#but i decided against that sense ya know it’s hard to draw glasses and i can just say rats don’t have those

[a-bucket-in-the-void]

OH MY GOD WAIT. you have a rat sona?? do you have art.. i wanna see the silly..

also i havent made one yet. but!! i want to!! they could be so silyl together if youre down for that :))

absolutely!!! they could be so silly together!!!

i’m not done with it but you can see a little quick sketch if you want

thank you reference images because i have no clue how to draw a rat lol

the idea is that he’s a young rat from the country that got stuck in a box of produce and got shipped to the hotel that the smp is taking place at

he’s scared and he wants to go home and he’s really not used to living without his ma and siblings

i think if i were to like actually give him a story line it would be something like for the first half he’s trying to find his way home and then through that long process learn to live on his own, idk kinda like a coming of age story or something

but yes please talk to me about your sona if you make one! i’d totally love to play touys :]]]

[dissociation-station123]

Toji X Reader

Mature Content

It’s hard to maintain a positive outlook when all the outcomes of your actions are unlucky…

A constant shrill ringing in your ears was the only thing allowing you to cling to consciousness. Your mind was no longer full of the constant anxiety of day to day life. Only the sensations of pain and pleasure blending into an addictive cocktail.

“You're doing so well for me…” a gruff voice groaned into your ear. “Just… hah.. a bit longer” you tried to cling on to the muscular figure in front of you but you felt too weak. Your overworked muscles felt like jelly.

You moan as his hands wrap around your throat once again. “Fuck I love that face…” His voice was raspy and breathless. You feel his figure tense and deep guttural grunts escape his lips. You whimper as you feel him release deep inside of you.

“Shhh…” You are pulled up gently into his arms as he moves your hair from your face. “Your ok sweetheart.” You nuzzle into his neck as he rubs your back. “No no…” He hums into your ear, “Look at me.”

Suddenly he is cradling your head. You feel his lips leaving quick kisses along your face. “Come on…” You lift your heavy eyelids with a sigh until you meet his piercing green gaze. “There she is…”

“Toji…” You mumble finding your voice. A smirk forms on his face, the thin scar on his lips draws your gaze. His lips are on yours taking away what little breath you had. “Mmm.” You get drawn in again, enjoying his fingers tugging at your hair.

“I can’t…” you mumble after his tongue probes your mouth greedily. “Please…” a soft whine of protest causes a deep chuckle from his chest.

“It’s ok princess.” Toji soothes you as you finally begin to come back to your senses. “I’m going to run a bath.” He lays you back onto the bed but as he tugs away you grip his wrist. “I promise I’m not leavin ya right now…” He whispers and you reluctantly let go. “Good girl.”

You watch his broad back exit your bedroom door as your brain starts formulating thoughts again. You let that man back in. Back into your home and your heart. A few compliments and a shitty excuse was all it took. He was the only one who could make you lose yourself. Lose all control and damn it it was exhilarating.

Your mind curses you as you recall the events that led to you now trying to find the strength to move. “How are you doing princess?” His raspy voice interrupts you scolding yourself. You look up into those beautiful green eyes and frown.

Toji ignores your expression, helping you sit up so you can drink a glass of water. You slowly sip as he lifts the glass. “You seein anybody?” Toji randomly asks and you choke. As you cough you glare up at him and he wears that same smug expression.

“No…” you practically growl and that grin falls just a bit.

“You really should.” He says as if chastising you. That familiar feeling of disappointment and anger returns as if in cue. Before you could curse him he lifts you up into his arms. You decide to stay silent as he takes you to the bathroom and sets you into your tub.

You feel his eyes studying you but you refuse to look at him. “Aww Y/N don’t be like that.” His low chuckle echoes against the tile. The sound was both haunting and angelic to your ears.

When you still refuse to meet his eyes, you hear him click his teeth. From the corner of your vision you see him lean over and grab the clean washcloth he had prepared. “Toji… Do you just enjoy hurting me?” I managed to ask and hear him sigh.

This time he is speechless as he runs the cloth along your tired body. You close your eyes distracted by the warm water cascading down your skin. The silence did not bother you but you could feel the tension between you now. After he washes you clean from the mix of sweat and his own essence he stands.

“I’m going to smoke real quick…” You hear him mutter and you shrug. He loves putting distance between you after ruining you. Toji Fushiguro was a menace and a pest. You know you need to exterminate him from your life. Why was it so difficult?

After a while you groan as your muscles begin to ache. You manage to push yourself up and step out of the tub. Grabbing the towel he left out you begin drying yourself off. Seeing the marks he always leaves makes your stomach flip. You walk to your mirror and look at your reflection.

“I’m so tired…” you say as you see the dark circles. Your fingers run along the bruise starting to form around your neck. These will outlast the time you spend together… Another reminder of your constant mistake.

The bathroom door swings open and your drug stands behind you. His large arms wrap around your waist as your gazes meet in the glass. “I was broken before I met you, Toji. You just remind me that the world is cruel. I use you to punish myself I think…”

Both of you have twisted expressions. “You remind me that there is good out there. I always fuck this up because I don’t deserve it.” Toji whispers into your ear and then lays a small kiss on your neck.

“How cliche…” you mutter and laugh. You hear him laugh as well. Then you both burst out into chuckles. It was not out of happiness. It was one of those gut wrenching reflexes where if you don’t laugh then you would both cry.

“Will I see you in the morning?” You ask a bit coldly. Toji doesn’t respond right away. Instead he roughly pulls your head back and kisses you passionately. Your tongues are both fighting for dominance then he bites your lower lip.

“You want me to tell you a lie?” He asks and you roll your eyes. You push him away and walk out, hearing him follow closely behind. “Come on Y/N let’s keep pretending I’m a good guy just for tonight huh?”

You turn quickly on your heel with a sinister smile. You grab his chin tightly, his eyes widen in surprise. “There is no such thing as a good guy, Toji.” Your voice is stern and his expression shifts to match your amusement. “Now pour me a glass of whiskey.” He nods and you release his face. Moving into the dining room you sit at the island and watch him prepare you a drink.

“How is work?” He asks as if he really cared. You scoff and he flashes his teeth. “Humour me…” He pleads and you take in a breath.

“Ooo it’s wonderful. I always imagined sitting in a cubicle all day. My work really matters, you know.” Your voice oozed sarcasm. This time Toji rolled his pretty eyes in your direction as he slid over your glass. “How is the business of murdering people?”

Toji grins, “Fucking hell Y/N…” He laughs watching as you take a long sip. “It’s great being a dog I guess. Havin to attack when ordered. The best!” He matches your tone and you find yourself smirking.

“I’m surprised your master let you off the leash for a bit.” You add and he shrugs. You finish the liquor too quickly and the heat rushes to your cheeks. “I’ll have to send him a thank you card.”

“You bitch…” Toji growls but you could tell he was enjoying the banter. His expression was soft. “He knew I needed to fuck something. I was getting a bit unruly.”

“Lucky me…” you mumble and before you could blink he had lifted you up, placed you on the counter top, and spread your legs to ease between them.

“You fucking love that I always come slinkin back to you.” His voice lowers as he pushes his forehead against yours.

“Maybe…” you say as your breaths mingled together. Your eyes traveled lower and you could see he was ready to take you again. “Your fucking insatiable Toji…” You moan as his hands grip your large thighs.

“You love that too.” He says and you could not deny him that fact. No matter how much you hated him when he disappeared. The moment he returned your heart always leapt out of your chest in excitement. “You should have never walked into that bar.”

“Well I always tend to have the worst luck…” you whisper and both of you smile. “Now do whatever you want…”

He did not need any more coaxing. Your head fell back as he shoved himself deep inside of you. Your legs shook in protest but he held you steady as he began thrusting aggressively. Both your words were now animalistic groans and heavy breathing.

The thoughts of how you ended up here easily fading back to mindless pleasure as he grabs your neck yanking you forward for a sloppy kiss. “If you let anyone see you like this…” His eyes were now wild. “I’ll fucking kill them…”

You never knew if when he spoke was the truth. Especially when he was balls deep in your soaking cunt. You moan loudly at the possessive streak that has now overcome him. You're a fool… some part of my subconscious spoke up but when he squeezed taking away my oxygen it faded away.

Being unlucky was not always the worst…

[iamverysmall-andihavenomoney]

Sitting in Their Lap at Random

Pairing(s): Suna Rintarō x Gender Neutral! Reader, Akaashi Keiji x Gender Neutral! Reader, Ushijima Wakatoshi x Gender Neutral! Reader, Yamaguchi Tadashi x Gender Neutral! Reader, Tendō Satori x Gender Neutral! Reader

Warnings: Strong language, a little jealousy in Yamaguchi’s, fluff across the board

Suna Rintaro:

It wasn’t anything new, for you to want to sit in your boyfriend’s lap.

When he was playing with his friends, online? Straddling his lap, both of you comfortably seated as he continues his game.

When you two were watching a movie? If you weren’t already lying down, you would be seated on his lap, his his well-manicured nails gently scratching your scalp.

When you two are on the train? Sitting on his lap to ‘save space’ for the people around you.

You two are insanely affectionate with one another.

Behind closed doors, at least.

PDA can happen, on occasion, but you guys didn’t partake in it all that much.

Usually, near immediately after he or you had gotten home, he’d be dragging you to the couch to pull you into his lap.

Or he would be be dragging you to the bedroom to a ‘mandatory afternoon nap’

However, today was different.

The twins were over, along with a few other members of the volleyball club.

They’d been here all day and even though you loved every one of the Inarizaki team members, you wanted your boyfriend’s affection.

When you come to the conclusion that they have yet to leave and probably won’t be leaving anytime soon, you decide to take matters into your own hands.

Walking over to where your boyfriend sat on the couch with his friends, you halt in front of them, letting him finish what he was saying to Osamu. Once he’s finished, he just grins up at you, already knowing exactly what you want. So, he brings a hand to yours and helps you straddle his lap, your knees sitting on the couch on either side of his hips.

   With a soft hand combing to gently and soothingly drag his nails over your scalp, he ignores the looks he’s getting.

   “Ya’ gettin’ soft on us, ‘ere, Suna?” Atsumu casts a smirk at you two, while you tuck your face into Rintarō’s neck.

    Rintarō just casts him a smug look, “You’re just jealous that you can’t keep anyone.” 

   With an off-handed ‘fuck you’ coming from the blonde twin cast in his direction, Rintarō turns his attention solely back to you, gently kissing your head and rubbing circles against the small of your back, pressing your body against his.

   No one that didn’t see you both near everyday, knew about his affection towards you, about the way that he absolutely adored holding you, being held by you, laying under you, laying on top of you... Just anything that would insure that he was touching you.

   With his gentle, soothing touches taking away the toils of the long day, you find yourself relaxing and falling asleep against your boyfriend. Rintarō, uncaring to the fact his former teammates were watching, gently pulls you closer to him, a soft smile on his face and a sense of pride in his heart.

   You were all his and he loved getting to show you off like this. His partner, who found comfort in his embrace, in just being in his presence.

   Aran grins, “This happen often?”

   “You have no idea.” Rintarō delivers a kiss to your forehead, “Not that I’m complaining. Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Akaashi Keiji:

Keiji was a hard worker.

Anyone who said otherwise didn’t know him.

You swore, all he did was work sometimes, it worries you.

Tonight was one of the many nights that he’d ended up not coming to bed, because he’d been so caught up in his writing.

You’d become accustomed to it.

Not that you were complaining. Keiji always made time for you and always apologized on nights like tonight when he’d had a particular inspiration that caused him to get enveloped in his writing.

You were just glad he’d gotten a large dinner, in case this was one of those days he got so caught up, he’d write through the night, then be too tired to eat breakfast.

It happened more often that you wished it did, but you knew he always took care of himself, afterwards, so you didn’t nag too much.

Tonight, like most nights, you were craving your fiancé’s warm embrace.

So, pulling one of your smaller blankets onto your shoulders, and letting the rest fall around your frame,

You walk into Keiji’s office.

He doesn’t look up but for a spit second.

But his soft, sweet smile (the same one that made you mELT on the spot) and nearly unnoticed nod confirmed that you could stay.

You were almost always allowed to stay.

Unless he was frustrated with his work.

He didn’t want to accidentally take it out on you (though you know he never truly would, you respected his wishes)

Standing in the doorway, you lean against the doorframe to his office, your favorite blanket held against you by your hands, balling up the corners, just under your chin.

   Keiji knew exactly what you were here for, eyes soft as they meet yours. His nod is only slight, but it’s enough for you to notice, padding over to him and silently waiting next to his chair so he could finish his sentence.

   Though once a period marked his spot on the page, he pushed his chair back a bit, turning it towards you. It was a large, comfy chair, bought for exactly this reason. Keiji silently holds a hand out for you to grasp while you straddle his lap in the chair, knees tucked on either side of him, the blanket slipping loosely over your bodies as you lean into him.

   Tucking the blanket around your shoulders so it wouldn’t fall, you wrap your arms around your fiancé’s waist, your head finding purchase in the crook of his neck. With the side of your head leaning against his shoulder and your face tucked in his neck, your soft breaths tickling his skin, he can’t help but smile.

   It wasn’t long before the soft tapping of the keys on his typewriter lulled you to sleep. The only problem Keiji had, when this happened, was that it was hard to get up from the chair with you, without waking you, if he finished. And after finishing the chapter he was working on, he looks down at your sleeping form with a sleepy smile.

   You were so precious to him and you didn’t even realize it, did you? He wouldn’t be the man he was, without your unconditional love and support for him. And he would spend everyday of the rest of his life, thanking you for it.

   However, right now, he was moving his hand to the side of the rolling chair, hand connecting with the lever to recline the chair (- which he most definitely hadn’t gotten for this exact reason...) After reclining you both, he pulls you up a bit more against him, slipping his glasses off and placing them on the table.

   Keiji’s arms come to wrap around you, securing you against his chest, the sound of your soft breaths and the classical movie he had playing through his study to calm himself, lulling him to sleep as well.

Ushijima Wakatoshi:

It wasn’t often that Wakatoshi even got to sit down, long enough for you to get to cuddle with him in his lap

He was up before you were, every morning.

Though he would always wake you up just enough so he could tell you he loved you before he left.

But that’s another story, back to this one

He did get to share a lunch break with you, but having more than twenty minutes for lunch was usually rare.

He’s always there for dinner, but he’s always so exhausted that he’s likely to just take a shower and pass out, after.

When he was chosen for Japan’s Olympic team? His schedule only got busier.

So who was there to remind him that it was okay to take a break, sometimes?

His lovely partner.

So, on Sundays, his one day off from constant training... Who was there to sit in his lap and prevent him from trying to busy himself with other things, like grocery shopping and overall things that could wait?

That was you, as well.

And who would he be to push his cute partner away when they huffily sat on his lap?

Wakatoshi had only just sat down from his work on attempting to clean your whole house, this morning. He really never took a break, always wanting to busy himself with something.

   So, when I say you jumped on the opportunity, I mean you jumped on him.

   Olive colored eyes move to peer at you, a deep, baritone chuckle escaping your boyfriend. “Trying to make a point?” He muses as you get comfortable in his lap, already holding two water bottles, and your lunch for the day.

   Two Bentos that you spent time making, the previous night, something you tried to do everyday with one another, to make sure that you both got at least a little time together. Moving your legs to rest on the couch beside him, you lean on the arm of the couch so that you can somewhat turn towards him, still seated in his lap.

   “You deserve a break, you know,” You scold lightly, while you open one of the Bentos, allowing your boyfriend to take one from your hands so he can begin eating on his own, a look of amusement on his features as he listens to you. “I could do absolutely nothing and you’d still think I’m deserving of a break. You should keep the same energy when you’re thinking about yourself. As great as it is that you want to keep busy, it’s not healthy. You need you time, where you can tak-”

   Gently cradling the back of your head with a large hand, Wakatoshi presses his lips to yours, effectively silencing you. He draws away after a moment, though he doesn’t move, just pressing his forehead against yours. “Stop worrying,” his chest reverberated with his deep voice, making you smile a bit, feeling it against your arm.

   “Fine, but only if you promise to stop working yourself into the ground.” You state, narrowing your eyes at him, only for the athlete to chuckle and press his lips to yours, briefly, once again. 

   “Anything for you, my dear.”

Yamaguchi Tadashi:

Tadashi loves it when you sit on his lap.

Most favorite thing in the world is when you walk up to him and curl up in his lap.

Usually, he finds you do it when you notice he’s been studying too hard or when he seems to need a break from a project.

But he has known you to do it, whenever you get jealous.

So, when you two were out at a bar, having drinks with his former teammates and the bartender began flirting with him...

You weren’t too happy.

He continued to let them know that he was happily spoken for.

But they were persistent.

Even when you made it a point to place multiple kisses on his lips with a pointed glare towards the bartender, they couldn’t take a hint.

After finding yourself in a conversation with Hinata and Kageyama, you were pulled away from your boyfriend.

You were not happy to look over and find him sitting with Tsukishima, Daichi, and Sugawara at one of the tables in the bar, looking very uncomfortable as the bartender continued to flirt with him.

You trusted Tadashi but you knew by the way he continued to swat their hands away that he was uncomfortable.

And something you hated even more than someone flirting with your boyfriend was someone making him uncomfortable.

That was the final straw for you.

Excusing yourself from the two boys, you began to stomp over.

Your eyes had long-since strayed away from Kageyama and Hinata, now on the little booth that held your boyfriend, his best friend, and two of his former upperclassmen, and by extension, the flirty barkeep.

   You managed to keep yourself calm...

   Until they tried to card a hand through your boyfriend’s long hair. He smacked their hand away, but he couldn’t hide his uncomfortable expression. He hated people touching his hair, unless it was you, of course. With that, you slipped away from the two competing men to walk towards the booth.

   “Excuse me?” With a smile so sweet it would give someone cavities and a glare that could send a chill down anyone’s spine, you brush past the bartender to greet your boyfriend where he sat.

   All you have to do is tap lightly on his shoulder and he’s grinning, sliding back in his seat so you can slide yourself in his lap. His arms come to wrap themselves around you, his chin resting on your shoulder and his long hair tickling your cheek, making you smile and kiss his cheek.

   Then, you turn your gaze back to the bartender, tilting your head a bit, “I’m sorry, did you need something?” You hum, though they only respond with a look of envy, before going to ‘check on’ other customers. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.” Your utterance is caught by the four men at the table, who just shake their heads and grin in amusement.

   Tadashi pinches your sides playfully, nuzzling his nose against your cheek. “Jealous, honey?”

   Ignoring his question, you lean forward and rest your elbows on the table. “So, everyone... What were we talking about again?”

   Tadashi just grins, his hands rubbing your sides as he holds you securely in his lap. He didn’t mind that you were jealous at all, especially is you ended up in his lap like this, every time.

Tendō Satori:

Satori is...

Well, Satori is Satori (I’m in love PLEASE)

Boy is touch starved as HELL

He fucking craves your touch, all of the time.

You two will be working in his chocolaterie and mans will pull you into a hug ANY TIME you’re not helping a customer.

Your regulars know that you two are happy and very much in love.

Because even after you both got married, you’ve both stayed in the honeymoon phase.

It never stopped.

Every time you hug him, he just... Melts.

So when you come to sit on his lap and feed him chocolate while you both have the shop closed for a lunch break.

His heart melts.

His expression melts.

His everything just melts.

Motherfucker licks your cheek to be goofy, but that’s only after you start poking fun at the way that even now he still melts at your touch.

Flipping the sign around, the red-haired male slumps into a seat. Despite his actions seeming exhausted, you could tell by the grin adorning his lips that he was happy. And how could he not be?

   So many people loved him and his chocolaterie... And he had you. How could he not be happy with his life? Even if life had taken him through the ringer to get here, he was finally here and he was happy, with you. Speaking of you, his eyes flickered over to you as he noticed you bringing some of both yours and his personal favorite treats.

   He tilts his head at you as you approach him. “Watcha doin’?” He cooes as you come to stand in front of him.

   You silently nudge the outside of his feet with one of your own, signaling for him to sit up a bit and close his legs. He doesn’t say a word as he adjusts himself to sit up, already reaching for your waist so you can settle down comfortably in his lap. He tugs on you, causing you to fall into him, laughter escaping you both. 

   Feeding yourself a chocolate, you smile, before then popping on into his mouth. “Spending time with my husband. Something wrong with that?”

   “Not in the least, my dear,” he cooes into your ear, trying to ignore the heat rising in his cheeks, his eyes unable to trail from you. He still couldn’t believe you were all his. That you loved him. 

   “You’re so cute, Tori,” you coo, poking his cheek. “You still act the same way that you did when we first started dating, you know.” 

   He just grins and shrugs, “And somebody loves me for it,” he practically sings the words to you, taking a chocolate from your hands to pop into his mouth, before proceeding to lick your cheek and purposefully smear chocolate on your face.

   “Tori, that’s gross!”

General Masterlist:

@thathoneybee3 @bratkugo

[nincompoopydoo]

DEBRIS AND MISERY

CURIOUS MINDS THINK ALIKE ; PART 5 / ?

PAIRING: Loki Laufeyson x Female!Reader WORD COUNT: 3.1k SUMMARY: Through guessing games and walking on eggshells, it’s you and Loki that dance the strange choreography of two curious minds trying to figure out the other. A/N: Slow moving chapter! If any of you speak Norwegian and know that sentence is wrong, please tell me! I took a risk, not sure if it's worth it. Anyways, I promise there’s more stuff coming in the next chapters. Tell me anything about this chapter, what you love, what you hate. Enjoy xo gif from this gifset by@marvelheroes WARNINGS: Swearing? More paperwork. support my writing through ko-fi💖 MASTERPOST ; MASTERLIST

The narration of Miss Minutes accompanying the grainy animated graphics of a training video on how, why, and when a branch of a timeline is reset seems to be the source of Loki’s absentmindedness. If he is typically referred to as outrageously and mostly unnecessarily communicative, it is his mind that beats his mouth—the tumult of his thoughts is loud and overwhelming like the people who amass at taverns every evening to drink themselves silly whilst singing jolly drinking songs until the wee hours of the morning. Except, his thoughts are far from jolly. He, mastermind of language and a silver-tongue, has no words of any language to describe the complexity of his mind with accuracy.

Kraftig regn som faller i en fossende elv.

Like heavy rain falling on a cascading river. Water from the sky on water streaming through the ground—thunderous raindrops from above against the river that strikes every rock of every winding turn.

Those were the words of his mother.

Maybe, that’s how his mind should be described.

It’s the mechanical creaks of spinning wheels against the polished floor that pulls him out of his thoughts and finds that he had been staring blankly at a page of men riding jet skis of a magazine he'd nipped from the stack of junk on Mobius’ desk for the last minute or hour. A second or a day? He isn’t sure.

Time works differently at the TVA.

“Hey Casey,” he hears you chime, the cart squeaks as it pulls to a halt. “Do you have a paperweight or something I could use?”

There’s a sound of rummaging as the clerk searches the drawers. Loki restrains the urge to look.

“Uh, yeah...Here.”

“Thanks.”

Probably an infinity stone.

The clerk then wheels by, pushing the evidence cart as he casts a cautious glance his way.

Right. He did threaten to gut him like a fish earlier on although the threat was not as deadly as he intended but proved to be surprisingly effective. Yet, Casey is probably the type to be afraid of his own shadow, he would comply with any sort of threat even if it isn't death.

Pathetic. But amusing.

The training video continues to play in the background, and Miss Minutes’ stupidly charming and cheery voice is starting to sound like gibberish to him. At this rate, it’s white noise to him—attention elsewhere but somewhat listening to a certain extent. He loves multi-tasking and isn’t afraid to admit he’s great at it though it likely plays a huge factor in contributing to the uproar of his brain. It’s why he doesn’t get any sleep for most nights.

There’s just...so much to think about.

And now, it’s filled with the reminder of how you met another version of him. Somewhere. Sometime. An inferior Loki, obviously.

Suddenly, the jet ski magazine becomes less interesting, his mind fleeting.

Discreetly, he spins in his swivel chair and sees you through inked writings and diagrams on the glass partition of your cubicle. Your coat’s discarded, and you have your sleeves rolled up, looking less formal, less tense than before. Yet, still as fierce with that constant scowl of your brows. He watches you bring your fingers to scratch the left side of your cheek and notices a vague resemblance of a fading scar.

He hadn’t seen that before.

The glowing orange hue of the soul stone sits idly on top of a stack of papers beside you.

Loki makes some sort of contemptuous noise in his mind at the sight.

The TVA is a strange place. The thought of a cosmic organization that overlooks all of the time doesn’t make it any less weird and neither do the uniforms—dull color combinations and collars that never seem to end. And the Time-Keepers, well, he isn’t sure what to make of that. Things are a little too straightforward, too simple for handling such a complex matter of the universe—Time. It doesn't make sense.

You spark his curiosity. You had a connection with him. Another Loki trusted you to a certain extent. He wonders what makes you so special, that Mobius was willing to try everything to convince you to help.

He also wonders what your name is.

The clearing of his throat comes off as a sudden and disruptive sound that resonates clearly through the somewhat silent environment of the office floor. A subtle way to gaining your attention although it's proving ineffective. You continue to flip through documents, scribbling notes on a notepad.

He wheels his chair closer to you. For a moment, he catches sight of a white mug amongst the mess. It says, 'Rocket scientist at work.' There’s no way a person as intimidating as you have that kind of mug.

He clears his throat once more.

Still nothing. It’s like he doesn't exist to you.

Then, he notes your vague attempt to fight down a growing smile.

Oh. Oh. You—

Hm.

He scooches closer and taps on the glass partition a little too aggressively.

“I know you can hear me.”

His tone comes out in a sing-song manner. Finally, your eyes turn up to meet his. They are different from when you first saw him emerged into the hallway. Less angry and shocked. Now, you just look unimpressed.

Loki somehow thinks it’s a great idea to charm his way to you.

A grin finds his way to his lips, curving widely with oozing allure.

Or so he thinks.

“Pardon me, but I believe we haven’t properly met and I didn’t catch your name earlier on.”

You don’t say anything, only blink in response.

Tough crowd.

Loki shifts in his seat.

“...What is your name?”

He articulates his words with care, and he doesn’t know why he finds it a need to tread lightly around you. Like with a touch, you will transform into a fiery beast from his childhood nightmares and eat him alive.

You and Mobius are polar opposites—personality-wise. It’s a wonder how the two of you get along.

Do you scare him? No. Definitely not.

Do you intimidate him? Perhaps. But, he will never admit it.

Maybe it’s the way you’re gazing at him with that constant, deafening deadpan look.

Then, you finally give him an answer.

“Agent.”

And with that, you're back to scribbling notes on a notepad.

Agent.

Loki scoffs silently to himself.

Well, that turned out to be completely pointless.

He turns his back to you, returning to scanning through Mobius' jet ski magazine within his grasp.

Loki doesn’t see how you’re now staring at the back of his figure, tapping your pen against the notepad absentmindedly.

Curious minds think alike.

-

You needed a change of scenery.

With all the noise of the muffling narration of the training videos from Mobius’ desk, you began to feel like you forgot how to do your job. The only job you were created for. The disturbance seems to be putting your brain into a frenzy and it’s preventing you from getting your head straight on report protocols. Trying to think of better words to describe the things you’ve seen on Sakaar that weren’t words that meant trash and didn’t end up sounding unintentionally sexual, is where you draw the line.

Times are hard for the variant turned analyst.

The archives are serene amid your solitude. Extensive tables hidden between shelves of identical-looking binders that expanded throughout the hundreds of floors of the building. The spot that overlooks the three looming statues of the Time-Keepers is your favorite. The occasional swish of a passing elevator calms your nerves from all the frustration and pressure ever since you were released from your arrest. You’re just happy to be somewhere familiar although it’s not home.

Although all distractions are gone, you manage to find new ones as you gaze at the glowing ‘357’ signage from across the building as you decide to let your thoughts run for just a little while. You feel like you’re looking through foggy glasses and your brain feels like it’s about to shut down any moment.

Dream away the pain, then.

Then, you hear a voice from afar. Two voices. It’s Mobius; you’ll recognize that quintessential Texan accent anywhere from the times he would rave about a new jet ski magazine he’d found on a mission...something along those lines.

Much to your chagrin, you also hear Loki with that irritatingly posh accent of his.

You should probably move somewhere else. Run and hide before you're being pulled even more into this mess because you know Mobius is trying to get you to spend as much time with the variant turned analyst to gain trust.

You’re still not sure how it’s helping with his case. Loki has better trust in Mobius than you as far as you’re concerned.

Before you could even gather the mess of your files, the two men you’ve been trying to escape are already by the desk you’re sitting at. You suddenly notice the stack of files on the other end of the desk, not remembering seeing the archivist putting that there.

Crap.

“Let me park ya at this desk and don’t be afraid to really lean into this work...”

You look like a deer caught in the headlights, signaling to Mobius that you really don’t want to share a desk with Loki. He continues to speak to him, ignoring your silent plea. Then, he gestures to the seat across from you.

There’s still time to leave.

Mobius addresses you with the stretch of his pointer finger.

“You, keep an eye on him. I’m gonna get a snack.”

Well, too late.

With a turn of a heel, you and Loki watch him walk away and pass neverending shelves of the archives. Once again, the two of you are left alone in the silence and the white noise of the TVA.

You meet each other's eyes at the same time, struck with the thought that you and he will probably be seeing each other a lot until the Loki variant is arrested. Plus, you’re tired of giving him the cold shoulder although you believe he deserves it.

This is a different Loki. The one who’s still power-hungry. The one who still wants to rule.

Time to start fresh.

You notice he now wears a jacket, a color somewhere between green, grey, and brown with a striking image of the TVA’s official badge above his chest. The lapels of his jacket jut out in an attempt to replicate his sense of pride and confidence.

He must have been on a trip with Mobius to the Renaissance Faire in Wisconsin, 1985. Oh, how you would kill to tag along. Everyone who knows you knows about your obsession with Earth’s music pop culture, specifically the 1980s. It explains the cassettes you have lying around. Your apartment has more of it.

Unfortunately, you're grounded. That's reality.

Thus, you decide that Loki deserves a second chance because he’s also somehow looking at you for some kind of approval. You’re starting to wonder if this is the same Loki that was tapping aggressively on your cubicle earlier on.

With an open palm, you gesture to the empty seat surrounded by stacks of binders and folders. It's the first time he has experienced some kind of acknowledgment of his presence that you weren’t ranting or screaming about. Oddly calm. Oddly inviting. Momentarily, he shifts in his stance, eyes darting between a fading figure of Mobius rounding the corner and to the seat, across from you.

The air is tense. However, still breathable.

Loki slides into the seat, legs shifting under the desk as it brushes against your by accident. You shoot him a pointed look, and he responds with a coy expression, blinking at you innocently. It’s mischievous.

Classic Loki.

You turn back to your case file, ignoring the way his gaze seems to burn holes into the side of your face for a fleeting moment before flipping a binder open from the stack to his left.

-

You snore when you sleep.

Loki wouldn’t describe it as a snore; it's more of a wheeze. Soft and subtle but it’s there, cutting through the ambiance of the archives, drifting and resonating in his ears. Through turning pages, uttering words to himself for his amusement, and having an irritating lady shush him for that, he realized how it became a lot quieter. The grazing sound of pen furiously scribbling words onto the yellow notepad has stopped.

Then, he hears it. Your pathetic snores. Your cheek is unceremoniously pressed against the back of your hand while the other holds the orange pen that’s still pinned down on the paper, mid-scrawl. The tip of the ballpoint pen sits idly, halfway through the curved stroke of the last letter of the word, ‘debris.’ He cranes his neck, face tilting in an attempt to read the chicken scratchings of your handwriting.

0132: L1190 hauls me through the time door and I miserably land on Sakaar, the planet of wastelands and debris.

You are quite...miserable. In a comical way. And he knows how much you hated your time on Sakaar—Mobius warned him of your apparent irritation in reminiscent of being stranded and then having to resume paperwork immediately. He wonders if he, too, is the reason for another boiling rage.

Apparently, you were pardoned on behalf of not only Mobius but the Time-Keepers as well.

You, an agent, are recognized by the holy and almighty Time-Keepers.

You, an agent, who sleeps with your mouth agape.

The statues of the TVA’s creators loom over him like they’re watching his every step. Every movement. Every lingering thought. Right now, he has the urge to uncover, perhaps deduce, the holes within this whole mess. In a carefully calculated and discrete movement, he reaches to prod you on the forearm. You don’t move.

He prods you again.

You still don’t move.

Now, Loki is trying to chat up the archivist who watches him through narrowed eyes, glasses framing the austere and rigid structure of her face, in favor of files that turn out to be classified.

Classified, classified, classified. Only able to gain access to his own file.

His journey from the desk proved to be useless and unproductive although the much-needed stretch somehow made it a little worthwhile.

When he returns, you're surprisingly still asleep, brow twitching and lips still parted.

Aren’t you supposed to be keeping an eye on him?

The pen you held has now left your grasp, rolled over to his stack of binders. He notices the words inscribed on it, ‘Mars is there, waiting to be reached.'

Through your fury and chaos, he knows there’s a part of you that feels, a part of you that loves. And you love everything about the Midgardians’ space program. It's shown in the way you cling to collected memorabilia.

There are dark circles that adorn your shut eyes, barely hidden under your lashes. You’re exhausted, fractured.

Loki is having a difficult time trying to suppress how he likes the way the frizz of your hair glows against the glowing table lamps from the desk behind you. You’re raw, flaws presented on a silver platter for everyone to see. Maybe, that’s the reason why you entice him the way you do.

He’s staring. Right. Back to work.

Loki returns to running through neverending case files, engrossed in the pixelated monochrome images that accompany the monospace typeface of endless reports.

Then, he sees it.

‘Destruction of Asgard’ in big, bold, and red letters. It glares at him sharply, images of his once divine home of Asgard, crumbling at the feet of Surtur. Buildings, people, engulfed in the flames of the fire demon. The prophecy of the end, Ragnarok—it was meant to be.

His home, it still was. Although an untrue Asgardian.

He knows how it ends. He knows he dies. He wishes his true self, the one on the Sacred Timeline, could have done more.

He doesn’t realize the forming tears that linger. He doesn’t realize that in the sense of premonition, you’ve awakened. He doesn’t realize that even with sleepy eyes, you notice the grief that glints in his eyes.

“Are you okay?”

With three words, you’ve struck him with those eyes that seemed all-knowing. You see through the facade he has created, sealing the true nature of what is truly a child that is afraid of his destiny and to lose all he had ever known. His mother, father, and brother. His people. You see through it all.

You know that face. You’d seen it on Sakaar when he sat at the doorstep of your makeshift home, watching the splintered moon drift through the star-lit sky. You’d seen it in yourself through the dusty reflection of the screen of the tempad.

He longs for home. He longs for family.

For a moment, Loki sees Frigga in your eyes.

Then, his world shifts, hauling him back to reality. It’s you who’s across his way, not his mother. Loki blinks, partly to get his head straight with the excuse to blink away the sting in his eye. He shifts in his seat, rolling his neck and squares his shoulders.

“Yes. I’m alright. It’s just...”

Trailing off, he clears his throat. You follow his gaze and from your spot, you catch sight of those deafening crimson letters. Maybe, it was the spur of the moment. You blame your drowsy state, but there’s a growing warmth that spreads across your chest from the pit of your stomach. It’s subtle, a spark, but evident. Before you know it, you’re uttering words that leave your lips faster than your brain could perceive.

“I’m sorry.”

You don’t know when was the last time you said those words and meant it. Loki doesn’t know when was the last time he’d ever heard those words addressed to him, spoken from the lips of a stranger. Until now.

You mean it. He sees it in the curve of your brows.

Loki swallows, nodding curtly. For the first time, he has nothing to say. And as quickly as the moment comes, he brushes it off and so do you. Whatever is reminiscent of a residing unknown feeling, bubbling within, has disappeared.

He sees your hand reach for the pen and for a while, he thinks you’re about to reach for his arm.

But no, you’re back to scrawling notes on the paper and he’s back to studying useless documents.

It doesn’t take long for the two of you to fall back into your normal antics as you find yourself chasing after Loki, who abruptly left the desk with wide eyes.

Curious minds think alike. Mostly.

TAGLIST:

@lareinedususpense

@poubxlle

@mystoragehatesme

@the-maroon-panda

[duskholland]

Getting His Fill | Mob!Tom Holland Smut

summary ↠ you’ve been a brat all day, and Tom’s had enough.

requested ↠ yep, twice! similar concepts were suggested both by an anon and @a-singleboat, so I combined them.

warnings ↠ this is really quite hardcore. includes d/s dynamic, elements of bdsm, mean dom!Tom, c*ckwarming, bondage, oral (fem-receiving), unprotected MxF rough sex, dirty/filthy talk, angry Tom, cursing, mob-related themes? aka -- pls pls pls don’t read if rough stuff freaks you out.

a/n ↠ I’m starting up a new thing which I’m gonna call Mob Mondays... aka, every Monday I’m gonna try to post something mob!Tom related, and it will probably be filthy. all the oneshots are based within the same universe, but you can read the pieces as stand-alones. feel free to send me suggestions or concepts for mob!Tom and I’ll see if I can incorporate them in the future :) until then --- happy reading (and don’t forget to wrap before ya tap!)

18+ !!!! this contains NSFW material, so do not read if you are a minor.

You know you’re being a brat. You’ve been acting like a spoilt, entitled bitch all day, but you’re not going to stop until you get exactly what you want, and Tom knows that.

It had started this morning. You’d woken up to Tom’s head between your legs, his thick curls tickling your inner thighs. He’d teased you, his brown eyes meeting yours mischievously as he’d nuzzled his nose up against your covered clit, the hard pressure to your silky lingerie making you whine and buck your hips. He didn’t stop his teasing until you were so flushed and breathless that the entire front of your panties were soaked through and you were practically begging just to get him to touch you. And you’d almost got it. Just as Tom had dragged his hot tongue over the front of your panties, his phone had started to ring, and he’d left you high and dry, fisting at the satin sheets as he’d swept from the room with a lingering, don’t you fucking dare that rendered you immobilised.

He hadn’t come back, and when the house started to fill with the sounds of his men arriving for work, you’d given up on waiting and got on with your day. But the ache between your legs has persisted, and it really doesn’t help that Tom’s been avoiding you ever since.

Now it’s early afternoon, and you’ve decided you can’t wait on him to come to you - you’re just going to have to bait him into finishing the job. You’re so horny it feels like your skin is on fire and your body longs for him in a way that puts you on edge. Tom rarely leaves you hanging, and it’s a sensation you can’t stand. And you know he’s busy, but you don’t really care as you slip on one of his favourite dresses and go to cause trouble. It’s a silky little number that skims the tops of your thighs as you walk down the hallway, and it draws the attention of his men as you walk into the open reception hall where Tom’s hosting a few guests. But if Tom notices, he doesn’t show it. In fact, he pays you no attention beyond a fleeting glance as you enter the room, and you’re forced to make polite small-talk with some of the guards until you notice Tom’s at a break in conversation and seize the opening.

You’re not shy as you approach. There’s no need to be. Everyone in the room answers to Tom, and you’re his, so that leaves you invincible. You know he can sense you approaching, but he doesn’t do anything, even when you’ve swaggered up to stand right behind him. Infuriatingly, he just pulls his phone out of his pocket and starts scrolling through his emails as you run a hand over his toned back, pressing your chin on the flat of his shoulders as you peer down at his hands. His fingers are slim and long, and you find yourself gulping as memories of intimate times pass behind your eyelids.

“Baby,” you try. You dig your fingers beneath the crisp collar of his shirt, giving you the perfect leverage to tilt his neck and expose his pale, sensitive skin. You press a few wet, open-mouthed kisses to him, grinning as you feel him stiffen.

But much to your irritation, Tom keeps his eyes fixed firmly on his phone, even as your mouth goes up to tease his ear, your tongue flicking gently over his lobe before you leave another hot kiss just behind it. “Pay attention to me,” you whine. You run your hands down the sides of his shirt, twisting your fingers up and around to his front, and you’re so close to snatching his phone away when he pulls away, turning around to finally look at you.

“Needy today, aren’t you?” Tom crosses his toned arms over his chest, his stature pulled wide and domineering, and you swallow deeply as he stares at you intently, eyes dark and firm. His hair is styled up and away from his face, looking smooth and slick in the way you like it, and you find yourself biting down on your lower lip as you admire him. “I’m busy.”

Your lips roll into a pout. “Not too busy for me.” You step closer, pressing your hand to his shoulder as you lean up to his ear again, whispering hotly. “You left me hanging this morning. ‘S not fair.”

Tom’s sharp fingers briefly dig into your waist as he pushes you away, your hands falling back to your sides as your frown deepens. A whine slips from your mouth as you glare at him, the sight of his jaw pulled tight only causing you to grow more aroused. Wanting to test him, you try to get closer, your entire body burning to feel him again, but he just steps back teasingly.

“Not fair, huh?” Tom taunts, his voice pulled lower and drier. Your mood dips as you realise he’s feeling mean. And sometimes you love that side of Tom - the part of him that pins you down and edges you until you’re a wet, slippery mess, and grips your chin as he spits obscenities in your ear - but today, you’re so fucking desperate to have him touching you that it’s enough to ruin the playfulness you’d had spinning between your ears as you’d walked in. “Don’t come in here and act like I owe you anything, love.” He glances down at the leather watch strapped to his wrist. “I’m too busy for this. Don’t make me tell you twice.”

A shiver passes down your spine as he looks at you firmly, his expression saying try me. And you know you should leave the room and let him continue to mingle with his partners, but his husky tone and the way he’s staring at you like you’re just a bratty bitch makes the ache between your legs worsen. You’d stopped wearing panties around the house as soon as you’d moved in because Tom has such a habit of ripping them off, and now it’s come to bite you in the back as you feel your throbbing cunt begin to drip, your slick wetting the insides of your thighs.

“Please,” you beg, letting your teeth catch your lower lip again. You widen your eyes and stare at him pleadingly, and you know your interaction is being watched by the other men in the room, but you’re too distracted to care. “Tom, baby- I need you-“

“And I need you to leave before you cause a scene.” He steps closer and brings a hand up, his fingers briefly cupping your cheek as he stares at you firmly, eyes slightly softer. “Stop being a needy brat, sweetheart. I’ll deal with you later.” He brushes the flat of his thumb across your lower lip teasingly, and then he’s pulled back and it’s as if he’d never touched you.

Knowing your cue, you begrudgingly turn and dramatically walk from the room, feeling him watching you and the way you swing your hips as you get further and further away.

But you don’t give up there. His refusal to satisfy you is just a minor setback. For the rest of the afternoon, you lounge about in your queen sized bed and model a few of your favourite lingerie pieces, sending snap after snap to Tom. He leaves you on read, but you notice he’s opening the messages almost immediately after you’ve sent them. You already know you’re in for it later, but he gets really hot when you’ve pushed him too far and so you’re more than willing to aggravate the situation. 

You spot him around the mansion a few more times over the course of the day. Tom doesn’t ignore you, but he keeps his distance, always somehow finding a way to be just out of reach. It drives you up the wall as he ignores your stares and appears to care more about the contracts that he’s pouring over with Harrison, and your arousal only grows worse as you realise he’s doing it on purpose. Every time you look away, you feel his gaze resting on you, but he’s always turned away before you can catch him.

This frustrating game of cat and mouse continues on until 10pm, when you’re finally able to get him alone.

The mansion is quiet and his office door is shut, but a golden line of light cascades out from beneath it and you don’t hesitate to slip inside. Tom looks up from his desk as he hears the sound, his eyebrows drawing together in outrage at being interrupted, but then his gaze falls on you and he sighs deeply instead. His brown eyes drift back to his work, nimble fingers twirling a golden pen through the air as you approach him. You’ve ditched the silky dress from earlier in exchange for one of his large grey t-shirts and a pair of loose shorts, and you feel swaddled in his musky scent.

“What makes you think you can be in here?” He speaks quietly as he underlines a few lines of the contract on his desk. “The door’s shut for a reason, love.”

You walk around the front of his desk and slip up onto an open spot, the cool glass pressing against your exposed thighs. You rest your chin in your hands as you peer at him innocently. “Why are you so mean today?” You dare to ask.

Tom’s breath hitches as he slowly, slowly, tilts his head up to look at you, an expression of irritation spreading across his thin pink lips. “You think I’m being mean.” His voice lulls deeper, and it’s with a thrill of anticipation that you realise your word choice has irked him exactly like you’d intended. He reaches up to wrap his arms around your knees and pulls you until you fall into his lap. As one of his hands finds your waist, the other slides underneath your shirt and up your front. His rough thumb presses over one of your stiff nipples and you whine. “You’ve been so fucking bratty today, darling. Hm?” Tom nudges you from the crook of his shoulder and forces you to look at him, your breath hitching in your throat.

“I missed you.”

“Sure.” His hand moves away from your waist and he fists it in your hair, his eyes dancing darkly as he pulls your head to the side. “Turn up at my meeting in a dress that shows off everything, then you try to make a pass at me in front of my guys. After you finally take the fucking hint and leave me alone, you spend all afternoon sending me those photos.” Tom pauses, swallowing deeply as his brown eyes stare into yours. He looks tired, with his hair arranged looser than it was earlier, but he smells so intoxicatingly of Tom that you find yourself inching closer. He releases your hair and brushes his light touch over your cheek, fingertips gentle and contrasting the way his other hand continues to grope you under your shirt. “I’m not being mean, love, I’m trying to show you that you can’t always get what you want.”

You reach up to fist his curls, intending to use your grip to jerk him down into a steamy kiss, but Tom catches your hands, a knowing look in his eyes. He reaches back and grabs a tie from his desk, and you gasp as you realise what he’s planning to do.

“No,” you whine, shaking your head vehemently. But he just pulls your long t-shirt up and over your head and then draws your wrists together, carefully binding them with the black tie. His touch feels hot against your skin, your naked chest prickling from the sudden coolness of the air. “That’s not fair, Tommy. I wanna touch you.”

Tom presses a quick kiss to your cheek before pulling back and raising his eyebrows. “You think after all the shit you’ve pulled today, I’m going to let you have anything you want?” He reaches down and quickly pulls off your shorts, leaving your centre bare and glistening as he pulls you back into his lap. His mouth is at your neck and you whimper as he drags his lips and teeth over your skin, biting and licking over your sensitive spots as you squirm. You can feel his length through his slacks, pressing up deliciously against your aching cunt, and you grind messily against him, knowing you’re digging yourself a deeper hole, but enjoying the way Tom’s face squints pleasurably.

“Just...fuck me,” you suggest seductively. “Show me I’m yours.” Your voice is far too eager for Tom, who immediately pulls away from you. You stumble back, suddenly unbalanced as he stands from the chair, and you watch as he pulls his trousers and boxers down his legs. Your thighs clench at the sight of his flushed cock, standing tall and full against his lower stomach, his prick red and weepy. When Tom raises an eyebrow and pats his right thigh suggestively, you straddle him, hissing slightly as you wish desperately he hadn’t tied your hands together. “I need your cock, Tommy.”

He brings his hand to your face, thumb slipping into your mouth as his hot, minty breath spreads across your face. You grind down against his leg, the slight pressure causing you to gasp around his thumb, and in response, he fists your hair again.

“I don’t think you deserve to get fucked, m’love,” he murmurs, voice achingly cruel. When you pout, he just smirks. “Wouldn’t be fair, hmm? You acted like a spoilt brat all day, what did you expect was gonna happen? You’d suck me off, maybe let me tease you a little bit, then I’d fuck you?” He laughs quietly, pulling at your hair as you groan. “You’re so desperate for it. Soaking my thigh before I’ve even touched you.” He finally releases your hair and reaches down to tug at his cock. You try to speak, but the thumb in your mouth just presses your tongue down. “I’ve got some calls I need to take, but I don’t trust you to keep your fingers out of my pussy. So…”

He finally pulls his thumb from your mouth. As you gasp a deep breath, his fingers lever your hips and pull you up, and then his cock is running through your soaking slit, pressing up against your bundle of nerves in a way that makes you mewl.

“Not a sound,” he orders.

Your teeth catch your lower lip as he guides your hips down, your tight entrance stretching to take his length. It feels so good, to finally have him pressing your walls apart, and the burn makes you shake as you try to push down a quiet whimper at the feeling.

“Mm, there’s a good girl,” he whispers. “Taking my cock so well. Don’t even need to touch you, and you’re already so fucking wet.” He bottoms out, his groan filling your ears as your eyes flutter shut, your breathing laboured and heavy. “Don’t move. You’re gonna sit there and keep my cock warm until I’m ready for you.”  

Tom reaches over to the desk and picks up his phone. Your forehead falls down to his shoulder as your bound hands rest between your bodies, your heart racing. You feel so full, having his cock stuffed in you completely, and it’s almost like a pleasurable method of torture. The wetness from your pulsing walls means you can feel every ridge and curve of his member, and it takes everything you have to stay still and bite back your noises.

“Hi Haz, yeah, just got a few questions about that contract from earlier…”

You bump your head against his shoulder and muffle a whine as you realise what he’s doing. Tom placates you by wrapping one of his arms around your waist, the presence anchoring you to his lap, but it also nudges you forward and causes an arc of pleasure to roll up your spine as his tip presses up against your g-spot. You sink your teeth into the shirt on his shoulder as Tom continues to phone his men, asking them dozens of needless questions as you writhe about in his lap, your walls pulsing weakly.

After what feels like an eternity, Tom finally puts the phone down. Both his hands go to your waist and he gently coaxes you back, pulling you away from where you’ve been burrowing your head into his shoulder. He brings a hand to your chin and angles your face, peering down at you with lust in his eyes. The pads of his rough fingertips skim beneath your eyes, gathering up a few tears of frustration that slip out as he bucks his hips against you.

“You look so fucked, dove,” he murmurs, taking in your sweaty forehead and the way your chest heaves. “So pretty like this, naked and flushed, clenching around me like that.” His breath catches as you clench around him, his own cheeks tinted a deep rosy red. Quickly, Tom clears a space on the desk and then lifts you up, your bodies still entangled as he presses your back into the glass and stands between your tensed thighs. His hungry lips nibble down the column of your neck, and he pauses to suck deeply against your sensitive spot, making you groan softly into the air. “No noise,” he repeats. He reaches down and brings your bound hands up and over your head, and then you’re just laying there, body naked and humming from arousal, his cock nudging up against your heat in a way that has your eyes tearing up, and you can’t do anything apart from wait. Tom takes his time to slowly pull out, pauses for a teasing moment at your entrance, and then gradually pushes back in, wet sounds of your arousal filling the air between you.

“This is what’s going to happen,” he starts, leaning over you. One hand fondles your breasts as the other reaches down to your thigh and pushes your leg back further, giving him better access as he continues to slowly fuck into you. “You’re gonna lay here and take it. You can’t touch me, and you definitely can’t talk. If you’re lucky, I might cum in you.” He ruts particularly harshly against your back wall and you stifle a gasp. “You’ve been such a fucking brat all day, you’re lucky I’m even doing this for you. Does that sound fair?”

You nod slowly, your mouth dry and the muscles in your arms aching. He’s got a mad look about him - the sleeves of his white dress shirt pulled up to his elbows and his sweaty curls falling out across his flushed forehead, but he fucks you hard and that makes all thoughts leave your mind. His fingers burn into your thigh as he keeps you spread wide and open, your body quaking as his thrusts grow harder and more precise, the tip of his cock nudging at your g-spot. There’s a fire growing in the pit of your stomach but you find yourself biting and chewing at your lower lip as you try to push back your high, knowing he won’t let you get there, knowing he’s going to make you regret all of your bratty actions from earlier.

It only takes him a few minutes for his thrusts to grow sloppier. Your lungs burn and your arms throb, but you respond eagerly as his lips finally find yours and they meet in a searing kiss. You can’t keep back a moan as he hits your spot directly over and over, and you take the opportunity to groan into his mouth as he chases down his high. But he hears the sound, and just as he’s about to cum, Tom does the unthinkable and pulls out. You cry out at the sudden feeling of emptiness, and then your eyes widen as he stands between your legs, hand pumping his glistening cock.

“You were doing so well, sweetheart,” he rasps. “Was g’nna cum in you, then eat your pussy.” He pauses to whine, the noise full and heady as his hand blurs over his cock, the veins in his neck standing out. “Too bad, I guess.” When you whimper, he leans forward and bites the base of your neck, his chest pressing flush to the rise of breasts. “Only good girls get my cock. And you’ve been a brat all day.” And as you wriggle on the table, trying desperately to feel anything against your flushed centre, Tom peaks with a cry, his white cum landing on the skin of your stomach and chest. The feeling makes you whimper softly as your core aches, your arms aching as your eyes glaze over.

Tom curses as he finishes, his cheeks red and flushed and his demeanour pulled wide by a confident smirk. His eyes survey your painted naked body as he slowly starts to dress himself again, occasionally running a finger along your inner thigh and delighting when you mewl and buck your hips against nothing. Once he’s dressed, he picks his phone up and slips it into his back pocket.

“I have to finish my work. Stay here. Don’t even think about moving. Maybe when I come back, I’ll give you something.” He walks around the desk, pausing when he’s by your head to lean down and press a small kiss just behind your ear. “Or maybe I’ll just tease you,” he adds. “Make you a whimpering, needy mess, and keep you on edge all night until you’re begging me to let you cum.”

He pauses, laughing quietly as you stare at him incredulously. “I guess it depends what mood I’m in.”

Tom moves away from you and you shiver, the rolls of his cum feeling cold against your skin. The ache between your legs feels worse now, and you know that it’ll be a long, torturous wait for him to come back, but that you’ll have to do it, because crossing Tom when you’re already in hot water would be the worst thing you could do.

“See you later, darling,” he calls out, voice already distant. “Don’t have too much fun without me!”

And then the door closes and you’re left alone, your muscles sore and your core aching, and you know you’re in for a long, long night.

[-----]

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[iwantitiwriteit]

Slow Burn: Book I - Part 7

The Lunch - Small Thank You’s

Pairing: Chris Evans x Famous!Reader

Summary: You and Chris get to know each other better over a flirty friendly lunch.

Warnings: Fluff, spinkle of Angst, Profanity, phonetic spelling of words said in a Boston accent because I needed a laugh

Notes: Hey loves! Hope you all are well! It’s been a while— praying I didn’t forget how to write too bad and y’all enjoy this installment lol. Little FYI: I’m basing the reader’s music off of that of Banks and SZA. Before you dive in, set the mood with the moodboard + music specially curated to go with this part! Read the previous part here.

The GPS said the drive from the museum to the restaurant would be… well, you were distracted from that bit of information. Not that it would matter. Chris keeps making turns against the suggested route, citing that this was “his city” and that he’s a “real Boston boy”.

What you do know is that the talking and laughing with Chris made the car ride seem all too short. Pointing out familiar streets and landmarks, he lit up telling you his childhood stories laced within the city. Pardon, his city. The glint in his eyes and excitement in his voice sent tiny sparks up your spine, but you did your best to ignore it.

Chris tried to guess where you had the two of you going for lunch. You, however, wouldn’t give in to his guesses. Eventually, you arrive at a market of sorts, a culture clash of small businesses and patrons. It’s in an area Chris is familiar with, but he never thought much of coming to.

“I thought we were going to a restaurant?” Chris inquires, not seeing a food establishment from his spot in the driver’s seat.

You puff out your jaw, squint your eyes, and proceed with your best ‘Godfather’-like impersonation as you tell Chris,“I thought you would’ve learned to stop asking me questions by now, hm.”

“That... was horrible.” Chris’ deadpan causes you to giggle in response.

“I know! Now c’mon; I’m starved!” You draw out as you reach to let yourself out of the car.

“Woah, woah, hold on,” Chris stops you with a gentle hand on your arm. You questioningly look over your shoulder at him. He unbuckles his seatbelt and gets out of the car. Settling back into your seat with a huff of delighted shock, you realize what he’s doing.

Chris jogs to your door, the returning drizzle giving him a sense of urgency. He opens the door for you then offers his upturned, open hand for you to choose to take. You hesitate for a millisecond before obliging, delicately placing your smaller hand in his large palm.

You’re unsure of the last time anyone was this... chivalrous to you. Trying not to dwell on it too long, you give him a soft-spoken ‘thank you’. Chris responds with an equally soft ‘of course’. You both find it difficult to meet each other's eyes, missing the shy smile the other is sporting.

“Lead the way,” Chris gently prompts with a hand extended in the market's direction.

Mildly busy, the market is livened by business people, college students, housewives and househusbands alike. Store fronts of small businesses ranging from sustainable fashion to high-end housewares line the long cobble stone path, accented by fairy lights for added whimsy. Chris curiously takes in the sights from beneath a low baseball cap and hoodie. He’s sure to not let his eyes linger too long for fear of locking with anyone.

Meanwhile, you’re walking with purpose, leaving a distracted Chris behind. He catches up when he notices you turn a corner in his periphery. When he follows the path you took, he finds you by a green, white, and red beaded archway.

You pause and look up at Chris, a playful grin on your lips that makes his heart skip a beat. He’s looking down at you, brows raised with utter anticipation. You think this might be your favorite expression on him. You pull back and step through the beaded entrance, Chris following suit closely behind you.

“Woah…” It was almost as if that small act of stepping over the threshold transported you both to Sicily. The faint notes of Italian standards play in the background as Chris gawks at the charming restaurant.

The mostly occupied dining area is quaint, housing about 10 tables max, including a couple of booths. The walls are decorated with floor-to-ceiling built-in shelves of libations from Italy. The alcohol display is interrupted by creeping vert vines that add that little bit of spice to the space.

As a waiter walked by, Chris breathed in deeply, the warm aroma of marinara sauce, freshly baked bread and Italian spices filled his nose and lungs.

“How’d you manage to find the one Italian restaurant in the greater Boston area I’ve never been to, much less heard of?”

“Hmmm… must not be as much of a Boston boy as you think,” you say with a wink, and Chris scoffs through his lopsided smirk.

“There she is!” a bellowing voice familiar to you draws yours and Chris’ attention away from each other. Chris looks on as the short, husky man pulls you in for a cheek-to-cheek kiss. “It’s been too long! Mi sei mancata la faccia!”

“Charlie, you know I have no idea what you’re saying, but I like the way you say it!” You share a laugh with your Uber driver-turned-friend. “And what do you mean ‘it’s been too long’! I was just here last week.”

“5 days ago to be exact. 5 days since you, ya castmates… most importantly ya directah,” Charlie stresses lustfully in his strong Boston accent, “have swarmed Ma’s restaurant. Whassup with that, huh?”

“The real question here is what’s up with your crush on Sonya, huh?” you tease him. Charlie’s smitteness with your director has not gone unnoticed.You can practically see the hearts forming in his eyes at this moment.

“I doan know what ya tawkin about.”

“Uh-huh, sure.”

“Enough abowut it! Let’s get ya seated and you can tell me who’s ya new friend,” Charlie says, motioning to Chris.

When you’re seated in a corner booth by a rainy window, you introduce the two men.“ This is Chris, my, uh…um…” You hadn’t really thought about what to call your relationship with Chris. It’s been… rocky up until this point, and while you’ve been friendly, you’re certainly not friends. Not yet, at least.

Chris notices and understands your hesitance, a small part of him hoping it’s because you don’t want to friend-zone him. “It’s alright, don’t worry your pretty, little head about it,” he teases you, earning him an eye roll. “We’re… acquaintances, right?”

“Right! Acquaintances… I guess?” It didn’t feel right, a little too impersonal, but you’ll roll with it for now.

“‘Acquaintances’?” Charlie sizes Chris up, a comical sight considering the dramatically different statues of the two men. He tilts his head and squints at Chris’ face, his expression melting from intimidation to inquisition. Chris tenses, knowing the look he’s being given all to well. “Been here before, Chris? You look mighty familiah…”

“Umm… no... I don’t… don’t believe so,” Chris answers almost timidly. The avoidant gaze into the plastic covered menu, the heated cheeks that shone the same color as a tomato— you know that look all too well. You decide to do what you hoped someone would do for you.

“He’s just got one of those faces! But um, I’m ready to order if you are?” you try to deflect. Charlie doesn’t think much of it and takes down your meal decisions, but that small act means the world to Chris. He mouths ‘thank you’ from across the booth, and you smile and tip your head in a slight nod, sure he would’ve done the same for you.

You order your usual, spaghetti with vegan meatballs, and a glass of the house white wine. Chris has what you’re having except he’s ordered a “tonic”, which you learned the hard way the other night is Bostonian for soda. Charlie is back promptly with your drinks and breadsticks and ensures that your food will arrive shortly with a small smirk on his face that you don’t think too much of.

It’s quiet at your table for quite some time. Both you and Chris take small sips from your glasses, nibble at the garlic-y bread, look out the window and around the restaurant. As you do so, you run through a list of conversation starters in your head but you’ve deemed them all too dumb, too boring or too invasive. Why the hell do I care so much? You glance up at Chris and wonder if he’s going through the same irrational inner turmoil you are. Maybe he’s not, or maybe he’s overcome his when he finally breaks the silence.

“So, um… how long have you been a vegan?”

“Um… how long have we been shooting this movie? My character— she’s very, uh… power to the people— and plants,” You chuckle out. “Figured it wouldn’t hurt to give it a try myself. Go a little method,” you say with a shrug.

Chris waves his breadstick at you as he asks, “You believe in all that method stuff?”

“I don’t know… I’m really new to this whole acting thing, but I guess I just like the idea of really connecting with this character in every way I can. She reminds me so much of myself at that age.”

“How so?” Chris presses on.

“She’s… sure. She’s sure of herself… of her judgements and decisions. She’s sure of her hand in her own success. And that breeds this really un-fuck-with-able confidence in her that if I had an ounce of, it’d be over for you hoes,” you end with a slow nod and look off into the distance.

Chris laughs at your dramatics, but it dawns on him what you’ve shared. “Wait… you’re telling me that’s not you now? I mean, I know I’ve only known you a short time, but you seem pretty un-fuck-with-ably confident to me.”

“Ha! Guess I’m a better actress than I thought,” you mutter. Chris knows it’s meant to be a joke, but watching as you fiddled with the rings on your finger, his chest tightened. A look of sympathy must’ve shown on his face, because you start to wish you hadn’t said anything at all. Did I just overshare? God, I thought I outgrew that.

To save you from your minor embarrassment is Charlie with the same smirk from earlier. He gently places the order in the center of your table, and you finally understand what his face was trying to give away earlier.

“We’re, uh… runnin’ low on plates...” is Charlie’s half-baked explanation. “Buon appetito!” he offers before hastily leaving.

Sat between you and Chris was the meal you ordered, yes, but on the single largest plate you think you’ve ever seen. One plate of spaghetti for two people— two practical strangers— to share. The embarrassment just won’t stop, will it?

Elbow perched on the table, your hand acts as a visor of sorts on your forehead as you massage away the headache forming at your temple. You can’t see Chris, just hear him chuckling and breathing out an “oh man…” under his breath. His fork comes into view as he twirls the pasta onto it. You peek under your hand up at him.

“What? Not gonna just look at it!” Chris insists. “Now, let’s see what this vegan meatball is about… DAMN! That tastes legit!” You giggled at his enthusiasm and felt your tension melt away.

You began to dig in as well. It was fine, normal even, for a few moments. You could almost forget you’re sharing one big ass plate of pasta with one of Hollywood’s most sought after stars at a hole-in-the-wall Italian restaurant. Yep, very normal. As long as I keep from oversharing the rest of this afternoon, everything should be fine… you thought to yourself.

“Tell me… how are you liking Boston?” Chris asks.

“It’s fine.”

“‘Fine’?! Just fine.”

“It’s great Chris, no need to get your panties in a twist. But, ya know… It’s just not…”

“Home? Yeah, I get that. Where’s home for you?”

“Um… well I guess home has never been a single place for me. It’s with people I love, as cheesy as that sounds. Home is where my heart is…” you trail off as you remember you shouldn’t share too much.

“And your heart is with family, friends… a boyfriend…?” Chris slips in.

“What is this? 20 questions?” You quip as you sip on your white wine.

“Maybe... if you want. You can ask me something.”

“Hmm… Ok…” You ponder over what to ask him as you twirl your pasta around your fork. “What is… mm no. How about… nah, wait.” Chris huffs impatiently as he awaits your first question. “Ok! I got it!”

“Alright, lay it on me.” Your breath hitches at his word choice and you hope doesn’t notice. Why’d he have to say it like that?! You clear your throat and ask your question.

“What’s your favorite song of mine?”

“Really? That’s your question? So conceited…”

You giggle before explaining, “Well, I only ask ‘cos a little Scottie told me he saw you, and I quote, ‘full on rocking out’ to one of my songs. I’m just curious which one it was.” You sip on your straw and peer up at Chris, watching for his reaction.

Chris groans, covering his face while sinking down the booth seat. You can’t hear too much of what he's saying behind his hands and over your laughter, but it sounds like he’s cursing Scott’s name. When he finally restores some gumption, he places his hands on his napkin, eyes fixated on his fingertips picking at the dampened corners. Teeth sunk into your bottom lip, you try your best to bite back your amusement to not further Chris’s obvious embarrassment.

“Ok…” Chris sighs out, “ I’ll admit it! I’m man enough to own up to it,” he shrugs. “Yes, I was ‘full on rocking out’ to your music. You’re amazing at what you do.”

Your face heats up, not expecting the compliment. You don’t know what to say. It’s not like you’ve never heard it before. In fact you’ve heard it a lot the past couple of years, you’d thought you’d become numb to it. Yet, for some reason, sitting across from Chris, his eyes looking tenderly into yours, the compliment you’ve heard a million times before just… hits different. “Thank you.”

“Of course.”

You clear your throat and break eye contact with Chris. “You still haven’t answered my question, though...”

“Right! Hold on…” Chris says as he fishes his phone from his front pocket. He scrolls through his music app to find the playlist he’s made of his favorite songs of yours. Your cheeks burn even more intensely as you watch. “‘Gemini Feed’ is my favorite to dance to; hands down! But I also really love ‘Drew Barrymore’; it’s fun… but sad, ya know? What am I saying; of course you know; it’s your song!”

You giggle in somewhat disbelief of watching Chris motherfucking Evans geek out over your songs!

“Well… this is a rare opportunity I have, to talk to the artist herself, that is. So, I have to ask, how did that song come about? From personal experience, I suppose?”

“Yeah… um, gosh. You want the full or abridged version of the story?”

“Full! Are you kidding me?!”

“Ok, ok! Well, it was right before my album was set to come out, and my boyfriend-at-the-time dumped me,” you laugh lightly at the now-funny memory. “After weeks of heated arguments and projecting his career insecurities on to me, he picked his final fight with me about how I was “acting too famous for him” and just ended things.”

“Damn.”

“Yeah... It completely caught me off guard. I couldn’t think straight in the studio that day, so I ended the session earlier and went to a party, per my best friend-slash-manager’s coercion. She’s a bad influence.”

“I like her style! Did the party help?” Chris asked.

“Well, it was on the higher-end of house parties, and I just wasn’t used to being around such an expensive lifestyle yet. But guess who was there because why wouldn’t he be?,” you exhale and roll your eyes as you reminisce.

Chris leaned in with intrigue. “The Ex?”

“Mm-hm. In my standard walk-in-the-party-scan of the room, I spot him. I should've known because that party was very much his scene, but what I wouldn't have guessed is that he'd be there with some other woman.”

“What?!”

You nod your head as you proceed to spill the tea to Chris. “This dude is there with another woman, after being out of a relationship for all of 8 hours. I think the worst part is that she looked nothing like me. Like, imagine the complete opposite of me to the hottest power, that was who was hanging all over that idiot.”

“He is a total idiot for letting you go.” You don’t know what to say to Chris’ statement and quite honestly forgot where you were, what you were talking about… “What happened next?”

“Right! We locked eyes for a moment and there wasn’t anything from him. No emotion at all. Like, he didn’t care that our relationship just ended. But then I had the thought that maybe we’d been over for a while and I had just been too distracted to realize and accept the party was over.”

“Jimi peeped what was up and got me out of there. I hoped that we could go home so that I could cry on her shoulder all night. Instead, she dragged me to a real house party. I so badly wanted to pity myself, but the energy there was too infectious to not enjoy; it felt like a 90s movie!”

“The next day, I went through my crazy ass camera roll, and I couldn’t help but... smile… and laugh! Then I thought about him, and how stupid he made me feel, and I don’t know… I kinda put all these weird, conflicting emotions into this one song, and felt better afterwards. Like I was turning a page.”

Chris didn’t immediately say anything, taking in the very personal story you shared. The somewhat unfortunate event that fueled his favorite lyrics. He looked at you carefully and quietly. However kind he looked in this moment, it didn't matter much to the creeping thoughts in your mind.

The silence made you self-conscious. You took inventory of your physical, how your face was hot, how your chest felt tight. Your left hand had somehow migrated into Chris’ right hand in the middle of the table. “I, uh— my bad…” you start as you take back your hand.

Chris quickly grabs your hand before it gets too far. “Thank you for sharing that story with me... and your music with the world. Your confidence in your vulnerability is really fucking inspiring. Thank you. Seriously, thank you,” he gives your hand a gentle squeeze for emphasis. He’s looking at you with a boyish smile and tilted head that makes you break down and smile at him, too.

“Thank you,” you return, just barely above a whisper.

——————————————————————————

You and Chris spent the rest of your time at L'amore Della Madre exchanging stories of love lost and life wins, sharing loud laughs and silent signs of admiration. To anyone on the outside looking in, it may have seemed like two had known each other longer than you actually have.

“I gotta say, I don’t like this,” Charlie whispers to you. He pulled you aside for a moment to say your goodbyes, while Chris waited for you outside. “Mostly becahse it was supposed to be my jahb to set you up with a nice Italian boy, but you’ve brought your own,” he says with a smirk.

“Oh, no! It’s not like that! Chris and I aren’t— wait… how’d you know he’s part Italian?“

“I have my sources… which may be the wait staff who are big fans of the guy. Here this is from them,” Charlie hands you a to-go box.”It’s tiramisu… for two,” he winks.

“Oh my god! I told you, we--”

“Will thank me at your wedding!” Charlie says as he waves you out of the door to the sidewalk where Chris is waiting.

“Wedding? Who’s getting married?” Chris asks.

You let out a sigh and shake your head. “Nobody. Want dessert?”

You and Chris small talk and walk and eat tiramisu on your way to the car. It was nice. It was normal. It felt… real. You didn’t realize how much you needed and missed small, yet meaningful moments like this until right now.

The pair of you stop in front of a pet shop window and watch the puppies play together for a moment. You pointed out a pair of snuggled up puppies to Chris. “Hey, they kinda look like us!”

Chris chuckles when he looks, “They do!” A chocolate brown puppy and a tannish-white one lie peacefully in one another’s presence without a care for the world on the other side of the glass. The tannish-white one starts to lick and nudge at the chocolate brown one, eliciting what you made out to be a sleepy smile from the brown pup. You don’t know why, but witnessing such intimacy causes you and Chris to straighten, fidgeting and giggling nervously.

“I had fun today.”

“As did I. You’re better company than I thought you’d be,” you joke.

“Uh… thanks?” He answers reluctantly, causing you to giggle. “Maybe we could… hang out again sometime…?”

“Maybe we could.”

“Cool.”

“Cool.” There’s a beat of silence as you and Chris hold each other’s gaze. “So… you wanna take my number down?” you prompt him.

“Right! Right. Yeah, I should probably do that…” Chris stammers as he pulls out his phone. You take it from him, replacing it with your phone. You put in your number along with taking a silly picture for your contact, and he does the same.

Chris laughs at your shared child-like humor, and you revel in the moment. It was nice. It was normal. It was the first time you’d felt unmistakably connected with someone without feeling anxious of their motives or what the world thought of it in a very long time.

Time moved slowly when you were with Chris, it seemed to good to real life. But just like that, a flash snaps you and Chris out of your daze and back to reality.

You both look in the direction of the camera flash to find a young woman trying to pretend she didn’t just take a picture of the two of you. Chris turns back to you but doesn’t meet your eyes. Instead his head is hung low as he says “I really… hate that shit.”

“Preaching to the choir.” Chris looks up to your face, your gaze steady in the general direction of the perpetrator. “Makes me feel like an animal in a cage.” You say.

This is why Chris doesn’t mind celebrity companionship. You get it. You understand this strange aspect of his life that not many other people truly do. You also get the value of normalcy and privacy… and leaving when the party’s over.

“Let’s get out of here.” You say coldly and walk in the direction of the car.

Chris was baffled, to say the least. This was usually the part where you talk about how “fans” will cross invisible boundaries just because they know your face and name. However, you seemed uninterested in trauma bonding.

You were already buckled in when Chris caught up to you in the car. The energy the entire drive to your sister’s brownstone was… off. Nothing like it was earlier in the day. A simple flash changed your mood, and Chris was aching for it to go back to before. But no joke, or crank of the radio volume seemed to work.

When Chris pulls up to the curb, you immediately hop out, mumbling a final thank you to him.

“Hey,” Chris grabs your wrist gently, halting you, “You get kinda used to it. Ya know... after a while,” he says hoping you’d find comfort in his words.

You look down at where his hand was wrapped around your wrist. “Yeah… that’s what I'm afraid of... but thanks anyway.” Taking back your wrist from Chris, you turn to walk to the front door.

Chris is calling after you. He doesn't want to be emotionally intrusive, but he hopes you'll give him a chance to understand you. Help you. Comfort you. If only she'd turn around. You can't bear to look back at Chris. It will only remind you of everything good today, and why you can't have it.

Part 8 coming soon! What’d you think?

[portiaadams]

Meyer and Charlie Smut

I wrote Lanskiano smut. It’s embedded in my Richard Harrow/Clara Thompson story. For those who don’t care about Richard and my OC, here is Charlie and Meyer having a moment

December 31st, 1921

The sound of the engine and the clacking of the train against the rails filled the room, but could not overcome the roaring silence between the room's inhabitants. Charlie adjusted his legs once more, trying to find some way to fit them on the single bed. God damn it, this was a bed for a child not a grown fucking man. The Darmody kid was probably too big for it.  Charlie wasn't sure how long he'd been awake-this time-but it was one of many things really pissing him off.

From the larger bed there was a quick flash of light and then the scent of sulfur and tobacco. "I offered to take that bed," Meyer said after a slow exhale.

"Them shoulders of yours wouldn't have even fit," Charlie groused.

Determining Charlie's mood came as naturally to him as determining the weather before he stepped off his stoop. Certainly, Charlie's moods could be as mercurial as the weather. And at the moment, Charlie's mood registered as stormy.

"Charlie," Meyer began.

"Can it, Meyer," Charlie answered and swung his legs off the bed, stumbling in the dark for his own cigarettes and lighter.

"You are being irrational," Meyer responded.

"That brutto figlio di puttana bastardo was up your ass all night. You enjoyed though, didn't ya?"

Meyer sighed. Charlie acted like he was the only one who wanted. Meyer's first memory was wanting. Wanting enough to eat, wanting a warmer fire, wanting. Those years when his father was gone and he did all a kid could do to keep his mother and siblings fed and warm.

But wanting. Wanting in America was sharper, brighter, different. There was so much more to want. From the moment he stepped off the ship he moved as fast as his little legs would carry him. He moved to learn English, to get out of the classroom full of tiny children and catch up with his peers, he moved to learn the streets and determine how to make money any way he could. He moved as fast as he could because he knew the goal was to leave the Lower East Side behind him. To move fast enough that one day he could even outrun wanting.

But nothing, not a lifetime of yearning for acceptance and security, held a candle to his ever-present need for Charlie. There was no part of him that did not want every part of Charlie. And as much as his wants dictated every carefully crafted move of his life, there was nothing he wanted more than Charlie. In his life, in his office, in his bed. Even if it made no sense. Even if it had no place in his plan.

"He was circling round you like a bitch in heat," Charlie continued.

"The way Gillian Darmody circled around you? The way the chorus girls do?" Meyer snapped back. He spent years, he spent agonizing nights, watching Charlie charm women whose desire for him was as clear as the powder on their faces.

"That's different, and you know it well as me."

"How?"

"They're broads, Meyer! It don't matter like..." Charlie stopped talking, not knowing how to put into words what mattered. They was just broads. They wasn't in his mind like Meyer was. Even Meyer wasn't with him he could still hear the little addin' machine in his head, telling him to be smart. Telling him to think.

Being with those women was like grabbing a dog from a cart and eating it on the street. Scratched the itch of need. Satisfying enough at the moment.

Being with Meyer was different and Meyer damn well knew it. They was friends and they was more and when more changed to be even more...It ain't like people understood their friendship anyway. The Jew and the Italian.  They was supposed to be mortal enemies, not friends for life. Not...whatever they was.

"I gotta keep up appearances," Charlie said because that was also a true thing. He hadn't told Meyer that Clara knew. No need to introduce complications. They was careful. They was always careful. "That's why I can't believe you let the guy get near you like that."

Meyer shook his head. "Charlie, he's married. To Lady Rose. I think he's just an adventurer."

"Yeah. I know what adventure he's after," Charlie responded.

"A man like that..."

"What? You think you ain't good enough for a fonferer like that cercatore d'oro? What, you just good enough for the likes of me, that it?"

The petulance in Charlie's voice was so familiar. "Charlie, come here."

"Mey, I ain't in the mood."

Meyer doubted that. Charlie was rarely not in the mood. "Charlie," he said again.

Charlie heard the gruff tone in Meyer's voice. He was angry, he was still angry, but that tone in Meyer's voice always did the same thing to him. Instinct drove him to Meyer's side.

Didn't mean he wasn't still angry, though. He sat next to Meyer silently. One man wearing an undershirt that buttons with sleeves that come down to his elbows, although the width of his shoulders and upper arms often mean the seams ripped and tore and stretched due to the strain placed upon them. The other man wore the new kind of undershirt-knit, sleeveless, no buttons.

Charlie told Meyer all the time he should switch. Be more modern. But Meyer couldn't quite break away from tradition in some matters.

"There will always be others, won't there, Charlie?" Meyer asks, and even though he knew the answer for a moment he willed Charlie to lie to him. "After all, we'll have to marry one day, won't we?"

"I ain't. Look at Harrow and Clara."

Meyer turned to stare at Charlie. Personally, he thought Harrow had chained himself to a klafte in pearls. But the man seemed to love her. And Clara seemed as happy as he thought her capable of being.

"Harrow seems content enough."

"That ain't the thing, Mey. They love each other. But we all know how this ends. Clara sobbing over a morgue slab with Darmody's brat and a baby or two besides clinging to her. I ain't gonna do that to a woman."

Such a delicate jaw in such a strong face, Meyer thought idly before bringing Charlie's face to his. Charlie didn't fight it, and soon their mouths were finishing the disagreement. Charlie fell first-Charlie always fell first-letting his mouth open and Meyer plunder its depths.

Charlie's mouth tasted of hot honey and something deeper, sweeter, more savory. It was the taste and sensation he spent a lifetime chasing down in penny candy bins and bakeries and sweet shops. Much like with the candy he had kept in his pockets from the first time he had spare pennies, he knew he'd never have enough of it.

It was the sweetness he'd always craved.

The hard, taut muscles of Charlie Luciano's body, the ones that struck fear around the underworld (and occasionally in the upper echelons) of New York went soft and loose as something else grew hard. Without realizing it, Meyer turned Charlie so he was on his knees, his head laying on the soft Irish linen pillowcase embroidered with the ever-present P.

Meyer's left hand drifted over the hard muscles of Charlie's stomach down to the mother of pearl buttons on Charlie's beloved silk boxers. His fingers drifted over the buttons but didn't try to undo them. Instead, he reached down to the impossibly soft skin of Charlie's inner thigh and began drawing lazy circles. His right hand combed through Charlie's thick dark curls before yanking sharply so Charlie had to turn his face to Meyer to save his hair, their faces so close they were breathing in each other's breaths.

"Tell me, Charlie. Tell me why I'm different from Gillian and those broads."

Charlie's breath was hot and fast. "God damn it, Mey. Just touch me."

"Tell me the things I do to you I'll never do to Dennis Malley," Meyer said, his hand cupping over Charlie's bulge momentarily before going back to stroking his inner thigh.

"You do lots of stuff I'd fucking kill anybody else for," Charlie said, knowing they were journeying into uncharted territory. "You knot up my god damn hands with your tie."

Meyer leaned over so his face was against the smooth back of Charlie's neck, wanting to inhale Charlie's scent, wanting to inhale Charlie. "Yes, true. What else," he asked while his hand slid under the paisley silk to caress the very tip of Charlie's cock.

Charlie tried to push his hips into Meyer's fingers but Meyer removed his hand from Charlie's hair and grabbed him around the hips. "Don't even try it," Meyer whispered harshly.

"You put your prick in my mouth and push it in until I choke. You like it when I choke."

True, Meyer thought, because who wouldn't want Charlie on his knees? Who wouldn't want to see those pretty lips wrapped around their cock? He rewarded Charlie with a quick tug that made both of them momentarily forget to breathe.

"You make me grab my own prick and you watch. Sometimes you put your fingers in...god damn it, Meyer, you know where you put your fingers."

For a moment Meyer's hands brushed back against the buttons. What did it matter, he decided, Charlie bought his silk underwear by the gross. He yanked on them so hard that the mother of pearl buttons scattered across the thick antique rug. Filled with a need to feel the silky soft flesh of Charlie's back under the thick fur of his chest he first pushed up Charlie's undershirt until it was wrapped around Charlie's shoulders before Meyer sat back on his own knees to more carefully remove his own underthings. After all, he'd spent good money on them. No need for carelessness.

"For our mutual benefit you should continue," Meyer growled, fighting the urge to have Charlie right now.

Charlie licked his lips. Meyer was leaning over him to grab something from the bag on the floor, causing Meyer's dick to press against his lower back. It gave him some satisfaction to realize Meyer was as hard as he was. He writhed under Meyer and was rewarded by Meyer groaning above him. He heard the sound of glass and the knowledge of what was in Meyer's hand made precum start leaking out of the tip of his dick.

"You put on oil on your fingers and then you put oil on me and sometimes you put oil on my hand so I can rub it on your dick," Charlie finally managed to say.

Meyer's hand was covered with oil as it started massaging the top of Charlie's ass. Charlie groaned as Meyer's fingers slipped into his crack.

The light coming in the edges of the curtains was changing but Meyer was too distracted by the sight in front of him to think about what that meant. He was intoxicated by the scent, sight, and feel of Charlie. "What else?"

The linen of the pillowcase was now being crushed between Charlie's fingers. The fuck if he was going to ruin this moment like a damn kid. "You put me on my side," Charlie continued after taking a deep breath and Meyer moved him so quickly he fell onto his side with a thump.

After positioning Charlie's legs to his liking Meyer continued to let his hand move down.

"You push your fingers inside me," Charlie managed to gasp out as he felt one of Meyer's fingers breach him. "Mey, your fingers are so fucking thick."

Meyer lowered his mouth onto the top of Charlie's shoulders, his own breath coming at an incredibly thick pace, overtaken by the need to taste Charlie's flesh salty and warm under his tongue. Neither man noticed the bedside clock striking six.

Nor did they notice the train was no longer rocking beneath them.

With great care Meyer worked in a second finger and started scissoring, looking for the spot that always made Charlie howl.

Charlie howled. Meyer pressed harder.

"God damn it, Meyer, god damn it..." Charlie pleaded.

"Say it," Meyer begged, his breath hot against Charlie's ear, the game having rebounded until his need was as raw and urgent as Charlie's own.

"I want you, Mey, please," Charlie finally sobbed out. "You fuck me, you fuck me, holy mother of god please just fuck me."

"Charlie, god," Meyer breathed out, his heart hammering in his chest.

The words falling from Charlie's mouth dissolved into nonsense. For a moment their faces were pressed together, letting Meyer feel the pulse in Charlie's temple in the bones of his own face.

Once more Meyer pressed his fingertips against Charlie's jaw and their mouths opened to each other. There was no more dominance or one-upmanship. Instead, there was the slow slide of their mouths melding together until Meyer can no longer determine where he ends and Charlie begins.

One hand gripped Charlie's hip, holding him in place. Meyer could feel the tenseness in Charlie when he first breached him and the pain hit, but after a moment he could feel Charlie's muscles relaxing under his hand.

"I gotta move, tesoro," Meyer finally breathed out.

One of Charlie's hands braced against the soft mossy velvet of the headboard while his other reached back for any part of Meyer he could touch. It didn't matter that Meyer was ever so slowly moving ever deeper inside him. He needed more. He wanted everything.

"Move, libster. Damn it, move," Charlie answered, his hand finally finding Meyer's ass to pull him closer, to pull him further in.

Time lost meaning. Seconds, minutes, hours, days fell away. There was just this. Meyer's hand finally came around to touch Charlie in the way Charlie had wanted since the game began, since time began.

Finally, they fell into the soaked sheets, the ruins of Charlie's underthings trapped beneath them, their legs and hands twisted together, both of them breathless and boneless. Their faces were still pressed together and as Meyer relaxed back into sleep he realized their faces were wet.

He wasn't sure who had cried.

[heyheydidjaknow]

Why do I not have the option to copy and paste formatting? Why is that an option I am not given? Who thought that I wouldn’t need that when I’m on my phone? Screw that guy, who I am arbitrarily calling Adam. If anyone knows how to do that, please tell me.

Chapter 6 Pt 2

“There is no fucking way you got a date with her.” Raphael does not even look it up. “No way in hell.”

“And yet the flow chart worked.” He laughs from his lab, shutting off any excess equipment as to not overwork it. “It worked like a charm and she asked me to go to her place so ha.”

”You didn’t show her the chart, did you?”

“I did not.”

“Well, there you go.” Leo looks back at him from his seat on the couch. “What time?”

“Seven o’clock.” He slides the door closed. “But I’m planning on being there at six fifty-five so that she knows I value her time.”

“Does the sun set that early?”

“Why do you even ask?” Raph turns a page in his once periodical periodical. “You know he looked it up.”

“As a matter of fact, I did. Forgive me for also valuing preparedness.”

“Nobody likes a know it all.”

He grins smugly. “That’s where you’re wrong. See, I,” he gestured to himself, “have a date with a gorgeous girl tonight, one where she has already invited me into her home, and you,” he gestured to Raphael, “are reading a magazine from a company that went out of business two years ago alone.”

“Donnie, don’t be a jerk.” Leonardo looked back at the television. “Raphael brings up a valid point; you tend to act like you know everything, and the actual request wasn’t for a date.”

“How else can I interpret one on one time with her?”

“Well,” he counters, “how do you interpret one on one time with us?”

He blinks. “Wait, so you’re saying she’s… how do you put it?”

“Nah, I don’t think she’s friendzonin ‘im.” Mickey looks up from his drawing. “Think she’s sending signals she doesn’t mean to.” He sets his half-shaded piece aside. “Think about it; she said she’s been all stressed out, right? She died like two weeks ago.” He shrugs. “She’s probably just lonely and needs the company.”

“That’s… actually really insightful of you.”

He grins. “What can I say? I’m a modern McPherson.”

Raph snickers at that. “Donnie is more of a McPher—how old is that movie, anyway? A hundred?

“Hey!” He shoots a glare at his brother. “Respect the classics.”

“Not to interrupt your riveting intro to film class,” Donnie interjects, losing his shit, “but I really need to know what this is before I go, and it’s already fifteen ‘till.”

“Look, maybe she’s interested, maybe she’s not.” Leonardo’s eyes are back on the screen. “Just try to tread carefully and you’ll probably be fine.”

“Probably?”

“Again, Raph had a point.”

He groans, walking to the entrance and exit of their home. “You guys aren’t helping.”

“Not our job.”

Leo calls after him. “Be home before six!”

He turns the corner, cradling his head in his hands. ‘I am totally and thoroughly fucked.’

--

GoodFellas.

Of all the movies in the world, that is the movie you have decided to use to explain these concepts. This is the example piece that you are going to show to the vigilante. All you know is that you had started watching the Phantom Menace and had decided against explaining the concept of racial coding and this is the only other movie that you can think of right now. You have decided to commit, and you are already regretting it, but you decide to figure it out as you go.

You set the pizza on the coffee table, throwing a bag of popcorn in the microwave to pop. You do not expect Donatello to be late, so you decided to start now so that they could get started right away. You start walking to the window, stopping at the mouth of the hallway. You look yourself over one more time in the bathroom mirror despite yourself. You do not exactly know why you care so much; this was not a date, and you had not advertised it as one. Still, impressions are important, and the last thing you need is for him to not listen to you because of it. That is what you are telling yourself, anyhow.

You hear knocking against the glass. You check your phone for the time. ‘Five minutes early.’ You smile softly. ‘How responsible.’ You open it up, smiling at your guest. “Welcome, Donatello.” You take a step back. “Please, make yourself at home.”

He barely makes a sound as he steps off the windowsill, looking around your apartment, fully illuminated, for the first time.

After about thirty seconds of his investigation, you clear your throat. “Donnie?”

He snaps out of it. “Huh?”

You smile gently. “You wanna sit down? I bought pizza.”

“Uh, yeah.” He nods, sitting down and facing the television screen. “I like your place.”

“Thanks.” You sit down next to him, tucking your feet under you as you flip on the television. “How do you feel about gangster movies?”

“Gangster movies?”

“Yeah.” You list a couple on your fingers. “Scarface, Godfather, all that jazz.”

He shakes his head, brow furrowed in confusion. “How can you make gangster movies legally?”

“That is a long answer. The short version?” You lean forward, taking a slice from the box. “The police are kind to those who cooperate, and people think their stories are fascinating.”

“So they’re documentaries?” He mimics you.

You shrug. “Sometimes. Not always, but sometimes. You want something to drink?” You hear the microwave beep as you stand up.

“Water?”

You nod, walking over to pull the popcorn out of the microwave and grab your drinks. “I trust the walk wasn’t too bad?”

“Not at all.” The small talk is torture. “Getting to your window was a bit of a challenge, but it wasn’t anything too bad.”

“That’s good.” You pour him a glass. “I’ll have to get something for that; maybe a planter or something, so you have a bigger ledge.”

“It’s alright.” He taps his fingers against his knee. “It’s wide enough to stand.”

“Still.” You place his cup on the counter, dumping the kernels into a large plastic bowl. “I wouldn’t forgive myself if one of you guys got hurt trying to come in through the window.” You grab a can of soda out of the refrigerator, sitting down and handing him the glass.

He smiles slightly. “You’re really sweet sometimes, you know that?”

You grin. “I try,” you hum, starting to pull up the movie. “I think you’re pretty cool too, Hamato.”

He chuckles. “You make me sound like I’m fifty.”

“Oh, totally.” You nod in agreement. “You’re an old soul.”

He blinks. “Old soul?”

“Mature, I mean.” You shrug. “I mean, handling the stuff you do with any degree of tact, to me, displays a great maturity you don’t see in most teenagers, myself included.”

“Is that a bad thing?”

You get back up for napkins and plates. “Not at all.” You hand him one of each. “It’s an admirable quality, though not one I particularly envy.”

“You think?” His hands linger for a moment longer than typical as he took them.

“Yeah. You want me to turn down the lights for the movie while I’m up?”

His face goes red. “I-I mean,” he stutters, “if you want to.”

“Then I will; shows the image better when it’s dark.” You walk to the wall, flicking off the lights and sitting down next to him, setting your slice on your plate as you turn on the movie.

Your reactions to it are different.

He does not seem what you would call disturbed, but he gets grossly invested in the story extremely quickly. He is noticeably more interested in watching you watch the movie, but he studies the plot intently, noting the more domestic plotline between the lead and his wife in particular. His reaction to the violence is strange to you; he is not aloof, so to speak, but he does not flinch much until the fighting is between Henry and Karen.

You have seen this movie what feels like a thousand times. Whenever you think it applicable, you lean over and whisper to him about the directing, the script, the plot—it is supposed to be a lesson, after all. But you realize that your attention, every so often, shifts to the bed, to your pillow with the knife underneath it. The violence of the movie makes you edgier than you are used to.

About halfway through the movie, you move closer to the boy sitting beside you. You lean your head against his shoulder, closing your eyes as you listen for cues for comments. You don’t notice his reaction, but you do notice how his arm snakes around your waist, pulling you closer to him. You do not object; you were the one who initiated, after all.

“Here’s a psychology relationship thingy you can tell your family about.” You cringe at that poor little girl standing in the hallway. “’That’s all in your head’ is classic gaslighting. I dunno if that’s really your area or not.”

“Oh, yeah, I see what you mean.” He fiddles with the cloth of your jacket absentmindedly. “It’s kinda hard for me to wrap my head around, people staying like that. I mean,” he clarifies, “I get why, but—”

You both tense up as a young man on screen is shot dead by Joe Pesci’s character.

You exhale. “Yeah, I get what you mean.” You shrug. “But folks get scared, ya know? In her case, she doesn’t want to break the family apart, and she’s really into him.”

“What? No way.”

“Yes way.” You look up at him. “What can I say? We fall into infatuation so fast with bad people who say what we want to hear.”

“Don’t you mean fall in love?”

You watch as Lorraine Bracco holds a gun to her husband’s face. “Nope. Love is entirely different.”

“Yeah?” He glanced down at you.

“Apples and oranges.” You gesture to the television. “Love is supplementary, a beautifully imperfect connection between people.” Your voice becomes smoother, airier. “It’s a bond built on trust and respect. Infatuation is more of an addiction than anything.” You sigh as Liota meets to discuss his relationship with Sorvino. “At least I think so. That’s why love at first sight is a bunch of bullshit; you can’t have that kind of profound trust with someone you just met.” You shrug, looking back up at him. “Then again, what do I know? I’m an inexperienced, fifteen-year-old girl.”

“That makes a lot of sense, actually.” He looks back down at you. “I get what familial love is, but whenever Master Splinter talks about his wife, he has a hard time putting what he means into words.”

You hear their guilty verdict. “Totally get that. Articulation is not easy to do.”

A few minutes go by.

“May I be frank?”

“Please.”

You watch as a man drags his wife out of a Christmas party. “This movie is exactly why I don’t ever want to learn how to do the stuff you do. It changes you, all that violence; desensitizes you.” You bring your knees to your chest. “Especially Raphael. I swear, that shift was as dramatic as his, at least at this point in the flick.”

He pauses. “Please, tell me you’re kidding.”

You close your eyes, breathing slowly. “I’m going to try my best,” you swear, “do everything in my power, to see to it that you guys don’t experience more than you have to.”

You mean it. He can tell.

You two are quiet for the rest of the movie. You explain why certain directing choices were made, connect the beginning with the end, talk about the theme, all while you two watched their fall from grace. When the movie ends, you realize how tangled up in him you are; your head on his chest, legs draped over his with his arms around your waist. You feel the icy air against you, as if his skin attracted it to you. You push the hair out of your face. “So,” you stretch, turning the light back on, “do you wanna see another movie, or do you have a curfew?”

He pauses. “I should honestly probably get home,” he sighs. “If I’m not home early they’ll start getting ideas.”

“Oh, yeah.” You nod, completely understanding the reasoning. “You can take the leftover pizza home if you want; the guys’ll probably eat it before I do.”

“Mikey’ll be on cloud nine.” He picks the box off the coffee table. “Thanks.”

“Any time.” You stand at the window, opening it for him.

He climbs onto the windowsill, looking down at you from his perch. “I had a good time.” His face flushed. “We should do this again.”

You nod in agreement. “Definitely.” You rub the back of your neck. “I’ll pick a lighter movie next time.”

“Alright. It’s a plan.” He gives you a thumbs up.

You steal yourself, cupping one side of his face and kissing him gently on the cheek. “Goodnight, Donnie.” You smile. “See ya tomorrow.”

You are a bit concerned he’s going to fall off the windowsill. “Y-Yeah,” he grinned, words slurred. “See ya later, Y/N.” He waved, climbing up and out of your window.

You smile softly, sigh. You flop back on the bed, rolling over. You have not been this at ease since you died.

‘I really like that guy.’ You close your eyes. ‘I really, honestly do.’

You drift off to sleep, dreamless for the first time in too long.

Table Of Contents

Chapter 6 Part 1

Chapter 7

[unholyplumpprincess]

Won’t Say I’m In Love

A commission for Anonymous with a trans dude and Loba!

Summary: In which reader is Loba's sugar baby/friend with benefit who she loves to shower gifts upon. When reader starts expressing interest and complimenting her, realizing she gets flustered when the attention is turned to her, it makes courting her and making it. Obvious they'd like more a little more difficult. Nothing that can't be solved with a little bump n grind, right?...Right?

Reblogs > Likes. It costs zero dollars to reblog :D

Minors and ageless blogs dni or you will be blocked!

Fandom: Apex Legends

Relationship: Loba Andrade/Reader

Warnings: R18+/NSFT, Loba is a trans woman and her bits are referred to as cock/dick, Reader is a trans man with top surgery and no bottom surgery and parts are referred to as cock/dick/hole, reader is penetrated, sugar mommy relationship BUT WITHOUT THE MOMMY INVOLVED, FWB to romance, talk of transitioning and the stuff that comes with it, Loba nuts in ya, aaaand fluff!

Words: 5.1k

_______________

Loba, to you, was everything.

Perhaps that’s a bit of a stretch. But in times like this, you can’t imagine her out of your life. Not when her smile is etched into your memory, dimples on her cheeks and pearly whites reminding you of a wolf’s. Or how her eyes narrow dangerously when you tease her, a smile playing on her lips as she coos to you to hand over the last treat in the kitchen before you run squealing after you shove it in your mouth. Loba, hot on your heels.

Life with her came natural after being in each other’s good graces for so long.

Well.

If you called ‘fuck buddies where she buys you things all the time’ good graces. A certified sugar mama.

~Rest under the cut~

Your meeting had been a business strict one at first. She was the girl people went to when things were stolen from them or they had specific desires. In your case, a precious family heirloom had been stolen from you by Hammond. That family member that had been working on cracking a code to work into their system had mysteriously disappeared, leaving you with a precious family ring that you cherished. Yet, somehow, it had gone missing, the only lead being of a ripped jacket by the window with an H symbol on it.

Loba was a person you’d heard of who could get anything from anyone, and when you’d found her, given her all the details and your own sob story. She’d hummed, drawing her manicured fingers across your cheeks and cooed about how pretty a gem you were yourself. When your cheeks had flared red, she’d smirked, patted your cheek and told you that it would be done within the week. Since she was going that way anyway.

When you’d received an anonymous text fit with a wolf emoji, you’d hurried quickly over to the underground area where she’d resided. The neon red lights had looked beautiful on her, made her look dangerous in the alleyway where she’d sat upon a box as if it were a throne. You thanked her a million times over, offering money, even some other jewelry that you’d been given that you had no need for. Yet you knew it was expensive.  

Loba had refused, and instead had risen from her spot where she’d been sitting. Circling you like you were prey and making a mention about how she knew you were struggling to keep your apartment going, how it would be dangerous for you to go back. Not knowing how or why she brought it up, at first you bristled, holding the ring close to your chest in fear she would take it.

But, instead, she offers you her gloved hand, a smile on her face and a tilt to her head. “As I told you when you had arrived, you are a beautiful gem yourself. I could take care of you. Would you like to be the new addition to my collection?”

At first, you’d been flustered, a little shocked, and suspicious. But now? Now it all made sense.

Loba loved to shower you in gifts and compliments. She’d always called you the prized jewel of her collection. A collection that you’d seen and wandered through numerous times by now. Of golds, silvers, diamonds, arts, priceless artifacts, all the riches in the world for the woman who had everything. And she had almost everything. Including a found family.

With Loba, you, and Jaime? You were your own family. The trio out in the world with a home base and all the riches you could have ever wanted- thanks to Loba, that is. Not that it was hard for her, one of the best thieves in the world. Her jump bracelet made that much so easy. And she always loved to gift you things from her finding that she thought you would look pretty in.

Whatever you wanted.

The first time she’d offered you something, a beautiful pearl choker, you’d kind of laughed with a flushed face. No one had ever gifted you jewelry before, let alone been delighted TO give you it. But when you reached for it, she teased you, holding it just out of reach and said she’d like to put it on you. Resulting with her manicured fingers lightly brushing your skin as she stood in front of you, hitching it behind your neck with ease and gently curling a finger underneath the front.

She’d tugged you closer that day as your face burned, head tipped up to look at her. Loba had already been tall, but when she wore heels it was even worse with you. Yet, she’d grinned, tilted her head, eyes flickering down to your lips and murmured, “Do I get a little gift in return?” With such softness, eyes twinkling with mischief.

It wasn’t as if you two hadn’t been playing essentially gay chicken this entire time. You were obviously sexually into her, as she was to you. So, with your lips quivering, you’d nodded, murmuring back, “Anything you want.”

“That’s what I like to hear, sweetheart.” She’d cooed before pressing the softest kiss upon your lips and leaving you wanting more as she pulled back and gently patted your cheek.

And you were left to watch her saunter off, eyes falling to her ass without thinking about it and your fingers touching your lips where you felt the slickness of her gloss lingering.

From there, the teasing escalated. Until your relationship developed more into a ‘friends with benefits’ situation or even a ‘sugar mommy’ situation. Sans the calling her mommy part, wasn’t really your thing. She gave you gifts, showered you in them really, and in return you two had some killer sex. You figured it was a win all around for you.

When you got pretty things to adorn your body with, and you got to hold onto a headboard with your head thrown back as her mouth made quick work of you. Where was the loss in that scenario? Well, maybe the lipstick stains on your inner thighs or...or...

Or maybe you knew exactly what it was. Because after time went on, your sexual feelings finally revealed themselves to actually be disguised romantic feelings. Cracking open like pouring light whenever she walked into the room and you had to push them down and swallow your pride.

That’s where your loss was.

It had started pretty small a few months ago. You just started to notice different ways Loba dressed, or how she had her hair some days. Some days her makeup would change and you would compliment it genuinely, only to have her black lipstick covered lips playfully smirk your way and offer for you to try it out personally.

Hey, you weren’t complaining about walking around with a kiss print on your neck or cheek.

But you were mentally complaining about how fast your heart had beat at such a simple action. How you’d touched your cheek when she wasn’t looking and smiled to yourself like you were some sort of schoolboy incapable of reeling in your crush.

You mentally groaned to yourself. You were NOT about to ruin anything for her.

Loba, you thought, deserved love and happiness. You contemplated that maybe...just maybe you could be the one to give that to her. But, you knew her, you knew her very well for that matter. If affection was genuine, she’d become flustered and nervous and try to find a way to turn it sexual or into a flirt. She could flirt her way through anything, but if you so much as tucked her hair behind her ear and told her she looked pretty that day, she’d almost choke and try to turn the situation back.

You tried to give back what she gave you, trying to adore her, only to have her try and hide her flustered appearance by trying to flirt you up. Or slamming you against a wall and cooing about how you were pushing her buttons.

She was good at hiding her emotions in a way you wouldn’t expect her to. Instead of shying off or shutting down, Loba had learned to laugh her way out of situations and compliment you. Pinching your cheek and calling you sweet. The love- the romance she’d been deprived of didn’t go unknown to you. She didn’t trust easily, and she was happy with you and Jaime being her family.

At least, that’s as far as you knew.

What you didn’t know is that her feelings matched your own. That every extra glance you stole her way, she noticed and tried not to think anything of. But sometimes, sometimes when she was fucking you, she imagined you holding on tight to her and murmuring sweet nothings. Or instead of coming to her room for a ‘nightly visit’, that you’d spend the night and let her hold you quietly in her arms and wake up to see you just the same.

Mutual feelings that neither of you knew the other had.

Eventually you figured you needed to own up to it. And that’s what you were trying to plan right now. It’s with a breath that you come to the decision that maybe you could...show her instead.

Yeah, yeah that sounded better.

So, when Loba comes home tonight, smiling brightly as she swings a beautiful diamond necklace around a finger and announcing to you and Jaime, “Mama’s home, boys! Did you miss me?” With fondness in her voice and her eyes flicking over you to hint that she had a gift for you- that is when you decide now is a good time to strike.

After dinner is had and Loba has put her necklace in a beautiful glass case to admire it, you come towards her little den area. It was a big, rounded room, wall to wall full of her jewels and findings. Ranging from pearl necklaces to priceless artifacts. Beautiful art pieces were hung on the walls all around it with lights to ensure that the jewels down below would glitter and gleam in any lighting. You rest yourself on the doorway as you watch her, admiring her from afar as she looks to the sparkling necklace with glee in her eyes.

“Ah, so beautiful. Don’t you think?” Loba sighs at her necklace, before her eyes flick up to you in the doorway. Her eyes sparkle with that same look from earlier, mischief dancing in them as she saunters up to you slowly. As if a predator with its prey. You’d lie if you said your heart didn’t skip three beats.

“Yeah, I think you are, actually.” You coyly respond, going so far as to flutter your lashes as she rests an arm beside your head. Her grin is amused, rolling her eyes and using her free hand to gently grab your chin, tilting your head this way and that. Always inspecting you.

Her prized possession.

“Ha-ha, very cute. How many times have you tried that one, love?” She teases, tapping her manicured nail on your cheek twice. You smile fondly at the nickname, pretending it didn’t make you near about squirm out of your spot. But your heart lurches in your chest when she speaks much softer, tracing along your jawline with her fingertips. “I have a gift for you.”

“I was going to tell you the same thing.”

That piques Loba’s interest, her mischievous look pausing for surprise to overtake her features. Her glossy lips part in surprise, her eyes moving from the stare on your lips to flick up to your eyes as her brows furrow briefly.

She looked adorable.  

Fuck.

“A gift? For me? Isn’t that my job?” Loba laughs a bit, taking a step back and cocking her head, her long braids following. She looked just like a puppy. You swallow down your racing heartbeat as you try to figure out how to bring it up.

“Later- in the bedroom.” You promise. A familiar phrase that makes her pupils widen, a smirk falling to her face instead, a bit more confidence to her purr as she affectionately pinches your cheek.

“I eagerly await your acquaintance tonight, then. But, for now, let me show you the ring I found you, darling!”

You’re going to die.

--

The ring she’d found you had been gorgeous- she'd yet to gift you a ring yet. Loba once had said that seemed a little too intimate of a gift. You never asked why, but now that you’ve been gifted one, looking at the gold band with a beautiful simple style with three gems in each twirl of its vine-like look.

Well, you can’t help but think either she’s gotten used to you or maybe...maybe it had a purpose.  

Either way, it helps you feel more confident about what you’re going to try tonight. Walking with a bit more confidence as you head to her bedroom. You hardly have the time to knock before she’s opening the door, yanking you inside, and pushing you against the door to kiss you.

Loba is stripped down for the night. Her twin braids traded to let her curly hair down, the ombre look towards the tips of her bright red hair reaching about mid-back and splaying around her beautifully. Her outfit has been swapped to something a bit more practical of a black lacy bralette and stretchy short shorts, revealing her long legs and the beautiful vine-like tattoos with flowers curling on her outer thighs, edging up her hips to her waist.

Your hands come up, but are immediately caught by her. Her fingers lace in yours, pulling your hands to rest beside your head against the door as you moan into her mouth. Your reward is a soft laugh, her teeth nipping your bottom lip before trailing her glossy, full lips over your chin, down your jawline to your neck.

“Wait, wait-” You manage to breathe out when her lips press to the length of your neck. Immediately Loba pauses, releasing your hands and backing up. Concern and confusion in her eyes, but you quickly let out a laugh, “No, no, I mean- I want to try something different tonight...if that’s okay?”

“What like- bondage?”  

You about choke, head thunking back against the door as feeling your cheeks warm as you try to think of how to word it. It’s kinda of hard when she’s now idly kissing at your neck, lips parting to suckle on a sensitive spot of yours that makes your hips jerk. But you manage to breathe it out, “I want to take care of you tonight.”

Then it’s Loba’s turn to choke. Pulling back away from her spot to give you a curious look, if flustered. Her own face is red, looking apprehensive about the idea, but you quickly add in. “If you don’t like it, truly don’t like it, we’ll stop immediately, okay? I promise.”

And then you have her. Just with that extra security.

“You better make it worth my while.” She huffs almost in an embarrassed tone. But her voice is playful, despite the way you notice how she swallows and her smile doesn’t quite reach her eyes. And you know it isn’t the fact she doesn’t want it, it’s because she’s used to being in control. And not that you don’t like her taking control of you but...

Sometimes you just wanted to treat her right. Show her how much she meant to you.

You suppose sex was better than trying to sit her down for a conversation and talk about your feelings with eye contact involved and your running mouth.

You start gentle with her, leading her to the bed and guiding her to lie down. You start with something simple as a makeout session. Straddling her hips so she can feel the heat of your body through your sweatpants and t-shirt. You lean into her, cupping her cheek and pushing her hair from her face as you kiss her so gently, stroking your thumb over her cheekbone. You make sure not to let her guide the kiss, but let her grab your hips, feeling her fingers slide under the waistband to touch your skin.

When you lick into Loba’s mouth, her breath hitches, her hips coming up to press against you and you follow the motion by pressing down to give her some pressure. Your own breath is shaky when her hands slide down to your ass under your pants, tugging you gently to get you to grind.

Control- normally you’d follow like the good boy she’d claimed you to be but...

You immediately part from the kiss, delighting quietly in how she whines. However, delighting even more when her eyes shoot open and she whines louder when you take her hands and pull them above her head. You interlock your fingers, hovering your lips just out of reach when she tries to lean up and get at you again, but realizing quickly that she can’t. Loba groans.

It’s quiet submission when her head rests back on the pillow, a shaky breath leaving her lips as her eyes fall to your mouth. She pouts her prettiest when you give her a look, huffing under you and rolling her eyes. “What? Do you want me to say ‘please’?”

“It’s a start to getting what you want, Ms. Andrade, don’t you think?” You tease in a mocking tone, causing her eyes to narrow up at you. There’s another huff from her, her fingers flexing in a nervous way in your grip. You wait patiently above her, eyes sparkling with mischief.  

“Pl-...” Loba pauses, swallowing before shakily exhaling through her nose. Her eyes flicker to the side as if flustered, rolling upwards as if trying to will herself to speak. You try to ignore the way you feel her cock jerk under your ass, but you can’t ignore the pride you feel knowing she liked this.

“Please, please do something more. Please don’t tease me? Aren’t I good to you, baby?” She begs her prettiest, ending it with a shaky noise, her cheeks flushed red and her lips pulling into a pretty pout that you can’t help but kiss to soothe away her embarrassment.

You murmur sweet nothings against her mouth that you hope she doesn’t catch as you kiss your way down her neck. You only need to scoot down her body a little, moving to fit between her legs rather than straddle her.

You let her hands go, watching with delight as they stay right where you put them as your own pull up her bralette to reveal her chest. She’s got nice breasts, rounded and about a C cup. You know from her talking about it that she’d gotten them filled in the past, all decorated with pretty silver barbells through each nipple and her underbreast tattoo curling between her chest.

You press your mouth at the freckles dotting the upper edges of her breasts, nosing your way down the path of her flesh until you can gingerly cup her breast. You relish the way her breath hitches in anticipation when you mouth at her nipple, pressing soft, fluttering, wet kisses until she whines softly under her breath.  

She really can’t blame you for drawing it out, right? For adoring every inch of her? You’d never been able to seen her like this before, how she squirms, trying to be good underneath you and not take over. It’s the best you could have asked of her. To try.

You smile against her skin before you take her nipple into your mouth and begin suckling. Letting your tongue flick back and forth over it to feel the shape of her barbell idly. Loba’s sounds are soft, gentle little sighs as her hips gently press up against you to get some pressure. You hum against her in reply when her hand rests in your hair, gently stroking and pressing to encourage you to touch her more.

A moan escapes her lips when you let your teeth gingerly scrape across the sensitive flesh, coming off of her with a wet pop. You nuzzle between her chest with a soft sigh of, “You’re so beautiful.” Your tone dripping with honesty as you kiss down her ribcage, towards her abdomen.

Normally she’s talkative during sessions like this, liking to pull your hair and show you who’s in charge. But now when you look up, all you can see is her head turned to the side, her cheeks red and her lips parted to shallowly breathe. You’ve never felt prouder of yourself.

When you reach the waistband of her short, you peer up at her under your lashes, gently tugging at the band. “Can I take these off?”

“Please.” She replies, completely unprompted with a shaky breath following and her eyes peering open to look down at you. Her gaze makes you feel hot, your chest bursting with adoration that you can only hope your eyes mimic.

You gently pull them off and toss them to the side. You move to sit up on your knees, gently rubbing at her thighs as your eyes flicker to her cock. She was about six inches long and uncut with foreskin only reaching just under the head. She’d shared with you that she was thankful that the future medical technology allowed her to decide the option on being able to get hard and remain fertile. Just as you’d shared you were thankful that getting top surgery had become less dangerous over so many years in the making.

Small things to share with her in those quiet moments you two could relate to each other.

Now, you run a hand along her inner thigh, sliding over her shaved mound as you quietly ask, “What are your feelings on penetrating me today?” To let her know in turn you wanted that. Of course, if she didn’t, you’d happily find your favorite cock and strap it in.

“Please,” She says again, practically music to your ears by now. “I want to be inside you- let me touch you, little pup, please? I’ll be on my best behavior.” Loba’s voice is near desperate as she looks down at you. Sitting up on her elbows to see you better. Your face flushes at the nickname, almost tempted to scold her for it, but the way she looks at you...

Her eyes are full of something you’ve seen before. Never taking the time to see. Adoration. Her pupils are blown wide, her lips parted and her eyes roaming across your frame before coming back to your eyes. Her brows furrow briefly, this desperate look crossing her face as she tries again, “Let me see your cock, baby, let me taste you?”  

It’s filth. Yet she sounds so fucking soft when she says it that you can’t help but swallow down a whine.

In a matter of moments, you’re stripping from your clothing. Your sweatpants get tossed with your shirt, but before you can get to your underwear Loba is already helping you out of it. Her fingers eagerly grab your hips, but she learns quickly because she doesn’t pull you. Letting you move your own body until your thighs can frame her face.

You reach down to pull on your mound, exposing your cock to her. You’re hard already, your hole drooling with slick from the excitement from seeing her so open earlier. Loba knows how you like it, hooking her arms around your thighs to hold you as her eyes go half lidded to watch your face. You swallow thickly, biting your bottom lip as her tongue runs from your hole, up to the underside of your dick in a fluid swipe.

Kitten licks like that repeat a few times, being mindful of how sensitive your engorged cock could be right off the bat. You shakily exhale through your nose when her lips part, letting the piercing on her tongue rest on the underside of your clit and her breath fanning across you hotly.

When she finally takes you into her mouth, you let out a moan and use your free hand to rest in her hair. The smile you feel against your wet flesh should make you flustered, but not as much as when she looks up at you under her lashes with such adoration. She lets you take the reins, gently humping against her mouth and taking things at your pace. It’s the most control you’ve had in a while, but your mouth starts working before you can even think, “Fuck- you’re so beautiful, babe.”

The blush that reddens her cheeks fuels both her own motions and your mouth as you moan low in your throat just to hear her moan low back at you in turn as she licks up your cock. “Good- good that feels s...so good-” You don’t expect her to react so well to your voice, let alone praise. But you feel her nails dig into your thighs, able to see the way she parts her lips, glossy now from your slick and seeing it stick to her tongue-

It’s too much.

There’s almost a rush as you squirm out of her grasp to move down to her lap to straddle her again. You’d tell her to finger you, but one look at her nails proves why that’s a hassle. Thankfully when you sink your own fingers into yourself, you find your walls are wet and pliant. But for good measure you still ask her for the lube to prep her own cock. Stroking her cock whilst you rest on her thighs, able to watch her eyes flutter and how her fingers twist into the pillow she’s got her head on.  

“Ready?” You ask, pulling yourself closer so you can slide your cock against hers, sandwiching it between your sex to grind back and forth against her. Loba quickly nods, her hands moving to grab your hips and squeezing eagerly, but you hum again. “I asked you a question.”

“Yes! Yes, yes, baby- yes, I want it, I want you, please!” Loba all but whines, her look frantic again as she gently pulls you. You follow the motion, lining her up before sliding down onto her with a gasp.

Loba’s reaction is immediate, always so sensitive when you envelop her. She’s got her nails pressing into your hips, her face contorted and her head tossed to the side with pure pleasure written across her features. It makes you feel proud that you could just do that with your body, that you’re the one making her look like that.

Your emotions are swelling up in your chest.

You push them down for the sake of resting your hands on top of hers on your body. Squeezing them and feeling your heart race when she maneuvers so her fingers can intertwine with yours. Your breath hitches, but that can easily be passed off for your hips grinding on their own, grinding your fat cock against her mound and feeling the way she shifts in you.

Her soft moan and the way her fingers squeeze yours make you dizzy.

Don’t think about it, you remind yourself.

Your breath quickens as you lean forward and begin riding her. Only pulling yourself up an inch or two and sliding yourself back down onto her cock. Your toes curl, squeezing her hands a bit tighter and about whining when she starts to pull her hands back. But you figure out why when she holds them up at about her waist level, lacing your fingers with hers to give you more leverage to fuck yourself onto her.

Don’t think about it, you again think to yourself, your brain clouded with lust and adoration.

“You’re so handsome,” Loba mumbles out, and when you finally urge yourself to flutter open your eyes, she’s looking at you. She’s panting softly, brows furrowed in a look of pleasure. You swallow the whimper in your throat so you can instead move yourself to almost lie on top of her. Letting her hands go to rest your arms on either side of her head and bringing her into a kiss.

Her hands slide over your body then, sliding down your sides to your hips, to your ass to graciously grab as you fuck yourself onto her. You moan into her mouth, feeling her follow the motion with her own soft noise in her throat.

Don’t think about it, you try so desperately to tell yourself as the knot forms in your stomach.

You have to break the kiss, tucking yourself into her neck. Loba is holding onto you now, her hands resting flat on your back and dragging her nails down your skin. You whine into her ear as your inner walls clench, your cock humping against her shaved mound and keeping your body extremely interested. It comes tumbling out before you can think of it, “Fuck- fuck, fuck, shit- Loba, Loba-”

Don’t think about it, don’t think about it, don’t think about it-

“I love you-” Loba whines in your ear, causing your heart to near about beat out of your chest thinking you’d imagined it. But you feel her lips move against your neck next time, “I love you. Let me- ah- let me cum inside you, baby, please, please, please-”

It’s all a blur. The way your chest pounds and how hard you cum. You can hear her cumming not soon after you, her nails sinking into your back and her teeth sinking into your shoulder to quiet down her beautiful moans. You think you’re dehydrated, your brain must have lost oxygen at some point- but you felt it. You heard it.

As you two are coming down, you urge yourself to sit up in her lap. Watching as her hand slides through her hair to push the strands from her face, how her chest rises and falls with her breaths, trying to make it out in your head as you open and close your mouth like a fish.

“What?” She laughs, reaching up to gently cup your cheek. “You weren’t going to say it, I figured--”  

“You knew?!” You cry out, flustered and feeling your own face heat up in embarrassment- yet relief floods your chest.

“I had a feeling.”

“A feeling?!” You cry out again, this time more distraught. But it quickly dies down when her thumb brushes along your cheek bone, urging you to lean into her touch and settle down. Though you see the look in her eyes of almost uncertainty- worry perhaps.  

With a shaky breath, you turn and kiss her palm. “I...I love you as well, ya know?”

“I know, baby.”

“Don’t be so smug about it!”

Her melodic laugh is quickly smothered by the pillow you throw in her face, only for you to nearly get knocked off her lap when she takes it and throws it right back at you with a victorious cry.

Fuck you love her.

[torialeysha]

Cold Feet - Part 15

Shadow of doubt.

A/N: Hello my darlings! It’s been a while, too long a while, I know :(  What an absolutely awful year it’s been for all of us! I can only hope that you’re all well and keeping safe. Here’s a long overdue cold feet update to keep you occupied.

Song: Paramore - Tell me how 

A discordant racket sounded above the routine rumblings of the bakery. A muffle of raised voices and the righteous clicking of heels against the sticky floor mirrored by clumpier steps echoed down the cask laden hallways and seeped through the splintered wood of the makeshift door that separated Alfies office from the clamour of the distillery.  Looking up from the cluttered mess of his desk, Alfie run a hand quickly through his dishevelled hair and down his overgrown beard while awaiting the approaching commotion with hopeful intrigue. He groaned disappointedly when a Brummie brunette breached the door with a fumbling Ollie in tow, his long, clumsy fingers attached to the fur trim of her expensive coat.

It was wishful thinking on Alfies part that it would have been you who had stormed the door instead of the peaky lass. It had been well over a week since he had last seen or heard from you. And he had invested all of those torturous days busying himself to try and take his restless mind and it’s various crazed voices off of you and the recent revelation that had pillaged his plans to save you both from the Italian shit storm that had blown in from the other side of the pond.

Still his mind struggled to come to terms with the news you were with child. He couldn’t comprehend what was worse, the daunting idea of becoming a father or the sickening possibility that the baby might not be his. His crooked teeth clenched painfully together at the mere thought of you being intimate with anyone other than himself. Of course you had assured him on countless occasions that nothing of the sort had ever or would ever happen between you and Charles. And Alfie had believed you. Trusted that it wasn’t in your nature to lie. Foolishly so now considering you were the one who had also told him of the possibility that he might not be the father. One was a lie but which one? It drove his already unhinged mind insane thinking about it. He tried to stay out of his head and ignore the little demented voices that would taunt him in the quietest hours, reminding him of all the times you and he had copulated over the years and never conceived, which in turn highlighted how coincidental it was that you should now fall pregnant after sharing a bed with another man.

Plagued with doubt and unsure of what to do, he did nothing. Shunning the situation altogether and letting his selfish pride take over and stop him from reaching out and doing the right thing.

“I tried to stop her!” Ollie explained.

“It’s alright, Ollie. Let ‘er in.”

Ada tore herself from Ollies hold with a look that could kill.

“The one who’s too righteous to use the Shelby name, ay? To what do I owe the displeasure?” Alfie casted an unyielding gaze curiously upon Thomas Shelby’s younger sibling, filled with an over-brewed distaste.

“Have you seen this?” Ignoring his provocative comments. Ada pulled a newspaper from under her arm and threw it on his desk. The daily publication landed in front of Alfie with a rustling slap. His curious gaze wandered lazily from her to the paper. It appeared that Ada had left it open on the specific page, considerately saving him the trouble of rooting through. He grabbed his glasses, balancing them on the bridge of his nose before beginning to read.

Ollie slid closer to the desk, pulling his wistful gaze from Ada he peeked down at the paper to see what would have piqued Alfies interest. The headline read Announcements. A full page worth of biliously boastful declarations. Taking up almost a quarter of the page and catching both of their attentions immediately was a photo of you and Charles. The print underneath proudly stating the news of your engagement.

Alfie studied the photo. Looking past the image of Charles’ to focus on you. He couldn’t help but notice how the black and white portrayal did you no justice. You looked tired. Your sparkling eyes dull and lifeless. The only hint of happiness was in the slight upturned curve of your painted lips.

“Fucking ‘ell.” He exclaimed with a sigh. “A life with him should be under obituaries. Please send her my deepest condolences.” Alfie leaned back in his chair with a resigned shrug of his shoulders. The sound of creaking leather beneath his tight grasp on the worn arms of his chair was the only giveaway of his teetering disposition.

“That’s all you’ve got to say? Come on, Alfie, you’ve got to do something about this now. This whole charade has gone on for far too long.”

“And what do you think you know about it?” Alfie boomed. “Sticking ya ore in one last time before you fuck off back up the canal to that shit hole you call home? You Shelbies are all the fucking same, mate. Always making something your business that ain’t your fucking business.”

“Finished?” Ada sighed. Unfazed by his outburst.

“Yeah, I am actually - for now anyway...” 

A sceptical Ada waited for him to continue.

“...Take a seat then. Let me get you a drink.” Alfie pulls a bottle of whiskey from his draw. “Or do you want something softer? I mean, never can be sure if you’re up the duff again.”

“Alfie!” Ollie admonished.

“It’s alright, Ollie.” Ada assured him before turning her attention back to Alfie. “You can save the unpleasantries, Alfie. I know you can’t stand me and I can’t stand you either. But the truth is I’m not here for you. I’m here for Y/N. I’m worried about her. She’s in too deep with Charles. I’ve tried to tell her but she’s insistent on staying with him to protect you. You can’t let this carry on much longer, it’s too dangerous for her and the baby.”

Alfie’s eyes widened when Ada mentioned the baby.

“Yes, I know about the baby.” Ada exclaimed through a frustrated sigh. “Y/N’s told me everything.”

“Then you will also know why I ain’t doing fuck all about it.” Alfie grumbled dismissively.

“What are you on about?” Ads asked bemused.

“Hmm, it seems that you don’t know everything then, do ya?... The sprog might not be mine.” Although he tried hard to conceal it, the words pained Alfie.

“What on Earth would make you think such a thing?”

“Because she fucking told me! 1 in 2 possibility she said. And this ‘ere, right,” he pokes the paper. “Tells me exactly what horse she’s backing.”

“And you believed her?” Ads scoffed, shaking her head. “She hasn’t even slept with Charles, so how could it be his?”

“Well if that’s so then why would she tell me otherwise, ay?”

“...It doesn’t make sense...” Ada’s eyes narrowed suspiciously at him. “...You must have said something to her to make her spew a lie like that?”

“Well, lie or no lie, it’s done me a favour to tell you the truth-“ Alfie replied nonchalantly, deflecting her question.

Adas eyes narrowed further at Alfie’s flippant reaction before a bleak realisation washed over her.

“-Oh God! That’s it isn’t it. You told her you didn’t want the baby didn’t you?” Ada’s heart sunk at what she hoped was a wrong assumption.

“Not in so many words.”

“For crying out loud, Alfie. I can only imagine how hurtful that was for her to hear.” Ada paused for a moment. “Haven’t you stopped to think for a moment that that may have been the reason why she said you might not be the father? To hurt you like you’ve hurt her?”

“Listen ‘ere, right. You might be, but I ain’t no fucking fool-“

“-No.” She interrupts him. “You’re just an ignorant pig who doesn’t know Y/N as well as you think you do. She’d stop heaven and hell for you...I used to think you’d do the same for her - maybe I was wrong. Your judgment is cloudy, Solomon’s. Clear your head and come to your senses before it’s too late.”

Alfie stays silent, his thumb and forefinger fiddling with the overgrown scruff that decorated his jawline.

“Y/N’s under the illusion that you have a plan-“ Ada continues.

“Don’t dare come in ‘ere and fucking patronise me!” He erupted, slamming his fist on the desk. “I have a plan, right. It’s not a fucking illusion and it’s none of your fucking business either.”

“Then what the hell are you waiting for? Go to her. Beg for her forgiveness and when she takes you back- if she takes you back, get the hell out of here, both of you.”

“And tell me, sweetie, where does that leave your brother and his little starling problem?” Alfie eyes Ada curiously.

“He’s a Shelby. He’ll handle it.” She replied flatly.

Alfie graces her with an impish grin, the cockiness of her statement amusing him.

“Yeah, he’s done a brilliant job so far, ain’t he?” He muttered sarcastically.

“Just give Y/N the benefit of doubt, Alfie. After everything you’ve put her through, it’s the least you could do.” Ada waited for Alfie to reply but he stayed silent. His arms now folded stubbornly across his chest.

A defeated sigh left her ruby lips as she decided regretfully that her visit had been in vain.

“I’ve said all I’ve come here to say, I’ll be leaving now.” She grumbled, turning towards the door.

“Let me walk you out.” Ollie offered quickly, stumbling to her side.

“That won’t be necessary.” She declined. Blushing at their clashing of hands which have both reached for the door handle. A fleeting moment ensued between the two but Ada shook it off swiftly.

“I don’t need a man to open the door for me.” She sighed harshly.

“No, I remember that.” Ollie gave her a sad smile and withdrew his hand, leaving Ada to open it.

“Think about what I said.” She turned back to address Alfie who just grunted a dismissal.

“Where is she?” He asked suddenly.

“Arcadia.” Ada told him, her voice thick with hope.

Alfies eyes fell to the floor as he gave a subtle nod.

Resisting another glance at Ollie, Ada left wordlessly with her head held high.

Ollie loitered by the door debating wether or not to follow her. An abrupt bang shook the room, so loud it caused him to jump. He turned to Alfie whose pencil was now protruding from the photograph in the paper, piercing what would have been Charles’ face.

“I think Ada’s right, Alf.” Ollie approached his boss carefully.

“Yeah? And I think you’re just blinded by the peaky tart and that you’d think shit smelt like roses if she told you it did.”

Not wanting to get a wallop, Ollie gritted his teeth and said nothing.

“...So what if she is right, ay? Nothing changes. I can’t be who Y/N needs me to be.” Alfie confessed coyly.

“What you on about?”

“Being a dad. How could I be a fucking dad? I mean, who did I have as an example? My old man was a waste of space.” Alfie eyes his fathers hat hanging obnoxiously on the coat stand in the corner of the room. “Never ever saw the cunt.”

“Oh come on, Alfie. You ain’t your old man. You’d be a great dad. Look at what you’ve done for Goliath.”

“He’s a grown lad though in’t he. I didn’t raise him.”

“What about me then? You’ve pretty much raised me since the day my dad passed. And I turned out alright.”

A hundred and one sarcastic remarks crossed Alfie’s mind but he silenced them and instead agreed begrudgingly with a grunt.

“All you got to do is look at everything you’ve done for Y/N to realise that you’re nothing like your old man.”

“Yeah, waste of fucking time that all was.”

“Oh, Come on Alfie! If you really felt that way you wouldn’t have bothered whipping up a nurser-“ Alfie’s seething scowl stops Ollie abruptly.

“... I know it’s none of my business, boss.” Ollie gulped, continuing more cautiously. “But I don’t think Y/N would have come here and told you about the baby if there was any doubt in her mind that it wasn’t yours.”

Alfie jumped up from his desk causing Ollie to cower, fully expecting Alfie to chin him one for interfering in his personal business.

“There’s only one way to find out, in’t there. Get my coat.”

~~~~~~~~~~~

For you, daytimes wasn’t the problem. Daytimes you could spend time with Ada or occupy yourself with the odd job at Arcadia. It was the nighttimes that haunted you. When the parties were over, the doors closed and you had to curl up beside Charles with another mans baby growing inside of you - a man who had shattered your heart a second time.

You had left the bakery that day numb, exactly like you had the last time he had broken your heart - ironically within the same four walls. It took all the strength you had to put on a brave face and lie to Ada afterwards, to tell her how overjoyed Alfie was about the news you were carrying his baby and that it wasn’t the train wreck it actually was. It just felt easier that way and it also gave Ada one less reason to hate him. It angered you that even after all the hurt Alfie had put you through, you still possessed that unabating need to defend and protect him. Which was the main reason you were still here and hadn’t fled London like your wounded heart had wanted to.

You had thought, or more so hoped, like you had done the first time he broke your heart, that Alfie would have come round by now but almost a fortnight later and still no word. It seemed you would have to somehow come to terms with the inevitable and try as best as you could to move on without him. Just the thought of that tore your sewn up heart back in two. You’d lay awake at night thinking about it, licking your wounds and drowning in a turbulent sea of misery as you tried to work out your next move. You wouldn’t be showing properly for a few more weeks, which should hopefully give you enough time to bring Tommys plan to fruition and help him put a stop to the Changrettas’ before it was too late. It’s what you would do next that had you stumped. One thing was sure, you would have to leave town. The thought of sticking around and raising Alfie’s child in London knowing he didn’t want to be a part of either of your lives was too gut wrenchingly painful to endure. So where would you go? You still had family you could turn to but your stupid pride would stop you from going back to your Aunts or turning up on your mother’s doorstep pregnant. What you needed was a fresh start. Birmingham was an option - a rather appealing one considering your connection to the peakies. You could be certain that Tommy would see you right and make sure you settled in. However, Tommy’s business relationship with Alfie could pose a problem. Another option, a more drastic one, was America. Ada would spend hours telling you about America and how much she adored it. She said she would be returning there soon, maybe you would go with her.

“That’s the last of the gin, Miss.” The glass bottles clinked a merrily enticing tune as the delivery man set the last crate on top of the other one at the bar, effectively stealing you from your reverie. He slid a docket under your nose for you to sign and with your signature and a tip of his flat cap he took his leave.

You had begun replenishing the bar with the gin when a sudden, eerie feeling crept over you. Shaking it off, you quickly dismissed it as fatigue and continued unpacking the crates...but the feeling lingered. Maybe it was the huge club that was bereft of the nightly pandemonium which caused your unease and emphasised the strange silence as it pressed in on you. You glanced around, the presence of the few workers dallying doing little to ease your imagination as it began to run wild: What if Sabini had found out who you were? Or even worse, what if Luca had done some digging and found out you had been spying on him and Charles? Either one could be lurking in the many shadows of the club waiting for the right moment to strike. It was an alarming possibility that caused a shiver to run down your spine.

Feeling paranoid and vulnerable, you were overcome with a staggering urge to get out of there as fast as you could. You left the bottles of gin on the bar top and made a hasty retreat from the grand hall to retrieve your coat and purse from the office. You moved briskly to the golden pillars which adorned the entrance of the large hall and masked the narrow stairway to your little office. No sooner had you breached the golden barrier were you pulled behind one of the pillars. Your mouth opened on a scream but closed when you came nose to nose with Alfie.

“Alfie, what are you doin-“

“-You’ve lied to me, ain’t ya? You haven’t fucked the Yank.” His grip tightened on your wrists.

“That’s none of your damned business!”

“Anything to do with you is my business.” He growled. “This is my business.”

He let go of one of your wrists to gently caress your stomach. You stilled at the unexpected gesture and melted against the column you were pressed up against. Enraptured completely by his touch that you hadn’t felt for days. Reminding yourself of the reason for his absence, you snapped out of his spell and batted his hand away forcefully.

“You’ve changed your tune!” You spat bitterly, pushing past him.

The sound of his footsteps and cane hitting the marble floor behind you told you that he was following you.

“Leave me alone, Solomon’s.”

“I’m not going anywhere until you tell me.” He grabs you again before you can ascend the stairs to the office.

“Tell you what?” You turn on him.

“Tell me the truth!” He hollers indiscreetly.

“You can’t handle the truth.” You whisper shout. Escaping once again, desperate to get away from him and the ear-wigging workers scattered around you. You make it to the sanctuary of your office, trying to shut the door on Alfie but he’s too close behind you. He pushes through, catching you as you lose your balance and stumble backwards.

“Tell me the baby’s mine.” He demands, glowering.

Your eyes travel across the menacing features of his face so close to yours.

“You really need me to tell you?” You smirk.

“I want to hear you say it.”

“Of course it’s bloody yours!” You scream, pushing free from him.

“Why did you tell me otherwise then, pet?” 

It may have been your imagination but he sounded relieved.

“Do you blame me after the way you reacted?”

“What did you expect? Dropping a bombshell like that? I was in shock.”

“I expected more from you, Alfie! I realise now how naive that was of me.”

“Now listen ‘ere-“

“- No you listen. Before you say another word I want you to know that I’m keeping the baby, and that you’re completely free from obligation. I’m assuming that’s why you’re here? Well, be assured, I don’t want or need anything from you, Alfie Solomon’s. Least of all your pity.”

“Pity?” He scoffs.

“It’s written all over your face. You’ve made your choice. I’ve come to terms with that now. I can do this on my own. We don’t need you.” You told him, trying your best to sound convincing.

“Right.” He gives you a half amused, tight lipped smile. “Well, after seeing that stomach-churning announcement of your engagement in the times, it appears that you have also made your choice. But I am curious, Virgin Mary, about how you’re going to explain all this to lover boy?”

“Mock me all you like, Solomons. But I have no intentions of staying with Charles. Although I have accepted his proposal - for yours and Tommy’s sake, may I add. On the contrary to what you believe, once this is all done and dusted I will not be marrying Charles. In fact I’ll be gone as soon as this is over.”

“And where exactly will you be going?” He asked. All amusement now gone from his gruff voice.

“I’m still working it out. But you haven’t got to worry about me or your bastard child cramping your style. We’ll be far away from here and far away from you.”

“You and my child ain’t goin’ anywhere. I’d track you down. Follow you to the ends of the fucking Earth if I had to.” His inflamed temper and seething threat shocked you silent. “I acted like a cunt the other day, I hold my hands up but I’ve since seen the error of my ways... Just give me another chance.”

“How can I give you another chance? How can I believe that this is what you really want after everything you said? I can’t do it. I can’t live in doubt like that. I’d rather not be with yo-“

“- don’t say it!” He interrupted suddenly. “I fucked up. I thought I’d be a shit dad. That I’d let you both down. But this is what I want. Let me prove it to you. Another chance, a shot at redemption is all I’m asking.”

“You’ve already let us down...I’m sorry, Alfie, I can’t-“

“-Don’t fucking say it!” He warned again. Grabbing you and pulling you to him. You stood rigidly in his arms. Your stinging eyes unable to meet his.

“I can’t-“ you try again but he cuts off the rest of your sentence with a rough kiss.

You pull away, slapping his face hard before colliding back into him and kissing him as if it was the last time.

The sound of the door handle rattled and you tore yourself from Alfie instantaneously. Less than a second later Charles burst through the office door.

“Dar-ling.” seeing that you wasn’t alone, Charles drawled a protracted greeting upon his entrance.

“Hello, my love.” You smiled. Quickly going to him and hoping that your flushed cheeks and heaving chest didn’t arouse his suspicions anymore than they possibly already were.

“Mr Solomon’s. What are you doing here?” He looked past you to address Alfie.

“We were running low on rum so I called Mr Solomon’s, who went out of his way to personally deliver us some. Wasn’t that kind of him, sweetheart?” You quickly answered on Alfie’s behalf.

“Yes.” Charles mumbled “too kind.”

You risk a glance at Alfie. His jaw was tense. His penetrating gaze falling from Charles to you.

“Well I should be on me way now then. As always it’s been a pleasure, Y/N.” He grins, striding towards the door and ignoring Charles completely. “Think about what I said.” He tells you before disappearing, purposely leaving you and Charles with an elephant in the room.

“And what exactly is it you have to think about, my dear?” Charles asks tightly.

“Extra protection on the doors.” You lie, swiftly coming up with a cover up. “He thought it would help deter the riff raff.”

“I see.” He utters mindlessly. Catching you off guard when his fingers caught your chin and lifted your reddened face up to his. You tried not to fold under the scrutiny of his leering gaze.

“You have that rash again.” He sounded accusatory. His thumb and forefinger tracing roughly around your mouth and jawline where your skin had been chaffed a pale pink by Alfie’s coarse beard.

Your heart pounded loudly in your ears.

“Do I? I haven’t been well lately, have I? It must be to do with that.” You shrugged free from Charles and leant across the desk to retrieve your coat and purse.

“Take me home, my love. I’m famished.” You looped your arm through his to encourage him towards the door but he didn’t budge.

“Tell me, how do you know Mr Solomon’s again?”

Your settling heartbeat once again started to race.

“He was the landlord of my uncles shop. I used to work there and he’d pop in now and again to collect the rent. Why do you ask?”

“I was just wondering. I remember you telling me he was an old friend. However, I just can’t help but think that it’s a bit of an unusual alliance.”

“I’d hardly call it an alliance. Maybe friend was too familiar of a term. He’s more of an acquaintance.”

“I see. Well, acquaintance or not, I don’t know if I’m comfortable with you doing business with Mr. Solomon’s anymore. In future, any dealings with him will go through me.”

“I’m fully capable-“

“It’s not about capability!” He erupts, startling you.

“It’s about him.” He carries on more evenly, regaining his composure. “I simply don’t trust him. Any business with the Jew now goes through me. Do I make myself clear?”

You nodded compliantly, hoping he’d drop the matter.

“Good. Now let’s get you fed and watered.”

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[whumpywhumper]

Home

Masterpost

Set sometime in the future

TW: graphic depiction of panic attack but mostly fluff

@misspelledwitch @insanitywishes @imagination1reality0 @castielamigos-whump-side-blog @voidwhump @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @captivity-whump @liliability @muumimafia @fanastywhump @elisabethrosewrites @unsure-but-alive-752 @jeverest00 @texdoeshalo @fanmanga1357-blog

Special thanks to: @0idril0 @rosesareviolentlyread @walkingchemicalfire @quirkykayleetam

V***V 

Markus was walking down the street slowly. Trying for all he was worth to make it look like a stroll rather than a limping lurch.

It was hard with the way his hip and thigh were aching, but he’d been an okay actor in high school. His Hamlet was to die for, or so he’d been told. 

He huffed, hitching up his jeans as they tried to slide down his hips again. The thick denim was loose around his waist, the weight he’d lost while still with Lucien and in the hospital absent from his lean frame. He hadn’t had the time, or the inclination, to go shopping for more clothes, and Illyn had brought what she could fit into a duffle bag from his wardrobe in Salem. 

It had been weeks since he’d been dressed in anything other than sweats and loose basketball shorts, and he wasn’t going to let the pain in his leg interfere with going out with Ben and Kincaid. They’d invited him along, pulling him away from the files they’d reluctantly allowed him to have so that the could help with the case. Claimed that a stupid rom-com was just what he needed to gain some perspective. 

Markus wasn’t sure that was true, but he was happy to be out now. 

Kincaid bumped into his shoulder, and Markus looked up at the slightly taller man, Kinciad’s eyebrow raising as he cocked his head, a silent question in his hazel eyes. You okay? 

Of course, his answering smile said. Why wouldn’t I be? His shoulders asked. 

Kincaid didn’t look completely convinced, but he held the door open for Markus and Ben, entertaining Ben’s enthusiastic rant about an upcoming release of a new Marvel movie. Markus liked the classics, wasn’t a huge movie fan in the first place, but he couldn’t help but watch how Ben lit up as he discussed what he hoped the film included from the comics. His eyes sparkled behind his glasses, the shifting green/blue of his eyes dancing under the muted lights as he made sure to engage Markus and Kincaid equally, pulling indulgent smiles from Kincaid even as he held the conversation one-sided. It was, in a word, adorable. 

Markus followed Kincaid’s hand as he placed it on Ben’s back, guiding the distracted man through the crowd. They moved so well together, a decade of friendship and partnership that baffled Markus with its easy beauty. He shook his head, trying to keep abreast of them despite his hidden limp as they made their way toward the concessions. They’d purchased their tickets online, but a lively discussion about appropriate movie candy and fare had taken up the walk on the way over. 

Markus liked twizzlers. Kincaid and Ben both liked popcorn. But that’s where the agreement ended. 

Kincaid liked buttered popcorn, whereas Ben thought that was an abomination of fake chemicals that didn’t deserve the salt that was blessed upon it. He, instead, liked plain, salted popcorn mixed with M&M’s of all things. It was a bitter, contested, and well-loved argument that, apparently, Markus was going to be the deciding vote on. 

He was going to have to disappoint them both. 

He didn’t like popcorn at all. It got stuck in his teeth. Ruining that for them before they got to the theater, however, wasn’t even an option. Having both Ben and Kincaid eagerly explaining the merits of their preferred snack to him, including him, laughing and egging each other on. It let Markus feel like he was part of them, even if it was just a little part, and he couldn’t help but crave it.  

The first hint of unease started bubbling in Markus’s gut as they stood in the back of the line. His eyes darted around, taking in the people, the families and little kids screaming and running around to the arcade. The bright posters heralding blockbusters that he hadn’t been around to see advertised. The screens overhead flashing with even more advertisements and commercials. It was a little. . . overwhelming. 

Markus stiffened when a hand brushed against his back, snapping his head around from where he’d been scrutinizing a couple of girls getting drinks from the in theater bar, meeting Ben’s concerned, questioning gaze with an automatic smile. “Sorry, I think I missed that?”  

Ben smiled back, but the worry didn’t completely go away. “I asked if you were alright?” 

Markus made his smile even brighter and consciously unclenched his hands from around his biceps, uncertain of when he’d even crossed his arms. “Of course, yeah,” he laughed, hoping it didn’t sound as forced as it felt, “just wondering if my alcohol tolerance has gone down. I used to be able to drink Clint under the table, ya know?” 

Ben and Kincaid both chuckled at that, shaking their heads. Kincaid slung an arm around Ben’s shoulders, gesturing for them both to move up in line. “I’m sure that he tells a different story.” 

“Well yeah,” Markus answered, relieved that they seemed to be accepting his distraction, “he’s got to keep the big, bad werewolf reputation intact.” 

“Thaaat’s the reason, sure,” Ben snorted, pointing at the different drink options. 

Markus blinked as Ben’s attention wavered, eyes flitting to the people that sidled up in the line next to them, watching how they interacted, their laughter or phone calls washing over him in a wave of sound. He swallowed, throat feeling tight, not recognizing that his arms were crossing back over his chest again. He knew that there was anxiety building, but he couldn’t accept that that’s what was happening. Not over something so simple as a trip to the movie theater. 

He shook himself, blinking hard, mind scrambling to make sense of what was going on in his own head, and he forcibly settled his shoulders as he realized it was the first time he’d been around so many people since he’d gotten away from Lucien. It was supposed to help, recognizing the trigger, right? 

“Hey, Markus?” 

Jumping a little at Kincaid’s voice, Markus forced an automatic, quizzical expression, like he hadn’t been a million miles away, and met the other man’s gaze. “Hmmm?” 

Kincaid’s mouth tilted in a knowing smile. “Can you go grab some straws?” he asked, eyebrows lifting meaningfully at the darker section of the atrium where the napkins, straws, and fake, powdered cheese lived. 

Markus nodded, smiling back, concealing his gratefulness and moved away from the crowded concession lines. 

But the further he got from Ben and Kincaid, the more his fear seemed to build. He stumbled as a little girl with two huge pig tails tripped in front of him, catching himself hard on his bad leg, barely hearing her high pitched apology as his heartbeat roared in his ears—the memory of being thrown, of being held down and stabbed—flashing in front of his eyes. He gasped raggedly, stumbling into the corner, eyes lowered to avoid the gaze of the other people there. Fuck, he thought, gasping tightly in the back of his throat, fuck. 

Markus’s heart was a rustling bird in his chest, thumping away at his breastbone in an effort to escape. The roar of air in his ears was deafening, the farther he plummeted downward, the harder the desperate flapping of the trapped bird became, his lungs expanding like fluttering wings, unable to collect enough air to keep him from crashing. Fuck, fuck, I can’t breathe. He grabbed ahold of the counter. Trying to keep from going to his knees in the middle of a goddamn movie theater. 

He was in a movie theater, right? His blinked, eyelids fluttering, gaze roving across the room, not quite seeing the garish posters, the advertisements for next year’s blockbusters. The milling crowd and arcade games turned into a bright blur, arching across his vision with a kaleidoscope of color. Like he was high, his pupils unfocused and dilated with the overhead lights. 

“Hey, are you okay?”  

Markus jerked, sucking in a short gasp as his muscles clamped down, not letting him move. Freezing him in place. He ducked his head, his shoulders drawing up around his ears, protecting the sides of his neck. 

A strong hand encircling his bicep made him choke down a whimper, and his gaze jerked to the person touching him, his breath completely stopping in his chest. Blond hair. Tall. Pale. 

No. Nononofuck. 

He tried to back away, shaking legs threatening to buckle as he tried to put more weight on his aching leg. Markus stumbled again, thudding into the counter, and his hand left its white knuckled grip on the counter to grab at the hot fury in his hip. 

“No need to be so jumpy there,” the other man laughed, his hand tightening as he steadied Markus. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost? Did you see that new Annabelle movie or something?” 

Markus shook his head, numb to what his expression was, eyes wide as he tried to pull himself from the panic. “N-no,” his mouth wouldn’t cooperate, lungs starving for oxygen even as he prepared himself to beg, “pl-ease.” 

Suddenly, Ben was there, shoving the other man’s hand away, pushing the blond back. “Back off.” The words were hollow, pounding drum notes, the echo wrong in Markus’s ears as his brain tried to keep up with the wild thud of his heartbeat. 

Ben, Ben don’t— He tried to reach for him, his hand leaving his hip with a flutter as he tried to get it to move past the electric, flashing pain in the joint. The fear Markus felt at the other human facing the Elder was instinctive, terrifying. He wouldn’t have a chance. Ben would die. Ben, please, not Ben. 

But then Kincaid was there too, his broad shoulders crowding in front of him, blocking his view, enveloping Markus in his warmth. “Easy, Markus, shhhh,” he ducked his head, honey hazel eyes meeting Markus’s, weaving to keep in Markus’s eye line as he tried to see Ben. “No, sweet guy, c’mon, look at me.” That tell-tale tingle of magic travelled down his spine when Kincaid’s hand wrapped around the back of his neck, his thumb brushing through the short hairs at his nape. 

Markus shuddered, gasping, ribs starting to ache with weight of his shaking breaths. There were angry murmurs, and Ben’s raised voice. Ben shouldn’t be confronting Lucien, no. “I-I c-can’t—Ben, can’t—“ he still couldn’t breathe, “Lucien—“ 

“No, Markus, shhhh,” Kincaid’s other hand cupped his cheek, forcing his gaze to stay on him, “Lucien isn’t here, okay? Ben’s fine. Look at me, breathe with me, c’mon.” He started taking a slow breath through his nose, letting it out through his pursed lips, demonstrating for Markus, trying to calm him down. 

He heaved in a heavy breath, not hearing the unsteady, short moan humming through his throat. “Kin—“ he panted, “Kin’, please, I—“ 

“Alright, no, I know,” Kincaid released the hold he had on his cheek, pulling Markus’s hand from the counter and to his chest. “You’re alright, grab hold, just like we practiced.” Markus felt the dangling charms of his grahm brushing against his fingers, and latched onto it, his fumbling grasp tightening as much as he could. “Breathe in,” Kincaid murmured softly, “One, two, three, four, hold—“ 

Kincaid took him all the way through the breathing exercise, murmuring softly to him the whole time, keeping their eyes locked together. His thumb didn’t stop its slow caress, brushing back and forth, back and forth, through his hair. “Good job,” he whispered, once Markus’s breath started to actually match his own, “good job, sweet guy, shhhh.” He brought their foreheads together, and Markus swayed into him, releasing the death grip on his hip to clutch at Kincaid’s t-shirt, clinging to him as the panic left him empty and aching. They were breathing the same air, and Markus could smell the popcorn and Coke on the other man’s breath. 

Markus’s eyelashes fluttered closed, and he let out another shaking breath. “—Kin’,” he whispered, not sure what he was wanting to say. 

“I’m right here, baby, shhhh,” Kincaid wound his free hand around Markus’s back, trapping Markus’s grahm and his hand between them, pulling him as tightly into his embrace as he could. Surrounding him, protecting him. His frantic heartbeat slowed, settling in his chest, letting Markus take a full, deep breath. 

When they pulled apart, Markus felt punch drunk. He staggered slightly, still in the circle of Kincaid’s arms, eyelids heavy and half-lidded. Kincaid took some of his weight, palm bracing his lower back, face still so very close to Markus’s. 

He jumped when someone else touched him, head sluggishly snapping toward toward the newcomer. It was Ben, and Markus’s breath left him again with both a sense of relief that the other man was okay and with fear, realizing just how close he was to Ben’s partner, the way that they were curled into each other. “Ben . . . “ he breathed, voice faint. 

The answering smile he received didn’t hold any of the anger that he’d expected, none of the territorial hostility that should have been there with Markus ensconced in an intimate embrace with the love of Ben’s life. Ben’s hand pressed against his shoulder blades, fingers spread wide and possessive, encouraging Markus to stay right were he was in Kincaid’s arms. “It’s okay, Bambi,”  he said softly, warmly, “It’s okay.” Ben had foregone his glasses, and his dusky, blue eyes were were sparkling, lines evident as his lips stretched into a welcoming smile. “Let’s go home, yeah?” 

Markus swallowed, still feeling dazed as he turned toward Ben, not capable of leaving the warmth that surrounded Kincaid. “But. . . the movie?” he asked, words slightly slurred with the oncoming fatigue. Nothing sounded better than going ho—going to Ben and Kincaid’s—and falling into an early sleep, but he didn’t want to ruin their night out. He could make it through a movie. 

Kincaid shook a head, his nose brushing Markus’s temple. “It doesn’t matter, Markus,” the hand still on the back of Markus’s neck swept up to cradle the back of his head, Kincaid’s thick, calloused fingers woven through his hair, “do you want to go home?” 

He let the weight of Kincaid’s hand pull him forward, so that he was pressed into the crook of the bigger man’s neck, hiding his face from the curious gazes he could see in the periphery of his vision. He nodded, curling his shoulders in, making himself smaller. 

“Okay, then let’s go home,” Kincaid whispered, pressing a kiss to his hair. 

Ben sidled up to his other side, free hand under Markus’s elbow, and between them, they took some of Markus’s weight so that he could follow their lead through the crowd, not letting himself acknowledge the people they passed. If his limp was more prominent now, it didn’t matter. 

He was going home. 

[s-creations]

Return the Flames - Chapter 8

All at Dead Bird Studios knew of Amos' (The  Conductor's) ability. How the owl could suddenly erupt into flames if  angered enough. When the studio first opened, Dominic (DJ Grooves) was  told that Amos had his ability under control. Nothing to worry about. No  possible loss of anything from an open flame.

A few years later however, and that control seems to have lessened to a dangerous degree.

It should have just been a simple, week long drive to fix the problem. It really should have been.

Dominic should have asked a lot more questions and should have been prepared for a twist ending.

_________________

Fandom: A Hat in Time     Rating: General Audience     Relationships/Pairings: The ConductorXDJ Grooves   Warnings: Eventual depictions of violence, slow burn relationship, named characters, attempt of an accent, being hunted down, a race against time (sort of).

“What do you think about these?”

 Amos was not prepared to be greeted with Dominic wearing the largest, ‘normal’ pair of sunglasses the owl had ever seen . So startled, Amos laughed hard, pulling the glasses off of Dominic’s face. Who was looking rather smug.

 “Yer peckin’ crazy. I know ya like the gaudy, but I don’t think ya could pull that off.”

 “Are you saying my charm is not enough? I’m rather upset about that.”

 “Guess ya have a limit.”

 “I don’t believe you.”

 They shared another laugh as Amos placed the sunglasses back on the spinning rack. 

 It was their sixth day out. Around this time they should have been returning home if they weren’t being hunted down. But now they were one day away from finally arriving. Which neither of them were too worried about. They hadn’t run into C.A.W. again. They were doing well when it came to their money. Amos hadn’t even had another flare as they had experienced at the beginning of this journey. All was going well in their mind.

 After that day spent at the fair, the relationship between them seemed to have become...stranger. Amos wasn’t sure what to call what was happening. So odd to know that the bird he once called an enemy had given him such care and comfort. A hard hit of reality came when he realized wouldn’t have gotten this far without Dominic. Once as rivals, now… 

 Friends? More? How the peck was he supposed to tell?

 Amos shuffled nervously as he pretended to be trying to select a bag of chips. His attention darted over to the penguin, who was further down the same aisle. 

 The owl wasn’t sure what to make of this growing bond between the two. If he was going to be honest with himself, Amos couldn’t tell the last time someone took care of him. Probably his mother. Before she passed away. After that, it was him against the world. Now Amos has this over-the-top dressed penguin who could wear platform shoes that could kill anyone else watching out for him. One who didn’t seem to be deterred that the owl was a walking bonfire with a target on his back. Amos was worried he was putting a bit too much hope into these kind actions. 

 “You ready to go Sweetheart?”

 “Huh, uh, aye. ‘M ready. I’ll meet ya at the counter.” Amos’ heart fluttered, the flame flickering dangerously as Dominic passed by with a warm smile.

 It didn’t help the owl’s predicament when Dominic decided to give such an affectionate nickname. Amos had thought it was a one time slip up. Until the penguin used the same term the next day. And the day after that. Dominic seemed to have exchanged the nickname over Amos’ proper name.

 That had to mean something...right?

 Don’t fall for this. Don’t jump from that ledge. You weren’t even planning to return from this. Now you want to pick out towels with this guy? And how is that fair to him? Pull Dominic along and then abandon him. Let him see your body burn as you pass away. How romantic. 

 He͉ de͕ser͜ves̩ ͟so͢ ̼much̠ ̦b̝e͇t͎t͕e̖ṛ ͜than ̻y̦ou and y̟ou̝ k͇n̜ow itͅ.

 Amos had subdued his heart when he joined Dominic at the counter. The penguin gave another smile, one that Amos tried to reciprocate. If the furrowed brows were any indication, Dominic didn’t find the gesture believable. 

 They left the small convenient store, bags in each arm as they made their way back to the car. Which was parked a few blocks away. A decision made by the two of them in case they needed to lose an unwelcomed party member. 

 “Come on, just try a piece.” Dominic offered, holding out a small strip of salmon skin jerky. Amos' face twisted in disgust. 

 “Get that peckin’ stench stick away from me.”

 The penguin merely laughed before eating the strip. Amos rolled his eyes...only to freeze, heart hammering. A familiar crow was standing at the corner of the street they were approaching. The crowd passed by as if it was normal for a large bird to just stand in the middle of the sidewalk. 

 Amos frantically reached out and grabbed for Dominic’s arm. To stop the penguin who kept moving forward, completely unaware of what was now blocking their path. 

 “Amos-”

 “Just ahead.”

 Dominic faced forward, eyes widening in fear seeing the crow as well. “...Okay. Let’s backtrack. We can get to the car another way.”

 “Right…” Amos turned, only to find a row of crows blocking their exit strategy. The owls became nervously aware of how empty the surrounding streets suddenly became. 

 “Hello, Phoenix spawn.” The lone crow spoke. Amos assumed this was the same who’d spoken to them before . “It would do your health well to turn yourself in. An exit for you in this situation seems very unlikely. 

 “Last I checked, ya peck necks’ wanted ta kill me.” Amos growled.

 “Then do so for the health of your companion. We will allow him to leave, unharmed, if you come with us.”

 “I highly doubt that offer is very genuine.” Dominic replied. 

 The crow huffed. “You are surrounded. Without a moving wall of metal to protect you. There is no way out for you.”

 “Did ya seem ta forget about the flame burnin’ within me that I can use ta burn ya peck necks.” 

 “Do you want to take the risk, to possibly burn another building down?”

 Amos growled dangerously, feathers puffing up. He stepped forwards, to do what he wasn’t sure, only for Dominic to grip his hand. “Don’t. We need to run.”

 “What are ya suggestin’.”

 “There’s an alleyway behind us. If we can distract them, we can make a break for it and circle back for the car. Hope you were too attached to your purchases.”

 “If it means I don’t have ta worry about yer salmon jerky, then let's toss them.”

 “Fair enough.”

 The surrounding crows let out squawks of  surprise when plastic bags were flung their way. The contents opening and splattering on the ground and over themselves. 

 Dominic didn’t wait, grabbing Amos’ hand and pulling him towards the mentioned alleyway. It was a small sense of relief seeing that there was another exit to this place. The penguin worried he’d actually lead them into a dead end. He heard numerous footsteps following closing in. The agents had clearly recovered quickly from their lethal attack. 

 They turned left as soon as they escaped the alleyway. A clear shot to the car was before them. All nearby agents had apparently decided that being part of the show was more important than setting up a proper perimeter. 

 “Idiot peck necks!” Amos smirked. 

 “Don’t get overconfident!” Dominic warned, keys already in hand. 

 “They ain’t gonna catch us! Keep doin’ the same peckin’ thin’, thinkin’ they’re gonna trip us-”

 Amos winced when something hit his neck. Reaching up, the owl pulled out a dart. The center of it hollow with some remnant of a blue liquid that had been held inside. 

 He was suddenly hit with a numbingly cold sensation. He collapsed, his limbs submitting to the cold and stopped working. It almost felt as if he had just lost them, as if his appendages had disappeared. Breathing became a struggle as he laid on the sidewalk. Heart hammering as all he could do was watch as the agents closed in. He couldn’t even call his flame, it felt as if he’d never had it. It hurt so much.

 Amos heard someone call his name. But he wasn’t able to respond. All he could do was watch with increasing fear as the agent continued to draw closer. 

 He wasn’t sure if he blinked or passed out for a second from whatever was injected into him. But Amos was shocked when a wall of ice suddenly appeared before him. Effectively cutting the agents from their path. It was the last confusing thought, wondering where that ice had suddenly come from, before he was picked up and the darkness of unconsciousness swallowed him. 

 ___________________

 Dominic’s hands were shaking as he clutched the steering wheel. Even as the miles added up in the distance set between them and the city, the penguin was still absolutely terrified. His eyes traveled up to the rear view mirror, which was pointed towards the backseat. 

 Amos was draped over the entire seat. An arm dangling off the side, the owl sleeping (Dominic hoped so, please let him just be asleep) on his stomach. He hadn’t moved, only making small noises when the care would hit a particularly hard bump. It was the only way that Dominic knew that Amos was still alive. 

 The penguin had been absolutely terrified when Amos just dropped. His heart hammering as he raced back to his fallen companion. The agents actually slowing in their pursuit, as if knowing the owl wouldn’t be able to fight back. Dominic hadn't intended to build such a blockade. He only intended to make enough to ice the street, trip the agents up. 

 The adrenaline caused the ice wall. But in all honesty, Dominic was thankful for that coverage. 

 Now, it was a frantic search for some kind of help. Someone, anyone, who could tell Dominic what had happened to Amos.

 “No hospitals. That’s part of the government...right? Does it even matter? We’re so close to the mountains, they’ll probably narrow down which road we took,” Dominic’s eyes darted to the mirror again hearing Amos let out a groan, “I know Sweetheart, I know. I’m trying. Please just hold on…”

 Slowing the car, Dominic’s attention was drawn to a partially visible path. Narrow and primarily made of tamped dirt, it was hidden by the overgrown native foliage. Dominic knew there were small villages dotted around the mountain base. It was a rumor, anyway. A large gamble to think there would be anyone out there that could help. But the penguin wasn’t sure what else he could do.

 One last check to make sure they weren’t being followed and Dominic turned off the main road and down the hidden path. He wasn’t really sure how long he traveled for. Taking it slow as the road was horribly uneven and the car was not built for off road travel. But there was a wave of relief when the road cleared out and a village, an honest to everything village, appeared before him. 

 Dominic stopped the car a few feet back as to not scare the locals that had emerged from their domed huts and congregated near the end of the road. 

 “Please, I need… I need help. My friend’s in trouble. I don’t know what’s wrong with him.” Dominic rambled frantically.

 One of the smaller nomads parted from the crowd and joined the penguin. Gesturing for Dominic to lead the way back to the car. Upon seeing Amos, the villager called back to the awaiting crowd in a language the penguin didn’t understand. A few departed into the village proper. The nomad with Dominic gestured for the penguin to lift Amos out.

 “A-Alright…” Dominic was a gentle as he could be when taking the owl out. Amos let out a small noise of discomfort as he was moved. “I know, I’m sorry. You’ll feel better soon, I found help.”

 Cradling the owl close, Dominic was able to maintain composure as Amos desperately pressed against him. A hand clenching at the penguin’s shirt. Now was not the time to have an emotional breakdown as Dominic was led deeper to the village. The penguin watching as some of the larger nomads pushed the car into the wild foliage to hide it. 

 The village was relatively small, at least to Dominic’s opinion. He truly never seen another nomad dwelling to compare. He was being led down what he would consider the main street. Domed huts lining it with a few more placed further back, large trees providing protection from the sun. A few faces were peeking out from the huts with curious looks as the group passed.

 The tamped down path ended at a small market. Large and circular, with stands outlining it with a few more domed buildings on the opposite side from where Dominic stood. Which was where the penguin was led towards. As soon as they were spotted, a nomad draped in red cloth stepped forward. Standing before Dominic with their own arms stretched out.

 “Um…” The penguin turned to the nomad who had first helped him. They pointed to Amos before gesturing for the owl to be handed over to the red-dressed nomad. “Oh, no, I-I’m fine. I can carry him inside.”

 Dominic started moving towards the hut he’d seen the red-dressed nomad had exited from. Only to be grabbed by a larger nomad from his shoulder. The penguin panicked as Amos was rather forcefully pulled away and taken into the hut. A cloth dropping over the entrance and two more large nomads positioning next to it.

 “Wait, no, let me in! I-I need to know he’s okay! P-Please, please, I need to stay with him…”

 “He’s in good hands, dear visitor. I promise you. Please, I ask you to calm yourself.” Dominic turned to the voice behind him. An aged nomad had appeared. A large white beard draping out from his purple robes. Large, curled horns weighing his head down, a knotted staff to keep him upright as he walked. 

 “...Who are you?”

 “Ah, pardon me dear visitor. You may refer to me as the Elder. For that’s who I am.”

 “I’m Dominic. My friend, Amos, he’s in… I would like to join him to make sure he’s okay.”

 “I’m sorry, but we must leave our healers to work. Please, take a walk with me Dominic. We have a few things to discuss apparently.”

[thepoppypress]

The Battleline Between Good and Evil (Runs Through the Heart of Every Man)

Chapter 1: 

The sounds of hard bone hitting flesh made Peter wince as he furiously scrubbed at the now non-existent stains on the hard, polished wood of the bar. His eyes were down cast as he tried to ignore the massacre in front of him with every fiber of his being. Despite it being early in the afternoon, his shift had already started off quite eventfully, with a barroom brawl. Even now, he found it hard on himself not to intervene. However, he knew he couldn’t draw attention to himself. In this type of environment, attention was either bad or worse with no better or inbetween. It was something he couldn’t afford.

A thump in front of him drew him out of his musings, his Spidey Sense starting to tingle quite annoyingly. Whoever was in front of him was dangerous. A deep voice started to speak.

“Old fashioned,” came the demand. Peter nodded silently, willing his face to be impassive as he concentrated on making the drink for the man. When he was done, he slid the drink over to the bar counter.

“Here you go sir,” he uttered politely, glancing up and taking note of the patron. He was an older man who wore a black, fitted T-shirt that displayed his assets clearly, biceps bulging as he leaned leisurely against the counter. White hair covered his head, cut recently as the smell of fresh shampoo came off of him to reach Peter’s sensitive nose. He could also clearly see little hairs clinging to the black of his shirt. The man had an eye patch over his right eye and was huge as well.

When he finished his drink, he slid it back over to him, and stood up at his full height, towering well over Peter and the rest of the patrons in the bar. The man’s one eye glanced at him, appraising him and Peter couldn’t help but blush a bit. He looked away, but not before noticing the slight twitch of the man’s mouth as he did.

‘Fuck,’ he thought and to avoid more embarrassment, Peter glanced around the large man to look at where the brawl had gotten to now.

“You new here?” Peter’s large eyes came back up to meet the other man’s and he nodded shyly.

“Yeah, a little over a month.” Eye-Patch (as Peter has now affectionately nicknamed him) hummed and stared at Peter for a little while longer, who fidgeted uncomfortably. Even though there was plenty of noise within the mostly empty club, the silence between both men was getting to Peter, which prompted him to ask a question. “Do you come here often?” The man grinned.

“Not before.” That made Peter blink. He tilted his head in confusion. He was obviously missing something here.

“Huh?” Eye-Patch laughed, gaining the attention of several people around them.

“Nothing, sweetheart,” Peter bristled a bit at the nickname, “just that you should probably expect me more.” Reaching into his pocket, Eye-Patch pulled out several hundred dollar bills and threw them towards Peter, whose eyes widened at the sight. “Just for you. Keep the change.” And he walked out the door without another word. Peter gaped at the door for a long while before looking at the neat bills on the counter.

“Weirdos,” he grumbled underneath his breath but not before pocketing the money. Another low thrum sang at the back of his head and he felt a presence sidle up beside him. He knew who it was without even looking.

“Hey Petey Boy!” Peter grabbed the glass that Eye-Patch just drank out of and began washing it.

“Hey Harley. What’s up?” The woman squealed happily, popping the gum in her mouth obnoxiously. Peter found that he quite liked Harleen Quinzel, after he worked past his first impression of her.

“Nothin’ much,” she drawled out teasingly, her blonde pigtails bouncing around her, “just wonderin’ when ya’ became such good friends with Deathstroke over there.” Peter grabbed a rag hanging on the bottom countertop and started to wipe down the glass in his hands.

“Who?” Harley giggled loudly, toying with the hem of Peter’s T-shirt as she grabbed onto one of his arms. He glanced down at her with a soft, curious look and she rolled her eyes playfully.

“Y’know, hunky Eye-Patch guy? Guy who just left?”

“Ah,” Peter realized before questioning, “his name is Deathstroke?” Harley rolled her eyes again.

“No, silly! His real name is Slade Wilson. He’s a mercenary for hire.”

‘Guess that answers that question.’ Harley blew a bubble and popped it again, winking suggestively at him, “and he was so interested in you!” Peter snorted.

“Nah. I’m new here so he was just asking. Besides, he’s a bit too old for me.” The look on Harley’s face was dubious.

“Uh-huh. Sure, honey. I’m just saying, he’s pretty hot. Also,” he felt a squeeze on his bicep, “have you been working out? You’re ripped!” Her smile became mischievous. “Trying to impress someone? Ooh! Ooh! Is it me?” Peter gave a small laugh, his curly hair bouncing as he shook his head.

“I’m always trying to impress you, Harls.” The blonde giggled and leaned over to kiss his cheek before swiping her thumb across it, wiping away the lipstick.

“Aww, you sweetie. If I didn’t have my puddin’, I would be with you in a heartbeat.” Peter forced a smile as Harley made heart eyes at the mention of her on-again-off-again boyfriend. Right now, it was decidedly on. If you asked Peter, he would say he knew the signs of an abusive relationship when he saw them. “Anyway. I just came ta tell ya’ that your shift for this afternoon ends right now and I’ll see you in a few hours!”

“Okay, thanks.” She kissed his cheek once more, not bothering to wipe away the residual lipstick before flouncing out of the bar. Peter wished she could see that she could do so much better than a man nicknamed ‘The Joker.’ Somewhere among the brawl that still had not stopped, the sound of glass shattering grabbed his attention. Peter sighed.

‘I better clean that up before I leave.’

-----

Peter walked the few blocks that it took to get to the homeless shelter where he stayed. He opened the door that housed the tens of people that wandered the streets, and closed it softly behind him. Setting towards his cot, he noticed that people were bustling around like crazy, and a nice smell was coming from the kitchen. His stomach grumbled but he willed it to stop. He needed the money to get a new place and he was a few hundred away from achieving his goal for the upfront portion. He was lucky that Harley decided to help him out and aid him in forming a bank account here. Peter reached his cot and sat down, noting that, luckily, no one had tried to steal his stuff. Again. Settling back against the pillows, Peter thought about the past couple of months.

He had first come to this world so unfamiliar to him through some sort of magical portal. God, he fucking hated magic sometimes. Mr. Stark had let him go into his lab unsupervised for the first time since the incident involving the toaster, pink glitter, and the flamethrower.

It was nice.

He was sitting at one of the tables, tinkering around with one of his web shooters, Led Zeppelin (“For the sake of America’s Ass™, Peter, it’s ACDC!”) booming in his ears when suddenly, he felt himself being pulled back, a cold feeling settling across the back of his neck and making its way to the rest of his body. Then, a weird expression came over his face as another feeling came over him, like he was being stretched thin, but it didn’t hurt. There’s a quick flash of a blinding light, causing him to shut his eyes (his overly reactive senses are a blessing and a curse) tightly and the next thing he knows, Peter hits the ground hard, his body making a soft thudding noise.

The first thing to register is the sight. It wasn’t overly bright, like the light was. In fact, it was rather dark. Brick walls surrounded him from two sides, indicating that he was in an alleyway of some sort. It wasn’t too spacious and various bags of trash were littered all over the place. Doors were lined along the brick walls, all closed and looking uninviting. Then came the smell. It was horribly pungent, probably even to the regular nose.

To Peter’s nose, however, it was hell. He could practically feel his olfactory glands swelling from the amount of stink he was admitting into his body. Gagging, he tried to stand up to get away from the smell only to stumble and nearly eat the gravel under him.

‘Parker Luck fucking sucks,’ he thinks as he collapses against one of the doors on the brick walls, then thinks groggily, ‘hey, that rhymed.’

He rested his head against the cool metal for a moment before his Spidey Sense, sensitive and overly reactive at the moment, blares a warning, making him shoot backwards. He lays on the ground for less than a second when the door he had previously rested on opened with a bang. His head pounded more than it ever did before, and the added sound of the metal banging against the brick and a high pitched voice screeching didn't help either. Peter squinted at the rather tall female figure standing in the doorway screaming obscenities into the lit room.

She screamed her last words, no response following her, and stepped outside with a huff, slamming the door behind her. Peter closed his eyes again, and laid his head against the concrete sullenly, fully expecting her to leave him. If he was a woman in a city at night, he would do that too.

“Oof, yer’ lookin’ kinda rough there buddy.” Peter’s eyes popped open in surprise. The woman was standing over him, a look of sympathy and concern displayed on her pale face. She crouched down and the closer she got, the more clearly he could see her features. She was pretty, with alabaster skin and platinum blonde hair pulled into pigtails, the ends dyed red and blue. Her bright blue eyes blinked curiously at him as he laid unmoving for a second.

“I fe’l rough’,” he croaked, his hands rubbing at his throat in an effort to ease the pain he felt as he spoke. The woman clicked her tongue and reached for his wrists, bringing them away from his neck.

“Alright, sweetie, I need you to answer every question as best as you can okay? I’m a doctor, I can help you.” Peter groaned and pointed to her, his arm bending at the elbow to raise his finger in the air.

“Wha’s yur’ name?” He managed to slur out. ‘Stranger danger Parker,’ he reminded himself in lieu of Mr. Stark. If he were here, he would be shaking his head in disappointment, Peter was sure of it.

“Ah, how rude of me! Ma names Dr. Harleen, but ya’ can call me Harley!” The hand pointing at her turned into a wave, greeting her.

“Hey,” he replied weakly, “my name’s Peter. Peter Parker.” He could hear the grin in Harley’s voice.

“Well, Peter Parker, tell me. Are ya feeling nauseous or dizzy?”

“Yes.”

“Any ringing in the ears?”

“No.”

“A headache? Are ya feeling really tired?”

“Not that bad of a headache. Tired, yes,” he sighed, fatigue heavy in his voice, “look, Doctor, I don’t have a concussion. Just feeling weird right now.”

“Ya drink before you came here or eat something weird?”

“No, I’m just weird like this.” Harley was silent for a moment.

“Do ya want me to help get you home?” Peter sighed again, pushing his arms up to help himself lift his torso so he was sitting upright.

“I, uh, don’t have a home,” he looked around the alley, his senses starting to clear (though his nose still throbbed at the smell), “where am I, by the way?” Harley leaned into his vision, a slightly incredulous look on her face.

“You don’t know where you are?” Peter shook his head, happy his headache was now subsiding. The disbelieving expression didn’t disappear from Harley’s face. “Well, you, puppy, are in Gotham, the most crime ridden city in the world.” Peter sent Harley a weird glance.

“Gotham? Like Gotham City, Batman’s Gotham City?” The second the sentence went out of his mouth, Harley covered his lips with her hand.

“Never say that name unless you’re looking for a death wish!” She hissed at him, her eyes hard. “Promise me!” Wide eyed, Peter nodded reluctantly and he was let go. It wasn’t like he read the comics or anything. He didn’t really know much about Batman. Just that he had a sidekick named Robin and they fought the Joker on a regular basis. Harley straightened, causing him to look up at her. She extended her hand which he took and he slowly stood up with her help. She dusted him off, her hands sweeping across the back of his jacket and the front of his shirt for him. He nodded in thanks.

“Do ya have your phone on ya?” He reached into his back pocket and felt that, yes, thankfully, his phone was still in his pocket. He tugged it out and unlocked it, tapping on the call icon. He goes straight to Tony’s number. A ring doesn’t even make it onto his phone before the screen says that there’s no service for his phone. He sighs forlornly. There goes trying to contact home.

“Sorry Harley, I don’t have service here.”

“So ya don’t have service, no way to contact home, and ya have no idea where ya are?” Peter shook his head. It was Harley’s turn to sigh. “Alright, puppy, yer' comin’ with me. I know a nicer homeless shelter than any of the ones they got on Grand.” She grabbed his wrist and dragged him out of the alleyway onto the nearly empty street. He should’ve probably been concerned that he was heading somewhere with a random woman, granted one who had tried to help him. There was still a low thrum of danger at the back of his head, but all he could focus on was that ridiculous nickname.

“Puppy?” The blonde haired woman paused, turning back with a teasing smirk on her pretty face.

“‘Cause yer’ so cute like a puppy, with those puppy dog eyes and pouty frown. Yer’ even smaller than me!” At that point, he had taken note that she was, in fact, a full four inches taller than him. He looked at her with somewhat genuine offense.

“Hey! I’m 5’6! You’re only so much taller because you’re wearing heels!” He pointed towards the pumps that adorned her feet. Harley scoffed and took off her heel for a second, showing both of them that, even without the heels, she was still an inch taller than him. He groaned. This night was just getting worse and worse. First, he’s in an unfamiliar place with an unfamiliar woman who was taller than him. Hearing Harley’s laugh though, as they walked through the streets arguing about who was really taller, made him feel at least a little better. It wasn’t much, but every little bit counts.

All that eventually led to where Peter was now, laying on a cot in the same homeless shelter that Harley had introduced him to. He had gotten a couple of jobs with the help of Harley’s shadier connections. He had realized early on that this dimension was not the same world that the comics had shown. This was somehow different. There was no one with super powers, though the monikers were still real. Batman was real, but Harley (the only person he trusted up to this point) hadn’t told him anything, and by the fifth time that he asked, he realized he wouldn’t be getting anything out of her so he stopped. He had wondered who Batman was here, and if he and Robin were still partn-

The sound of an alarm pulled him out of his thoughts, and Peter hurriedly grabbed his phone and turned it off. He saw the time and sighed.

“Time to head to work,” he muttered.

-----

“Hey Puppy!” Harley squealed as he entered the club that was now flooding with people, the lighting dim save for a few spotlights that roved over the sea of people. Peter straightened his clothes, a white button down paired with some slacks. They had been the Joker’s but, according to Harley, they didn’t fit him anymore. Peter shivered at the thought of taking something of the Joker’s, but he guessed it couldn’t be helped.

“Harley!” He yelled back in greeting and both walked over the bar. Peter quickly clocked in and set off to work, one of his coworkers behind the counter already. From there, it was quite the busy time, people requesting drinks all over the place. Peter and Harley talked from time to time as he prepared other’s drinks. It was a fairly smooth evening so far.

Of course, as soon as he thought that, trouble had to come, brewing in all its toxicity. When he had first started as a bartender for the club, he had been warned to keep an eye out for suspicious activity, just so the club doesn’t get hit with another lawsuit. Harley was fiddling with her phone in one corner of the bar, and at this point, Peter was used to the loud noise of the club, having inconspicuously stuffed his ears with ear plugs earlier. However, it didn’t completely cancel out the noise as his super hearing still noted everything within his vicinity. In the opposite corner of the bar, away from him and Harley, Peter somehow heard the soft sounds of paper being ripped, a drop of something hitting the water, and a soft fizzing noise.

His head imperceptibly turned to watch as a rather handsome man handed a tall glass of something to a beautiful blonde accompanied by a taller, equally beautiful redhead. ‘Taller than me too,’ he thought bitterly. The blonde accepted the drink as it was slid over to her and was about to lift it when Peter quickly rushed over. He leaned over the counter and subtly pressed a finger down onto the base of the glass, which was widened, using his strength to keep the glass down. He made subtle eye contact with one of the bouncers next to the door, and the man got the message pretty quickly. He started toward the bar while Peter distracted the patrons.

“Sir!” His voice still sounded somewhat soft and high pitched over the bass of the music. “I think there’s someone outside looking for you! You match the description I think!” At the odd look given to him, he continued trying to convince him, “what’s your name?!” The man’s glassy eyes roamed over Peter’s face before answering,

“Trevor!” Peter squinted, trying to sell his lie.

“Last name?!”

“McConnelly!” Peter nodded and waved over the bouncer, who lumbered over.

“Is this the Trevor McConnelly the person outside is looking for?!” A quick once over of Trevor told Peter all he needed to know about him. “Wasn’t it his girlfriend?!” Without question, the bouncer nodded. Trevor suddenly paled and rushed past the bouncer, a man named Gus, who followed him. Peter shot him a thankful look and then turned back to the two women, glancing about them awkwardly.

“Sorry, but I wouldn’t drink this if I were you. He slipped something into it.” The women, shockingly, didn’t look surprised. They only glanced at each other before turning to him with twin smiles, an unheard conversion passing between their eyes that Peter didn’t know how to interpret.

“Thanks for the assist. I really appreciate it,” the blonde purred over the music. Peter could’ve sworn the grin on her face turned sharp for a split second before it flitted away and an almost natural smile came over her face once more. Almost being the key word. A shiver crawled up Peter’s back and the thrum of Spidey Sense became nearly haywire as he stared at the expressions of the two women. They were a lot more dangerous than they appeared.

“I don’t mean to condescend, and I’m sure you’re both able to protect yourselves, but please be careful. No one deserves that to happen to them,” he said as earnestly as possible, using his large brown eyes to his advantage. That seemed to soften at least the red head as her smile started to turn a little bit more gentle. The blonde seemed a bit thrown by his honesty, but quickly recovered, and her smile too seemed a little tender.

“I appreciate it! Not a lot of people can make that statement sound nice!” He gave them a small, genuine smile before turning back to the bar and continuing with other orders. Harley was suddenly gone from her spot, and Peter furrowed his brows. ‘I hope she’s okay,’ he thinks as he starts on another drink for another patron. He quickly shoots a text in between requests and then shuts off his phone. At one point, he’s done with all his requested drinks and takes a bit of a break. He turns around again only to see the two women from earlier still at the bar, conversing quietly. They’re quite perceptive, he notes because the instant his attention turns to them, their attention turns to him and they’re locked in a staring contest. He shyly wanders over to their spots, nearly missing the slight amusement that flashed between both of their eyes.

“What’s your name?” The redhead asks as he nears them. Peter smiles innocently, trying to keep posture loose as his Spidey Sense reacts again. His hands pull at each other, something he can’t help, and something that both women definitely notice.

“I’m Peter. Peter Parker. And you?” He’s as polite as possible. Always be polite to a customer, he remembers his manager saying. The redhead speaks again.

“I’m Barbara Gordon, but my friends call me Babs. You can too.” Peter nodded, his curly down hair bouncing as he did so. The women’s eyes crinkled as they smiled, their expressions now a hundred times more genuine than before.

“Stephanie Brown, Steph. But you can call me ‘Mine,’” the blonde winked with a small and suggestive smile. Peter’s cheeks turned red at this, his pale skin flushing. Barbara and Stephanie could tell too, as they chuckled a bit at his face and Peter turned his head away in embarrassment. When he turns back a few moments later, they’re still laughing, and he pouts a bit. ‘I never know how to respond to those comments,’ he thought. As their laughter subsided, they started asking more questions. With the danger at a small vibration at the back of his mind, he felt like he was in an interrogation.

“Have you worked here long?” Stephanie asked, flipping her long blonde hair over her shoulder, exposing her neck and cleavage. Peter made a huge point to himself to look straight into her eyes or over her shoulder under the guise of watching someone else.

“Not really,” he replied, “Just over a month. I work at The Captain’s Bar too.” Both women perked up in interest.

“Really? We frequent but we’ve never seen you.”

“Well, I work in the mornings and afternoons on Tuesday, Wednesday and Friday. You guys should come by sometime when I work! It’s quieter then if you guys want to talk!” They smile at him and he feels the vibration of danger slowly slip away until it’s nearly nothing. Peter guesses he won them over.

“Sure thing! We’re free next Wednesday so expect us then!” Peter nods, his fluffy hair bouncing again. Sudden, dual beeps enter his ear canal as he hears both women’s phones go off at the same time. They glance at the texts and curse and Peter suddenly realizes he shouldn’t hear those sounds and he’s staring so he turns away, trying to find interest in something else.

Stephanie talks again, “do you have a napkin and a pen?” He searches around the bar for a pen and he grabs a napkin from the neat stack in the corner. He gives them to her and she quickly writes down two sets of numbers. “These are our numbers! Keep in touch!” With that, they’re gone. Peter takes the napkin delicately into his hand, observing Stephanie’s writing style before pocketing it carefully. He resumes his job, but it’s not five minutes later that he remembers, the thought irking him. Damn pet peeves.

“Fuck,” he curses quietly, “she took the damn pen!”

-----

It was a week later that he encountered Barbara and Stephanie again. In the meanwhile, he was added into a chat between the two women, their conversations ranging from everyday, talking-about-the-weather to absolutely ridiculous. Peter knew not to draw attention to himself but he reasoned that two more friends couldn't hurt. He rather enjoyed having more people to talk to, not that Harley was an unsatisfying friend to be around. Speaking of, he had found that Harley had left because her “puddin’” needed her. When he had called her later that night, concerned, the excuse rushed out of her lips, leaving him less than convinced, but he let it go.

She arrived at the barroom the next day with her usual smile and a bouncing ponytail and everything was back to normal. Eye-Patch came in more often, Peter noticed, leaving more and more hundred dollar bills on the counter. Peter had tried to get him to stop, only to receive a smug smile and a goodbye of ‘sweetheart,’ before he was on his way. He found that Deathstroke, Slade Wilson Peter recalled as his name, was a man of little words, but that didn’t stop him from making small conversation with Peter when he could. Harley thought that he wanted to impress Peter. Peter disagreed completely.

“I think he might be making fun of me.” Harley rolled her eyes.

“Not true. I know guys like him. He’s trying to impress you, Puppy. Don’t doubt me.” Peter, knowing that arguing with her would be fruitless, just shrugged.

“Whatever you say, Harls.”

Wednesday came, and just like they said, Stephanie and Barbara entered The Captain’s Bar near the end of his shift with dazzling smiles on their faces as they shifted the backpacks on their shoulders. Peter greeted them happily.

“Hey Babs! Hey Steph!” They greeted him, waving jovially and walked towards the bar, sitting on seats right in front of him. “How are you guys doing?” Now closer, he had more of a view to observe the two women. They had slight bags under their eyes and their skin was paler than usual. “Are you guys okay? You look tired,” Peter asked with genuine concern. Stephanie leaned forward onto her elbows, which she settled on the counter. Her neck dropped a bit and he could suddenly see the back of her collar, a small, nearly inconspicuous red stain on there. It was freshly made, the texture under the lighting still looking wet. It looked like blood, he realized. With that conclusion, the thrum of danger returned and another shiver was forced down his back. The women noticed.

Stephanie raised her eyebrow, “The question is, are you okay?” Babs’ look was no less concerned. Peter nodded shakily.

“Yeah, no, I’m fine. It’s just, you got a little bit of blood on the back of your shirt. Are you hurt? Do you need first aid?” The blonde’s eyes widened a bit before her small hand clutched the back of her collar, Peter still looking at her in worry. Barbara’s jaw clenched and she plastered a fake smile onto her face.

“Steph’s fine, she just had a bit of a rough night. We’re both okay, so you don’t have to worry Peter.” He nodded reluctantly, still worried but content to take them at their word.

“Then what can I get you guys?” They rattled off their drinks and he rushed to make them, vaguely aware of the door opening to let another customer in. It wasn’t until he slid the girls’ drinks over to them did he realize that Slade had walked in. The one eyed man grinned predatorily at him before sitting down at the nearest end of the bar. Peter muttered a “be right back” to Babs and Steph before wandering over to the mercenary.

“Hey Slade.”

“Sweetheart,” the older man rumbled his greeting.

“The usual?” A short nod from the man sent Peter on his way to making an old fashioned drink for him. As he gave the man his requested beverage, Slade pointed over to the two women who were conversing softly with themselves, his one eye narrowed.

“Those two your friends?” Peter glanced at Babs and Steph and looked back at Slade, confused.

“Yeah? I mean we met like a week ago, but I guess you could call us that. Why?” Another body slumped into the chair next to Slade, slurring an order. Slade took that as a distraction for Peter and stood up.

“Because you have interesting taste in people, sweetheart.” He sauntered towards the women, his shoulders drawn tighter than Peter’s ever seen them. He watches Slade interact with the two women, watches their reactions to each other. He notices that, oddly enough, Slade is the one in the submissive position, while Stephanie and Barbara are dominant, despite their dispositions. Slade was stiff, in a combative stance while the other two were completely open, smirking and tilting their heads up at the older man. A hand snapping in front of his face brought Peter out of his thoughts.

“Hey, twink!” The man who slumped next to Slade sneered up at Peter from his position over the counter, “I told you to get me a fuckin’ drink,” he slurred loudly enough to catch the attention of those nearby. Slade, Steph and Babs turn their attention towards them.

“I’m right on it, Mr. Stanley,” Peter said politely, his hands starting to sweat, “can you repeat your order again?” The man squinted up at him for a moment, straightened up in this seat, lifted his hand and slapped Peter straight across the face. Being Spider Man, he saw it coming straight away, but had the forethought to remember not to draw much attention to himself. He tried to make it seem like the hit actually affected him a bit. So he stumbled off to the side, falling down in the process and watched as Slade stormed over to the man and proceeded to punch the drunk, living daylights out of the man. Steph and Babs went to the side of the bar where the small door separating the bar and the rest of the room was and rushed over to Peter, helping to straighten him up.

“You good Petey?” Babs voice was soft as if afraid he would spook like a cornered animal. He nodded distractedly, focusing on Slade who was now shaking the drunk man. He was knocked out instantly by the punch. He pushed himself up, looking at the other two who stood up with him. Slade noticed movement in his peripheral vision, his gaze snapping over to Peter in an instant.

“You okay, sweetheart?” The look of Peter’s reddened cheek made Slade clench his teeth.

“I’m fine, Slade,” he replied before pointing at the man that was limp in the mercenary’s arms, “let him go.” Slade blinked and looked at the man, sneering and releasing him, letting him hit the floor with a loud thump.

“With pleasure,” he smirked as Peter pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. 'Typical Slade,' Peter thought. Only God knows how many fights that man gets into.

“Just,” Peter leaned over the counter and took note of the unconscious male, his eye well on its way to swelling to the size of a golf ball, “wait here while I go get my manager.” The brown haired boy sighed in suffering as he headed toward the back of the bar to get his manager who would no doubt fire him soon for this.

‘Fucking Parker Luck,’ he thought bitterly.

Unawares to Peter, Stephanie and Barbara joined Slade in watching over the knocked out patron, looking down at him as if he were scum underneath their shoes. Stephanie glanced at Slade, who, even though he wasn’t looking at her, knew that she required his attention. Fully aware that he was listening, Steph said,

“I assume that you won’t struggle to say yes to this mission?” He knew exactly what she was talking about.

“No problems here, blondie. I’ll even take this case pro bono if I get first shot at him.” Slade grinned at the blonde, a ruthless intent behind his expression. Steph, who mirrored this, then turned to Babs to gage her reaction.

“Count me in,” she murmured, her tone soft but firm. She was quite disgusted by the display that negatively affected their new favorite bartender, “but you do know Dick and Tim are gonna want to know why we’re doing this.” Slade stilled at the mention of his ex, and whether or not the two women noticed it, they didn’t comment. Instead, Steph hummed.

“That may be, but I think they’ll quite like Petey.” The blonde sent Babs a knowing smirk, which Babs rolled her eyes at. Secretly, however, she agreed with her friend.

‘Yeah,’ she thought as Peter came back out, his fluffy brown hair bouncing with every step and his doe brown eyes wide, ‘they’ll definitely like him. A lot.’

Previous: Synopsis 

Next: Part 2 

[iustine]

A sense of familiarity

Hello 😊I decided to try my luck with writing a fic for Speaker. I had a lot of fun with it and I hope you will enjoy reading about my Speaker Nev and Liam lovingly making fun of each other 😄

A sense of familiarity

The day after their victory was a bleak one. Despite it still being a mid – afternoon the gloomy mood extended over the library in the Delaney household. Open curtains and lit wall sconces unable to fully dispel the dim.

In the far end of the room; leaning against the wall, a young woman was sitting comfortably. Just beside her stood a massive cabinet filled with books and old trinkets, which almost impeccably hid her figure.

Completely at odds with the atmosphere around, her expression held a vibrant smile as she sketched vigorously. She was so concentrated on her work that she didn’t notice a figure moving in her direction.

At least she didn’t notice it until a hand landed on her shoulder.

„Eep” Unexpected touch making Guinevere jump in surprise; her hand reaching up to hold on to her throat as she squealed. This frantic movement almost resulted in an ugly bruise at the back of her head, as she just barely avoided hitting the wall.

The newcomer proved to be Liam, after startling her he backed away to lean casually against the cabinet. Thick black - framed glasses doing nothing to hide hints of humour dancing in his dark eyes.

No doubt on account of her not so graceful moment.

„Geez, Li! Shouldn’t you finally grow out of sneaking up on me?” She pouted playfully, before releasing a quick bark of laughter and standing up; corners of his lips turning upwards at her comment.

„Nah, I like to keep you on your toes.” His words tinged with humour as he shrugged. „Seems like it doesn’t work in your case though.” He added sending her a smirk, which oddly only brightened her appearance.

In a retrospect he truly should’ve expected what would happen but a moment later.

With a beaming smile and sparkling eyes firmly focused on her friend Nev stepped closer catching Li in a quick hug. Yet, just before coming out of his zone she didn’t fail to swiftly poke him in the middle. Repeatedly. Her precision being just as deadly as in the past.

Immediately he took another step away from her. She couldn’t help but snigger when noticed how he instinctively hunched bracing himself. Not omitting to send her a truly ugly glare. Unfortunately for him, it was completely wasted on Nev and the woman doubled over as her cheerful giggle swept throughout the room.

Some things never change.

While she tried not to choke on laughter in the corner of her eye she noticed as Liam sighed in exasperation. Despite it, he couldn’t maintain this annoyed appearance for long, and a not-quite-fond-but-similar smile forced itself on his face.

„I would prefer it if we broke that habit of yours. There’s only so many heart attacks I can withstand.” She teased wiping away a stray tear. „And so can you it seems.” The words almost bringing back surge of laughter. „Maybe, for both of our sakes, you should rethink my old offer of braiding bells into your hair.

„I can’t believe you still remember it.” He shook his head.

„I remember everything.” She barely managed to quell these words just before they could slip past her mouth. „It’s the most effective safety measure.” She said instead, spreading her hands; an innocent smile gracing her lips. From his barely concealed grin she knew it was a good choice.

„No way.” He elbowed her playfully, carefully keeping just enough distance to stay out of her reach. She couldn’t quite bring it in herself to feel sorry for his hypersensitivity.

He deserved some tickle scare after scarring her for life with his coffee.

„Bold of you to assume I need your agreement.” She leaned backwards with crossed arms as her face lit up with an impish glee.

„I called your name 2 times before coming over here. I doubt bells would have any effect”. Liam pointed out smirking playfully.

„Well… there is a saying that you might’ve heard before” She rolled her eyes, not even trying to hide a smile. „Third time’s a charm.” Shaking her head in amusement Nev looked around locating her scattered drawing utensils.

Closed sketchbook forgotten for a moment in favour of a pencil that rolled away, almost ending beneath the cabinet. She only hoped it didn’t fracture from the fall. There is nothing as irritating as a pencil lead breaking in the middle of making a clean sketch.

„I knocked, you know. On the cabinet here, right before you” He shrugged, spreading his hands; joking smirk placed firmly at his face.

Soft chuckle escaped her lips before she could stop it. „Come on, there is no way I wouldn’t hear that. Stop exaggerating.” She responded lightly pushing his arm, before placing an empty hand on her hip. „Being more perceptive than me is no achievement, remember?”

„You didn’t even stir.” He deadpanned.

Nev couldn’t help but flick her gaze to the treacherous cabinet, shock evident on her face. Liam for his part didn’t even try to hide chuckle at her dumbfounded expression.

When she stared at him in mock indignation it only reinforced, turning into a genuine laugh. The sound, equally as mirthful as unexpected vibrating in the quiet room. At the unusual sight from her soft spoken friend Nev felt a wave of warmth spreading in her chest.

Familiarity of this banter once again making her realise just how much she missed it. Missed him. Without any frantic research, without race against the time, she could fully appreciate their renewed friendship and easy camaraderie it brought.

„Have you thought that maybe, just maybe, it was you who wasn’t interesting enough to catch my attention” Nev looked up staring straight into his eyes. Teasing smile lighting up her face as she saw mischievous gleam in his eyes.

Although her amusement was short lived as a wicked grin appeared on Liam’s face. All at once it occurred to her just how Li would choose to interpret her words.

Clearly delighting in her atypical shyness, that unfortunately tended to resurface more and more nowadays, he took a step closer and leaned forward.

„Then how do you intend to make this encounter more interesting? Or maybe you would prefer to hear my suggestions?” Voice soft, words almost purred in her ear as his eyes glinted, daring her to respond.

„Oh…Um…” This proved to be way harder than it should, as his sudden proximity made forming cohesive sentences impossible. Her breath hitched, face feeling much warmer than a second ago. As deep green hair brushed her cheek a wave of electricity moved throughout, straightening her spine.

Locked in this newfound intensity she found herself unable to look away from these fathomless eyes.

Spell holding both of them abruptly broke as a pencil slipped from Nev’s grasp landing on the hardwood. The sound, unusually loud in a quiet room woke them from a daze. With her face flaming Nev looked away feeling enormously grateful they still haven’t put the carpets back in place.

„Great, if they weren’t fractured before then now they definitely are.” She mumbled, crouching in a quick motion, hoping to hide her flushed state. A few seconds later Liam joined her on the floor. She desperately avoided looking at her companion, while trying to stall her racing heart.

„I give it 2 out of 10.” His words not quite sinking in, she glanced at him as if it wasn’t a pencil that had fallen, but he did. Straight into his head.

„Your hideout.” He responded to her bewildered stare, gracefully ignoring further implications of her questioning look. „And I am being generous, literally anyone walking in would see you.” Which wasn’t technically true; despite it his lack of comment on her shaken appearance almost made Nev sigh in relief.

This feeling quickly evaporated as she noticed what he was about to pick up.

Instantly it made her forget about any pencils or even her own bashfulness. She rapidly reached out towards the sketchbook grabbing it first. With a tight hold over it she turned towards her companion glowering.

„Still with that angry hedgehog look, huh?” Completely unperturbed he sent her a lazy smirk, nonetheless he still yielded the book without any objections; even coming as far as to raise hands up in a peace offering. Whenever the action meant actual remorse or was done only to indulge her would remain known only to Liam himself.

But she would bet all her money on the latter one.

„Remember our rule?” She bristled.

„No peeking.” He answered easily, rolling his eyes.

„Good.” She said, giving him a friendly pat on the shoulder. „If you didn’t I wouldn’t either”. She proclaimed vaguely, trying to sound intimidating. Consequences unspoken, but clear to the both of them.

Maybe only to the both of them.

„You wouldn’t find it” He scoffed.

„Aha. Got ya, so you are still writing.” She thought triumphantly, her expression must have mirrored it, as Liam recoiled. The sight making her giddy, proving she still could render her friend speechless.

„Try me.” She added challengingly crossing her arms, the knowledge boosting her with newfound confidence.

„Yes, and I am to believe you could find it?” He asked doubtfully.

„I can do everything if I focus on it hard enough.” She shrugged, a sly grin firmly placed on her face. If she was able to find people all around states following vague visions, then she had a fair chance of finding a book in a witch’s house.

For a moment she wondered if he would try grabbing her sketchbook away in a pure obnoxiousness. His thoughts must have followed a similar track, as black eyes flickered towards the book. Instinctively her hold strengthened.

Hush descended upon them as they stared at each other. Several moments passed in silence, before they wordlessy called for a truce.

With a wide grin Nev hopped on the couch, patting the place on the other side as she noticed Liam perching on it’s edge.

Ready to voice a convincing argument she wondered whenever he would sit beside her.

He did.

„So, what’s up? Is everything ok? Or did you just get used to coming over everyday?” She teased with a bright smile. „We still haven’t put out that coffee feeder.” Her smile turned a little bit more playful.

He rolled his eyes so quickly she briefly worried they would get stuck that way. „I thought you said I was welcome to borrow the quiet, but if that’s not-” he started, slowly getting up.

„What?, No! I mean; Yes! I mean-…” She stood up frantically, almost knocking the cushion off the sofa. When Liam’s shit eating grin came into her view she dropped heavily, releasing a sigh; face hidden in her hands. „You are incorrigible” She huffed trying to ignore his wide grin. „Just sit your butt down”

„How can I refuse such a charming request” He smirked, eyes gleaming in amusement.

„You know, I was contemplating showing you some of the finished sketches.” She clicked her tongue. „But I am starting to think you have enough fun as it is.”

„With you things could never be boring, that’s certain.”

„Hello the kettle. Meet the pot.” She jested vividly gesticulating with her hands. „You are just as much trouble as me.”

„Maybe, but I’m not quite as proficient at causing problems. It’s not like my notebook used to be confiscated every other day.” His expression was entirely unrepentant; clearly showing he never opposed this sentiment.

„What can I say. They had it out for me. And you never pulled out yours during class” She grinned waving her hand. „Anyway, don’t even try to pretend you didn’t love every second of getting it back.” Nev added nudging him lightly with her shoulder.

 „I never denied that.” Nudging her back, he flashed her a wicked grin. „She almost flipped when we got it before her next lesson.”

Without any need of further clarification she instantly knew who Liam was referring to.

„Poor Mrs. Roberts” She laughed heartily tilting her head back. „Hadn’t she took a week off right after that?”

„To recuperate her health.”

Mrs. Roberts was a substitute teacher that came to their class confident of handling even the worst „hooligans”. The woman could be summed as five feet of pure evil.

Unfortunately for her she hadn’t quite met them before. Although, giving respect where it’s due, she lasted far more than either of them predicted. Resigning only several months prior to the end of school - year.

It should suffice to say that she educated half of their faculty staff before her pension and most of these teachers cheered on their antics.

„You know, I actually drew her not long ago.” She chuckled softly, searching for the correct page in her sketchbook. She might have disliked the woman, but she never had as much fun as the day they got her to resign. The memory widening her smirk.

„What was the occasion?” He looked over the picture of an older woman; Soft facial features doing nothing to quell her severe glare. The sight only widening his impish grin; it was the only confirmation Nev needed to know he was recalling exactly the same memory as her.

„Me and Gwen were cleaning the library and an old photo book flew out.” She pointed towards the furthest bookshelf.

„So that’s why it’s so cluttered in here.” He deadpanned smirking at her.

„Oh, hush you.”

„You got really good.” He said softly. Sarcasm from a moment before replaced with sincerity as he examined the pencil sketch.

„Thanks.” She tucked several strands of hair behind her ear, flushing slightly. „These past years I haven’t had too many opportunities to practice.”

„But hey, look here. This one should feel even more familiar.” She added uncovering the next picture with an affectionate expression.

The drawing in question showed three kids, aged anywhere between 9 or 11 years. A young girl in the middle had her arms wrapped around her friends pulling them towards her for a photo. Her almost identical sister smiled joyously as she leaned into her. The only boy at the scene half-hugged the girl between them, his expression soft, but holding a playful edge.

The sketch emanated warmth; it was clear to see for anyone that the author cared a great deal for the pictured people.

„I think it’s my favourite.” Nev exclaimed, brushing her hand against the paper; the sight made her nostalgic. „I drew it with the help of the original photo.” She added evading looking at her companion.

As seconds passed with no answer she dared a look at Liam, who still gazed on the picture. Softly, warmly, some tender emotion moved throughout his eyes. It disappeared in a flash before she could even try to decipher it.

Sensing her glance upon him, with unusual trouble he tore off his eyes from the picture.

„It looks nice.” He ended somehow stiffly. She waited a second longer, her mouth open as she curiously looked him over. She was almost sure he would say something more. But yet his lips remained closed as he looked at her almost like if not seeing her.

If Guinevere has ever seen a good moment for a subject change then it was definitely one of them. Fortunately on her lap was a book with a fair amount of topic starters.

Without even thinking she uncovered the next page. It held a picture of a young woman sitting on a stump in the middle of a forest. Her eyes closed, a contented smile on her face. A small camera hung around her neck.

„It’s a reminder of one of our forest outings. I haven’t seen Gwen this relaxed in months and my hand slipped” She giggled looking over the sketch of her twin.

„You are dressed similarly” He observed glancing over her outfit, before returning his gaze to the sketch. Internally Nev breathed a sigh of relief sensing her friend returned to his normal self.

„We still have a bunch of identical clothes. It was especially funny in high school, once we pretended to be each other for a month straight. No one recognised us.” She released a soft chuckle.

„Have any more teachers resigned because of you?”

„Now, how can you say it?” She asked assuming model appearance of an offended innocence. „We wouldn’t have left you out from something like that.” Grin on her face almost faeish as she winked at him.

Judging by his smirk, he was just about to respond to her words, before something else caught his attention. „And what about this one” He pointed to the see-through sketch on the next page. It standed out with it’s quality, a little more rough than previous ones.

„That’s Clarkia” All her amusement evaporated in a second. „A pixie me and Gwen saved some time ago.” Her hands moved, rubbing her temple as if trying to stall an upcoming headache.

He shook his head smirking, eyes sparkling with mischief „Why the addictions?” Words leaving his lips laced with humour as he nodded towards the picture.

And „Why the addictions?” indeed. The sketch showed a small humanoid creature dressed in a frivolous outfit and holding his fist upwards in a theatrical pose. Paper around him full of small hearts and flowers. Rainbow and unicorn depicted in the background.

„Ask Gwen. She was the one who drew it.” She closed eyes, still rubbing her forehead. Action itself much more similar to a skull trepanation instead of a massage. She wondered whenever the page would disappear if she dared it hard enough. Unfortunately no such luck was in store for her. „I didn’t have the heart to tear it out.”

Soft hum her only answer as hints of humor still danced in her friend’s eyes.

As Nev was about to turn to another page she heard a subdued buzz. It’s source proved to be insistent spam of messages on Liam’s phone. After glancing at her apologetically he picked it up to check over them.

„It’s Nellie. I should better get going, before she sends somebody my way” He responded to Nev’s questioning look, before getting up with a regret.

„Maybe if we wait long enough she will come here herself, I doubt Gwen would mind” Nev added smirking knowingly, the action prompting Liam to smirk back in a shared amusement on account of their sisters. On the contrary to her words she still sighed regretfully and followed her companion up.

She doubted Nellie would call out Li if she didn’t need him for something important. Lately the woman was oddly determined to keep the two of them together as often as possible

Nev prefered not to think about her possible reasons for that.

„You should come more often. It was fun to spend some time together.” She remarked giving him a crooked grin. „And so you know.” She leaned conspiratorially, half - covering her mouth „I don’t really go around showing my sketches to everyone. You should feel honored.”

„Then I am really lucky.” He smiled, despite it’s teasing edge Nev could clearly see it’s rare, unhidden gentleness. The sight almost taking her breath away.

„Good that you know it.” She clapped her hands cheerfully gesturing forward, as the two of them fell into step together.

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„Hey, Li.” Nev started as they stalled by the front door. „I am really happy you came.” She added fiddling with her dress. „Don’t be a stranger, all right?”

„You should visit too.” He murmured „The others will be happy, Angus as well.”

„She would better be.” She laughed. „I said it before and I will repeat it; Now I am your problem.”

„I don’t remember signing up for that.”

„No take backs.”

„Bu-”

„NO take backs.” She cut him off with the widest grin, barely keeping laugh at bay.

Liam shook his head with a genuine smile. For once not even trying to mask it.

As he was reaching to open the door she made a step forward and pulled him into a tight hug. „I really missed you, you know.” For a moment she thought she heard a soft hitch of breath, but it could only be her imagination. As his hands engulfed her back; at first softly, a second later with firmness equal to hers; she had a feeling that no matter what life throws at them; they will preserve and forge their own fortune.

Distracted none of them heard a faint buzz by the stairs.

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If you are still here then maybe some of my addictional notes may interest you 😊  

- Nev was definitely drawing Liam with the goofiest, most cheerful smile she had on her face in weeks (though she next she will draw the rest of their friends so it isn’t really a surprise)

- One would have to pry from my dead cold hands headcanon that Liam stood there for like 5 minutes watching beaming Nev draw.

- I don’t believe that Nev would actually find Liam’s heavily warded notebook, but I love the thought that he actually hesitated, because of his faith in her (she is some kind of a miracle - maker)

- The buzz by the stairs is Gwen, she is definitely trying to take a photo 😉  

That’s it, I hope you enjoyed yourself 😊

And if you still haven’t seen Speaker by @speakergame then I cannot recommend checking it enough 😊

[thecaptainhelm]

Good Love

ayyy, ch.1 to a however long i say series, it’s daminette, it’s wet, and i’m raring to go babey. *sips hot tea from a champagne glass, like a classy mofo* imma bout to fuck y’all up

Enjoy!

Damian Wayne knew two things that morning.

He was sore. 

Marinette took another one of his firsts.

His body was heavy, his eyes itched, his back hurt and his arms felt like lead. Everything without a doubt indicated his form bearing a dull pain. It was his own fault, though.

He didn’t want to break up with her. Marinette was one of the few good people he knew he could keep close without the threat of being stabbed in the back, both figuratively and literally. She was someone he could lean on wholeheartedly, through choking tears and bright, breathless laughter. Marinette loved to laugh, especially with him, it seemed.

All of that was the problem, surprisingly..

Looking back, it was never a problem, more of a false dilemma that wouldn’t leave him alone, whispering from the corners of his mind whenever things felt too good to be true.

You don’t deserve this.

What made you think you could be happy like this?

How dare you, after all you’ve done!

It was only a matter of time until he ruined her. So he made a choice. He ended it, rather mundanely too, considering the life he led.

So, while every fiber of his being was protesting, he headed home to Marinette, for the last time.

When he got to the apartment, his mood was somber. This was going to be rather sudden, an actual spur of the moment decision after all. Marinette would be devastated. His girlfriend was in the kitchen, pushing chopped vegetables into a pot next to the stove. She’d been excited to make soup for them tonight for the past two days. He was going to ruin that. 

Better now than later, he’d felt.

“Marinette, we need to have a discussion.” She looked up from the counter as she stopped mixing the batter, and he gazed at her softly. He wouldn’t be able to do things like this with her anymore. Not ever.

“Yes, cheri? Oh, you don’t look so good,” she swiftly wiped her hands on the embroidered towel he bought for the apartment when they first moved in together and raised a hand to check the temperature of his neck and forehead. He slowly pulled away and she frowned.

“You don’t have a fever, is it something else, maybe? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this pale.”

“It’s not an illness, Marinette,” he grabbed her hand and pulled her to the loveseat they argued over getting. She wanted a love seat, while he would rather have a small armchair. He admitted  grudging defeat when he saw that it fit the decor more, while allowing more intimate room for cuddling. He tried to stop thinking about the sudden memories, but they were everywhere. The furniture, the charcoal drawings on the wall, the throw blanket on the couch, the tapestry next to the balcony window, all of it.

Once, before he’d come to this decision, these things filled his chest with warmth, a soft and gentle happiness that he was growing more addicted to by the day. Now he didn’t want to look, not anymore, not ever.

“Marinette, I’m,” Damian choked, peering earnestly into her eyes. Under the fluorescent lighting, they pulled him in with their sweet and understanding look. He could say anything else. He could tell her that he used to be an assassin, that he used to be Robin, that he was going to become Batman, anything but this and she would never have to know that he had almost ended their relationship. He could marry her, instead of going through with this, but...

Not anymore, not ever.

She silently patted his hand, and he grabbed it, hating himself as he steeled his nerves.

“I’m,” he breathed. “I’m, my therapy is doing well. Going well, I meant to say, that is, I’ve--” The speech he prepared was all but useless, a mere guideline. Marinette gazed at him with patience.

“I’ve come to understand myself a bit more, and I decided that I needed to do some things,” he lamely stated.

“I need to go back home, to do that. Back to Gotham, where my family is, but I’m,” Here it was. Fuck.

“I’m not taking you with me, Marinette.”

Silence, then: “I understand, Damian. Whatever you need, I’ll support you, okay? I love you, so much.” She moved to hug him, but he painfully leaned away from her touch, letting go of her hand in the process. He would never be able to hold her again, not ever.

No, you don’t understand, he thought, and hopefully you never will. 

“Marinette, I’m breaking up with you,” he swallowed harshly. “I’m sorry, but I can’t allow myself to use you like I have anymore.”

“...What, use me? Damian you aren’t making sense,” she reached for him again, but he scooted away to the other end of the loveseat.

“I had realized that, sometime ago, I began to use you as a crutch. You constantly support me, love me, and listen to me, to a fault, in fact,” he looked somberly at the floor before meeting her gaze again.

“I started to treat you like you were my therapist, not my girlfriend. I’m sorry, Marinette. I’m so, so sorry.”

She laughed wetly. “It’s fine, Damian, cheri, I promise it’s fine. As long as we know about it and address it together, then we can fix this, together. I promise, so, please…” She started to choke back tears.

He shook his head. “I’ve made my decision, Ha-- Marinette.”

“Well, what do I get to say in all this?!” She snapped. “I don’t want to break up with you, at all Damian Wayne, I,” she blinked hard. 

“Damian, I want to be with you, for a long, long time. I want...” She stopped trying to get the words out, and started trying not to cry instead. She seemed to be resigning herself. Good, he thought as his chest twinged. This is for the best.

Once more, you’ve proven yourself a monster.

Even she, whom you claim to love, gets hurt in the end.

You really are a bastard.

“I’m sorry. I,” I never wanted to hurt you. It’s better this way, I promise. Please don’t cry. I’m so sorry. So, so very sorry. I love you. I’ll always love you, Habibti, Rabia. Ya Amar. 

"Au Revoir, Marinette.”

It had gone as smoothly as a breakup could, in the end. He dreamed of turning back countless times, made himself sick from it even, as though his body knew that he couldn’t live without her..

Damian began to move his things out the next day, to be directly shipped back to the manor. He’d already sent the message to Alfred, though his reply gave the impression that he would have a lot of explaining to do. She was his first crush, his first girlfriend, and now his first ex. 

The hardest part, unsurprisingly, was avoiding Marinette.

She was the only person he knew in New York, besides his therapist and his coworkers at a finance firm, but the part that made it impossible to avoid her was that she was a self-employed businesswoman. Quite successful in fact, successful enough to pull vacation days on his ass as she got a second wind to persuade him back into her arms. 

That night, he’d slept on the couch, but he could hear her muffled crying, so he slept in his car for the rest of the week. During that time, she tried talking to him again, wanting an explanation. He gave her the same thing in different words each time, so she started to change her approach.

She came at him softly, gently, and lovingly, every time. They talked, they discussed. He would say the same things again, and she would come up with a new reason for him to stay. He would waver, and she would hold him like he could shatter at any moment. Then he would get mad and she would get mad, and they would start to argue and argue and argue, all while he packed his belongings, and she pleaded behind him like she was doing everything to keep him from leaving. 

He wanted to turn back so many times, fall into her embrace like nothing ever happened. He wanted to be with her, be in love with her, and her to be in love with him. He wanted that for the rest of forever and far beyond that.

You’re undeserving of her love.

You don’t have emotions, you never have.

You can’t be like other people, not ever.

“Not ever,” he whispered.

He stood in the doorway, looking out into the hall. Marinette was behind him, leaning against the door.

“So, I really can’t change your mind?” He turned around. Her arms were wrapped around her waist, a defeatist smile on her lips.

He shook his head.

Marinette gazed up at him, and he was struck by the sudden fact that this was it. He would never see her again after this day, for the rest of his life. He burned her image into memory, the way her long skirt fell as she stepped up to him, the slight sound of her rustling turtleneck sweater, her scent lightly wafting around them as her hair fell from her shoulder, all as she moved towards him. For the last time.

I love you, his heart pleaded him to say, I was wrong, Rabia, I’m still in love with you! Please, take me back. I’ll never be so foolish again.

“I’m sorry.” He said.

“I know,” her lips pulled into something kinder, but she didn’t seem to have the strength to smile. Her arms made an aborted motion to hug him and he appreciated her restraint. He had to leave, before he crumpled.

“Damian,” she called as he was halfway down the hall. He stopped but didn’t turn back.

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” he heard her shuffle. Silence, then:

“And, I am so very proud of you, Damian. Thank you, for loving me. Thank you for allowing me to love you as long as you did. I’ll always cherish our time together.” This was…

"J't'aime et au revoir, Damian. Toujours, j’t’aime.” He whirled around as the door clicked shut.

Marinette had given him her blessings, as well as bid him farewell. It’s truly over.

He swallowed, and headed down the elevator, walked to the parking garage, unlocked his car. He sat in the passenger seat, unthinking, before closing the door and sliding behind the wheel. At some point he started driving, but halfway through he realized that he wasn’t on the way home to Gotham. He pulled over in the middle of nowhere and cut the engine. Nothing and no one was around. He started to feel a little lonely and heartbroken. He didn’t want this, not all.

He wanted Marinette. Damian tightly gripped the wheel, knuckles pale.

“Don’t you dare,” he hissed to himself. “Don’t even think about it. Just, go home.”

Home was in an apartment in uptown New York. Home was where Marinette was. 

No! His vision went red.

He grabbed the penknife from under the dash and he viciously stabbed himself in the leg, over and over again, shouting and shrieking in accordance with his true nature.

“You’re going back to the manor! Habibti doesn’t deserve someone broken like you! She doesn’t need you, any of your problems, any of your burdens, any of your so called love!” He stopped, breathing frenzied.

“She needs someone human. That someone is not you, Tafrukh Shaytan.” He slumped, panting.

It would never be him. Not anymore. Not ever.

-----

no more me 2000 bc twinges in two thousand words or less. class of ‘06 (3006) 

lmao i meant wet with tears, psh, you thought, have you seen my icon?

My ao3

[tmngoose]

Reassurance: a Raph & Donnie Drabble

I heard a cry in the universe for more Raph & Donnie content, so I took it upon myself to write this up. Just a quick lil’ somethin-somethin, nothin’ fancy. (You can expect a tighter, neater version of this drabble on my Ao3 once I get my deadlines out of the way!) Summary: [An interlude between Battle Nexus: New York & E-Turtle Sunshine...] Donnie finds Raph in the med-bay. They take a moment to reflect on the Shredder’s return and what had happened to them; comforting ensues.  Rating: General Audience Tags: Semi-Beta’d, Angst(?), Hurt/Comfort, Minor Injuries, Bad memories, and Hugging :U ! Word Count: Less than 1k Read it under the cut! 

"Here ya go, Draxibald!" Mikey presented a box of colored chalk to Draxum, who eyed the pieces dubiously. Some pieces were never used, others were only nubs, and one looked like someone had taken a bite out of it. 

With a shrug, Draxum pulled the cleanest piece of chalk out from the box, "These will suffice, thank you." He patted Mikey on the head and began sketching out a giant circle on the atrium's floor. Draxum worked quietly for a while until his eyes flicked up towards the Turtles, April, and Splinter, who watched him closely. 

"Sooo, how long's it gonna take you to draw this bad boy, huh?" Leo asked, folding his arms behind his head, both bored and interested at the same time.

Draxum's eye twitched, though he continued sketching the elaborate runes with a resigned sigh, "A memory-retrieval diagram as intricate and extensive as this one requires time and concentration. Why not take this moment to relax, and I shall let you know once it’s finished?" 

The group murmured in agreement, enticed by a moment to unwind, and went their separate ways. Donnie decided now would be an excellent opportunity to upgrade Sheldon and repair whatever damages had been done to his tech. If they were to faceoff against Shredder again, he'd be ready. 

Donnie was about to enter his lab until he heard a noise coming from the med-bay. With his curiosity besting him, he pivoted on his heel and changed course.

The glass doors to the med-bay quietly slid apart as Donnie stepped inside. Multiple drawers and cabinets were left open; their contents were strewn about haphazardly. The disorganization offended him, though he was too tired to be bothered by it. What intrigued Donnie more was the culprit behind the mess.

"Raph?" Donnie raised a brow, "What are you doing here?"

"Donnie!" Raph gasped, somewhat startled. "Uhm, nothing! Wh-what're you doing here?" 

"I heard someone rummaging around and took it upon myself to investigate," Donnie studied Raph's demeanor. There was something off about the way the Snapping turtle carried himself, "Arrreee you okay?"

"It's nothing, really," Raph's smile faltered. "Raph's back's a little sore, so I was lookin' for somethin' to help take away the ache." 

Donnie's expression softened, "Oh. Did you want some help with that?"

"If you don't mind? I'd really appreciate it."

"Not at all," Donnie came up to Raph's side and gingerly touched his brother's rugged shell. "Does it hurt anywhere in particular?"

"Mostly over here," Raph gestured to the area between his shoulders. "But it doesn't hurt hurt, y'know?" 

"Mm, let's have a look-see," Donnie lowered his goggles; the mismatched lenses scanned Raph's back and highlighted any bruise they came across. "It looks like your shell's a little tender from earlier," Donnie informed, raising his goggles. "Nothing a hot compress can't fix." The diagnosis wasn't surprising. Of course, Raph's back would be hurting him. After all, Raph did take the brunt of Shredder's iron-clad boots. 

Donnie's brows knitted together; the unpleasant memories came rushing back, immobilizing him before he could reach into one of the drawers.

Everything happened so fast: one moment, Donnie's inside the safety of Raph's mystic aura. Then they were sent flying across the ruined betting room in Big Mama's hotel with no time to react. 

Donnie had landed hard, right next to Raph. At first, he couldn't pick himself up, his sense of urgency working against him, even though he could feel Shredder's overwhelming presence looming over him. 

 But Raph was quick to roll over and shield him from the monstrous scrapheap with his own body. Donnie remembered how he clung to his brother's arm, bracing for the worst. He recalled how Raph struggled to keep Shredder from crushing them; how he fought to keep Donnie safe. 

"Donnie?" Raph's concerned voice called Donnie back to the med-bay. "What’s wrong?"

"I...," Donnie cleared his throat, "Something just distracted, that's all." He shook his head, "L-Let me get you that compress..."

Suddenly, Donnie felt Raph’s arms gently wrap around him, pulling him into a hug. Maybe it was the troubled look in Donnie's eyes that prompted the action, or maybe Raph was that good at telling when his brothers needed to be comforted. Whatever the reason, Donnie found himself reciprocating the motion. 

Usually, Donnie detested any hug that lasted longer than ten seconds, thirty seconds tops. But something kept Donnie from slipping out from Raph’s embrace. Did he feel guilty that it was his fault Raph got hurt? Or was he relieved that they all survived thanks to Splinter's quick thinking? 

Donnie shut his eyes tightly. He didn't want to think about what could've happened to them; what nearly happened to them. He tried to think solely of their hug and how badly they both needed it.

"Are you okay?" Raph asked, softly breaking the silence between them.

"I... I think so," Donnie answered. "Are you okay?" 

Raph blinked, thrown off by the question. Was he okay? He wasn't sure. They had all been through a lot, and they weren't out of the woods yet. Fighting Big Mama and her bozo Nexus champions was one thing, but Shredder? That was a whole new level of danger. It fell on Raph's shoulders as the leader to ensure the safety of his brothers, even if it meant putting himself in harm's way.

"I'm okay," Raph finally responded with a shaky sigh. "We're both okay, right?" 

"Affirmative," Donnie nodded, their hug finally coming undone. "Now, how about setting you up with that compress I promised?"

"Raph likes the sound of that," Raph flashed his signature, snaggle-toothed grin. "Thanks, Donnie."

"Don't mention it," Donnie gave a small, sincere smile, "After all, what’re brothers for?”

"I couldn't have said it any better myself!"