, why not try stopping by during one of your early shifts for some coffee? relax and refuel before your long day as a hero?," you suggest with those bright eyes of yours.

bakugou couldn't help the slight lift of the corner of his lips, "i might just have to."

-

hawks - after a mission

hawks had just gotten done with a rather stressful rescue due to the many kids on the site he had to protect. thankfully he had all of his feathers and was able to use them to protect the kids while his sidekicks were busy securing the villain.

"are you kids okay?" hawks questioned as he was able to usher them into a safe corner away from the action. "i'm okay mr.hawks!"

hawks let out a small smile before patting the young child on the head. "where is miss (name)?"

hawks opened his mouth just as a soothing yet worried voice cut through the sirens and the commotion. turning around, hawks laid his eyes on you and his heart skipped a beat.

stepping aside from the kids, you ran over towards the children before kneeling down on their level to give them all hugs, checking them over for any injuries, "oh, i'm so glad you are all safe! i was so worried! are you okay? are you hurt anywhere?"

one of the little girls shook their head before pointing up at hawks, "i'm okay! mr.hawks saved us!"

turning around, you quickly stood up before giving him a very polite bow, "thank you so much, hawks! i am forever grateful!"

"no need to be so formal! i'm just doing my job," he responds with a smile, only for panic to set in when he sees the blood streaming down from your head. "miss! your head is bleeding, we need to get you checked out!"

"oh, i think this is from when I blocked the kids earlier from falling debris. i feel fine," you respond, which makes hawks worry even more.

hawks quickly calls for his sidekicks to stay with the children while he goes to get you checked up on. thankfully, there was a medical team nearby and hawks waited with you as they patched you up.

"again, thank you so much for saving my kids back there. I don't know what i would do if they had gotten hurt. you're an amazing hero." you compliment, sitting on the back of an ambulance as the medic carefully wraps your head to stop the bleeding.

"i could say the same about you," hawks starts, "you didn't hesitate to risk your life for those kids—you're the real hero. "

a shy smile forms on your lips as you look away from the very handsome man in front of you, "well, i love my kids. i'd do anything for them."

hawks couldn't help but admire you.

"i'm (name) by the way," you say, holding a hand out towards the hero. hawks smiles at you, reaching over to give your hand a firm shake.

"hawks. nice to meet you, (name)."

dabi - flower shop

dabi usually hated the rain, but today, he was thankful for it.

he had just escaped from some pro heroes and hid in a small alleyway in a quiet part of town away from any heroes. the cool droplets of water felt refreshing on his burning skin after overusing his quirk. though, he wasn't sure the injuries he sustained would heal quickly with the rain.

hearing a small bell ring, dabi quickly pressed himself up against the wall as he listened for any movement.

"ah it's raining!" a voice called out before their alarmed footsteps ran about, causing the puddles to splash every which way. suddenly, a pail of flowers fell into his view before you quickly bent down to pick them back up.

sensing someone staring, you turned and your eyes were met with his bright blue ones, causing you to squeak and fall back, "y-you scared me!" you cried before picking yourself back up and frowning at your dirtied outfit.

"hey, are you okay?" you asked as you carefully walked toward him. "you're bleeding! let me go get a medical kit," you explained before running around the corner to your flower shop.

but dabi knew better.

you were going to call the heroes on him, you only used that as an excuse to get away. standing up with all of the power he could muster, dabi limped his way down the street as far as he could—away from you.

"hey! where are you going!" you cried as dabi heard more splashes behind him, your small pitter-patters against the puddles.

turning around, dabi's eyes widened as he watched you chase after him in the rain, your hair getting wet with the rain and sticking to your face as you caught up with the male.

"let's hide from the rain over here," you say as you gently help dabi away from the rain before settling him down on a bench. "don't you know who i am?" dabi asked frustratedly, but you just continued to clean and dress his wounds. "sorry, i don't, but i can care less about that right now," you respond to dabi's surprise.

dabi watched as you carefully cleaned him up, watching the raindrops slide down your soft skin.

"that should do it," you say, standing back with a smile. dabi follows your movements, "thanks doll, but i gotta run," he responds, throwing his hood over his head.

"oh, well, stay safe then," you respond as the two of you enter back into the rain. he gives you a playful smile before vanishing from your view.

walking back to your flower shop to finish bringing your flowers back, you thought that would be the last of him. but to your surprise a few days later, tied onto the handle of your shop was a blue rose with a note attached,

'thanks for the other day, doll.

- dabi'

[the-wild-wolves-around-you]

hear those bells ring: chapter 2 (a deaf!bakugo x reader fic)

Summary: Reader has to deal with the aftermath of Dynamight exploding through her window and trying to bleed out on her floor. 

Pairings: Katsuki Bakugo x Reader; Katsuki Bakugo x You

Rating: M(ature)

Warnings: Blood, descriptions of gore, and adult language. 

A/N: Here’s chapter two, hope you enjoy! ~*~*~ No spoilers or anything. This is just a self-indulgent AU fic with aged up characters. Everyone’s in their mid-20s. Fic title is from a song called “Achilles Come Down.”

AO3 Link: Here 

Ch 1 Tumblr Link: Here 

Chaos. You intellectually knew the word, in several languages in fact, but nothing could have ever prepared you for the reality of it. 

Information assaulted your senses in a deluge. The gust of cold air whistling through the broken window, raking icy fingers down your exposed arms. The bright flare of flames, even behind your clenched eyelids. The dissonant, haunting wails of several car alarms, each one just a second out of sync with the next, barely audible over the loud ringing in your ears. The taste of ash, gritty on your tongue as you sucked in heaving, panting breaths. The sharp smell of smoke and something… sweeter. Like caramelizing sugar. 

The sweet scent, incongruous with every other heinous detail, seemed to snap you fully back into your body, and your eyes flew open with a gasp. 

You were curled up in a tight ball below your now broken window, and you gaped at your ruined apartment. The lights were out, so the only illumination you had to see by were the flames behind you on the street, but it was enough. 

It looked like a tornado had torn through your home. The remnants of your window and wall—broken bits of glass, wood, and plaster—covered everything in sight in a fine layer of white dust. Your sewing desk/kitchen table was in splinters, and even with the dancing shadows, you had the distant thought that the dress you’d just finished mending was most definitely ruined. 

Then someone shouted outside on the street, and you felt it like a sledgehammer to the skull. 

Oh, god. The villain. The heroes. 

You scrambled up onto your knees, hissing when shards of glass tore through your sweatpants and bit into your skin. You’d worry about that later. For now, you focused on getting to your feet… 

And not falling out of the gaping hole in your apartment wall. 

You stumbled back a few steps from the edge, stabilizing yourself on one of your kitchen chairs that seemed to have survived the blast. The smoke was thicker now that you were off the floor, and you coughed and squinted against the hot, irritating air. 

The street in front of you was a warzone. 

The windows in the building across from you were all blown out, the empty frames like black gaping voids. The building housed a café/tea shop owned by Mr. and Mrs. Yamato, and you felt a small modicum of relief at the knowledge that they didn’t live above the shop like you did with yours. They lived in a neighborhood not too far away, and they wouldn’t be happy when they came to open in the morning, but at least they were safe. 

Safe… 

“Mr. Takeyoshi!” you gasped as you remembered your neighbor. He’d been standing on the street and nearly attacked by the villain, but a blond hero had pushed the middle-aged man out of the way. 

Your eyes scoured the street as you leaned forward as much as you dared, and just as your heart was beginning to clench, you spotted him. Mr. Takeyoshi was sitting on the curb across the street and about four storefronts down, hunched over with his head in his hands. Two heroes stood above him and seemed to be tending to him, and all three of the men looked whole for the most part. 

“God.” You exhaled shakily, your heart still stuttering in your chest, and then movement in your peripherals caught your attention. 

One hero seemed to possess a water quirk, and she was quickly working to spray down the numerous small fires still flickering up and down the road. As you watched her work, you realized the street wasn’t as badly demolished as you first assumed. It was still pretty wrecked—all of the asphalt was cracked and even just missing in some places—but aside from broken windows, the rest of the shops seemed mostly intact. The worst of the damage was centered just in front of your apartment, and as your gaze flickered over the large crater in front of you, you saw another two heroes dragging a third body out of the pit. 

The villain. 

The hero with the water quirk paused in spraying down the smoking remains of a car and turned to shout something at the other heroes. You couldn’t hear what she said over the persistent ringing in your hears, and you frowned as you focused your own quirk toward your ears. 

In your hopped-up-on-adrenaline state, you didn’t even notice the energy dip, and a moment later, your hearing returned with a loud pop. Thankfully, all of the car alarms seemed to have been cut, so you could hear the heroes pretty well.

“—still alive,” a tall hero in a red and purple suit said. You didn’t recognize him. “He’s pretty beat up, but he’ll make it.” 

“Great,” the water quirk hero sighed. “Let him be the cops’ problem now.” 

As if on cue, you could hear a siren start up in the distant, slowly moving closer. 

The threat was over. The villain was neutralized, the fires put out, and the authorities were on the way. 

So… why did you feel so on edge, like you were waiting for the other shoe to drop? 

“—fuckin’ Dynamight,” one of the heroes suddenly spat and drew you out of your thoughts. 

You frowned in confusion as the words registered. Dynamight… why did that sound familiar? 

Then your eyes widened as you remembered the blond hero, literally exploding onto the scene. His face—snarling and illuminated by the white-hot flare of his quirk—flashed in your mind’s eye, and you dropped your gaze back down to the street below. 

Dynamight, Japan’s Number Two Hero. You couldn’t believe he had been the one to turn up and save you. 

Well, not you specifically. Your neighborhood. 

You’d seen the ash-blond on television before. Usually, the media just liked to harp on his crude language or brash attitude, but you’d seen this one story of how he had saved every single person from a collapsed building. A teary blonde gushing about Dynamight rescuing her had gone briefly viral, but the clip that stuck with you was when a reporter asked the pro hero why he decided to go into the unstable building without any reinforcements. 

The blond had scowled into the camera, sweat and dirt still streaked across his pale face, his scarlet eyes flashing from beneath his black mask. 

“What was I supposed to do?” he scoffed. “Leave them in there and sit with my thumbs up my ass while the fire department takes their sweet fuckin’ time? Don’t ask me stupid questions.” 

Of course, the media had another field day with that response, but… something about it struck you as incredibly genuine. Yeah, the pro hero could have phrased it better, but the core of what he was saying was he couldn’t sit back when people were in trouble, no matter the risks. 

You had thought that very brave. 

And now you’d witnessed his bravery first hand. You weren’t confident—or really self-centered enough—to go down and thank him for what he’d done, but you thought you would just be satisfied with seeing him from afar now that things weren’t so dire. 

But, the longer you looked, the more the pit grew in your stomach. 

You couldn’t see the blond hero anywhere. He wasn’t with Mr. Takeyoshi, still hunched over on the curb. He wasn’t with the two heroes who were trying to establish a perimeter and keep out the arriving crowd of spectators. And he wasn’t with the other heroes standing watch over the unconscious villain laid out on the sidewalk. 

The rest of the heroes seemed to be arriving at the same conclusions as you. You could hear Dynamight’s name being thrown about, and then the heroes were splitting up, taking different sides of the street, peeking into broken windows. 

You wrung your hands as you watched them search from your apartment. No one had noticed you standing there yet, and you were just contemplating going downstairs to try and help in some way when a noise caught your attention. 

In the grand scheme of things, the noise wasn’t very loud, especially given the shouting on the street and the loud sirens now that the police were arriving on scene. 

But since you lived alone, someone coughing in your apartment, someone who wasn’t you, was cause for a little alarm. 

You inhaled sharply as you glanced back over your shoulder, every atom of your being standing at attention. The apartment behind you was a study in contrasts, dark shadows and the flashing lights of the emergency vehicles outside. Your eyes fell on the empty spot where your couch used to be located, and then your gaze followed the drag marks that had been carved into your wood floor. 

The couch was half embedded in the wall beside your front door, with one of the armrests denting into the plaster and the other pointing toward your gaping window/wall. The sofa’s legs had been broken, so it slumped to the floor at an angle, and some kind of stuffing spilled out of several rips in the cushions. 

But your eyes were glued to the leg sticking out over the armrest and the arm thrown over the back of the couch, which was blocking the rest of the… person from view. 

Oh, fuck. That was a person. 

Your legs reacted before your brain could even process what you should do, but you were at least cognizant enough to pick your way over the worst of the debris. Your thin, rubber-soled slippers would protect you from the small pieces of glass and rubble, but you really didn’t want to step on a nail if you could help it. 

Since your apartment was so small, and there weren’t any full pieces of furniture in the way anymore, you crossed the distance in a handful of strides, but you jerked to a stop when you reached the back of the couch. 

Your lungs seized up so suddenly they hurt. The smell of caramelized sugar was stronger now, almost overwhelming, and you actually had to grip the back of the sofa for support, your hand right next to Dynamight’s leg. 

Because it was Dynamight half-strewn across your broken couch. Even when you first saw the leg, you hadn’t imagined it could be… 

But there he was. And he looked surprisingly… human. 

His face was lax with unconsciousness, lacking the perpetual scowl or snarl he wore in pictures or on TV. His hair, which looked paler and somehow softer in person, was tinged red along his brow line, where a cut was still trickling sluggishly. He wore a non-descript black hoodie over dark jeans and darker combat boots, but a glint of color and light around his midsection caught your eye. 

You frowned and leaned down without thinking, your fingers reaching out to brush… something wet. 

“Oh, shit,” you breathed when you lifted your hand to your face and saw, even in the darkness, that the pads of your fingers were red and glistening. 

He was bleeding. 

You moved a step closer, but then your foot lost purchase, sliding, and when you glanced down, you saw your once white slippers were dark, more wetness seeping in around your toes. 

Oh, god. He was bleeding a lot. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” You fumbled for the phone in your pants pocket as you scurried around the opposite end of the couch and dropped to the ground. Glass bit into your knees again, this time deeper, a sharp, brilliant pain, but you ignored it as you tried to turn your phone’s flashlight on. The touch-screen wouldn’t register your finger at first, your blood-slicked skin skimming across the glass, and you could feel a scream building in your throat just before the light flashed on. 

If you thought things were bad in the dark, being able to see made it a thousand times worse. 

Blood had already pooled around Dynamight, dark and glinting like an oil spill. The sleeve on his left arm had been burned off, and the skin below was pink and raw. It smelled like cooked meat, and the curry you ate what felt like a lifetime ago churned hotly in your gut. 

But the burn wasn’t even the worst of it. 

A wooden stake, about as wide as three of your fingers, protruded out of the pro hero’s gut by several inches. You thought part of it might have looked like your window frame, but the thought came and went when you noticed the tip of the wooden splinter was dyed red, which meant it must have come through his body. 

That had to be where all this blood came from. Was still coming from. God, there was so much of it. 

Your eyes shot to the gaping hole in your wall, your voice rising in your throat as you prepared to scream for help, but a sudden gasp nearly made you jump out of your skin. 

You whipped back around to find wide, hazy red eyes trained on your face, and the hero’s mouth gaped open as he dragged in a ragged breath. 

“Wh—hnng!” he groaned as his body seized, his right hand coming up to clutch at his stomach. 

“Don’t!” Your phone clattered to the floor, throwing light, as you lunged forward, and you caught his hand before he could jar the piece of wood lodged inside him. “D-Don’t move, a-and try not to speak.” 

The hero panted as he cracked open his eyes and looked at you. Or maybe through you. His gaze wasn’t very focused, and blood from the cut on his brow was still dripping into his right eye. 

But the scarlet color of his irises was still striking, even in the dimness of your apartment. 

“You’ve… been hurt,” you said as you met his eyes as best you could. You weren’t a doctor or an EMT, but you knew the best way to keep people calm in emergency situations was to let them know what’s happened and reassure them. “There’s a piece of wood inside you, so you can’t move or you might hurt yourself worse. But y-you’ll be okay. I’ll go get—” 

“Villain,” Dynamight suddenly spat out, cutting you off and spattering you with a fine mist of blood. 

“What?” His voice was rough and guttural, so it took your brain a moment to translate the slurred Japanese. Did he think you were another villain? 

The blond hero winced and groaned again, and it wasn’t until he squeezed down on your hand that you realized you were still holding his. His palm was rough and calloused against yours—and warm, so inexplicably warm—but then he dug his nails into your skin, and you gasped. 

“Vil… lain?” he rasped again, and you realized it was a question. 

“Oh! The villain’s been arrested. You… you beat him.” 

Dynamight scowled at you, brow knitting in confusion, and he grunted what sounded like a questioning noise at you. 

Then he shifted his head, and you saw the dark stain of blood coming out of his ear. 

He must have ruptured his eardrums in the explosion. 

You didn’t want to shout and damage his hearing even more, so you squeezed his hand back and smiled in what you hoped was reassurance. 

“You won,” you mouthed as clearly as you could. “You won, Dynamight.” 

His narrowed eyes widened a little bit with recognition, and you could have sworn the beginnings of a smirk twitched across his lips before his eyes suddenly rolled up into his head. The tension fled his body as he went limp, like a marionette with its strings cut, and your heart lurched up into your throat. 

“Dynamight?” you asked, even though you knew he couldn’t hear you with his ears the way they were. “Dynamight?” 

You squeezed his fingers, shaking him a little, but his face remained slack. 

Dropping his hand, you reached up to flatten one of yours across his chest, the other going up to feel at the underside of his neck. A moment ticked by, two, but you found his pulse, weak and thready beneath your fingertips. His breathing was shallow beneath your other hand, and the knees of your pants were warm and soaked with his blood. 

“F-Fuck,” you breathed shakily as you sat back for a moment, your hands limp in your lap. 

He was dying. Dynamight… was dying. This was too much blood, and even if you called out to the heroes right now, and they got here in seconds, it was still ten minutes to the nearest hospital. 

He didn’t have ten minutes. You didn’t think he had five. 

You stared down at the pro hero’s blood-streaked face for half a beat before you made a decision. 

Then you were moving. Consequences be damned. 

Your hands went to the hem of his hoodie, and you flinched as you pulled it away from his belly with a wet sound. You didn’t want to hurt him, but you also didn’t think he was feeling much of anything now, so you worked the hoodie up and over the stake as best you could before you shoved the fabric the rest of the way up his chest. 

The flashing lights from outside played across the dips and valleys of Dynamight’s abs, but your eyes were immediately drawn to the wooden stake. It jutted out between the hero’s belly button and his right hip bone, and every splinter was coated in tacky, crimson blood. More of the viscous liquid bubbled up around the torn skin at the stake’s base, and it trickled across his pale, alabaster abdomen like spilled paint. 

You bit your lip as you considered your next move, but then Dynamight’s breath hitched with a wet sound, and you knew you didn’t have time for doubts. 

“Okay, steady,” you muttered to yourself as you knelt over the hero’s prone body. Your knees burned, glass digging deeper into the skin by the second, but you shoved away your own pain as you reached out and wrapped both hands around the stake. Splinters tore into your palms, and your heart hammered out a staccato rhythm beneath your sternum. 

Then panic started to creep up your spine like a million little spider legs. What if removing the stake only made him worse, killed him faster? What if you killed Japan’s Number Two Hero? 

Just as you were about to let go of the stake, Dynamight hacked out a gurgling cough, blood bubbling out of his dry, cracked lips, and you felt the warm spray of it against your collarbone and arms. 

The sound rattled something deep inside you, and before you could second guess yourself again, you tightened your grip on the stake and tugged it up and out in one single motion. 

Dynamight wheezed once more, but you were already dropping the stake, hands slapping down against his abdomen. Warm blood pulsed through your fingers like pliable clay, and bile rose in the back of your throat before you took a deep breath, closed your eyes, and called upon your quirk. 

An instant later, agony like you’ve never experienced slammed into you, ripping a gasp from your lungs. It felt like someone had stuck a white-hot poker through your gut, ignited your insides, and twisted. The pain was so intense, your ears started ringing again, and when you cracked open your eyes, your vision quickly began to tunnel until the only thing you could see was the bare outline of your hands, lined with green, against the hero’s stomach. You gritted your teeth as unconsciousness threatened to pull you under, and you groaned as you shoved as much energy as you could spare into the dying hero. 

As your quirk flooded into the blond’s body, you received vague impressions of his injuries healing. It was hard to describe, but it was kind of like you could see flashes of the tissue in your mind as it was stitched back together. First, the jagged hole on his back sealed over, and then your power wormed its way through the hero’s insides, patching up nicked arteries and punctured organs. The pain was still intense, so intense that your already limited vision was blurred by tears, but once you reached the top layers of his abs, you ripped your hands away with a gasp. 

You fell back on your ass, more glass and debris digging into your cheeks and the palms of your hands, and you sucked in ragged breaths as you tried to keep from passing out. The hero swam unsteadily before you, both from the tears in your eyes and because the entire apartment was swaying. Saliva pooled in your mouth as nausea clamped down on your stomach, but you focused on the burning in your palms to center yourself. Then you started counting deep breaths, and when you got to thirty, the darkness had receded from the corners of your vision, and the apartment more or less steadied out around you. 

You still felt like shit warmed over, like you’d been run over by a car and then dragged for several miles, but the bone-deep exhaustion could be cured with a good night’s sleep. The rest of the nicks and cuts on your body still burned like a million paper cuts, too, but your quirk was down to embers and was of no more use to you. 

But was it worth it? 

The two feet of distance between you and Dynamight felt like a canyon that stretched for miles, but somehow you found one last burst of strength to drag yourself forward a few inches. Then you held your breath and leaned over the hero’s abdomen, wiping away most of the pooling blood with the hem of his hoodie. 

There was still a significant gash carved into his skin, but when you shakily picked up your discarded phone from the floor and directed the light at him, you saw the wound was much shallower, maybe a few centimeters deep. The first few layers of skin were flayed back, but the muscles beneath were intact and healthy looking. A small trickle of blood continued to drip into the valley of the hero’s abs, but instead of a broken fire hydrant, it was just a leaky faucet. 

You dragged your tired eyes up Dynamight’s body, and you very quickly realized his breathing was deeper and not as wet sounding. Just to be doubly sure, you reached out and tentatively wrapped your fingers around his left wrist, only absently noticing that the once raw, flayed skin had been partially healed from third degree burns to first. 

You had poured more energy into him than you meant to, but it was hard to regret anything when you felt his pulse against your fingertips, strong, steady, and sure. 

“Oh, thank you,” you choked out as you closed your eyes, tears stinging in the corners. You didn’t know who you were thanking. You didn’t know if you believed in a “god” in the colloquial sense, but you felt as if the universe had given you a gift just now, and you could be nothing but grateful for it. 

You sighed as you slumped a little, and it was like weights were strapped to your eyelids as you struggled to open them and keep them open. You might have actually gone under, succumb to the exhaustion… 

If you didn’t catch sight of two crimson eyes staring back at you. 

“Fuck,” you gasped as a zap of adrenaline shocked you upright, and your phone clattered to the ground once again. 

Dynamight squinted, irises still a little glassy, but unlike last time, his gaze was very much focused on you. 

And the weight of it, the intensity, pinned you to the floor. 

“Y-You’re awake.” The words tripped off your tongue, chased out by the panic running circles in your brain. Damn it, you hadn’t even had time to come up with a plausible backstory for the pool of blood he was lying in. 

The blond hero’s eyes widened a fraction as he stared at you for an immeasurably long moment, and then you remembered with a start that he hadn’t been able to hear you before. This could work in your favor, though. You opened your mouth, ready to pantomime an elaborate story, but his voice—deep and rough, like crunching gravel or an expensive engine turning over—cut you off at the knees. 

“And you have eyes,” he said in clipped Japanese, a note of snide derision in his tone. 

You blinked in shock—at his attitude, the steadiness of his voice, and the fact he could hear you just fine all the sudden—but he just barreled onward like he had barreled through your window. 

“What happened?” he asked. No, demanded. “Who are you?” 

“I—” 

“And where’s that fuckin’ villain?” he cut you off as his split upper lip curled into a snarl, and his red eyes jumped to the gaping window over your shoulder. 

You frowned at him, pursing your lips into a thin line. “Are you going to let me answer?” 

A part of your brain was screaming at you, distantly: Are you giving Japan’s Number Two Hero attitude after he saved your life?!  You normally weren’t like this. Every inch the people pleaser, you were usually deferential to the point of your own detriment. 

But you were still so tired, every inch of you aching, blood still dripping and slick along your exposed skin, and he was the one who decided to be rude first. 

Plus, you saved his life, too, thankyouverymuch. 

Dynamight actually seemed surprised by your response because his gaze stopped its frantic search of your darkened apartment and settled on you. Those scarlet eyes raked over you quickly, a flick from head to toe, before they met your own. 

A beat of silence passed between you, and then his face pulled into a sharp frown. 

“Well?” he grunted. “Are you actually going to answer me?” 

The nerve of this man. Maybe the media had been right. 

“What happened was you decided to practically drop a bomb outside on the street, and then you crashed straight through my window and destroyed my apartment,” you said in a short, clipped tone. “But don’t worry. My couch managed to break your fall, so you’re mostly in one piece. Oh, and you beat the villain, the other heroes are outside handing him off to authorities. Satisfied with my answers?” 

You sucked in a deep breath after your little tirade, the blood roaring in your ears. Absently, you patted yourself on the back for the impromptu white lie you’d fed him. The couch did in fact break his fall… and shoved a stake through his gut, but he didn’t need to know that. Fortunately, you had dropped said impaling object behind you in your haste to keep some blood in his body, and you shifted a little now to insure it was blocked from his view. You had healed his life-threatening injury—and his hearing, apparently, though you hadn’t intended that—but he was still covered in scrapes, cuts, and minor burns along his left arm. It was a… plausible amount of wounds, so hopefully your little quirk indiscretion would go unnoticed. 

Dynamight was still staring at you in silence, and you began to fidget, on the edge of saying you were going to go flag down another hero, when he finally spoke up again. 

“No, I’m not satisfied. You didn’t answer all my damn questions. Who the hell are you?” 

A flush of heat infused your cheeks—part anger, part embarrassment for being put on the spot again and being the subject of his intense glare—and you averted your eyes as you mumbled out your name. 

“Hah?” he practically shouted as he leaned forward, bringing with him that bewildering scent of burned sugar, but he suddenly stopped with a wince that he quickly turned into a scowl. “Speak up, I hate when people mutter. Just like goddamn Deku.” 

The last sentence wasn’t directed at you, but you found his mention of Japan’s Number One Hero intriguing. 

You sighed and repeated your name for him, a little louder this time, and he grunted in what seemed like acknowledgment before he started to struggle upright again in the ruins of your couch. 

“Don’t move too fast, you’ll start bleeding again,” you chided and scooted closer to stop him from aggravating the injury on his abdomen. You’d healed the worst of it, but it was still an open wound, and he was bound to be sore as hell after smashing through a window/wall. 

“M’ fine,” he grumbled as he settled into a slightly more seated position. Then he looked down and noticed his hoodie was still partially rucked up around his arm pits, and his red eyes shot back to you. He studied you for a long moment, but his face was unreadable. “Undressing me while I was unconscious? You’re not one of those damn obsessed fangirls, are ya?” 

Your cheeks flared red-hot, but you scowled at the ash-blond hero. “N-No! I—You were bleeding, so I wanted to make sure it wasn’t too b-bad. But, uh, the gash isn’t that deep.” 

It was a little harder to make more articulate, detailed lies, especially when his blood was still drying on your hands and you could remember the exact feel of his pulse slowing beneath your fingertips. 

Dynamight narrowed his scarlet eyes at you, and you knew you weren’t being convincing. Panic started to claw up the back of your throat again. His burning gaze was charring away at your weaknesses, your resolve. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad, confessing. You’d saved his life after all. That wasn’t a bad thing. 

Then you remembered all the articles you’d looked up one anxiety-filled night, soon after moving here. All the stories about people using their quirks and causing damage. Of people with healing quirks trying to help and only doing more harm. The fines, the charges, and in rare cases, imprisonment. 

You didn’t think you’d be locked up, but you couldn’t afford any fines now, and as an immigrant, any mark on your record could get you immediately deported. 

Your mouth dried up. You couldn’t be deported, sent back to your parents as a failure again. What’s more, you had people who relied on you here, like Mrs. Kojima. You weren’t a hero, not important by any means, but… you had just found something to give your life a little purpose. A little stability. 

No, you couldn’t be discovered. You just couldn’t. 

Your newfound resolve stiffened your spine a little, but when you lifted your chin and met those piercing crimson eyes again, your courage—along with your tongue—shriveled inside you. 

Fuck, how were you going to lie your way out of this? 

Unfortunately, Dynamight didn’t give you any more time to get your story straight. 

“Your hands are all fucked up.” 

You startled at his rough voice, instinctively flipping your hands palm-side down and tucking them between your legs. Then, when your brain caught up to your body, you cursed yourself. 

Could you be any more obvious, any more guilty? 

“I, uh, i-it’s nothing,” you stammered, clearing your throat before you continued. “I cut myself on the broken glass from the window, but it’s not serious. Nothing a few bandaids won’t fix, anyway. Maybe some gauze and antiseptic, but definitely not a hospital visit or anything.” 

You knew you were babbling but somehow couldn’t stop it, your anxiety just seizing control of your tongue, and you clenched your torn-up hands into fists until the stinging pain centered you a little bit. 

Once again, Dynamight studied you in silence, like he was choosing his words carefully. 

“Did you nick your damn wrist, too?” he finally asked as his neutral mask twisted into his signature scowl. “Looks like a lot of blood. Don’t be an idiot and bleed out on me. I don’t wanna deal with the fuckin’ paperwork.” 

Well, maybe not that carefully. 

“I-I’m not bleeding out,” you protested with a frown. “I’m fine.” 

“Let me see.” 

You blinked. “Excuse me? 

The hero stuck out his right hand, palm up, his scowl only deepening. “Let me see your hands.” 

Fuck. A drop of icy cold fear slid down your spine. Your hands were indeed “fucked up” like the blond said, but the cuts were all shallow and minor. They would in no way explain how you were coated in blood up past your wrists. None of your injuries would account for that. 

And none of his current ones would, either. 

“I—” You opened and closed your mouth several times like a gasping fish, and Dynamight’s eyes narrowed on you with what you were sure was suspicion. 

And then, like a gift from the heavens, a small but bright beam of light suddenly flooded your apartment from over your shoulder. 

“Dynamight?” a male voice shouted. 

The blond hero clenched his eyes shut and turned away from the light, and you. “I’m here! Turn that damn light out.” 

Said light cut out an instant later, and you seized the opportunity that had just been presented to you. 

Quick as a whip, you leaned over and snatched a large swath of dark fabric that you’d seen in the brief moment of illumination, and you reeled it into your lap quickly. The fabric had been a personal project of yours, a gown you’d started on a whim, but that didn’t matter now. Dynamight was still rubbing at his eyes, grumbling about being blinded, so you kicked half of the unfinished garment under and around the base of the ruined couch, effectively covering up the large pool of blood that had congealed under the splintered furniture. Then you reached behind you, grabbed the bloody stake, and shoved it between the folds of fabric. 

There. Now, most of the evidence was hidden. 

And not a moment too soon, because in the next breath you heard the crunch of glass as the unnamed hero stepped into the apartment behind you. 

“Hello?” 

“We’re over here,” you called back, struggling to your feet so the hero could see you over the back of the couch. 

The hero was silhouetted against your ruined window and the flashing police lights outside, so you couldn’t see much of his face, but you could tell he was tall and broad-shouldered, wrapped in a red and purple suit you didn’t recognize. 

“Are you alright, ma’am?” the hero asked in very formal Japanese. 

You opened your mouth to reply, but Dynamight cut you off. It seemed to be a habit of his. 

“We’re fine,” he grunted, and you turned to see the blond shoving himself to his feet. A gasp caught in your throat, and you made a half-aborted motion to stop him, but his red eyes snapped up and glared at you, freezing you in your tracks. “Aren’t we?” 

It took a moment for you to realize the last question was directed at you, and when Dynamight’s lip curled up into a sneer as he accusingly dropped his gaze to your hands, you realized none of your lies had convinced him after all. 

“Y-Yes.” The word stumbled out of your mouth without your permission, but you couldn’t seem to tear your eyes off the blond as you felt your world falling in around you for the second time tonight. “We’re fine.” 

The hero behind you said something, but it was lost in the static suddenly filling your head. 

He knows. He knows. Dynamight knows. 

The words cycled through your brain again and again, a broken record. What would he do? Would he tell the other hero? Or take you down to the authorities himself? And what then? Would they arrest you? Give you a few days to pack up and say your goodbyes before your deportation? 

Just as you were beginning to spiral, movement caught your attention, and you watched as if from a distance as Dynamight suddenly stepped past you, the scent of burnt sugar stinging your nose as he went. He was talking, and the low rumble of his voice vibrated through your body since he was so close, barely a hair’s breadth away, but he seemed to be talking to the other hero. 

Was he confessing your secret already? 

You couldn’t seem to turn around, your slippered feet rooted to your debris strewn floor. Even in the dark, you could see the black stain of Dynamight’s blood on your ruined couch cushions, and without thinking, you leaned down, picked up another torn and dirty piece of fabric, and threw it over the stain, blocking it from view. 

You didn’t know why you did that. It didn’t matter now. Dynamight knew, and— 

“Ma’am?” A hand touched your elbow, and you jumped, whirling around. “Whoa, careful there.” 

It was the tall hero in the red and purple suit. He was wearing a partial mask over his eyes, so only the lower half of his face was visible, framed by two pieces of dark hair. He smiled at you, a pleasant, reassuring gesture, but you could only gape at him. 

“Are you alright?” he asked you again, a frown replacing his smile. His eyes started to look you over, but you shoved your hands into the pockets of your sweats before he could see them. 

It doesn’t matter, you idiot, your brain screamed, but your body was still going through the motions of keeping your secret, twisting your hands in your pockets, trying to rub out the blood. 

“I’m fine,” you said again and then realized repeating the same trite phrase probably wasn’t convincing. So, you smiled at the hero, or at least you thought you did. Your face felt strangely stiff and numb, but you flashed your teeth and crinkled your eyes just the same. “Really. I’m just a little… shaken up is all. I have a few cuts and bruises, but nothing serious. The apartment took the worst of the damage, obviously.” 

You laughed, a hint of hysteria in your voice, as you gestured to the gaping hole in your wall behind the hero, hoping to get him away from your blood-soaked couch. And, blessedly, he did turn, so you took a few steps past him until you were both facing the broken window. 

Then you noticed Dynamight was standing near the hole, very cautiously leaning against the last remaining, exposed stud in the wall, with his hands shoved in the pocket of his hoodie. His body was facing out into the street, but his eyes were still locked on you, the red of them only intensified by the police lights still flashing on the street. 

His eyes seemed to say, I know what you did, and all the saliva dried up in your mouth. 

“Well, as bad as the damage is to your home, I’m glad you weren’t seriously injured, ma’am,” the hero at your side suddenly said, and you jolted when you realized he was responding to your inane babble from what already felt like hours ago. 

“O-Oh, yes.” You smiled again, just as forced and twice as shaky. “I was… very lucky. A-And thank you! For doing your part to s-stop that villain before he hurt anyone or caused even more damage.” 

“Yes, well, there was still more damage than I would have preferred,” the hero replied, and you didn’t miss the dirty look he shot Dynamight, who just deepened his scowl because he was still looking at you. “But let’s get you down to the street. The paramedics will look you over, and the authorities will want to take a statement. But don’t worry, they’ll also put you up in a hotel for the night since you obviously can’t stay here.” 

He threw the last part of the sentence at Dynamight like a dagger, and the blond finally tore his eyes off you to glare at the other hero. 

You waited for the explosive hero to… well, explode, but he only stared down the tall man beside you before he rolled his eyes, glanced at you one last time, and then jumped out the hole in your wall. 

“No—” you gasped, stumbling forward like you could stop him, but an instant later, you heard a mini-boom out on the street, followed by Dynamight barking orders at someone. 

Oh, yeah. You remembered how the blond had burst through the air while fighting the villain and realized he didn’t just ruin all your hard, illegal healing work by face-planting onto the concrete. 

You sighed and suddenly swayed, like the blond leaving had finally cut all of your tense strings. The adrenaline was fading at last, exhaustion leeching through your veins in its place, and you listed into the hero beside you. 

“Ma’am?” he asked, a note of concern in his voice. 

“Sorry,” you mumbled sleepily, trying and failing to find your balance. “I think… the shock is wearing off. Just… tired.” 

“Would it be alright if I carried you down to the street?” 

You wanted to protest, say you could take the stairs down to your shop, but your tongue felt sluggish in your mouth, and all you managed was a vaguely affirmative sounding hum. 

“Okay, hold on.” 

You felt one hand wrap around your shoulders while the other scooped you up around the knees, and usually, you would protest, insecure about your weight, but the hero settled you against his chest with ease. The instant you were off your feet, every muscle in your body went limp, and you were too tired to even be embarrassed when your head flopped against the hero’s collarbone. 

You had the vague thought that he didn’t smell like warm sugar, followed by a flash of disappointment, but then the hero was moving, jumping, and you were falling through the air. 

Unfortunately, you didn’t get the luxury of passing out. 

Once you hit the street, it was all sirens and shouting, flashing lights and flashes of people, so many people. 

True to his word, the hero in the red and purple suit carried you over to an ambulance and two waiting paramedics. The American in you panicked, instinctively trying to refuse care because your shop and home were just destroyed, you didn’t have money for an ambulance ride, too. 

But as the medics peppered you with rapid fire Japanese questions, you were reminded of where you were, and the bright flashlight shining into your eyes sure woke you up a little. 

The next half an hour was a blur. The paramedics tended to the wounds on your palms, knees, and, embarrassingly, ass, but all of the cuts were shallow, and none of them even required stitches. You knew they wouldn’t require stitches anyway, because once you rested up, your quirk would heal you, but you kept your mouth shut and let the medics wrap you in gauze and bandages. You seemed to have rubbed away enough of the blood on your hands that they weren’t suspicious, but it brought you no relief. 

While they worked, you watched the heroes and police out of your peripherals. They were still working to seal off the scene and tend to your neighbors, who were gathered further down the block behind some yellow tape. It didn’t look like anyone else had been injured beside you, and for that you were grateful. 

But your stomach was still in knots. 

More than once, you heard Dynamight’s brash voice bark over the sirens and other voices, and as the paramedics were finishing up the bandages on your hands, a head of ash-blond hair jutted out over the police car closest to you. Unable to stop yourself, your eyes zeroed in on that distinctive hair color, and you saw the explosive hero was speaking—well, yelling—at two police officers. 

Your mouth felt suddenly dry despite the multiple cups of water the medics had fed to you. What was Dynamight saying? 

As if he could hear your thoughts, red eyes snapped to the side and locked onto yours, and the breath hitched in your chest. That crimson gaze held you trapped, unable to look away, so when the two officers he’d been speaking to suddenly stepped into your field of vision, you gasped. 

“Apologies, didn’t mean to startle you, ma’am,” one of the officers said. He was a middle-aged man, balding, with a serious face and a no-nonsense expression. “We just wanted to ask you a few questions, if you feel up to it.” 

You swallowed, your throat clicking, and your heart stuttered into a breakneck pace beneath your sternum. 

“O-Of course,” you replied, only stumbling a little over your Japanese. You smiled at the officers, but the expression felt stilted, and fear seized you by the throat and squeezed until your breaths were shallow and grating in your ears. 

“Thank you.” The balding officer nodded. “My name is Detective Nakahara. I’ve been told you witnessed and were injured in tonight’s attack.” 

You thought the injury part was obvious, given your myriad of bandages and the fact you were sitting in the back of an ambulance, but you nodded to confirm anyway since your voice had abandoned you. 

This was it. He was going to ask you the damning question, and you were going to tell the truth. Lying to a hero in the heat of the moment had been one thing, but lying to a police officer during an official statement was another thing entirely. It would take one database search for them to confirm your quirk and Dynamight’s story, and then you really would be in trouble. Maybe imprisoned instead of deported. You cursed yourself for not knowing more about the laws that were going to quickly ruin your life. 

But… then Nakahara started asking you about the villain and what you saw, and you stuttered out an answer to the best of your ability. You thought this might have been a disarming tactic, to lull you into a false sense of security, but when you got to the part of the story where Dynamight burst through your window, the officer sighed. 

“I take it that’s your apartment there?” Detective Nakahara asked as he gestured to the gaping hole. 

“Y-Yes.” You nodded. “And I own the shop below.” 

Which you now realized looked no better than your apartment. The windows were all blown out, black scorch marks along the door frame, and you didn’t want to even think about the shape of the interior. 

“What kind of shop is it?” he followed up, but he sounded more curious than interrogatory. 

“Clothing alterations,” you said. “M-My grandparents were a tailor and seamstress. I inherited the shop about a year ago, after they passed.” 

“My condolences,” Nakahara murmured with a small dip of his head, and he seemed genuine. “For your grandparents, and your home and business.” 

You blinked in surprise at the turn in conversation. “O-Oh, thank you, that’s very kind.” 

“Do you have anywhere to go for the night, or were you on the way to the hospital?” he asked as he looked you over. 

“No,” you said quickly and then blushed. “I-I mean, my injuries aren’t serious enough for a hospital visit. Just some cuts and scrapes.” 

“Alright.” Nakahara nodded. “Is there any family we can call for you? Or take you to?” 

“N-No,” you repeated, a little more timidly this time. “My parents… don’t live around here, and I don’t really have any other family.” 

“Any friends?” he asked with a furrowed brow. 

Your face was red-hot now, and you dropped your eyes to your lap, fiddling with your bandaged fingers. What were you going to say? That you were an introvert, and the only “friends” you had were the old ladies who frequented your shop? 

“None that I would want to bother in the middle of the night,” you muttered before you suddenly remembered something. “But, um, one of the heroes said you could maybe take me to a hotel?” 

“Of course, we can take you right now, and we’ll also pay for the night,” the detective said. 

“Oh, you don’t have to—” you started to protest as you snapped your head up, but the officer held up a hand. 

“The city has funds to aid those displaced by villain attacks,” he explained. “The next forty-eight hours are guaranteed, so if I were you, I would use the opportunity to rest.” 

Detective Nakahara glanced down at your bandages, and you bit your lips as you nodded. 

“Okay, thank you for your help then, sir.” It was all you could think to say. 

“You’re welcome.” Nakahara nodded back at you and then reached out to help you out of the ambulance. “If you’ll come this way, we can have an officer collect some things from your apartment, and then we’ll head to the hotel and get you settled.” 

The finality in his tone and the idea of a hotel drew you up short. What… was happening? You had thought the detective was going to interrogate you about your quirk, not… chauffeur you to a nice hotel. 

The practical part of your brain was screaming for you to let it go, but the words were high-diving off your tongue before you could stop them. 

“I-Is that all?” 

Detective Nakahara paused and looked at you with a raised eyebrow. “Is what all?” 

“I—” Shut up, shut up, shut up! “You didn’t have any more questions for me?” 

“No,” the detective said simply. “We have your statement, and it matches the others we’ve obtained.” Here, he frowned and seemed to study you for a moment. “Did you have any other questions for me?” 

“I… was just wondering what the next steps are for my apartment and shop,” you blurted out the first thing you could think of. “Will the… city pay for repairs? Do I have to fill out some forms?” 

It was an honest question, a real one you had, but your mind was still reeling. He wasn’t going to ask about your quirk? Had… Had Dynamight not said anything? 

Nakahara sighed but held a hand out for you to take, and you absently let him help you down from the ambulance. Then he slowly began walking toward one of the police cars, and you had no choice but to follow since you were still holding onto his arm for balance. 

“Unfortunately,” the detective started, “the city will not be able to repair your home or business.” 

“Why?” you asked with a frown. “I thought you said there were funds.” 

“There are,” he said, and when you looked up at him, you noticed his lips were pursed into a thin line. “And, if the villain himself had thrown debris through your window, then the city would compensate you. But, in this situation, Dynamight caused the damaged.” 

The detective practically spat the blond hero’s name, and your surprise must have shown on your face because Nakahara quickly cleared his throat and schooled his expression. 

“Because of this, his agency will be responsible for repairs, so you will have to contact them,” the officer finished. 

Contact them? You had to contact Dynamight’s agency, which meant… fuck. You felt the blood drain from your face, and your expression must have shown your dismay because Nakahara patted your hand that was still looped through his arm 

“But you can worry about that tomorrow,” he said. “Let’s get your things and get you to the hotel so you can rest.” 

You nodded blankly and let the detective lead you to the open backseat of a police car. Nakahara called another officer over, and the woman asked you questions about where things were in your apartment. You answered numbly, listing out different clothing items and how to get to your bedroom. Then she was gone, and Nakahara stepped away to do something else, so you were suddenly left all alone. 

Unbidden, you looked up and searched for that pair of scarlet eyes, that head of ash-blond hair, but the explosive hero was suddenly nowhere to be found. 

The crime scene continued to bustle around you, but all the while, two thoughts circled each other in your head, like binary stars stuck in each other’s orbit: 

Dynamight didn’t reveal my secret. 

But I’m going to have to face him again.

[nastybuckybarnes]

In a Heartbeat  -  Six

Pairing: Fireman!Bucky X Reader 

Summary: You’ve always been careful with your heart. With your condition, you don’t exactly have any other choice. The last time you let someone in, you paid the price. A price you don’t plan on paying again. Until Bucky comes in and shatters your carefully crafted world.

Warnings: Fluff, Language, Implied Smut, Angst, Injuries, Angst,

Word Count: 2.9K

A/n: hi here’s the second last part! I hope you guys enjoy. I’m in a weird place mentally right now because there’s been so much going on in my family life that I have no idea how to process. But I hope you guys enjoy this because I really enjoyed writing it. We will have one more part and then this series will be finished!!!

Series Masterlist

~*~

The smell of coffee pulls you from your sleep.

Eyelids flutter open and you’re confused for a moment until you remember last night. A small smile spreads across your face and you stretch in Bucky’s bed, taking note of the sore spots on your body.

You push yourself to a seated position and take a look around the room.

Bucky’s gone, but you can hear him rummaging around in the kitchen.

You slowly leave the bed and walk to the bathroom, stopping on your way to pick up your discarded clothes.

After you’ve finished, you make your way to the kitchen, your heart filling with warmth when you see him.

He’s got his bare back to you as he prepares something, wearing nothing more than a pair of sweatpants.

“Morning,” you whisper, trying not to startle him. He glances over his shoulder and smiles at you. “Good morning.” You walk over to him, wrapping your arms around his torso and pressing a kiss to his shoulder.

He stops whatever he was doing and holds your hands, leaning into your touch and sighing.

“How’d you sleep last night?” He asks after a moment of silence, pulling a pan off of the hot element then turning around to look at you.

You smile up at him and he swears his heart melts.

You're so beautiful. Glowing and angelic in the early morning sunlight peeking through a partially opened window.

“Not too bad at all.” He smiles, leaning down to press a soft and sweet kiss to your lips.

“Yeah, same here. Got far more sleep than I should’ve, though,” he murmurs, trailing kisses down your neck. A soft sigh slips past your lips and your head falls back, granting him more access.

His hands find your hips and he hoists you up onto the counter, knocking a glass off and sending it shattering to the floor.

“Jesus!” You exclaim, jumping at the sound and hitting your forehead against Bucky’s. The two of you groan, the brunet’s eyes widening with fear.

“I’m sorry!” He exclaims, looking between the broken glass, your face, and your chest as if to see if your heart’s about to give out.

You smile softly at him and cup his cheeks gently, pulling his face up until he’s looking at you.

“It’s okay, James. I promise I’m not as fragile as you think. I can handle a few loud noises.”

He sighs and bumps his nose against yours a few times before lowering his head to the crook of your neck.

“I just don’t want anything to happen to you. I worry about you, (Y/n).” You wrap your arms around his torso tightly, one hand finding its way into his hair to massage his scalp.

“I worry about you too. Of the two of us, I think you’re more at risk than I am.” He chuckles against your clavicle and shakes his head, pressing his lips against your skin while mumbling “it’s not a competition to see who’ll die first.” Then he pulls away to stand upright and look at you with those piercing blue eyes of his.

“But just because my line of work is dangerous doesn’t ever mean that I don’t worry about you.” You lean up and kiss him softly, ending the conversation as your lips move more passionately against his.

He pulls away after a long moment, eyes dark and lips kiss-swollen.

“You stay up here while I clean this up. Then... how about we take this to the bedroom?” You nod, bottom lip pulled between your teeth as you watch his muscles flex while he cleans up the broken glass.

~*~

You sit in front of your apartment in Bucky’s truck, his hand in yours as the two of you talk about your heart.

“I’m not as fragile as you think I am, James,” you reiterate for the thousandth time. He sighs, thumb rubbing over the back of your hand.

“I just want you to be safe, doll. I want what’s best for you.” His words anger you far more than they should and you pull your hand from his grasp.

“I wish everyone would stop assuming that they know what I need. Everyone always thinks that they know what’s best for me but they don't! I know what’s best for me. I’m sick of being treated like a child because of my illness. I just want someone to take my side for once and let me be me and live my life the way I want to! Is that really so much to ask?!”

Your outburst has your heart beating hard and, as if sensing that, Bucky tries desperately to defuse the situation.

“Doll, I do have your side, I just-”

“No! That should be it! If you had my side you wouldn’t be justifying treating me like a child, James.” He frowns, reaching for your hand only for you to pull it out of reach.

“I-I’m just gonna go.” You leave his truck without another word, frustrated and flustered but not willing to go back on what you said.

He sits in front of your building, three little words on the tip of his tongue and absolutely flabbergasted with the way the day has taken a turn. Things started off so well this morning.

You rake your hands through your hair, glancing at your phone as it starts to ring.

You can’t talk to him right now. Maybe later, but not right now.

Half an hour later, Natasha is blowing up your phone too.

You don’t want to talk to them.

You feel like shit for blowing up on Bucky like that but you needed to get your point across. All your life you’ve been treated like a child, even into adulthood. Nat hovers around you like a mother hen and now Bucky’s doing the same.

It absolutely isn’t unreasonable of you to want them to treat you like an equal. As much as they say that you’re more than your illness, you know that they still see it whenever they look at you, and you absolutely hate that.

~*~

“Miss (Y/l/n), can I use the washroom?” You glance over at the little girl before smiling softly.

“Not until Tommy comes back, Sammy. We can’t have too many of you out at one time, okay?” She nods, thumb in her mouth as she resumes her colouring.

You’re doing your rounds, making sure all the students are doing well when the blaring of the fire alarm goes off.

A few kids scream in fear, but you shush them quickly, eyes finding Wanda’s as ice shoots through your veins.

You’re not supposed to have a fire drill today.

“Okay everyone, single file. Follow me. Leave everything where it is, okay? We’ve gotta get out just like we always practiced. Right outside onto the field, c’mon,” Wanda says, standing up and leading the way out of the classroom. You stay at the back, waiting until all the children are out of the room before closing the door and following after them.

You descend the stairs, dark clouds of smoke already filling the hallways and making kids cry.

The school is hectic and chaotic as all the teachers try to get their students to safety.

As you reach the field you stop dead in your tracks, looking at Wanda with wide eyes.

“Tommy’s in the bathroom,” you whisper, horror plain as day on your face as you turn back to the burning building.

Smoke is pouring out of a few open windows, and the last few people are trickling out, some of them crying, some of them laughing, thinking it’s a game.

Sirens fill the air but you’re already running back to the building, knowing he’d be far too terrified to leave the safety of the bathroom.

“(Y/n) no! Wait for the fire department!” She shouts, but it’s too late. You’re already back in the building, a wall of heat slamming into you.

You take a few careful breaths then take the stairs two at a time in your haste to find the boy.

Your heart is already beating far too fast, you know that, but you can’t stop. Not now. Even as the smoke rises and the air gets stuffier you continue up the stairs.

Tommy’s somewhere in the burning building and you’re not going to leave him.

“Tommy!” You shout, squinting as a cloud of black clouds your vision right as you reach the second floor.

You crouch down, pulling the hem of your blouse up to cover your mouth and nose. It’s both a blessing and a curse. On the one hand, it prevents smoke inhalation, but on the other hand, it’s preventing you from getting the oxygen you need.

“Tommy!” You try again, pushing your way through the familiar halls until you get to the boys’ bathroom.

You hear faint crying and you swear your heart shatters in your chest.

“Tommy!” You push into the bathroom and find Tommy cowering against the far wall, tears staining his cheeks.

“M-Miss (Y/l/n)!” He scrambles to his feet and launches himself at you, hugging you around your waist and sobbing against your chest. You kneel down with him, hugging him tightly and rubbing his back.

“I-I didn't know wh-what to d-do and I was s-scared!” He cries, sniffling against you and holding onto you for dear life.

“Shh, it’s okay. I’m here. You’re okay. But we need to leave. Do you remember what your daddy told you about fires? Cause I’m gonna need you to be my personal fireman, okay?” He sniffles a few times then nods, pulling away to wipe the tears from his eyes and take a few deep breaths.

“Alright. Let’s go.” You push out of the bathroom and are instantly hit with intense heat and the stench of smoke.

You push Tommy’s head down and as out of the smoke as you can and lift your other hand to shield your eyes as you try to find an exit.

The staircase has been engulfed by the fire, the flames devouring the only exit besides a window. But those are bolted shut to prevent any accidents.

Your chest tightens and your vision blurs, heart hammering much too hard in your chest. Your ears begin to ring and your knees buckle and you know you need your pills. Or at the very least, you need to sit down.

“The art room! It has the big windows and the heavy doors! Daddy says that heavy doors block out the smoke better!” You nod and follow him into the art room, collapsing on your knees as soon as the door is closed. You can’t breathe. The air just won’t find your lungs.

“C’mon miss (Y/l/n)! The window! We need to break it cause then they can hear us.” He grabs your hand and yanks with all his might, and his determination is enough to have you forcing yourself to your feet and banging on the window with as much strength as you can muster.

Tommy’s pounding against it with all his might, and you can’t help the tears that finally fall down your cheeks as your legs give out.

“Keep trying, Tommy,” you rasp, chest aching and heart pounding. He looks at you in complete fear, not sure what to do.

“Miss (Y/l/n)?” He asks softly, crouching down next to you as you cough softly. You take a few slow breaths, your heart stuttering in your chest.

“Keep going, Tommy. You’ve got this. You’re a fireman, just like your daddy and your Uncle Bucky.” Bucky. More tears fall down your cheeks at the thought of him.

Your eyes fall closed, head lolling to the side as the last of your energy leaves you.

You wish you could apologize to him. Tell him that you love him, that you appreciate everything he does for you.

The ringing in your ears grows until it’s deafening. Until the sound consumes you and pulls you gently into darkness.

~*~

The fire bell rings and the men are all on their feet, grabbing their gear and pulling it on as swiftly as they can.

“Rogers! I want you to sit this one out,” Chief Fury says, his arms crossed over his chest. The men all slow for just a moment before resuming their haste, Steve the only exception.

“What? Why?” He’s never been asked to sit out of a job before. Fury waits until the other men have piled into the firetruck.

“Now, it could very well be nothing but the call... it’s for the elementary school. I know your little one goes there and I can’t have you on the cal- Rogers!” Steve’s got his suit on and he’s in the truck in record time, jaw clenched hard and hands balled into tight fists.

The men are silent, having pieced it together and not wanting to argue with their captain.

Steve will take the heat from Fury after. All that matters is making sure his son is safe.

Almost as if realizing that there’s not one, but two people emotionally invested in this case, the eyes turn to Bucky. The brunet has his own eyes pinned between his boots, fingers of his flesh hand trembling slightly.

“It’s gonna be okay,” Sam whispers, his usual joking demeanour long gone.

The rest of the ride is silent, but as soon as they pull up to the school the men are jumping out and Steve is barking orders at them.

“Sam, you go make sure the building’s empty. Buck, you-” but the brunet is sprinting over to Wanda, a look of desperation on his face when he sees the tears on hers.

“Where is she?” He demands, his chest heaving and his entire world on the brink of collapsing.

“Sh-she went back inside to find Tommy. They never c-came back out.” He stumbles back a step, directly into Steve who waits impatiently for the news.

“She went in to find him,” Bucky whispers, the world around him going quiet as he turns and focuses solely on the burning building, searching for any possible sign of you.

Steve’s face falls, his heart crumbles and his whole world shatters.

“Tommy.”

The two race to the building only to be stopped by Sam and Clint.

“Entire entrance and staircase are up. There’s no way to get in there unless we break a window.”

Steve takes a few careful breaths then nods.

“Work on getting it as contained as possible. We’ve got at least two still inside.” Sam’s heart hurts for the blond as he races around the building like a chicken with his head cut off.

“Tommy!” He shouts, hands cupped around his mouth to amplify his voice.

“Wait, Steve! Look!” Bucky points to a spot on the side of the building where a second thinner stream of smoke is leaving the building, this one in a different direction than the others.

A second opening in the building.

The two are running to investigate, and Steve’s heart bubbles.

“Tommy!” The little boy is crying in the broken window, head completely out to suck in as much fresh air as he can.

“Daddy!”

“Hold on, Tommy! We’re gonna get you!” He drops his head to his radio and calls for the truck to be pulled around.

“Daddy, Miss (Y/l/n) won’t wake up!” The little boy cries, his face dirty with tears and ash.

Bucky can’t breathe. He thinks he might be sick.

He’s definitely going to be sick.

He stumbles away from the building, away from the people and anyone who can see him and collapses on his knees, dry heaving into the grass while the others pull the truck around.

Steve's up the ladder and at the window, telling his son to move out of the way so he can break the window further.

“C’mon Buck. We’ve got a job to do. C’mon.” Sam helps him to his feet and Bucky nods, grinding his teeth together in a pathetic attempt at hiding his tears.

“Sam! Come give me a hand!” Steve’s voice says through the radio. Bucky follows to the truck, mind numb, body numb, and ears ringing.

“She’s in here, but her pulse is sporadic. We’ve gotta get her out now.” That lights a fire under the brunets ass and he’s nearly throwing himself to the truck right as Steve starts climbing down, Tommy clinging like a koala to his back with one arm, the other wrapped in a sloppy sling.

The ambulances are ready, lights flashing and stretchers at the ready.

Steve rushes his son over, his oxygen mask pressed against the six-year-old’s face.

“Set him down, c’mon.” He does as instructed and takes a half-step back to allow the paramedics room to inspect him.

Bucky’s eyes move from his nephew up to the window where Sam disappeared, his heart in his throat as he finally sees movement.

Sam emerges, his oxygen mask on your face and your limp body strewn over his shoulder.

A familiar head of red hair is pushing a stretcher right to the ambulance, ready to take your body as soon as Sam’s down.

He lays you down carefully and Bucky’s immediately at your side, tears rolling down his cheeks.

“Buck, give us some space, okay?” Nat whispers, her voice fully professional, though he can see the pain in her eyes. He takes a deep breath but nods, stepping back and watching as you get rolled away.

A hand is on his shoulder and he glances over at the person.

“C’mon. We’ve got a fire to put out.”

[thefandominator]

Thank You For Sharing

The first thing that should have tipped Andrew off that something was up with Neil was that he pulled his hand away from Andrew where their pinkies were linked.

Neil needing some space from him wasn’t alarming per se, but it was unusual. There could be any number of reasons he’d pulled away.

It could be for no reason at all.

Andrew didn’t dwell on it.

Or, the foxes get more than they bargained for when they decide to watch a children's movie with Neil. Andrew, ever the protector, guides them all through it.

AO3 version linked here if you’d prefer.

Pairings: Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard | Andrew Minyard & Original Character(s) | The Foxes & The Foxes

Word count: 3139

Rating: General

Warnings: Neil Josten has Dissociative Identity Disorder

Notes: okay so for anyone who is miraculously in all the fandoms i write for and has been following along as i post these: (1) this is the last fandom i am doing this for lmao i swear i won't be jumping from fandom to fandom posting DID AUs once a week for the rest of time, meaning (2) next week will be an update on one of the DID universes i have already established, but (3) unlike the three ficlets i've posted so far which i wrote in three days straight a few weeks ago, i have not pre-written the next fic so wish me luck for that (also, u can send me prompts if you want to see something specific). anyway, enough of that, please enjoy my take on DID!neil.  constructive criticism is welcome (especially if you have DID/OSDD and notice some inaccuracies), and likes, comments and reblogs are encouraged!  no content warnings that i can think of, but let me know if there is anything you think i should warn for

The first thing that should have tipped Andrew off that something was up with Neil was that he pulled his hand away from Andrew where their pinkies were linked.

Neil needing some space from him wasn’t alarming per se, but it was unusual. There could be any number of reasons he’d pulled away. One of which could be the foxes that were around them in the girls’ dorm. Although, the only lighting in the room was coming from the animated movie playing in front of them so he doubted that anyone would be able to see them. So it probably wasn’t that.

It could be for no reason at all.

Andrew didn’t dwell on it.

The second thing that should have tipped Andrew off was when, a few minutes later, Neil climbed off of the couch altogether and sat on the floor, craning his neck forward as if trying to get as close to the action as possible.

That movement did give Andrew pause. Andrew narrowed his eyes at the top of Neil’s head, trying to see if Neil would give him any hints as to what was going on. The fact that Neil couldn’t feel Andrew staring at him and didn’t turn around was another significant clue.

He wondered if he was getting too dependent on Neil. With that thought, he elected to ignore Neil entirely.

Until the third and final sign. Which was less of a subtle sign and more of a blatant siren.

Olaf onscreen was rapidly changing shape as Kristoff shouted out the different objects he was turning into. Until–

“Ooh, Elsa!” Kristoff yelled.

The most delighted squeal of a giggle that Andrew could ever remember hearing pealed out from somewhere in the room.

It took Andrew a second to figure out the source of the sound. He finally stared down at Neil and he could tell he wasn’t the only one who did so, although the others likely had more shock on their faces than Andrew had.

Neil was oblivious to the stares for a few seconds. Then he abruptly became aware of them, and his head swiveled around the room, swiftly taking in all the foxes’ stares in the relative darkness.

“Neil, that was adorable!” Nicky exclaimed.

Neil’s shoulders pushed back as he tried to gain a few inches of height from his position on the floor.

Andrew waited for what was bound to be a scathing retort from Neil. But–

“Um. O– Okay,” Neil stammered.

Andrew could tell the foxes around him were frowning down at Neil and Andrew felt himself mirroring their sentiments.

Neil’s voice sounded off. It was slightly pitched up, and Andrew was certain he’d never heard Neil audibly sound that nervous in the entire time they’d known each other. It almost sounded like some anxious child was doing a Neil impression and failing miserably.

In fact. That was exactly what it sounded like. And that was probably exactly what was happening. Neil had mentioned to Andrew that he’d been front-stuck for a few days now, but it wasn’t like Andrew would forget that his DID existed entirely.

Andrew slid down from the couch and sat in front of Probably-Not-Neil. As soon as Andrew was situated, Probably-Not-Neil ducked their head to stare down at the bit of floor space between them.

Which, if this person were trying to convince everyone to calm down and believe that they were Neil, was the exact opposite thing to do.

“You’re not Neil,” Andrew declared.

Probably-Not-Neil shrunk in on themself and their eyes briefly met Andrew’s face as they peeked up.

“Am too,” Probably-Not-Neil murmured, again in that voice of a child trying to seem older than they were.

This was definitely not Neil then.

Andrew was quiet for a moment, deliberating how he should approach this situation. He heard the movie pause behind him. With how much time he spent one-on-one with Neil, he’d been the first point of external contact for plenty of Neil’s alters, but he’d never met someone as young and unaware as this person seemed.

Andrew was not a fan of meeting new people but, he begrudgingly admitted to himself, he knew that he would do whatever it took to help Neil navigate his DID.

Andrew decided that it was probably best if he started from the beginning.

“Do you know what DID is?”

Definitely-Not-Neil perked up in excitement. Their eagerness at being called on like they were the goody-two-shoes in class seemed to overshadow their insistence on playing the part as Neil.

“O’ course! It’s, um, Dissocive Identy Disorder.” They beamed.

Close enough. If they knew what it was called, they probably already knew something about what it was. “Right. Do you know that you have DID?” Andrew asked next.

“Um.” They shifted in their spot. “Yeah.”

“Good. Do you know who I am?” Perhaps it was presumptuous of Andrew to start with himself, but he was the one who interacted most with the alters, so it seemed like a logical opening.

They nodded nervously. “Andrew, right?”

“That’s right.” Andrew nodded back. If they knew who Andrew was, then maybe they knew to trust him too. “Now, listen carefully. Everyone in this room knows that you are not Neil.” Andrew was glad they spent most of their movie nights without the freshmen. “And that’s okay. You are safe here, with me and with these people. We will not hurt you for being yourself, alright?”

Definitely-Not-Neil finally looked up and made eye contact with Andrew. Naked hope and disbelief shone in their blue stare. Their eyes made a sweeping gaze around the room at the foxes around them and then settled on Andrew’s again.

“Really?” They were barely hiding the childish lilt to their voice anymore.

“Yes,” Andrew replied.

“Okay,” they said, wiggling a little in their spot.

“Okay.” Andrew paused. He wanted to ask them more questions, but he didn’t want to overwhelm them either. Maybe the best approach would be to leave it up to them. “Do you want to tell me about yourself?”

“Yeah, okay!” They beamed. “Um, I’m Johnny. I’m nine.” Nine? Andrew did not let himself hope that Johnny wasn’t a trauma holder. Hope would get him nowhere in a situation like this. “Um… My hair is blond. But not like your blond, like a different blond.” With every sentence Johnny said, they seemed to get more comfortable. “And, um, I’m smaller than this so these legs and arms are too long for me.” Johnny waved the aforementioned arms around as if in demonstration. “Um… Oh! I use he/him pronouns.” He said each syllable meticulously, like he was quoting someone who’d taught him to say it. “Um… I like planes and cats and chocolate.” He ended his incongruous list with another full body wiggle.

When it seemed that nothing more was forthcoming, Andrew nodded. “Thank you for sharing, Johnny.” Andrew searched for something else to ask or add and came up empty for now. “Do you want to keep watching the movie?”

“No,” Johnny replied, indignant. “It’s your turn now.” He blinked at Andrew.

“My… turn?” Andrew said.

“Yeah! Can you tell me about yourself, Andrew?” More blinking.

Andrew heard huffs and coughs around the room that he was aware were just the foxes trying not to laugh at him lest they get a knife to the stomach. With how focused he’d been on Johnny, he’d almost forgotten they were still here. At least they’d kept their mouths shut and their reactions to themselves so far during this interaction.

“Yes,” Andrew decided. It was only fair after all. Andrew wouldn’t be the one to teach a nine-year-old that life wasn’t fair. “I am Andrew. I am twenty. My hair is also blond but apparently a different blond to your blond. I am 5 feet tall. I use he/him pronouns. I like ice cream and cars and knives.” He added the last one to remind the foxes that he was armed and would not take being made fun of for playing along to a child’s wishes lying down.

“Thank you for sharing, Andrew,” Johnny replied sincerely.

Andrew tried to inject the same amount of sincerity into his voice as Johnny had. “You’re welcome.”

“Okay.” He did a full body turn and sat cross legged with his hands in his lap to face the opposite end of the couch. “Your turn,” he said to Kevin brightly.

Kevin’s eyes widened. “My turn?” he said, flabbergasted.

“Uh-huh. Can you tell me about yourself?” Apparently Johnny’s anxiety had worn off as soon as he’d realized he was allowed to be comfortable around them.

Panic swept through the room as the other foxes grasped what fate was likely coming their way.

“Uh, sure, Johnny. Uh, I’m, um, Kevin. I’m twenty-one. I’m 6 foot 2. I use he/him pronouns. I, uh… I like exy and history and, uh, apples.”

“Hair,” Andrew prompted.

Kevin turned to Andrew. “Hair?” He frowned. “My hair?”

Andrew stayed silent.

“Why would I– He can see what my hair looks like,” Kevin muttered.

“Hair, Kevin,” Andrew repeated, accompanying the statement with a glare this time.

Kevin huffed. “And my hair is dark brown,” he added reluctantly.

“Thank you for sharing, Kevin,” Johnny answered, just as sincerely as before.

Kevin nodded awkwardly.

Johnny turned to Nicky, who was seated on the chair next to Kevin. “Your turn,” he encouraged cheerily.

Nicky, as expected, responded with as much gusto as if he’d had days to prepare this bio, even going so far as to list five things he liked instead of three.

Johnny, as was now becoming expected, thanked him for the information, and then moved onto the next person in the circle, which was Dan.

And so around it went, with some people’s answers more animated than others (Aaron gave his bio with the same enthusiasm he would give pulling his own teeth out, but he did participate, which wasn’t an insignificant step), and with people chipping in to remind each other of the prompts or to argue over details like heights (Matt insisted he was 6 foot 4 and a half, but Dan maintained that it was maximum 6 foot 4 and a quarter) and likes (“Alli, just because you wear a lot of green doesn’t mean it’s actually your favorite color,” Nicky asserted).

But eventually, after they all had taken a much longer time than probably anyone expected, Johnny ended off with a sincere, “Thank you for sharing, Renee.”

“You’re welcome, Johnny.” Renee gave her most beatific smile.

“Can we get back to the movie now?” Aaron grumbled.

“Uh-huh!” Johnny turned back to the screen, seemingly unaffected by Aaron’s lack of excitement. “I haven’t seen this one.”

“Have you seen the first Frozen movie?” Dan asked.

“No! There’s another one like this?” Johnny was clearly ecstatic over this news.

“Yeah! There is.” Dan deliberated. “Do you want to see it first?”

Aaron groaned softly. Andrew guessed that it was quiet enough for Johnny not to have heard but he assumed Johnny wouldn’t work out what the huff was for anyway. The foxes had just watched the first Frozen movie a couple of weeks ago, so a repeated viewing so soon wouldn’t be ideal.

“No, um, I like this. It’s funny. We can keep watching.”

“Okay. We’ll do the first one another time then, huh?” Dan promised.

Johnny’s eyes widened and his mouth popped open.

It was perhaps a disproportionate reaction to the casual suggestion Dan had made. But Andrew supposed it was confirmation that they wanted him around. Confirmation that Andrew was telling the truth when he’d said that Johnny could be himself.

Johnny gathered himself after a few seconds and nodded vigorously, moving his entire upper body with the action, flashing a grin.

“That would be awesome!” he exclaimed.

As someone pressed play on the TV, Andrew rearranged himself so that he was sitting next to Johnny in front of the space he’d vacated on the couch. It was a facsimile of the positions he and Neil had been in before, but there was now some distance between their arms where previously their pinkies had interlinked.

Andrew was once again struck with the thought that perhaps he was too dependent on Neil. He tried to dismiss the thought as not worth considering but then some part of him that sounded eerily like Bee advised against it.

So maybe he was dependent on Neil. Was that actually a bad thing? He didn’t know how the situation with Johnny would have panned out without Andrew there, but it probably wouldn’t have ended up going as well as it did. So, he reasoned with himself, maybe Neil and his system were dependent on him. It couldn’t be a bad thing if they weren’t being unhealthy about it. If it was reciprocal.

He decided that he’d thought enough about this. It wasn’t a bad thing, and that was good enough for him.

He tuned back into the movie as Johnny snickered at Kristoff doing the Sven voice to appease Olaf.

That was far from the only reaction Johnny had during the next hour and a half. He laughed at the funny parts and sang at the singing parts and sniffled at the sad parts. Andrew was surprised that there wasn’t a lack of sadness in this children’s movie. Andrew himself didn’t shed a tear, but he could recognize that shedding a tear wasn’t an atypical reaction to the events happening onscreen, as evidenced by the amount of sniffing he could hear from around the room.

Eventually, the credits started rolling, and as the movie ended, Johnny’s near-monologue began. The foxes did their best to participate in what was becoming an almost scene-for-scene recap of the film as Johnny reviewed his favorite parts, but Johnny was barely letting them get a word in edgewise and he seemed content to keep going on his own.

After a few minutes of this, when it was clear Johnny wasn’t letting up any time soon, Aaron got up to leave without saying a word.

Johnny let out a “Goodnight, Aaron” in between two of his thoughts but didn’t leave any time for Aaron to respond or anyone else to echo the farewell before he kept going on about Olaf calling for a ‘Samantha’ who didn’t exist.

Kevin left shortly thereafter and was granted the same sendoff of “Goodnight, Kevin” from Johnny.

The remaining foxes gave Johnny their full attention for as long as they could, but it was clear that they didn’t have Johnny’s youthful energy, and also it was later in the night than any of them had prepared for, after the ‘Can you tell me about yourself’ discursion that they’d had.

Matt was seated on the floor between Dan’s legs, and it was on the third time that Matt shook himself awake after hitting his head on Dan’s knee that Johnny seemed to notice something was up.

He stopped himself mid-word, turned to Andrew and requested, “Can you take me to my bed now?”

Andrew imagined there was an inaudible sigh of unanimous relief in the room.

“Sure,” Andrew acquiesced.

They all staggered to their feet, exhaustion making their motions sluggish. Except for Johnny who bounced up like he was ready to run a marathon. They said their ‘goodnight’s to each other, and Nicky, Andrew and Johnny left the girls and Matt to the dorm, Johnny walking slightly like Bambi in an effort to get used to his aforementioned abnormally long limbs.

As they dropped off Nicky at his dorm on their way to the one Andrew and Neil shared with Kevin, Andrew noticed Johnny start to lose steam. By the time they made it through their door, Johnny was barely paying attention to where he was walking, instead fully focused on blinking repeatedly and rubbing his temples.

“Are you okay?” Andrew prodded.

Johnny glanced at Andrew for a second before going back to focusing on the middle distance. “Yeah. Just– someone’s here.”

“Okay. Do you know who it is?”

Johnny was silent as he presumably asked the alter for their name.

“Oh! It’s Neil,” he said.

“What is he saying?”

“He’s confused. He’s asking me what’s been going on. I’m tellin’ him about the movie.” Johnny grinned.

Andrew wasn’t sure that that was the recap Neil had been hoping for, but if Andrew had had to go through basically watching the movie twice with how thorough Johnny’s retelling was, then it was only fair for Neil to hear it.

Andrew went through his nighttime routine with Johnny as a silent shadow. Andrew wasn’t entirely sure if the silence was because he was so absorbed in the recitation of Frozen II’s best plot points to Neil or if it was because of dissociation, but Johnny was going through the motions nonetheless, which Andrew decided was the important thing.

When they were done, Andrew guided Johnny into Neil’s bunk and started the climb up into his own. As he was halfway there, Johnny whispered a “Goodnight, Andrew” keeping his voice down so as not wake Kevin who was snoring lightly in his bed.

“Goodnight, Johnny,” Andrew replied and completed his ascent.

He got himself under the covers and just breathed. He listened to Johnny’s breathing below him, waiting for it to even out. He didn’t want to fall asleep until he was sure Johnny and Neil were okay, because he knew Neil and his alters sometimes needed help grounding themselves when they felt particularly switch-y.

Andrew was not quite asleep and not quite awake a few minutes later when he heard Johnny get up out of the bottom bunk. Andrew turned his head, and even in the darkness he could see the attentiveness in Neil’s eyes.

“I think Johnny finally went to sleep,” Neil told Andrew quietly, in obvious relief. “Can I come up there?” he asked.

That was Neil, alright. Always asking, never assuming. Andrew could count on one hand the number of times he and Neil hadn’t shared a bed in the past few months and yet here was Neil, still making sure it was okay with Andrew.

“Yes,” Andrew answered, because what else would he have said.

Neil climbed the ladder, and he and Andrew shuffled until they were laying side by side under the sheets. It was a tight fit, made even more so by the bit of distance they left between each other, but they squeezed up against the railings on either side of the mattress to make it work.

Andrew breathed deeply, finally at ease, and felt his muscles relax as his eyes closed.

Just before he drifted off, he felt a light prod at his hand. It went away quickly. It was just a request. No insistence. No pressure.

Andrew linked pinkies with Neil, squeezed once and let sleep take him away.

Notes: this was a tough one for me to write because i don’t know how to write kids and i also don’t know how to write as andrew but i knew i wanted both to be done so here we are. also i know frozen wasn’t out when this would be set let alone frozen ii but l e t m e l i v e.  leave a like, comment or rb if u wanna! love you for reading! xx

[moonbaby26]

Title: Escape

Pairing: Peter Maximoff x Reader

Notes: Actual pairing interaction starts in the second section after the Reader character gets out of the elevator, feel free to skip down to that if you like. Reader thinks about Peter in the first section, but it is more setting up how they got so separated from the others, plus a Wolvie cameo. I wanted Peter x Reader to be able to have more interaction away from the group.

Summary: Continuation of previous chapter. Set during X-Men: Age of Apocalypse. You and the others have been taken to Stryker’s base and must survive to find your way out together.

Warnings: Wolverine cameo advisory with a 100% chance of stabby stab. Mild language.

Chapters: Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Taglist: @drikawinchester , @n0obmaster69 , @alexloveskili , @what-a-silver-lining , @bluesprings18 , @weakmoony-stuff , @slytherinsi-mp

Peter Maximoff x Reader Masterlist

——————————

“The day of reckoning is here.”

Your eyes opened at once, that unmistakeable voice now reverberating through your mind as fluorescent lights passed one after another above you.

“Professor?” You breathed aloud, immediately trying to sit up on the moving gurney.

But the restraints were drawn too tightly as your head only rebounded backward just as quickly when your torso didn’t rise in tandem.

“Shit!” the guard to your left cursed, his hand drawing back from the gurney rail at your sudden movement.

You turned your head towards him, confused, even as the professor’s words continued in your mind.

Yet Xavier’s voice sounded strange, forced. And you didn’t understand the context. Was it a warning? A threat to someone?

It didn’t really seem to fit the current circumstances to say it was directed at you or your captors. But he only kept speaking.

“The dawn of a new era will emerge. For there is nothing you can do...to stop what is coming.”

The two guards were looking around too then, reacting in sync with the telepathic message leaving you no doubt that they could hear it as well.

But why would Xavier be in their heads too? Did he already know where you were?

One guard chided the other, as if the two of them didn’t both have the same frightened expression. “Damn stun pulse is wearing off it is all, just hurry up and finish this transport. Colonel Stryker wants it taken to the lower testing bay,”

“Don’t tell me you aren’t hearing that voice?” The other guard retorted, “What the hell is that?”

Did they just call you an ‘it’? What was this place? Not a hospital surely. But you could barely dwell on the implications of the guard’s words ‘lower testing bay’, and the impending threat that represented as your last memories finally began to bubble up.

The X-Mansion in rubble, the helicopters swooping in over the trees, the students and staff unconscious in the grass, that soldier cracking your ribs, and-

Peter.

He was a stranger to you still, but he’d been right there against you. Surely you had drawn more attention to him just because your powers had let you resist a few moments longer than the others. Because you’d been so stubborn, not going down until you’d been forced to.

If these men had hurt any of your friends, you would be furious. But if Peter, who had also saved so many of your friends was now in more severe danger because of your actions, you wouldn’t forgive yourself.

“Where did you take the others!?” You arched against the restraints abruptly, your palms opening to face upward, trying to summon any bit of your energy at all. A wisp, an orb, anything that could have helped you right now. You had to find your friends.

But nothing came. Not even a glow or flicker of what you truly were as you now had both guards’ full attention.

“Freak! Just shut up!” One of them shoved the gurney in retaliation to your outburst, the caster wheels rattling across the concrete floor before the bed rail hit against one of the walls, jarring you painfully.

“Those with the greatest power. Protect those without. That's my message to the world.”

Xavier concluded his words then. And somehow, that sounded more like himself than any of the rest of it. The real meaning still eluded you, but hearing him in that tone at least meant he was okay. He was somewhere urging the rest of you on. At least this part you knew was true as you took a calming breath, realizing panic and anger would serve you nothing right now.

Something was blocking your powers. That much was obvious. It would be unrealistic to think that the effects of any stun weapon would be this long lasting though.

On the other hand, you knew chemicals existed that could also temporarily block mutations. Hank used one almost medicinally whenever he didn’t wish to be in his true “Beast” form. But it had to be injected direct into the veins to have any real effect.

You could feel that they hadn’t removed any of your clothing, nor had they rolled up the long sleeves you were wearing. You doubted they would risk a chemical like that wearing off at an inopportune time and likely would have started an IV if they possessed anything of that nature.

There were no tubes or lines attached to you that you could tell, only the restraints now holding you to this bed. Leather straps across your body, metal cuffs on your ankles and wrists-

But wait, you were able to move your head as you’d already discovered. You shifted it again, trying to get a better feel of what was around your neck. Metal as well, but loose as you could still lift your head up enough to see it just a bit. It and its dull, red status light.

Inhibitor collar, you realized with an all new dread sinking in. You had heard of these of course, but it was the kind of thing that students sheltered at Xavier’s school would never have to dream of really. Something you never thought you’d have to experience personally.

How naive.

But you still couldn’t give up. Your mind was racing as you tried to come up with any strategies now. Your options were so limited, but they couldn’t keep you tied down forever. Surely they’d have to move you to a more permanent containment at some point, untie you if even for a moment.

Yet, there were guns as well. You hadn’t missed that detail, but you considered it more fully now as you glanced to the long barrells swaying behind each guard’s back as they pushed you along.

They were slowing now though. You raised your head enough again to see elevator doors nearing. The lower testing bay, you remembered them saying.

But just as one guard had started to reach for the keypad beside the doors, an alarm blared, all three of you startling at the sound.

Orange lights lit up along the walls, spinning in time with the sirens.

“Weapon X is loose. I repeat, Weapon X is loose!” A man’s unnerved voice sounded over speakers you couldn’t see, echoing down the corridors.

You could only watch as both guards spun around on their heels at that, guns immediately drawn. The one thing you could be absolutely sure of then, was that you were now the very least of their concerns.

Before you could consider how to use this surprise in your favor though, screams and the echo of gunfire erupted seemingly on top of you all.

The guards were terrified. This could be your only chance.

“Take this collar off of me, please! I can help you!” You weren’t begging as much as you were truly trying to reason with them. “Look, this is serious right!?”

More men were screaming just around the corner. Only feet away now. Clearly their time to consider had run out.

You saw one of the guards glance down at you, weighing your offer if just for that moment. The other was still staring straight ahead, gun braced, body rigid.

“FIRE!” The one not looking at you screamed, and that was it. It was too late.

You flinched as the gunfire rang deafening in your ears, the muzzle flashes just above you while empty bullet shells rained onto the floor.

You didn’t know how many bullets their gun magazines could hold, but the barrage seemed to just go on and on until an inhuman snarl rose even above the pounding gunshots.

Like a blur he was upon them. One guard was immediately thrown against a nearby wall, as if he were made of paper. His gun didn’t even faze the attacker.

You were frozen as you had to watch him die in front of you. Metal blades impaled the guard, blood splatter running down the wall as his body fell. You wished the other guard would have just turned and ran, but that probably would have been fruitless now too if you were being honest.

The attacker had turned immediately back around, one slash knocking the gun away from the remaining guard, and the second taking out his throat.

You were too in shock to do anything but close your eyes in the moment you felt some of the blood hit you. It was warm was all you could really process, before you opened your eyes again to now see the killer standing over you.

His breath was fast, eyes black, no emotion evident but rage. He had no clothing on him above the waist, just muscular and bloodied with metal cords coming out of his body and attaching to some sort of helmet.

You heard the random sound of more bits of metal hitting the ground, and thought you saw a few bullets working out in reverse from his flesh.

He was one of you then, a mutant.

But you were afraid to speak. Anything could set him off again.

He was looking down at you, through you really. You thought you saw his eyes go to your throat. The collar? Or maybe you just imagined it. Everything was happening in just seconds.

His arm swung suddenly, those blades were part of him you realized, attached to his fists as they came for you. At least it would be a quick death.

You felt a burning, heard ripping and even the metal of the bed breaking as he struck more than once.

“He’s here!” Someone else screamed from back down the hallway and the gunfire started all over again.

You moved at the sound, why you didn’t know, it should have been all over regardless. But in your amazement, you realized you could move. His claws had broken through the restraints, broken the bolts that held you to the bed. You were bleeding, but only from cuts as he’d grazed you.

He’d freed you.

The gurney tumbled over with a clatter as you jumped from it. But bullets were hitting all around you as the guards continued to fire at him. You still had the inhibitor collar on, so you couldn’t defend from that. You weren’t bulletproof like him.

And he was already charging them again, but there were so many this time. A bullet grazed your arm, and you knew you had to get out of there now.

You turned, hitting the elevator keypad. You had no choice as you wouldn’t make it out of this hallway otherwise. You ducked inside as soon as the doors opened, trying to stay against the sides even as bullets were now hitting the back of the elevator. The only way was down, and you took it.

As the doors closed, and the elevator finally sank below the firing line, you allowed yourself some real breaths.

To think, just hours ago your main concern had only been whether or not you were ready for Hank’s organic chemistry final. You’d laugh if you weren’t still trembling a little, clothes torn and blood all over, most of it not even your own.

Now it was time to find the others and a way out.

—————————

“(Y/N)?” You heard in your mind, pausing in the abandoned hallway you were now wandering down. You’d left the elevator behind some time ago, but hadn’t yet found any other way back off this level.

“Jean?” You answered aloud, both surprised and relieved. “Are you okay?”

“Yes. We are now. I saw them take you too, but where are you?”

Talking to a telepath was always a bit strange. You could feel her own stress and anxiety as she began to fill your mind. She wanted to see what you were seeing.

You looked around you to oblige her, but from what you could tell every corridor only looked like more of the same in this labyrinth.

“I got into an elevator when all the shooting started, when that man-“

“Logan. We met him too. He’s escaped now, he-” She paused, your recent memories now visible to her. “He helped you.”

“He did.” You felt she both was and wasn’t surprised at this.

“Anyway,” She continued as if something was distracting her, like she was physically talking to someone else, while mentally talking to you. “The Professor needs us. We’re sending Peter to find you. He’ll bring you to us and then we’re leaving together.”

“Okay,” Was all you could answer, as you felt Jean leave your mind abruptly at that. You remembered Xavier’s odd speech earlier, something you really hadn’t had time to deconstruct any further with everything else that had happened immediately after. You supposed they would fill you in when you were all reunited.

But you did feel a significant weight leave your shoulders at the mention of Peter’s name, even though it sounded like this horrific day was still far from over. He was okay too then at least. You hadn’t screwed up enough to get him hurt in a way you couldn’t take back.

Yet how long would it take for him to find you? Should you just stay in place, or go back to the elevator now? You hadn’t found any stairwells or other-

“(Y/N)?”

You’d be lying to say you didn’t almost fall over in surprise as a tiny gust of air was the only other thing that announced him as Peter was suddenly standing beside you.

“You’re as bad as Kurt!” You gasped, before you could stop yourself. You clenched one fist at your side, at least having the self control not to punch him right in the arm as you might have done with some of the boys at school if they had given you that kind of scare.

“That’s the blue kid with the tail right? Not to be confused with the big blue hairy guy, he’s the one that told me your name by the way, or the blue famous chick from TV?” He shook his head, but his eyes were amused. “You guys have some kind of quota on the color blue or what?”

You stared at him. He did like to talk didn’t he?

When you didn’t respond right away, you saw his eyes wander down, then back up. “Red said you’d be a bit of a mess, but you sure you’re okay?”

Your shirt was torn from well, now you knew him as Logan...that man’s claws. Those cuts were still bleeding a bit, but the guard’s blood was on you as well. The metal shackles were also still on your wrists and ankles, though their chains had been broken, and the inhibitor collar was around your neck. Yes, you must look quite a sight.

“You mean Jean,” you corrected. She must have given him some warning at least before sending him. “Yeah, I’m fine. So you found another way out of here, we should-”

But he didn’t seem to be listening, either that or you weren’t very convincing on the being okay sentiment.

He looked quite serious all of the sudden. “I’m sorry I didn’t help you when Colonel douchebag was trying to work you over.”

You blinked. What was he talking about?

“Stryker I guess they said his name was, the guy that kicked you back at the house.” He just continued. “That piece of shit bailed already.”

“How did you know about that?” You asked honestly. Peter had been unconscious as far as you’d known.

“I mean I was in and out,” He answered, seemingly understanding your confusion now. “But uh...” He hesitated, kind of an awkward smirk building then. “I definitely remember you laying on me. The impact wasn’t that great, but afterward was pretty nice.”

Your felt a heat rising to your face immediately. The absurdity of being physically embarrassed at his implication and tone, as you stood here literally bleeding in the belly of some mutant torturing black ops lab was not lost on you.

“Look, I...” You didn’t even know what to say, but you knew if you didn’t start talking now you were never going to recover control here. “I’m really glad they didn’t hurt you, and I’m sorry too if I got you involved deeper in all of this. And I want to thank you for pulling everyone out of the mansion this morning. We owe you so much. I just-” Oh man, where were you even going with this? You looked to him still feeling like you were just digging yourself deeper, “You can stop me anytime now you know?”

He was now outright grinning. “You’re welcome, babe.”

Not helping. AT ALL.

You were staring at him again. “They’re going to be waiting on us, you know,” You felt you were going to be pleading with him in a moment.

“I know, places to be, worlds to save...” He just moved closer and you tensed a little bit. He noticed, but stood his ground. “I have to brace you or you’re just going to be hurt even more when I run you back to them.”

“So is that how you do it, then? You’re just that fast?” You asked honestly. His actual mutation wasn’t something there’d been any chance to discuss. You could infer only so many ways he would have been able to evacuate those in the mansion almost instantaneously. But you knew teleporters too, even people who could move through reality on other planes. There was always more than one way to do something.

“I’ll show you mine if you show me yours,” He chuckled, smirking enough for you to know he was still just picking with you as one of his hands went behind your head and the other to your ribs to brace you. He really did know where you’d been hit then.

His hands were warm, and you could smell that damn cologne again now as you tried to ready yourself for whatever was about to happen.

You didn’t know what you had expected. You knew how it felt to take off in a jet, or slam the gas pedal down in one of the Professor’s expensive cars, or ride on a really intense roller coaster. But this wasn’t that. There wasn’t even any time for your brain to register the acceleration. It felt like just a single heartbeat before you were standing back in front of those elevator doors with him.

It was the deceleration that hit you. By the time your body knew it was moving, it had already stopped again, your organs lurching and your equilibrium completely thrown off as vertigo took over. You leaned forward immediately, trying not to dry heave as puking seemed almost imminent.

He took one of your hands, his other hand moving down from your ribs to your waist as he helped support you still.

“It’ll pass. It happens to everyone the first time,” He spoke, probably the softest tone you’d heard from him to this point.

“You’re telling me there are people who have been-” You swallowed, fighting that nausea back down. “have been with you multiple times?” You meant to say multiple times like that. People who needed to be rescued this way multiple times. You stood up, still queasy as you tried to face him and correct this blunder immediately. Why did this guy have you so flustered!?

“I’m not normally like this,” you stammered, waiting for some great retort from him as you’d just left yourself wide open with that slip.

It was only then that you realized he still had one hand on your waist, and you were now facing him, just inches apart. And the silence was worse. It was much worse while he was just looking back at you.

“No,” He finally said, “I uh...I don’t have anyone that’s stayed around long enough for that.”

He wasn’t joking at all now and you knew it.

“I didn’t mean...” You started, but stopped again when you didn’t know how to finish.

But the vulnerability was gone just as soon as it’d come. His smirk returned as he let go of you, moving forward to hit the keypad for the elevator. “I did look for stairwells by the way, if you were wondering. It only took me as long as it did to find you down here because this damn elevator is slow as hell.”

You actually were a little relieved to finally be focusing back to the task at hand. But you still felt an unspoken conversation lingering that would need to be continued later. You wanted him to know who you really were.

And honestly...you now wanted to know who he really was.

The harsh buzz from the keypad brought you back to attention as Peter hit it again.

A tiny screen blinked “CODE ERROR” in red as he groaned. “It didn’t need a damn code to come down, that makes no sense!”

You responded in a few moments, realizing the likely truth fairly quickly. “But it would make sense if you were more concerned about things getting out of the lab than you were of things getting in.” The same would be true for the lack of entry and exit points. They surely weren’t concerned with fire safety or anything else but keeping their specimens captive when they built this place.

“Ugh, that’s dark,” He answered, glancing at you and then back to the keypad. “You’re almost making me not feel so bad for all the guys that looked like swiss cheese on the way down here. But lucky for you, you’ve got me, and these five hombres.” He waved his fingers at you before immediately beginning to punch in multiple codes in faster succession than of course would have been possible for anyone else.

“Peter, I don’t think-” You started, already having a good suspicion of how this might play out, before the keypad abruptly quit accepting inputs, the tiny screen then blinking LOCKOUT. The only thing that did surprise you was a new even thicker door suddenly closing over the original elevator doors.

And you couldn’t help it then. You laughed. A real laugh. It was just the dumbest icing on the cake. “Okay, Han Solo. I think that will do.” You didn’t care if he would understand the reference or not. You needed that laugh right now.

But he didn’t let you down. Not even for a moment. “Okay then Leia, then you show me how we’re getting past here to save the ugly little ewoks.”

You were still snickering a little, but you shook your head. “I can’t,” You motioned to the inhibitor collar still around your neck. “Not with this on. It’s blocking my powers.” You had hoped once you were all back topside that Hank would be able to disarm the thing. It was probably radio controlled or something like that. “We’ll have to wait on Jean and the others to realize we’re taking too long, they’ll come for us.”

“I don’t wait,” Peter retorted. “Besides, like I said, I showed you mine. Time to show me yours.” He tilted his head, eyeing you. “Really, I’ve been dying to know.”

“Sure you have,” You were skeptical, but it was actually hard to read him right now. Was he actually that curious about you? “And I’ve already tried to take it off, it doesn’t budge.”

“Again, babe. You didn’t have me before.” The smug tone was back, as he evidently had some plan you didn’t know if you were going to like or not.

“You realize, this thing is nearly against my jugular veins, right? What are you going to do?” You had every right to be hesitant you thought. Especially after the keypad failure.

“Just be still. I’m going to vibrate it apart.” He answered confidently.

Okay, now you really didn’t like this. “Again, head, throat, things I need to stay in one piece. What if it has some self destruct thing and explodes?”

“I can pull you away from that before it even burns you. How do you think your friends lived when your house blew up this morning?”

You could have mentioned Alex’s fate then, but that would have been needlessly cruel. Alex must have already been gone before Peter even entered the building. He did save everyone else you thought.

“Trust me,” Peter looked you in the eyes and you could feel yourself relenting.

You really did believe him it seemed. Hopefully that faith was not misplaced. “Please be careful,” You closed your eyes, going stock still.

“For you? Of course.”

You heard his jacket move, which told you he was raising his arms. Internally you tensed-

And then all you heard were pieces of metal and circuitry skittering across the floor in every direction. You were still standing exactly as you had been as you opened your eyes to a too pleased with himself Peter.

“Some shrapnel did try to go into your face, but I moved the pieces. No kaboom though.” His expression changed then to happily expectant, “So come on, I’ve helped three times now, the stage is now yours,” He made an exagerrated motion to the big metal door now blocking the elevator. “What’s your poison?”

Poison? An interesting way to put it, but you knew what he meant. All mutant abilities were both a gift and a curse. Yet even after all these years of meeting people of your own kind, it was still very personal to show someone your real self for the very first time.

Especially when you evidently cared what he thought of you as you realized your nerves were suddenly about much more than just being able to get open a door or not. How would he react?

You took a breath, still extremely aware of his eyes on you as you turned your palms upward. It was always easiest to start with your hands. But you’d need to bring the energy all the way through you to get the kind of power it was going to take to pull this door out.

There was a slight relief in you as your hands began to glow white after a moment. At least you knew you were no longer defenseless, that these people hadn’t taken your abilities permanently.

In your peripheral vision you could see Peter shift, but you didn’t look to him, trying to concentrate as the energy spread up your arms and you closed your eyes. It always felt so warm, like being in the sun on a clear day. It spread to your chest, legs, up your shoulders and over your face. Even through your hair as you willed the energy to lift you up, now completely enveloped until you were a silhouette of a person. Glowing in soft white light and levitating about a foot off the floor.

You opened your eyes again, feeling you had things in control enough now to speak to him. The tone of your voice changed slightly in this form though. There was a hum to it, the energy moving across your vocal chords like every other part of you.

“I’m going to try and pull the door out of the way and into the hall. Please be ready to move as I won’t have a lot of control over it once it gives. My effort is going to all be on breaking it.”

You looked to him after a moment though when he didn’t respond. You knew he was fast enough to keep himself safe obviously, but you had to be sure he was ready. Was he really just staring at you? “Peter?”

He blinked. “Yeah, uh. That’s...” He stepped back from the door, but never took his eyes off you, this weird expression on his face. “That’s cool.”

“Please mind the door,” You reiterated gently, not quite sure what to make of his reaction to your powers.

“Sure, sure thing.” He sounded more like himself then. “Do your deal.”

Your deal as he put it, involved willing this same energy now in a field around the door as you rose your hand up to control it. Once you were sure you had it solidly, you began pulling your hand back, trying to pull the door out of its railing.

It gradually started to creak, but like you’d thought, this was going to take some real doing. You pulled harder and harder, the metal just groaning louder. “Come on,” You spoke, not really sure if you were talking more to yourself or the door.

Your arm was starting to really ache with the effort. But just when you thought you might have to try something else after all, you finally felt the door give. And when it gave, it did so spectacularly. This massive chunk of metal collapsed, exploding out of its rail as it rocketed down the hallway. You just moved to the side to avoid it, the smaller pieces hitting you harmlessly in this form.

To your eyes it only looked like Peter disappeared and then reappeared as he also easily missed all the debris.

Once that obstacle was out of the way, you glided down, back to the normal elevator doors. They were slightly damaged from the removal of the larger door. But now it only took minimum effort to force them open.

You entered the elevator, the inner keypad was also blinking that same “LOCKOUT” error from earlier. So the elevator itself was going nowhere. But this was now no longer an issue for you.

“I can carry us up,” You looked to Peter, though unsure how comfortable he would be with this new idea.

He was standing at the entrance of the elevator already, watching you still. You could see the wheels in his head turning. And then he finally asked. “So, you’re glowing...and flying. Is this like radioactive glow, or I just need some sunscreen kind of glow?”

“It’s just light energy in the visible spectrum.” You answered reflexively. “But not even UV, the wavelength itself doesn’t cause any damage. It’s only when I make it solid or make it unstable that I can do anything harmful with it.”

You could see he may have skipped the lessons on long and short wave energy and radiation in science class as he just kept staring.

“You’re fine, it’s safe” You smiled. Certainly not the first time you had heard such questions. “The Professor and Hank had me tested from the very beginning, I never would have been allowed so close to other students without more precautions if I was that dangerous.”

“So you’re...close to some other students?” He asked almost tauntingly, one eyebrow raised, and it took you a moment before you realized he may be getting back at you for your comments from before.

It was probably just the fact that you were in your energy form now, but you felt confident enough to respond just as quickly, “It’s more like the Brady Bunch than what you’re thinking. Like having a whole house of little brothers and sisters.”

You had already opened up the ceiling of the elevator while the two of you talked, looking up now to the empty shaft and elevator cables. It’d be much easier to move the two of you rather than to try and lift the whole elevator. You reached a hand out to Peter. “I can lift us up the shaft to the floor that the others are on and open the doors, then you can take us to them. Deal?”

You had trusted him to bring you here, as well as to remove that collar from you. Would he now trust you to bring him up several floors without dropping him?

He was looking at your hand. “I probably could just run up the walls you know.”

You paused, realizing you hadn’t considered that. You didn’t really know what all he was capable of truly. But just as you started to lower your hand, he surprised you by grabbing and holding it.

“Yet how many guys can say they flew with you, huh?”

“Practically none,” You admitted. “I don’t make a habit of picking up my friends.”

“You aren’t quite building confidence here.”

“I’m sure that door weighed more than you.”

“And look how it ended up. Again, not comforting.”

This guy was truly something else. “Come here, we take much longer and they really are going to be sending a search party for us.”

You extended the energy from your hand across his body gently. He was obviously much lighter than the door, and the closer you kept him, the easier it would be to move the both of you.

You tried not to make eye contact with him again as you levitated the two of you through the top of the elevator and up through the shaft. Even though you knew you were fully capable of doing this, you still didn’t want to lose focus.

But his voice didn’t sound frightened at all as he spoke up to let you know how high to go. “They’re on the top floor, we’re stealing a jet to get out of here.”

“Wow, but okay. Got it,” You sped up a little at that, no longer worried about passing your landing point as you went straight to the top.

When you reached the highest doors, you were able to force them open with a turn of your free hand, bringing you and Peter safely through and back onto solid ground.

You powered down immediately as your feet met the floor, the light fading back into your body until you were just standing there in your torn, bloody clothes once more. “Okay, I’m ready to get nauseous again, let’s go.”

He actually squeezed your hand before he let go of it in order to brace your head and ribs again. “For the record that felt pretty good. You’re really warm. Zero g’s was cool too. Thanks.”

“Um...you’re welcome?” You answered, a little flustered all over again to your own dismay, and really not knowing what else to say before he whisked you away in an instant.

It really was going to be the longest day ever.

——————————

(Continued in next chapter here)

[extasiswings]

get me :)

If they’re not going to tell us anything about the finale, I guess I’m just gonna have to manifest my own damn self.  

The thing is Buck isn’t actually on shift when it happens.

In fact, he specifically called out because he needed to get his head on straight after the disaster of an afternoon he spent at Eddie’s two days before—surprised into meeting Ana and uncomfortable enough at the fact that they kept getting in each other’s way with Christopher, at the way he felt like an intruder in a space he used to think of as practically his own, that he made up an excuse to leave early and avoided Eddie’s concerned texts for the rest of the day.

But the universe doesn’t care about what Buck thinks he needs because he’s out on a walk when he hears the sirens. He gets a text from Taylor a minute later.

Heading out to cover a 5 alarm apartment fire, heard the 118 was called to the scene—you working?

Buck really couldn’t say why he freezes in place, ice suddenly gripping his heart. They’ve dealt with calls without him before. Bad ones, even. There’s no reason to worry, no reason to assume that anything will go wrong. But he stares at the text until the screen dims, unable to shake the feeling like someone’s walked over his grave.

No, he types out finally. What’s the address?

It’s stupid—he’s in civilian clothes, has no protective gear, so it’s not like he expects to be able to do much when he gets to the scene anyway, but—

But. He should have been there in the first place. And if anything does happen, he’ll never forgive himself for not being there to help.

“Cap!” Buck yells when he catches sight of Bobby after slipping the perimeter. “What’s going on?”

Bobby’s face is drawn and tired, his skin streaked with ash and sweat, and Buck assumes he doesn’t bother asking what Buck thinks he’s doing because he has enough else to deal with.

“We got the call about forty minutes ago—sounded like an electrical fire that started in the basement and spread too fast for easy containment. The alarms didn’t go off—and we’re down three guys from the 136 who got hurt when a load-bearing beam failed and brought a wall down on them.”

“What can I do?” Buck asks.

Bobby shakes his head. “Nothing. I can’t send you in there looking like—”

An explosion rocks the air and a side window several stories up shatters, sending a spray of glass down the edge of the building. Buck winces even though they’re far enough to be safe.

“If you really want to do something, go over to medical and see if they can use an extra pair of hands,” Bobby orders, clicking on his radio immediately after and shouting for a status update. And, well, Buck’s not going to argue with that.

Of course, when he gets over to the ambulances—

“Probie?”

Jesse—Buck’s pretty sure that’s the kid’s name—lowers the oxygen mask from his face and coughs.

“Hey,” Jesse croaks out. “Thought you were off.”

“I am. Technically, it’s—are you okay?”

“I was stupid—got freaked out and lost my helmet, tripped over some debris and twisted my ankle, dropped our radio down a stairwell—pretty sure Diaz was happier ordering me to get out than having me watch his back.”

It comes back again, that cold feeling, despite the fact that the heat of the fire is scorching the air behind them.

“Eddie’s in there alone?” Buck says slowly.

“Yeah—actually, he should have been out by now I think, I don’t know—”

It takes no time at all for Buck to make up his mind.

“You said you twisted your ankle? So you’re done, right?”

Jesse nods.

“Give me your gear. And tell me where you left him.”

Bobby wasn’t wrong—it’s a nightmare inside the building. Not quite as bad as the warehouse fire from the fall, but there are plenty of other hazards in a major apartment building.

Buck finds the radio where Jesse said he dropped it, the casing cracked. He grabs it just in case it still works and shouts Eddie’s name through the noise of the blaze—

“Help!” It’s not Eddie’s voice, but Buck takes the stairs two at a time until he reaches the landing. There’s a girl of maybe ten years old, her hair matted with sweat and blood from a cut at her hairline, and a few feet away in the burning hallway, trapped under what looks like half the ceiling...is Eddie.

“He saved me,” the girl says. “I didn’t want to leave him here alone.”

Buck’s heart is in his throat as he digs through the debris until he can get to Eddie’s neck. He rips off his glove and presses his fingers hard to Eddie’s neck—

He doesn’t breathe until he feels a pulse.

“Okay,” he says. “Okay—sweetheart, what’s your name?”

“Melissa.”

“Melissa—I’m Buck. You were really brave staying here, and now we’re gonna get you safe, okay?”

“Okay.”

Buck holds his breath again as he presses hard on the talk button of the radio. “This is Buck from the 118 can anyone hear me?”

Silence, and then—

“I’m not even gonna ask how you ended up on channel, Buck,” Bobby replies. “What’s going on?”

“I’m with Eddie and a little girl, 10th floor, northwest corner, not too far from the stairwell. I need help—Eddie’s unconscious, looks like a ceiling collapse. He’s breathing and I have a pulse but I can’t move him like this myself—”

Buck can hear the edge in his tone, as much as he’s trying to force his voice to stay clear and professional, it cracks on the last word. He bites his tongue almost hard enough to bleed.

“We’re sending another team to you now,” Bobby replies evenly, and Buck envies the calm that must come with experience.

“Thank you,” he chokes out and the burn in his eyes has nothing to do with the smoke in the air.

Buck hardly remembers the actual rescue. Is barely conscious of the sobs of relief from Melissa’s mother when he hands her off, all of his focus on the stretcher being loaded into the ambulance next to them. The doors close before he can follow. And it’s only as he’s standing there numb that he remembers he’s not actually on shift.

“Good Samaritan is closest.” Buck starts at Bobby’s voice sounding low from behind him. “That’s where they’ll take him.”

Buck swallows hard. “I’m not family,” he rasps. “They’re not going to tell me anything.”

“You’re his emergency contact,” Bobby corrects. “The releases should be in his record. Trust me, they’ll talk to you. Go.”

“Bobby—” Buck doesn’t know if he wants to thank the other man or apologize or confess the words that have lingered around the edges of his mind for weeks only to be thrown into sharp clarity in the frozen panic of those moments waiting for help. Or if he just wants to collapse where he’s standing. He feels like he could do that.

“You did good today, Buck,” Bobby replies when nothing else appears forthcoming. “We can talk more later. Go to the hospital. Go be with him.”

The look in his eyes says that Buck doesn’t need to confess anything.