#clois: *in bed*

[stardustinthesky]

You know, every time I think there's nothing more that could possibly happen to us... I know. I don't fight it anymore, that's us. Our lives are just... What? Weird?

[ducktracy]

i hate how my particular investment in LT/these characters/history in general will have me sounding like some sort of "retvrn" bozo. or, maybe i just hate that saying "i wish things were more sincere again and that sometimes things that were older were in fact better" has been................... idek how to finish this thought Guys i'm getting overly emotional about LT kiddie records from the '50s. i'm getting emotional about how merchandising for these characters has sucked for the last 45+ years. i do not mean to sound like some sort of obnoxious "old stuff had SOUL to it new stuff is BAD we must RETURN" bozo. but guys. look at this

the appeal.. the whimsy

WHERE DID WE GO WRONG!!!!!!!!!

i legitimately get upset if i think about this for too long. what are we doing man

[this-is-a-love-story-isnt-it]

Lois & Clark 4x19 "I think I need you to warm me up some more."

[90stvfangirl]

Lois & her somewhat obsessive love for Superman. But who can blame her? And he definitely played on it with all these nightly fly by visits.

[bluejaysandblackbats]

Hair Trigger

Fandom: DC Comics, Batfam, Superfam, YJ98

Summary: A junior at Gotham University, Jason finds it difficult to conceal his worsening mental health from his family and his friend, Jon Lane Kent. Family secrets are revealed and boundaries are pushed as Jason and Laney struggle to navigate through school, their romantic feelings, and their trauma. Could the reintroduction of Laney Kent be more trouble than it's worth, or is it just what Jason needed to confront the demons of his past?

I will also do trigger warnings for chapters and if there is smut I have the chapter(s) tagged so you don't have to worry about nsfw in the fic if you're just here for the story itself.

Chapters: 25/?

Characters: Jason Todd, Jonathan Lane Kent, Bruce Wayne, Clark Kent, Lois Lane, Cassandra Cain, Tim Drake, Conner Kent, Natalia Knight, Jonathan Samuel Kent, Cassie Sandsmark, Chris Kent, Bart Allen, Original Character(s)

Relationships: JayLaney, Clois, TimKon

Additional Tags: University AU, No Powers AU, Sharing A Bed, Romance, Angst

Chapter Twenty-Five: Cutting Class

Jason cut through the park on his way home for lunch, and he let himself in. Soft music played in throughout the apartment. "Honey, I'm home!" Jason announced. Laney sat on the floor next to Gus. Laney never even looked up. Jason sat across from him and touched his hand. "Baby, you okay?"

Laney nodded and hugged Jason. "Hi, Jay," Laney whispered, "Sorry if I'm being weird. I just woke up from a nap. I did your laundry and met your laundry buddy."

"Nana?" Jason asked. Laney nodded.

Jason leaned forward and kissed Laney's forehead. "Jason, I made paninis. It's in the oven... Two for you two for me." Jason smiled and put on a mitt to get the paninis out of the oven. He put them on a plate and sat back on the floor with Laney.

They ate quietly, and Laney chuckled. "Taste good?" Laney asked. Jason nodded and covered his mouth as he smiled. "Let me see you smile."

"Laney, my mouth was full," Jason smiled, "But thank you so much for lunch, Lane. Do you mind if my mom comes over for dinner?"

"Did you already invite her for tonight?" Laney asked.

"No, not for tonight. Sorry... I meant Saturday night," Jason explained, "Just the three of us. I was thinking we could go out to a little restaurant." Laney nodded and smiled as he ate.

"What does your mom think of me?" Laney asked.

Jason furrowed his brows and looked at Laney. "My mom sent me a text the other day asking if I was being nice to you," Jason leaned over and took a bite of Laney's sandwich. "She knows without you, I probably wouldn't have been so open to forgiving her."

Laney finished eating his sandwich and lay his head on Jason's shoulder. "Well, you know how my parents feel about you. My parents have all but planned our wedding," Laney answered, and Jason gave Laney a bite of his sandwich.

"If our families can survive Thanksgiving at my dad's, they can pick the date," Jason joked, "And then you, me, and our brothers are riding to Chris's game in a week or two." Laney kissed Jason on the cheek and put his plate in the sink. Jason finished his sandwich and washed his hands in the sink before answering emails on his phone.

"What's that?" Laney asked as he nudged Jason. Jason grinned and handed Laney his phone. "Get the fuck out of here!" Laney exclaimed as he jumped up and down before nearly tackling Jason in an embrace.

"It's only the first part like Bart, and I haven't even started printing yet, but I—." Laney kissed Jason and grabbed his face. Jason blushed and pressed his forehead into Laney's shoulder. "I can't remember what I was gonna say."

"Can I see the book?" Laney asked. Jason kissed Laney's neck. "Is that a yes?"

"No. I want you to see it as a hardcover," Jason replied, "I gotta go back to school in a minute, but I was thinking we could take a walk..." Laney nodded, and he got up and put his shoes on. Jason grabbed Laney's hand and his bag, and they walked around the park in circles. Jason swung Laney's hand as they walked ad thunder cracked in the background. Laney's face lit up as lightning struck, and Jason smiled at the feeling of Laney squeezing his hand. "It's gonna rain. It'd be a shame to miss such a nice storm—."

"Jason, you don't have—."

Lightning flashed as they kissed in front of the fountain. Laney walked around the border of the fountain, and Jason tugged at his hand. They walked deep into the center of the park, and as the rain began to fall, Jason whispered, "Remember during winter break when we were kids, and it rained in Metropolis? You told me that nothing was more exciting than watching lightning strike." It started to sprinkle on them.

"You also forgot to mention that we stayed up talking that entire night. You were the first boy I ever opened up to, and it felt good. Like I know you always get on me for not telling you how I feel about things, but you're the only person outside of my family that I'll even talk about my feelings with," Laney replied. Jason softened and looked at the sincerity in Laney's eyes. "I've been thinking about everything that happened lately, and I have some really bittersweet feelings on what I'm about to say—."

"You're breaking up with me, aren't—?"

"What the fuck? No! I wanted to ask you something. Please just listen before you jump to conclusions," Laney chuckled, "Sylvia is moving out, but she's not gonna move in with her girlfriend until I find a new roommate." Jason stopped in his tracks, and thunder roared, startling them both.

Even after the momentary fright wore off from the thunder, Jason stood frozen. "Are you asking me to move in with you?" Jason asked. Laney nodded.

"The nice thing is if you get tired of me, there's another bedroom. Then Gus is getting a little attached to you, and I know we've been together a little less than a month, and I've probably given you high blood pressure in this little bit of time... When I wake up and know you're there, I hear music," Laney whispered, and Jason chuckled. "No, I know it's corny, but I've only ever felt this way around you. I can give you your space when you need it. I can reorganize the spice rack, I can buy different laundry soap—." Jason kissed him.

"Shut up. I have to give thirty days' notice," Jason smiled, and lightning flashed. "Can we tell my mom at dinner?"

The rain poured down harder, and Laney shivered. "Yuh-huh. Now let's go get a coffee. I'm freezing," Laney whispered. Jason gave Laney's hand another little squeeze, and they were on their way.

Once they got their coffees, Jason and Laney walked back to Jason's apartment. "Laney," Jason stopped him after closing the door. "Your clothes are soaked." Laney chuckled and threw off his wet clothes. Jason did the same, and he went back to his room. "I'm gonna throw on some sweats. You want something?" Jason whispered. Laney nodded.

"The green sweatshirt in your drawer," Laney replied, and Jason went through his drawers and pulled on a pair of sweats. "And can we talk about how you take your coffee black?"

"That's how my dad always makes his coffee," Jason replied. Jason came out of his room with the sweater for Laney in one hand, and he carried his hamper in the other. After Laney put on Jason's sweater, they sat on the couch, and Laney took his coffee off the table. Jason lay his head on Laney's lap and turned the tv on. Laney ran his hand through Jason's hair, rustling his fingers through it gently.

Jason curled up and closed his eyes. "I used to hate thunderstorms... When we were up that whole night, we sat close to each other, and all I wanted was to hold your hand. Something about you makes me feel so small in a good way," Jason confessed. Laney smiled and leaned down to press a kiss on Jason's forehead.

Jason's phone rang. "It's Dick... Don't ask me how I know, I just do," Jason mumbled as he sat up and answered the phone. "Hey, Dick."

"You're not in class?" Dick asked. Jason answered with a noise. "Good, are you busy?"

Jason looked at Laney, and Laney shrugged. "I'm with Lane, but we're just watching tv. Why?" Jason asked.

"Oh, tell Lane that I said hi. I actually called to ask about him. How's everything going with you two?" Dick asked.

Jason muted himself. "Can I tell him the good news?" Jason asked. Laney nodded and kissed Jason's cheek.

"Wait, no, let me tell him. Put it on speaker," Laney whispered. Jason un-muted himself and put the phone on speaker.

"You there?" Dick asked.

"Yeah, sorry. Laney just wanted to ask me something... We actually have some good news—."

Dick let out a loud noise over the phone. "Jason, you gotta let me be your best man—." Laney laughed.

"No, we're moving in together. Well, Jason's moving into my place, but not until late next month," Laney announced. Jason smiled and kissed Laney's neck.

"Aww, congrats! Wait, what about your roommate?" Dick asked. "Jason said you had a roommate."

"That's the bittersweet part. Sylvia's moving in with her girlfriend, but not until Jason's officially ready to move in," Laney replied, "How are you?"

"Good, I'm gonna be in San Francisco for a few days, but I wanted to know if everything was good with everybody before I go," Dick replied.

Jason lay back down on Laney's lap. "Why are you going to California?" Jason asked as he closed his eyes.

"Scouting stuff, and I'm visiting some friends," Dick answered.

Laney gave Jason's head a playful scratch, and Jason let out a soft noise. "Did you just purr?" Laney whispered. Jason smiled and touched Laney's hand as an invitation to continue. "Sorry, he's going to sleep. We'll call you back," Laney whispered in his soft tone.

"Goodnight, Jason. Goodnight, Lane," Dick laughed, and he hung up.

"Baby, don't go to sleep," Laney whined. Jason mumbled something, and Laney leaned close to Jason to listen to his voice. "I can't hear you."

Jason opened one eye and mumbled, "Behind my ears again." Laney grinned and rubbed his thumbs in little circles behind Jason's ears. Laney went back to scratching Jason's scalp.

Jason hummed as Laney massaged his head, only stopping to play music on his phone. "I like this a whole lot," Jason whispered. Laney bent forward and pressed a bunch of little kisses to Jason's face. "What song is this?"

"I made this," Laney answered. Jason sat up and opened his eyes. "No, lay back down. It's not even done yet." Jason took Laney's phone and held it up to his ear. Jason sat on his knees on the couch, and Laney pulled him back down. "Come back down."

Jason gave Laney his phone back, and he climbed over Laney to get off the couch. Laney grabbed his waist, and Jason let out a laugh involuntarily. "I'm gonna go shower," Jason laughed, and Laney let go.

"I wanna come with you," Laney playfully whined.

"You can come and sit in there while I shower, but I shower alone," Jason offered. Laney chuckled and took his hand. "You're so cute. Come on."

[absentlyabbie]

on the cat post: barn cat thoughts?

i understand the rationale and practical applications, and i grind my teeth about it less if they're at least spayed/neutered and given proper, regular vet care, but if that cat is just allowed/able to wander freely it's gonna have a shitty and likely very short life, on top of the negative impact it will have on the local environment beyond the barn's pest control issue.

i'm in no way an expert, but it's hard to imagine there's not some alternative that, while it may not seem cheaper, doesn't cost a life.

[potatothatsoftens]

HELP THIS IS TOO ACCURATE

especially ju meok being the only child for a while then becoming eldest lmao

So I just finished Crash Landing On You and I can’t help but think of Captain Ri’s Company Five as a family. Without further ado, let me present to you…Company Five + Se-Ri Family! First off..

1. Captain Ri Jeong Hyeok, the patriarch.

Protects everyone at all cost. Tough on the outside but very soft on the inside when it comes to the mother goose. Has good communication skills. Would spend time with his sons but would dedicate more time with his wife. His sons will understand. They’re happy to see their parents happy.

2. Yoon Se-ri, the mother goose

She’s the Boss Lady™. Of course she would be because she loves spoiling her husband and children. “Here’s my card. Now, get out there and shop!” She loves her children as much as she loves her husband.

3. Geum Eun Dong, the youngest

Do I have to explain???? He deserves all the head pats. 🥺

4. Park Gwang Beom, the second child

I was debating whether he’s the middle or the eldest child but I resorted on making him the second child who sits in the middle of everything and observes. He’s also the youngest son’s emotional support brother. Probably the single, active brain cell within the siblings. Also Lee Shin Young is so cute I wanna die.

5. Kim Ju-Meok, the eldest

He’s the brother who was an only child for a long period before Gwang Beom showed up. Oh, and he also have the active brain cell. That makes it two brain cells.

Now, you ask me where Master Sergeant Pyo is in this dynamic?

6. Pyo Chi-Su, the patriarch’s brother

He’s the grumpy, older brother of the patriarch. He sometimes babysit the brothers when mom and dad are away (aka risking their lives for each other or going out on a date in Switzerland because they boujie). He’s a cool uncle sometimes.

I now can’t recover from this series. I might need therapy to move on.

[dmitriene]

cw: omegaverse, knotting, breeding.

alpha simon riley coming back to the base after being away on recent mission, it's been too long, enough so you, his omega, would grow unsettled and worried, needy in the absence of his warmth beside you, made to sleep alone, grappling at what remained from his addictive pheromones on the sheets and couple of clothes, and just as you started losing it slowly, the heli with his team finally came back.

you're the first to welcome him, shoving through other soldiers and the captain, lumbering towards his solid frame, gear grimy, stained here and there with dried blood, some dust, his usually masculine scent thicked with sweat, gunpowder, so easily detectable and comforting it's makes you purr, stumbling against his muscular chest, clinging to his vest with tight, clenching fists, and he accepts your weight easily, throat rumbling with familiarity, masked face nosing directly in yours.

simon knows how much you missed him by your actions alone, the way your body shakes with the force of your own rumbling purrs, how you nuzzle in the crook of his neck, trying to stick your nose under his balaclava, clawing and scratching with your trembling fingers, high on the adrenaline just because he's finally here, your alpha, your throat tightening on a small, feisty growl when he tries to put you back down, already in his quarters.

you don't let him go to take a shower so easily, not until he takes care of you like he should, because you waited so much, all of his clothes and sheets now soaked fully by your cloying scent, something animalistic in it, doubled with excitation, and simon turns his head to the little chirp you let out, a purr, a whimper, stretching out on his bed, presenting, ass up with a tentative wiggle, glancing back at him with needy, wide on plea gaze.

simon fullfill's your every need, knowing how you missed cumming on his fat, engorged knot, with how pliable and wet your hole are, split wide to accommodate the girth of him, veiny and throbbing, jamming rough and deep against your spongy spot, making you tighten, bring him close to the point of filling you full of his cum until your tummy would ache, cunt pulsing and clamping with short pulls around his growing knot, welcoming his release against your cervix, the wrecked growl from his throat.

you remain tucked under heavy, fluffy blanket while he takes a shower, body twitching in the aftermath, feeling how his cum dribbles in frothy, creamy globs out of your hole, trailing down your thighs, squished together, lidded eyes barely open by the time simon comes back, sliding in beside you, cradling you close, arcing a calloused thumb over the fresh, swollen teeth dents on your mating gland, before pressing you even closer, his chest purring in response.

main masterlist. quidelines.

[undyingdecay]

thoughts on a threesome with bob and john?? (coming from a sentryagent shipper but i understand that’s not everyone’s cup of tea so no pressure!!)

(i personally don’t ship anyone, like at all from mcu, i dunno it’s just not my thing—so i don’t really mind whatever ship it is!)

okay — now sit down and listen to my ted talk this shit is important!

john and bob fighting between your legs.

at first, it had started innocently enough — well, as innocent as anything could be in this fucked-up dynamic you three had spun yourselves into. john had slid down your body, the heat of his leaking cock dragging against the comforter as he settled between your thighs. lazy, languid strokes of his tongue against your soaked flesh, beard rough and wet with your arousal. it was meant to be quick, meant to be simple prep so you could take him without a struggle. he was always the one that insisted on it, gruffly muttering about “not splitting you open” like he hadn’t done it before.

but bob, bless his restless, boyish heart, couldn’t sit still to save his goddamn life. getting bored of mouthing at your neck, which had already started to bruise under the attention of his sharp teeth and wandering lips, he slithered down the bed like a heat-seeking missile, plastering himself beside walker. walker, whose beard was already slick and shining with you, shot him a glare sharp enough to kill. but bob, that manic glint in his eyes, just grinned, scooting closer until his shoulder bumped against john’s.

and that was when it started — the bickering. actual, honest-to-god arguing with your pussy inches from both their faces. john grumbling through gritted teeth, telling bob to “back the fuck off” while bob teased in that airy, singsong voice of his, saying shit like, “didn’t know you were so greedy, johnny,” flicking his tongue at you just to be an ass. the air grew thick with tension, the sharp, heady scent of sex and musk clinging to everything.

after what felt like forever, someone — you couldn’t tell who — finally put their tongue back on you, and then, maddeningly, you felt two. both of them, clearly trying to outdo each other, sloppily lapping at you, and more than once their tongues bumped into each other . a low growl from john, a boyish snicker from bob, neither one willing to back down.

that was ten minutes ago.

now, they weren’t even pretending it was about you anymore. they were making out against your cunt, mouths sliding hot and wet over each other with your arousal smeared between them. instead of swapping spit, it was you they were trading, tongues tangling, slick sounds filling the room. the flicker of eerie, unnatural light from the tv cast their bodies in shifting shadows, the faint oppressive feeling of the void hanging like a ghost in the corner of the room — it always did when bob was around too long, like the universe itself knew it wasn’t quite right.

you heard it then — that breathless, boyish giggle that could only belong to bob.

“your beard tickles,” he whispered against john’s mouth, and you could feel john sneer, feel the possessive grip of his hands tighten on bob’s hair.

now — different night. or maybe the same. it all blurred together, heavy with sweat and the constant hum of something unnatural lurking in the walls. the void was always there when bob hung around too long, like a weight on the air, a static buzz you could feel under your skin.

it was always inevitable when john was in one of his pissy moods — you’d learned that early. you tended to keep your distance, giving him space, while bob, little menace that he was, always found new ways to poke the bear. this time, whatever had happened, it had landed both of you in trouble.

the air was thick — stifling with sex and sweat and the cloying scent of musk. the sheets a wreck, bodies tangled. you were at the bottom of the pile, back pressed into the mattress, thighs spread wide with bob sprawled on top of you, his flushed, tear-streaked face buried in the crook of your neck. his voice, cracked and high with need, babbling things like, “john, please,” and, “hurts ‘s good,” and even a desperate, delirious, “mommy!” directed at you. you could only assume it was for you, so you pressed kisses to whatever skin you could reach — his temple, his cheek, the sweat-slick curve of his shoulder.

not that he needed to thrust into you — not with john on top of him, big, brutal, unrelenting. driving into bob like he was trying to rearrange his insides, one big hand knotted in that brunette mess of curls, keeping his face pressed into the crook of your neck. you could feel bob shaking, could hear him sobbing out broken little sounds between desperate, choked-off gasps.

every thrust was a sharp, wet slap, obscene sounds mixing with bob’s ragged cries. the whole room seemed to pulse with it.

and then—you and bob, both on your knees. side by side in front of john, who towered over you like something out of myth, cock heavy and flushed, leaking precum you both licked off like it was the last thing on earth. bob was already deep-throating him, lips stretched obscenely wide, tears pricking the corners of his lashes as he forced himself down, impossibly far. no gag reflex. hadn’t had one in years, the little slut.

john had his fingers knotted in those brunette curls, dragging him down until his nose was pressed against his pelvis.

“eyes on me, reynolds,” john barked, voice sharp, dangerous. “don’t you fucking look away.”

and bob didn'tt. big, glassy eyes locking onto john’s, taking every inch like it was his religion.

you watched the obscene bulge of john’s cock in bob’s throat, the tight stretch of skin around it, and you couldn’t help yourself — you leaned in, pressed a soft, tender kiss right against it. a little thing. sweet. cruel.

bob made the prettiest sound. a soft, high whine around the thick length stuffing his throat, and you felt the vibration ripple through to john’s cock.

john groaned.

his hips jerked.

bob whined something that faintly sounded like, 'daddy'.

and that was all it took to send him over the edge.

john’s hips stuttered, a low, guttural groan ripping out of his throat like it physically hurt him to hold back any longer. you saw it — the way his cock twitched, the thick pulse of release spilling down bob’s throat in thick, heavy ropes. and bob, ever the obedient little thing, took every drop, his throat working around it, lashes fluttering like he was about to pass out from the sheer bliss of it.

but what really did it — what made your stomach flip and your cunt clench around nothing — was the way bob looked.

there, kneeling next to you, brunette curls stuck to his forehead with sweat, face flushed an impossible shade of pink, tears still clinging to his lower lashes. and that pale, milk-white fluid trailing from the corner of his mouth, catching on his bottom lip before slipping down the sharp line of his throat, painting a glistening path over his adam’s apple. it was obscene. it was beautiful.

he looked angelic.

like something holy in a blasphemous tableau — ruined and perfect and untouchable all at once.

it made you throb, made your whole body ache to touch him, to claim him, to mark him up and make him look even filthier.

bob pulled off john with a wet, lewd pop, a string of slick clinging from his swollen lips to the flushed head of john’s cock. his cheeks were still hollow, john’s cum still pooling warm and heavy in his mouth as he turned to you. those boyish, glassy eyes locking onto yours with something dark and greedy flickering in them.

and then, slow as sin, he leaned in — mouth still filled, cheeks puffed and pink — and kissed you.

soft at first, just a brush of his lips against yours, tasting of salt and sweat and something dark and bitter. then deeper, filthier, his tongue slipping between your lips, sharing what was left, a messy, indulgent thing that made your toes curl and your head swim.

you could still taste john.

could still feel the buzz of the room — thick with sex and the electric, crawling hum of the void at the edges.

another night you’d never tell anyone about.

another night you’d crave again by tomorrow.

[drgnflyteabox]

the lusty cabin-dweller

pairing: ghost / Simon riley x fem reader summary: your life gets wider when you find an injured man outside of your cabin. tags/warnings: Skyrim!ghost, secrets, graphic injuries, some angst, facial injuries, nursing Simon back to health one stew at a time <3, listen to this for the vibes, vaginal + anal sex, oral (f), animal attacks, blood, processing an animal for meat and fur, violence, death (non-major), mention of Skyrim racism, softdom!Simon, some backstory, please hmu if i forgot anything, one bed trope, simon backstory adapted to skyrim lol (so past abuse, murder, theft, domstic violence) but nothing graphic w.c: 5k

Honey-nut is squealing again. Some days you think she might not be worth the milk and cheese she gives you for all the trouble she causes. A high, strange bleating cuts through the chilled night air like a knife, sharp and terrifying only for a moment.

She's been at this since Frostfall. Maybe it was the weather causing Honey-nut distress - she was getting old, after all. For a goat.

In the time it takes you to trudge out of bed, pull on a wool shift and a fur, two things happen: one, Honey-nut stops bleating, and the woods surrounding your cottage becomes deathly silent.

Two, a crunch.

Just one, but it's enough. Someone is outside.

For a brief, hysterical moment, you worry for Honey-nuts safety. Have they hurt her to be quiet? No, you'd have heard that at least. Your breath comes fast, chest squeezing. Bandits? Probably not. It's a decent hike up to your wooden cottage. But it is nearing winter, and soon it will be Sun's Dusk. It's not unheard of that they'd be looking for a place to take over for the colder months.

Your hand goes to your heart, fingertips touching your throat. Be calm, you tell yourself. You aren't helpless, look. The axe, leaning by your front door. You can see in the dark well enough, and you're more familiar with your homestead than they are.

The axe feels right in your hands. Too-familiar, weighty, deadly. You touch your ear to the door, trying to reign in your fear. Nothing. Then, a wheeze, strangled and restrained like whoever it is can't afford to be heard. But you have heard it, and you push the door open.

"Show yourself!" You shout, voice surer than you feel. Your knees quake a little, but your grip on the axe is strong.

The animal pen is a mere few steps away from your front door. Past the front garden, it's wide open aside from the little shelter you built the past Mid Year. A foot sticks out, clad in armor.

"I'm armed," you add. "You're not getting anything from me!" The world is dark, the woods quiet. Adrenaline burns in you, bright enough to guide your steps.

"You gonna kill me with that, girl?"

Gruff voice, like scraping rocks. Coming into view, you see that this man poses no threat. He's half dead, slumped and pale, clutching his side.

"Who are you? What's your business here?" The axe is a deterrent, now. Just for show. You hold it above him, but nearly drop it when you see his face. It's sliced right through the middle, from his forehead to his jaw. "Oh, gods-"

"Mind yourself with that," his eyes flit to the axe. "Or put me out of my misery now."

Your shoulders dip down, lowering your weapon. Guilt crawls into your belly and settles there when you notice that yes- his feet are armored, but the rest of him is dressed in miners attire. White, coal-dusted shirt. Workman's pants, tucked into woolen calf wraps. God, he must be freezing. Maybe that's saved his life, staunched the bloodflow. It's tacky on him, not shining wet like you expected.

"What's happened to you?" You cringe at the sound of your voice. It's gone from fierce defensiveness to cloying concern, staring only at the blood staining his skin.

He breathes hard, staring at you a moment. It's hard to tell what he's thinking, what he's feeling. Outside of obvious pain. Leaves around you shiver in the breeze, a light snow beginning to fall when he finally speaks.

"Bandits," he grunts. "An ambush." Every word is a fight, a wheeze. Empathy drives away caution and you drop your weapon in favour of kneeling beside him.

"Come on, then. Let me help you," lifting him is a monumental task, even with him helping. He's as big as horse, thick as one too. Legs like tree trucks that hold him up just barely, feet sliding weakly on the uneven ground.

Looking back, Honey-nut watches you bring him through the doorway with a judgmental twinkle in her eye. Maybe it's time for goatherd pie.

///

Your bed is too small. His feet hang off comically, and the wood creaks under his weight. It'll have to do. Your mother would have beaten you black and blue for this - for inviting a stranger in, for settling him in your bed without so much as a what’s your name? But you know how to stitch and turning away someone in as bad a shape as he is would weigh on your conscience.

You light the sconces along the wall, and then a lantern to keep by his bedside. Warm, orange light fills the cottage, flickering every so often, inspiring calm.

"I'm no healer," you warn him. "Nor an alchemist." It’s not necessarily a lie. You had done a brief stint as a volunteer for the temple of Kynareth, lending your hands and your time to help nurse wounded soldiers. There had been supervision then, though. Guidance.

"I’m shit out of luck for choices, sweetheart,” his facial wound leaks a little when he speaks, blood running down the side of his face in thin rivulets. The wound at his side, however, is what worries you the most.

“Let me,” you murmur. Your fingers find the edge of his shirt, pulling them out of his pants, and up, up, gently. Looking him in the eye, watching his pain win over his weariness.

Another gash, swaddled in cloth wrapped sloppily around his middle. Without moving him you have to cut them off, slicing off his shirt at the same time. This one bleeds sluggishly, skin shredded, like he’d been dragged over coarse rock.

He words slur, energy leaving him. Mumbles under his breath things you can’t make out, and don’t try to. You’re busy rinsing, cleaning, and patting his ribs dry. Tensing every so often, he breathes hard through his nose to offset the pain. Mumbles some more, hands making fists.

It’s bad, but he’ll live. Exhaustion might trump over all, anyhow, what with how his eyelids have begun closing. Through the slit of them his eyes are pale, like sunlight through deep blue ice. Blonde lashes, stark against the dirt and coal smearing his skin.

You work in silence, letting him sleep through this one so he’ll hopefully be unconscious for the work you have yet to do on his face.

“Who did this?” You whisper to no one. You’re a breeze in the night, alone, hunched over this man and wiping his face with a cloth.

Clear of blood and grime, you gather a sewing needle and dip it into the lantern flame. Stitching is easy, but on his face? You falter a moment, worried, until you think of how proud men often are of their scars. Boasting battles won and creatures slain.

It’s that thought that pushes you through to the end, weaving the needle through until he's sewn and clean of blood.

///

Sweat and iron. The smell of it, sharp and salty, sea foam and earth, is the first thing you're aware of.

Then, the light of morning. Pale, almost white, invading through the windows in rays. A chill. Your eyes open with a not insignificant amount of effort, back twinging in different places as you become aware of the world again.

"Awake?" You startle, jerking up. It's the man from the night before, laying as he was, a little curled against the pain and big as an ox. "W's startin' t'think you'd sleep all day."

"It's morning, is it not?" You're not used to talking this early - or at all. "How's the- how are you feeling?"

He grunts, shuffling. His wrapped side has some blood peeking through, little spots of leakage, not enough to lose your head over. His face has swelled some overnight though, and you're awake enough now to hear the muffled quality to his voice. Part of the cut pulls his upper lip tightly. You wince.

"Just wait. I have something for the," you pause, crossing your space on stiff legs to find the bookshelf. Clay pots, glass bottles, books. Ah, here it is. "For the pain." It's some elixir. Purchased the last time you'd made the trek to Markarth from Muiri, the alchemists apprentice. It brings forth a distant memory of pain, of twisting your ankle running after Honey-nut.

Your ankle hadn't quite healed right, but this was good for when winter came and stiffness made the pain worse again.

He eyes you wearily as you approach. Suspiciously. As if you haven't been helping him out of the kindness of your heart…

"This will help," a promise.

"Don't need'it." He slurs, then cringes as it pulls his lip again.

"You'll recover faster if you're in less pain."

In the end he acquiesces, if not just to take the edge of the purpling that's beginning to show on the edges of his bandage. Broken ribs, maybe?

///

Chores need to be done whether or not there's an obstinate patient in your bed. Honey-nut needs to be milked, and she fights you every step of the way. You discover her pen open from last night and sigh with relief that she's still there.

The chickens have laid eggs for you, and you collect them diligently in your apron. Then, the garden. And finally a sweep of your traps in the woods.

Just one rabbit, but it's enough. You hope the man likes stew, and that his swelling goes down enough for him to tell you his name.

///

He tells you his name is Ghost. Strange, but you've heard stranger. Maybe he's a follower of Namira, you wonder not without an inkling of apprehension. Ghost is quiet, even as he heals. After you'd made yourself a straw bed on the other side of the cabin, you'd wake to him sitting up and stretching. Testing himself. Always silent.

The exhaustion was the worst of it. One nearly empty bottle of elixir later, the swelling on his face has gone down significantly. His ribs sore but on the mend. It was sleep that he needed, and lots of it.

Days passed like this. Switching bandages, wiping and cleaning, cooking enough stew for two. Nearly a week until he was up and about insisting to help around the cottage.

"No need," you tried to gently push him back into the warmth of the open door. He was too big, and having none of it. "You'll be better in no time."

He was just so tall. Were he to stand still at your doorway, half his face would be covered by the top of it. Despite his condition, you could tell that your initial comparison to a horse was completely on the nose. Stocky as a boar, arms thick as mammoth tusks. Hairy like blonde wheat shining in the sun. You'd noticed as much, watching him rest, watching his eyelashes flutter on his cheeks as he dreamt.

///

Ghost works like you're paying him in gold. He sweats, arms swinging down over and over again above the chopping block. There's enough wood to last three winters now - maybe four. Every job he takes is finished to excess. Your roof has never looked better, re-thatched in rotting places and swept clear of mildew. The old wood fence in your garden? Replaced.

Honey-nut finds her new favourite person when he dismantles what he calls shoddy work, and rebuilds her a shelter twice as big. The chickens are still weary, but enjoy receiving the kitchen scraps he tosses.

"There's really no need for all this," you insist again, because he's come back this afternoon with an elk on his back.

"Didn't need to fix me up, either, did'ya?"

You break it down together. Ghost does the harder part, while you take cuts of meat to dry for jerky. The rest will go into a venison casserole, with juniper berries.

"Hey- Ghost?" You call. He's skinning the rest of it for furs. "I'm off to gather some berries for dinner."

A nod, and you're off.

Your basket is old, woven, carried once by your mother and now you. Silly, but special all the same. It's stained with many years of berry collecting, many years of winter nights spent tucking into fruity crostatas or summers full of juniper mead.

The hills are rife with the low, rough trees. They grow like weeds here in the Reach, mountain pocked with patches of light green and little blue berries. Once, as a child, you'd made the mistake of eating one straight off the branch. Bitter as burnt coffee, it was lesson you'd learned through tears of laughter with your mother. A happy memory.

Does Ghost have a family? You wonder again about him, about why a man like that is wasting his time mining. He could've climbed the ranks as an imperial and been a General or - divines forbid - a stormcloak. You prayed he wasn't so craven as to follow Ulfric and his band of Nord supremacists.

It's this distraction that leads you right into the waiting jaws of a sabre cat. Quick and silent, it reminds you of your patient for an absurd moment before you're tripping backwards, basket full of berries scattered and forgotten. Your hip makes contact with the ground hard, pain lancing through your joint like a spear.

Fuck, how could you be so stupid? This was a mountain, leagues away from the nearest town. Sabres, bears, wolves. You'd always, always used awareness as a first precaution. Sight, sounds, keeping your ears tuned to the slightest crack in a twig. If not, there was the bow and arrow stowed away under your bed.

Now, you were caught unawares. Muscles under it's fur rippled, a low growl in it's barrel chest, creeping toward you. Adrenaline burned through you like a fever, hot and electric all at once, freezing you in place by the weight of your heart in your stomach.

Stendarr's mercy, dying from an animal attack after living years on the craggy peaks of the mountains, avoiding ambushes and robberies. Living on goats cheese and chicken eggs, nothing yet achieved. What a waste. Miserable, hopeless tears prick at your eyes. Your breath leaves you in quick, desperate puffs. Running wasn't an option - it would only encourage the sabre. Sovngarde, here you come-

"Aaarghgh aaaaa!" A roar. Loud, ringing in your ears, as fierce as a cave bear. It's Ghost, jumping through the brush towards you with his arms above his head. "Bugger off!" He's screaming loud, voice cracking a little, the stitches at his lip tearing just enough for droplets of blood to fall.

"I'll put you down!" It's nonsense, but it's loud, and he's massive. Taller than the sabre even if it stood on two legs. When he reaches you, he steps in front of you. Shields you.

The face-off is likely less than a few minutes, but it feels like time moves as slow as honey. Ghost faces of the sabre, screaming like a madman, beating his chest and waving his arms. It creeps backward, hissing and fighting, but is cowed by his stance and size.

When it's disappeared through the maze of juniper trees, he turns to you. Extends a palm rough like bark.

"How long have you lived here, again?" His voice grates as usual, made worse by his shouting.

Your face heats in embarrassment. "A few years. I'm not usually so distracted," you dust your dress, patting yourself. Twigs and dirt fall from the wool. "I swear. I got lost picking berries."

He snorts, like you're stupid. You feel stupid.

The basket is half empty when you call it quits, tired from fear. Ghost is hunched beside you, holding his ribs again, rubbing his lip almost compulsively.

"Stop that, you'll get a thicker scar," you reach for his elbow.

"Don't care much about that, love," he shrugs your hand away.

Dinner is made in silence. It's a miracle you have the energy, but while you're physically drained your mind is running in circles. You watch with concern as he sits gingerly back on the bed. The pain in your hip pulses with sympathy, pulsing heat travelling down your leg and up your back.

"Need me to take a look at anything?" Besides his obvious discomfort, you'll have to fix his face back up. You'd prefer for him to be in a welcoming mood.

"I can handle it," Mr Stoic over here. "Did'ya take a fall?"

You drop dried frost mirriam into chopped, boiled potatoes. Then a pad of butter.

"Yes, but I'm alright," the cream sauce comes together, ladled over the venison. You're out of eidar cheese, but Honey-nuts goat cheese crumbled over everything is perfectly fine. Ghost eats like a furnace taking coal, anyhow.

"Let me see," he's up close. Again, you've been taken unawares. A sharp inhale like a gasp, heart beat picking up, breathing in the smell of him. It's gone from bloody to pine, to earth, to fresh wood. His hands find your hip and you hiss, trying to jerk away. In doing so you press your side into his chest, curled close, warm not just from the fire. "It's alright, sweet girl." He murmurs into the top of your head.

This tenderness is new. His fingers are as gentle as you've seen them in the last few weeks, pulling up the thick skirts of your dress and assessing the tender skin. It's a little hot to the touch, painful. The rough pad of his thumb brushes against you softly, making you whine.

His lips brush your hair, not quite kissing you, but affectionate nonetheless. You're close enough to see his throat bob when he swallows.

"Just a bump, huh, sweet girl?" He takes over, mashing the potatoes, setting out plates at your little wooden table, guiding you by your lower back.

You eat in relative silence, thighs brushing, a tension bubbling to the surface like stew on the fire. He spares you a few glances between bites, still wincing whenever he has to bend down.

"I'll take a look at that again before bed," you speak through a mouthful of creamy venison.

Sure enough, he's reopened some of his stitches. Not worst case scenario, but you spend a few minutes hunched over and bandaging him up again. He stares at you intently, eyes so clear and focused you wish he wouldn't. It makes your hand shake.

Moving to get up and back to your straw bed, his arm shoots out as quick as an arrow and takes your wrist in his hand. His stare is the same, squinting at you like he's waiting for you to confess something. Like he's waiting for you to give in.

"You're not sleeping on the floor," he says, sure, chest puffed. "Not with your hip. Come on now, come lay down." Gently, he tugs you down. Protests make it to the tip of your tongue and nowhere else, not with the promise of a mattress on your sore muscles and screaming hip.

It's too small though, much too small. Already he was hanging off, shoulders taking up the entire width. You curl forward, on your good side, facing away from him and into the dark. The cabin is still warm from cooking dinner.

His breath puffs on the back of your neck, hand finding your arm and stroking up and down. Soothing you. He curls around you, following the natural bend of your body.

"Simon," he whispers.

Your brow almost touches your hairline. "That's not my name."

"No," his reply is half spoken, half physical. He wraps an arm around your shoulders, bicep under you, cradling you, his big bear paw hugging your shoulder. A stray pinky ventures dangerously close to your nipple, fingers spread. "It's mine."

The world widens. "Yours?" You breathe in, out. It's trust, is what it is. He's giving you a piece of himself, this stranger, for you to hold. "Simon," you taste it in your mouth. "Simon."

He laughs against your hair. "Was watching you," he confesses. "After we got- after the ambush. Walked for days, till I found you."

"How long did you watch?" You're curious, if not a little suspicious. "You weren't casing it, were you?"

"No, nothing like that. Couldn't keep walking," he sighs loud like a dog. "Hadn't eaten, hadn't drank. Needed to know if you were somewhere I could stay."

"That's why Honey-nut was losing her mind," the realization is half funny, half scary. By the eight, you really hadn't noticed someone living so close-by for so long?

"Honey-nut?"

"You've met her, Simon. She's the goat."

"Ah," he snorts. "I've been calling her Molag-Bal, for how she's got us in the palm of her hand."

"Simon!" You shriek with laughter, shaking until he squeezes you from behind. So close his heartbeat taps against your back.

///

A week goes by, and each night is the same. You wake together, sleep together, eat together. Simon regains his strength and his wounds turn into scars. His face is deeply marked, but you've never known him another way. Truthfully, it adds to his handsomeness. There's a ruggedness there that one can only develop living in the rough.

The air gets colder, frigid in the mornings and nights. Light snows have begun falling, and Honey-nut begins her bleating until you put up the winter wall of her shelter, boxing her in. The chickens slowly cease laying eggs, bundling together, clucking at Simon when he checks for the seasons last bounty.

The time to make a trek to Markarth is creeping. You need dried goods, grain, seeds for spring, dried meats, elixirs - everything. It'll be your last trip before you're stuck in the freezing mountains with nobody but Honey-nut to talk to.

Books are your salvation during the cold months.

"I have to get supplies soon," you break the news to Simon early in the morning, when the light just barely creeps over the craggy peaks of the mountains. "In Markarth."

There. It's over with - telling him. You know you're being a coward by not asking directly, but you need to know. What is he going to do now that he's healed? Spend a few more months with you? You're still mostly strangers, practicing domesticity together, but strangers nonetheless.

"Can't go to Markarth," he says.

"Why's that?"

Simon looks at you then, eyes hard and tender at the same time. He grimaces a little, scar twisting wit his expression.

"Used to work there," A pause. "Used to… mine there."

"What?" Cidhna mine is for prisoners. You take a small step back, shaking your head. "What?" You repeat. Cidhna mine? Is that how- oh. His injuries, his waiting to see who you were before approaching. By the gods, you've been tricked!

"You tricked me-" you start, upset. Was he a killer, a robber? Images dredged from the recesses of your mind float to the surface. Men, fire, your mother cut down before you.

"No, no," he interrupts. He's shaking his head, not quite stepping forward but leaning toward you. Eyebrows drawn up, palms facing you in supplication. "Sweet girl, I," he looks around then, as if the words will appear written in smoke from the hearthfire. "Listen to me please," he pleads.

"Tell me what you did!" It's a near-shout, but you're upset. He's been cozying up to you while running from the law. Not that you're a total stickler for rules, but the men at Cidhna mine aren't there without reason.

The most secure prison in Skyrim.

"I will, I'll tell you. Just sit down please, sit with me." He pats a chair, sitting in the one beside it. Beseeching you. "Cm'ere, sweet girl. M'sorry."

///

You sit quietly while he tells you, choking a little on the rising tide of emotions. The biggest question is should you believe him? This story of his past, his father, a childhood spent learning to steal and bully to survive. Elixirs for a brother hooked on skooma, food for a mother grown sickly from her husbands abuse. Eventually getting rid of his father altogether, and wining up in Cidhna.

"If what you say is true," your voice wavers, throat tight with emotion. "Why not tell me?"

He shrugs his shoulders, looking up for a moment as if asking the divines for guidance.

"You never asked."

For a moment, you want to be indignant. You laid with him, cooked for him, wiped blood and sweat off his brow.

But he's right. You never asked, never thought to - just wondered, minded your business, content to help someone in need of it. The feeling of betrayal loosens in your chest, releasing it's vice grip on your heart, a calmer acceptance taking place.

The position it leaves you in is awkward, even if you're content to believe him. You've been too yielding since you met him. Accepted him into your home, accepted his story. Ambushed by bandits? A silly lie, now that you think of it. Vague, believable. Easier than explaining that guards had slashed him as he escaped imprisonment. That he couldn't go back because he was so recognizable.

You don't speak as you get ready. It's not an angry silence, but one brought by embarrassment. How stupid he must think you are, cozying up up to him like that.

The question of where he'll go burns still in your mind, in your gut. You're nervous, fingers shaking a little as you wrap long strips of warm wool on your calves, forearms, and between your fingers. Your dress is double-layered, boots sturdy.

It's a trip and half, lugging everything. You're on foot until you reach the nearest inn, and from there you rent a horse and cargo carriage. Easier from there, with Jazbay the white mare to pull you along.

"I know someone in Cidhna," Simon interrupts your thoughts. He's always tall, imposing, a little intimidating. Now he looks as sheepish as a man like him can look. "Could you…" He extends his hand, a letter clasped in it.

You grimace, but nod curtly.

"Thank you, honey," he breathes a sigh of relief. Honey. That ones new. It fills you with warmth.

"You're welcome to stay with me," you blurt. Impulsive, stupid. Brought on by the familiarity of his affection. "For the winter, I mean."

He's across the cabin in two steps. He presses his front to yours, hands cupping your cheeks, thumbs gently rubbing your cheekbones.

He kisses you, then, and everything slides into place. Your stomach tightens, hands coming up to grasp his shoulders, gasping into his mouth. It's wet, lips smacking noisily, the only sound in the near-frozen forest. Acceptance, sweet and buttery. This is a man whose never had a home.

"I can't stall any longer-" you try. He interrupts you with his mouth again, long kisses like it's reviving him, revitalizing him. "I gotta-"

"Shh, sweetheart," he hums lowly. Gods, you've never been this wet. It soaks into your cotton underwear, clit pulsing in time with your heart. "Let me take care of you, yeah?"

///

He's so solid, firm muscle and hard cock. It leaks between his legs, bobbing with his abdomen where he's kneeled on the floor, face in your cunt.

"Simon!" You're shouting, unabashed. Years have passed since anyone's touched you last, and you're sensitive as a maid, gripping his too-long hair almost meanly. Simon licks you like a starving man, slurping, letting you drip and then sucking it off your skin. His fingers find the entrance of your pussy, fitting himself in two at a time.

Once you've begun, you can't stop. He fucks you on the bed, letting it creak dangerously. Bends you over the table, cock dragging in and out of you deliciously. You shake and shiver in his arms, wrung out and insatiable all at once.

"Can I have you here, sweet girl?" He thumbs at your other hole, dipping in, kissing your inner thighs.

"Yes, gods yes, Simon," you drag his name out. Si-i-mon. It sounds good that way, breathy, not spoken but moaned and screamed. It's late evening, dark, colder now that you haven't lit the fire.

No need, when his cock is as hot as coals and slides between your arsecheeks like a divining rod. Your pussy is aching and hot, too-sensitive. You're belly down on the bed again, hands gripped in the sheets.

When you deliberately relax your muscles, he fits his fingers in your ass using come as lubricant. Spits down onto you, watches you start to rub yourself into the bedding desperately.

"None of that," he pants, pulling you up by your hips. A whine builds in your throat, which he shushes by pushing his other two fingers in your cunt. You yelp, moving toward him and away from him. He keeps you still, firmly holding your hips.

You come, tears beginning to leak into your sheets, when he presses his cock against the notch of your hole and pushes in.

A long, deep groan from the pit of his stomach starts and doesn't stop until he's sheathed. You're frozen, stuck in a gasp that doesn't end, filled to the brim.

Simon begins to rock, shallowly, stealing your breath and breathing it back into you with every thrust. It's then that you begin to make sound, crying out and fisting the sheets, rocking your hips with him. He reaches around, leaning down to kiss your shoulders and play with your clit at the same time.

"Not gonna last," he says into your skin. "Gonna come inside you again."

You're easy - so sensitive that if he breathed on you long enough you're sure you'd peak. His fingers twisting and pinching your clit is pure madness, and you tighten like a vice around him as you yowl your last orgasm of the night.

His hips snap into yours roughly, abandoning your clit for the flesh of your hips, pounding, dragging, grunting into you as he finds his own release.

Half-asleep, you fell him roll over onto his side and turn your head to face him. He's smiling lazily, stroking your skin, still sweating from exertion.

"I'll come with you tomorrow," he whispers.

"I thought you couldn't come to Markarth?" Confusion prickles at you, brows coming together. He finds the furrow with his thumb and smooths it away.

"I can't, honey. But I can come down and wait for you."

"You will?" Hope rises in you, in tandem with affection.

"Always," his voice is a soft murmur.

"Tomorrow, then."

"Tomorrow. Goodnight, sweet girl."

<3

[saintsanddevils]

Void & Omen

Bob Reynolds/Void x Fem!Reader

Summary: When you meet Bob, that deadly power inside of you stirs, recognizing something just as equally dark and powerful in him. After all, like calls to like.

Warnings/Tags: Thunderbolts movie spoilers, no use of Y/N, blood & gore, dark thoughts, soulmates, canon typical violence & swearing (series will contain eventual smut)

Author’s Note: Reader’s powers are inspired by “The Bonds That Tie” book series by J Bree.

Word Count: 5K

Also posted on AO3

Masterlist

Part Two • Part Three • Part Four

————

A Few Weeks Ago…

There is something wrong with me. There always has been. Something that sleeps beneath my skin, waiting, watching. It slithers and coils around me, settling in my ribs as I breathe. It raises its head when it senses the rising tension around me, ready to strike. But I can’t let it.

If I do, we’re all dead.

That’s why I’m here, strapped to a hospital bed in the middle of Malaysia, as far from home as I can get. The bindings around my wrists and ankles are tight enough to hurt, but it helps to keep the cloying fear at bay. The pain grounds me, reminding me why I’m here. Why I chose to be here.

The doctors and scientists run around me with clipboards and beeping monitors. They observe and report. They whisper and nod. I’m just something living and breathing before them, something expendable.

Maybe I always was.

You’re a murderer. You deserve worse.

I flinch, my wrists twisting against the bindings. These thoughts… They’ve been growing steadily darker and louder ever since…

I swallow. Breathing in and out, slowly, remembering what my shitty therapist from childhood used to instruct me to do when panic surged through me like a tidal wave I was drowning in.

I can’t let that happen, not here. I don’t want to hurt anyone. Not when they’re going to help me.

A familiar doctor catches my attention as she approaches my bed. Her smile and cadence reassuring. “It seems the results on your charts align with what we’re looking for. Everything is good to go. Are you ready to proceed?”

Nerves rumble in my gut through my veins, but I shove it far from my expression as I try to give her as much of a confident smile as I can. “Yes.”

She must see something in my face that has her smile wavering. She casts a quick look at the other doctors before stepping forward, leaning down to my eye level. “You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to. It’s completely voluntary. You can opt out whenever you want, but after this, you won’t be able to say no. It’s no longer a trial period. This is the real thing. Something you can’t escape.”

Escape.

The word echoes in my mind like a familiar tune I’ve grown accustomed to all my life. Something I’ve heard, like a lullaby that reverberates through my skin and settles in my bones. I’ve been running for so long, escaping is all I know how to do.

But for once, I don’t want to escape.

I give her a firm nod, determination settling my nerves. “I’m sure. Trust me.”

She stares a moment longer before nodding, squeezing my hand before turning to the other doctors and speaking with them.

While they surround me, poking and prodding my skin with various needles, hooking me to machines, I’m reminded of lab rats. How they’re used for experiments to see if drugs would be harmful or helpful for the human body. I feel like a lab rat with the attention and cold distance they put between me and their research.

The poster I saw on the street last week for this trial was ominous and off-putting, but it didn’t stop hope from budding like a small seed growing in my sternum. It bloomed the moment I stepped into the building, volunteering for this medical research study on the human body.

After speaking with many different doctors, it seemed they could… help me. Fix me. Make me whole again.

For years, I’ve felt this hole in my chest where blood, muscle, and tissue should be. Instead, it’s something rotten and coiling, full of regret, devastation, and grief. It’s planted there ever since my sister died touching my skin after pulling my hair and calling me names. It grew and grew, poisoning me when fear controlled those around me. It was palpable, tasting bitter on the tongue. My parents feared me the most. Maybe that’s why their deaths sent me fleeing in the night, afraid and lost. Hoping to escape what I’ve become.

The doctors say whatever is inside of me can be cured. That this curse will no longer plague me.

As the anesthesia hits and my consciousness fades, that hope rings through me with a song so unfamiliar and poetic, I fall into the dark with open arms.

————

The In-Between…

The dark welcomes me, enveloping me as if we were old friends. I drift and dream.

And with dreams, come nightmares.

“What have you done?!” The words echo from a woman who looks so familiar, I can’t quite grasp exactly who she is.

A small body lies broken and lifeless before me, their eyes vacant and hollow, dripping black as if their tears are made of ink. Their skin glassy, as if they were a broken doll.

The woman continues to scream at me and when I stare back, she pales, stepping away from me. “What are you…”

I try to comfort her, stop her, help her, but she shoves away from me.

“This is your fault! You’re a monster!”

The dream morphs and fades, but the echo of the word “monster” rings through the dark. It’s only when the dream leaves that I realize the woman is my dead mother.

A new dream surfaces, this one just as suffocating. I’m trapped in a glass box. Sharp, needle-thin knives poking into my skin with every movement I make. Blood coats every inch of me, dripping from my skin. My eyes sting and my breaths come sharp and ragged. Voices echo outside of the box. I can barely make out the shapes of doctors and scientists and strange familiar faces all staring down at me.

“She deserves this.” One says, loud enough that it makes me flinch.

“Witch,” another spits.

“Murderer.”

“Monster.”

The term is so familiar, it doesn’t hurt as it should, but the knives ensure it does. They move, slowly, deliberately, sinking further into my skin. I scream and scream, but each word, every curse they hurl at me, it makes the blades cut deeper.

“She’d be better off dead.”

Tears fall fast down my cheeks, but it doesn’t stop the blinding pain from the sharp knives shredding me apart. Blood flowing down my limbs and pooling at my feet. Outside the box, they laugh and mock.

Please, I plead into the void. Please end this.

Please.

Something shifts. The hairs on my arms raise and there’s a strange sense of awareness. Like there’s something… other here.

Like I’m not alone.

“STOP.”

The dream-induced voices still at the command. When I look up from the puddle of blood at my feet, they’re gone. Shadows and dust in their wake.

When the pain disappears, so does the glass box and the blinding white room. Instead, raging wind caresses the stinging of my limbs. And when I glance down, the blood is gone. My arms and legs don’t sting or hurt. It’s all… gone.

In this new dream, I’m standing atop a cliff overlooking a restless sea.

This… This feels far more real than any dream before. Even before the blinding pain, this feels more solid. As if I’m actually here. The cold wind, sharp and unrelenting against my exposed skin. The clouds hanging heavily above with the smell of fresh rain in the air. It feels very real.

Too real.

“There you are.” A voice, deep and ominous, catches on the breeze.

I turn to find the dark silhouette of a man standing a few feet away. I can’t see any of his features, but it doesn’t matter. Something deep in my being tells me I know him. It pulls at my center, between my ribs, and I follow this feeling until I’m standing before him, staring up into a face dark and encased entirely in shadow. But his eyes… like living embers, they pierce into me. As if he, too, knows me. Feels as I do.

“I’ve been looking for you.”

I feel myself smile at the stranger’s words. As if his presence brings comfort where I was lost in chaos only moments before.

“You feel so…” I trail off, lost in the piercing ember of his gaze.

“Familiar?” If he could smile, I hear it in his voice.

I nod.

He steps closer, his hand raising to smooth back a strand of hair from my face. The touch is startlingly cold. But what’s frightening is how real it feels. Skin on skin. Fingertip to cheekbone.

This isn’t a dream. Or, at least, not a normal dream.

As if reading my thoughts or the emotions flitting across my features, he cups my cheek boldly. The touch feels so natural, I lean into it. His skin settling whatever rages deep within my chest.

“We are bound, you and I,” his words are whispered, soft and claiming. “Two souls meant to be intertwined for eternity. You were never meant to be alone. You will never be alone. Not while I exist.”

I close my eyes. Tears burning up my throat, threatening to fall. All I’ve ever been is alone. Entirely alone. I’m so sick of it.

“This isn’t real,” I whisper back.

His other hand is there, firm against my other cheek. He holds me, caresses me, like something precious. Like something whole. Like something worthy of affection.

“It’s not real, you’re right,” he says. “But soon enough, it will be.”

I furrow my brows. “What do you mean?”

His fingers reach to smooth the skin.

“I will find you, outside of this dream, this… in-between. And when I do,” he steps closer, forehead touching mine. “I will never let you go.”

The promise settles in my bones with a certainty I hope to hold on to.

“You’ll find me?” The hope is clear and whisper thin in my voice.

He nods against me, lips close to mine. “In every life, in every universe. Always.”

————

Present Day…

I wake in a panic. Lungs bursting as my eyes open to find I’m locked inside something that resembles a casket with a glass lid. It’s too dark to see clearly as my fingers flatten against the plexiglass, stifling anxiety clawing at my skin. Beads of sweat coat me like oil as I push and push at the glass.

Get out get out get out—

With one last shove, the lid is thrown open and crisp air hits me. I breathe deep as I crawl out of the strange crate, falling to the hard floor. Nausea rips through me and I’m hurling everything in my gut onto the floor.

There’s noise and voices around me, farther away, but I don’t care. My entire body is slumped and aching on the concrete floor. When I finally gain my senses and feel more present, I scan my surroundings. Various crates and boxes pile high around the strange casket I was lying in. The outline of my body is still there and monitors beep and sound as I try to stand. My legs are shaky, breaths coming rapidly, but I’m here. I’m… alive.

Why is that such a shock?

I stare down at the casket, trying to recall how I got there. The last thing I remember…

I remember lying on a table, talking to scientists and doctors about my condition. About the trial they would put me through. I remember strange dreams… but as I reach for them, they fade from my grasp. Typical.

“I-I-I’m Bob,” a voice sounds from farther in the room, but it’s so familiar, I still. “I told you, I’m, uh… Yeah, Bob.”

“Jesus Christ, stop saying Bob.” Another voice huffs in annoyance.

On shaking legs and bare feet, I creep around a stack of crates to find a group of strange-looking people. Three of them are dress heavily in gear and armor, guns pointed at a man in hospital garb, similar to my own. His dark wavy hair hangs in his face, framing pale features as he holds his hands up in surrender. His hands shake and his voice trembles as he stands there, watching as the three others bicker.

Something is frighteningly familiar about this man. Maybe that’s why I step forward without thought. When my feet move a gun shell on the floor, it alerts the others to my presence.

Guns whip around and are pointing at me within seconds.

“What the hell?” A tall man with a shield and mask shakes his head. “How many of these guys are in here?”

The short blonde woman near him points her gun at my head. “Who are you?”

I furrow my brows, raising my hands in surrender like the other guy. “Who are you? I just woke up in this place and I barely understand what’s going on.”

She slightly lowers her gun, most likely sensing I’m not truly a threat. Before she can answer, the other woman, this one with dark hair, strides forward. “I’m not sure what’s happening here, but you’re all exhausting, and my job is done.”

She tries to move away towards the large doors, but the blonde raises her gun at her. “Well, see my job is to keep an eye on you. So no, you’re not going to go anywhere, anymore.”

While they bicker and threaten, I lower my hands and glance over at the other guy— Bob, if I heard him correctly earlier. He’s staring at me with furrowed brows and pinched lips. When our eyes meet, something inside of me, that thing that coils beneath my skin, stirs.

How do I know him?

“Okay,” the blonde’s voice catches my attention as she points her gun away, raising her hands. “It’s clear we have all worked for Valentina in some sort of shadow ops capacity.”

Who the hell is Valentina?

I look back at Bob and he’s still staring at me, lost and confused. When I catch his eye, he looks swiftly away, fingers twitching as he shifts from foot to foot. Something in me wants to step forward and smooth the confusion from his face, reassuring him. That scares me more than the guns and weapons still being pointed in this room.

“Yeah, so?” The masked guy speaks up with obvious annoyance.

“So, all of this stuff is O.X.E.’s secrets. But, so are we.”

I look around at the crates. Secrets… O.X.E. was the name of the company I trialed with. I didn’t think much of it at the time, just hopeful that someone could help me. Maybe even save me.

I catch sight of another open casket not far from the doors, but this one isn’t mine. My eyes flit to Bob again, to the matching patient clothes I also wear. He looks just as disoriented and cautious as I do. Did he do the trial as well? What did he want? To become something more?

He’s no longer looking at me, but I can sense he’s still very much aware of me. Every breath I take. Just as I am of him. Instead, he watches the armed group come to a steady realization.

The dark haired woman nods her head. “Which makes us liabilities that no one would miss.”

“Well, speak for yourself.” The masked man, who’s really starting to annoy me, scoffs.

“Don’t you see? We are the evidence and this is the shredder,” the blonde emphasizes. “She wants us gone.”

They continue to argue, but it seems they won’t kill each other anymore. At least, for now.

As they talk and bicker, something inside of me shifts. The air begins to smell of sulfur, the temperature slowly rising. It’s subtle enough that normal human senses can’t tell the difference, but it’s enough to make me still, assessing. I glance around, noticing the large vats in the ceiling above us. They’re big enough to take up the entire roof.

Just as I realize what we’re standing in, it dawns on me. That thing inside of me, the thing I’ve felt beneath my skin, in my ribs, in my head— it’s still there.

They… I swallow, panic creeping up my spine at an alarming rate. They didn’t cure me.

The blood drains from my face as I step back, bumping into a crate. The group stills at the sound, whirling to me with various alert expressions.

“What’s going on with her?” The dark haired woman questions.

And suddenly, that thing in my chest, in my head, in my skin, it talks to me.

Her name is Ava Starr.

I almost fall backwards at the sound. I stare wide eyed at the woman. At Ava.

“Okay, you’re really starting to freak me out.”

My head swivels to the masked man and the voice is back. John Walker, former Captain America.

My chest begins to vibrate with heaving breaths. The room feels entirely too small and an incessant pounding continues in my ears. I grip at my chest, wondering if I rip at my skin and muscle, tearing at the bone, I can finally take whatever is inside of me, out.

“Breathe.”

The word echoes in my head, but it’s not my own. Not the same voice that was speaking before. No, this one is deeper, masculine.

My eyes catch on Bob again. Only this time, he’s staring at me with a level, sure gaze. Something steady and sure. Something grounding.

That thing inside me stills. It breathes at the command. It releases the tension in my muscles, the shaking in my limbs. It steadies me.

Whatever beast or monster hidden beneath my skin is tamed by that voice. And it’s curious and awake, vibrating in my chest like a living thing.

I ignore the feeling, hoping it goes away as I tear my gaze from him. Hoping this strange feeling of wanting to be closer to him will dissipate.

The blonde with the heavy accent raises a brow at me. “You alright?”

Yelena Belova, former Red Room assassin.

“We need to get out of here,” I whisper, but it’s loud enough for everyone in the room to hear.

The masked guy, John, shakes his head. “Yeah, no shit.”

“No,” I shake my head. “Can’t you feel it? The temperature is rising. It’s getting hotter in here.”

The group looks around before seeing the open vats above us.

“I think we’re in an incinerator,” Ava confirms.

“They’re going to burn us,” Yelena nods. “Destroy the evidence.”

“How would you know?” John calls out, clearly annoyed.

She gives him a bland look. “Why else would she send us here to kill each other? We’re obviously everything Valentina doesn’t want tied to her. We’re expendable.”

Dread pools in my stomach at the notion. Burning alive is not how I envisioned how I would die.

“Well,” Ava sighs. “I’m not sticking around to burn.”

In seconds, Ava is gone. Disappearing entirely as if she were a ghost.

Suddenly, blaring alarms ring through the room. I curl into myself, holding my hands over my ears. The sound rattles whatever is in me and the veins in my arms catch my attention. They shift from their normal blue to a deep navy to black before shifting back to normal again. It’s constant as the alarm rings and pulses against my skin.

I stare in horror. What the hell?

When the alarm finally stops, I glance up to find Bob is closer to me. His dark eyes are on me, on my arms, and I notice a strange gleam in his eyes that flashes before sputtering out like a dying fire.

“Are you okay?” He asks.

I stare a moment longer, wondering if I imagined the flaring ring of light in his eyes. I slowly nod. “I’m fine.”

He stays assessing me, as if… as if he’s ensuring I really am alright. As if he truly cares.

Ava is now shaking and holding her own ears in front of the still-sealed door. She pants before turning to the rest of us.

“Thanks for that,” John huffs. “Looks like none of us are leaving.”

Just as he says that, the lights flicker and new light casts the room in dark crimson. The air begins to fill with the smell of sulfur and ash. A clock begins to tick in the room. Red numbers next to one of the doors starts to count down. And it’s going incredibly fast.

John sighs. “Okay, fine, it’s an incinerator.”

“Oh boy,” Bob huffs, staring up at the ceiling. “That is no way to go.”

“How would you like to die today, Bob?”

Yelena shakes her head. “We’ll need to find a way out. Look around, we have to find some sort of panel or something to open the doors.”

Bob holds a hand out to me, gesturing to help me up from my crouched position.

“Thanks,” I murmur as I reach to take his hand.

The second our skin touches, my eyes dilate and the hair on my arms raise, goosebumps spreading up my limbs. A spark of vibrating energy pulses between us. Something living and tangible. It stirs whatever lies dormant inside of me.

Like calls to like, it whispers.

Bob searches my eyes, his are just as dilated and wide. His lips part, an exhale escaping him as he stares.

“Why do I feel like I know you?” He whispers.

I hesitate, but the confession slips from me like water through fingers. “You feel it too?”

He nods, his hand tightening around mine. “It’s strange. I don’t think we’ve ever met, but,” his eyes scan my face and it feels as if he were softly touching every part he’s looking at. “I feel like I’ve known you for a very long time.”

My breath catches.

And then, he smiles, nervous and small, a huff of laughter escaping him.

“What?”

He shakes his head. “It’s funny, every part of me tells me I know you, but I don’t even know your name.”

A small smile spreads on my lips. I whisper my name and the sound must resonate something in him cause he whispers it back, tentative and gentle. Almost reverent.

“And you’re Bob,” I smile wider. I nod to the clothes he’s wearing. “Looks like we both were looking for something more in our lives and didn’t expect this to happen instead.”

His smile freezes, eyes hardening before he swallows. “What makes you think that?”

I hesitate again, but this time, I willingly let him see that vulnerability. “I was looking for something more, too.”

He stares at me, questions flitting across his gaze.

“I found something!”

We both turn, our hands drifting apart and the live-wire energy dissipating as we find Yelena and Ava trying to open a panel on the side of one of the doors. When we make our way over, John punches the wires with his shield and Ava disappears again, shifting through the metal door.

The seconds begin to count down and the heat rises in the room. Fire and smoke start to sputter from the vats above. Unconsciously, I back into something solid behind me. Bob. His shoulder bumps into mine and his sturdy presence at my back is reassuring, calming the rising panic of being trapped in a room waiting to burn us all alive.

The clock flares in our peripheral, counting down, down, down, and the door still hasn’t opened.

“She’s coming back, right?” John’s question is full of broken hope.

My hands start to tremble, fear coursing through my veins. I can’t die here. I don’t want to die.

The thought must’ve been said aloud because Bob’s hand is sliding into mine, squeezing.

“You’re not going to die.” That voice, his voice, says in my mind. “I won’t let you.”

That pulsing energy between our skin continues at the touch. It’s comforting in this moment, even as the ticking of the countdown echoes through the room.

00:05

Bob steps closer, his torso encasing my back as the fire begins to burn brighter in the vats above.

00:04

I feel him tense, readying himself. His hand tightening in mine.

00:03

When I turn my face to look up at him, his eyes are already on me.

At least I won’t be alone.

00:02

The door screeches open, startling all of us. Ava stands before the control panel, gesturing for us to run.

Bob grips my hand tighter in his as we bolt. He pulls me with him while we run through the doorway, following after the others. I grip him tighter, ensuring we never let go.

When the incinerator fully ignites, torching everything in its wake, the pressure and velocity of the raging fire throws us all off our feet, flying forward. Rocks and stone crash above as my body slams into a wall harshly, bones and neck cracking against stone before I slump to the ground. Consciousness fades in and out, my head and body pounding with sharp bolts of pain. Just as the dark claims me, the last thing I feel is Bob’s calloused hand still cradling my own.

————

The In-Between…

I wake to the sound of screaming. The room is blinding white, fluorescent lights flickering above. It smells of antiseptic and something metallic. When the light dissipates, I see someone lying on a table, their small body convulsing. Their hair whips around as their restrained limbs and skin pulse with creeping black veins.

Realization dawns on me as I step closer.

It’s… it’s me. But I’m… much younger.

I remember this. I was nine when my power came into being. When it consumed me like a poison and sprang out of me like a disease.

Tears flow down her small cheeks as she struggles, a piece of cloth tied in her mouth to try and keep her screams quiet. I try to run forward, to help her, free her, but I’m frozen in place, my feet stuck to the floor. Something is keeping me from her.

In the corner of the room, a shadow bleeds from the white walls. It’s darkness dripping like ink as it spreads along the floor and tile. It stretches, like a hand, across the floor until it reaches younger me. She stills for a moment, before her eyes roll back into her head, veins bulging. I stare in horror as those veins begin to darken before black pulses along her skin to the beat of her heart.

I try to step away, to leave, but my legs won’t let me. I’m stuck in place, forced to watch.

From the shadows, something bleeds into the room, rising from it as if it were a doorway. They’re covered in the darkness, but it’s thick like ink or oil, dripping from their hair and skin. When the figure moves, I’m struck with the familiarity of their movement.

When their eyes meet mine, I shrink back. Their eyes are glowing chips of onyx, a black void as they stare back at me. But it’s not their eyes or features dripping in the black liquid, it’s the familiarity of their face and body. I’d know them anywhere.

Because it’s me.

I stare at myself with abject horror as they cock their head to the side, assessing me as if I were prey.

When my younger self convulses again on the table, it catches the creature’s attention— my attention. That thing that is-me-but-isn’t-me slithers forward, hovering over younger us. And that’s when I see it. The fading light emanating from the little girl’s chest. It’s faint, but brilliant. I see my other self hone in on that light.

“Stop!” I shout.

The other me stills, it’s slimy gaze meeting mine. “You cannot stop what is inevitable.”

I shake my head. “This isn’t real.”

It smiles and it’s something I’ve never seen on my own face. Something feral and hungry. “What makes you think it’s not?”

Younger me’s skin is ashen now, her dark veins bulging.

“What are you doing to her?” I try to step forward, but I’m held back, again.

The other me shrugs. “What you were born to become.”

The smell of rot and decay fill the air as the creature’s fingers trail a path up her small arm. Wherever it touches, the skin dies, withering. Nausea rises in my gut as younger me tries to twist away from her, but it’s no use. The light in her chest sputters. And when her eyes meet mine from across the room, I watch as a tear falls to the floor, her mouth gasping through uneven breaths.

“Stop!” I scream. “Stop you’re hurting her!”

The other me, the creature, tsks. “Always trying to be the hero.” It looks at me again and this time, it’s something final and knowing, like an omen. “You’ll never be the hero. You’re the one they all fear. What they’ll always fear. All you can do is embrace it.”

Her hand punches through the little girl’s chest and blood sprays the table and wall. Her scream reverberates off the walls as the monstrous version of me tears the light from her chest.

When its hand rises from the bone and muscle, blood drips down the pale skin, mixing with the strange dark liquid already coating its limbs. And in the creature’s hand, something shines bright and brilliant, like a diamond. It glitters and the light it casts feels almost sacred.

And the little girl is still. Eerily still.

“No,” I choke out, hands shaking. “No, this is wrong. This isn’t how any of this happened.”

Those pitless eyes stare into the brilliant light with awe and raw hunger. “It does not matter. It’s what you are made for. Just like him.”

I still. “Who?”

It turns their head to me, those depthless eyes void of any emotion. “Like calls to like.”

Something emerges from the darkness behind the other me. It’s form tall and imposing, a silhouette of a man. His eyes glow with a strange ember, the only light in his body made of shadow.

This time, when I step back, my feet are freed from whatever force that kept me prisoner. I’m able to back away slowly as the shadowed man tilts his head to the side, watching me.

“There you are.”

That voice…

The walls start to fracture and shake, groans echoing as the room begins to stir. The lights flicker above and everything starts to vibrate beneath my feet. The brilliant light still cradled in the hands of the dark version of me begins to sputter until it’s dim and fading. The other me takes one last look at me, scrambling against the wall, before opening her mouth and swallowing the light whole.

I tear my gaze away, only to immediately find Bob standing there, eyes wide and terrified as he stares back. I open my mouth to question him, but the room continues to crack and shake violently. The floor heaves and gives and a fissure opens beneath me, hurtling me into a swirling dark void below.

The last thing I hear is Bob screaming my name before the darkness swallows me whole.

Part Two

[1-800-imagines]

hurt | jack abbot |

request: can i pleaseeee request a jack fic where wife!reader and him are in the middle of a huge fight but one day reader gets hurt during work (nothing too serious but she gets super anxious with hospitals?) and she has to come in and face him?

content warning: NOT proofread, medical inaccuracies, description of anxiety/panic

you and jack had been in the middle of a huge argument, and there hadn’t been an end in sight when he had to leave for work. the fight, coincidentally, was about him working the night shift. you barely got to see him. so you had decided to get a job waitressing to try and work a similar shift as him. he didn’t like this because he’d have rather you not worked but it was lonely at home alone all those nights.

so there you were, at a stalemate with him. you also had to go to work which you were grateful for to get your mind off everything. but, that was the opposite of what happened, instead you were hyper focused on replaying the argument and everything that had been said in your mind. so much so that you dropped a plate as you were carrying it into the kitchen and when you went to pick it up, it sliced open the palm of your hand.

“fuck!” you grimaced, immediately grabbing something to apply pressure like jack had always taught you.

your manager was there quickly, ushering you to the pack and trying to apply first aide. you were in the back for around 15 minutes and your hand was still gushing.

“y/n, we’re going to have to take you to the hospital.” your manager said, standing up and grabbing his keys.

“no, no, it’s fine. we just aren’t applying enough pressure. it’ll stop soon.” you said, your stomach filling with dread. you hated hospitals, despite literally marrying a doctor.

“we can’t have you bleeding all over the floor. you’re going and i’m taking you.”

—

a few minutes later, you were pulling up to the ptmh. your stomach was in knots, you felt like your throat was closing and not from an allergic reaction, it was your anxiety. your body had a visceral physical reaction to hospitals.

your manager handled checking you in as you sat in chairs just waiting. what you weren’t expecting was for dr. mckay to spot you when she was taking a patient back, “y/n?” she asked and you looked up. you winced at her and she saw your hand. “give me just a few minutes.” she said to the person she was about to take back and motioned you back, “come on.”

your manager’s brow furrowed, “how do they know you by name?”

you stood up and began to follow mckay, “my husband works here.” you murmured.

once you were settled in a bed, your manager had deemed you in capable hands and left, needing to go finish out the shift at the restaurant.

you weren’t alone for long, news had spread that you were there and before you knew it, your husband was in front of you, “what happened?”

“hi to you too.” you said with a slight pout on your lips. he was examining you, unwrapping the towel.

“fuck, y/n, you got yourself deep. you’re going to need at least 5 stitches.” he frowned, “what happened and why are you here alone? did you drive yourself? you could have passed out from blood loss.”

“jack,” you said, “i dropped a plate and cut myself picking it up, my manager brought me in, mckay brought me in and my manager determined i was in good hands.” you made sure to answer all his questions in order.

his face was not amused, “you still shouldn’t have been left alone.”

“i’m okay, i promise.” you whispered as he started to gather the supplies to clean the wound.

“just another reason why you shouldn’t be at that place.” he shook his head.

“don’t start please.” you groaned, you were feeling lightheaded already and arguing with jack again would just raise your pulse and make you more anxious.

once jack finished grabbing the supplies, he really looked at you, “shit, sweetheart, are you okay? you look like you might faint.”

the feeling was cloying at your chest again and you shook your head, on brink of tears. “i…i…” you stammered, unable to get the words out.

jack, realizing what happened, put all the equipment down and looked at you, “you’re okay. you’re safe. i know you hate hospitals but you’re with me. i got you. breathe in. and out.” his voice was calm and you followed his breathing instructions.

“there you go, good job. i gotta start stitching you up now baby. don’t wanna have you bleed out.” it was jack’s attempt at a joke but you appreciated it. especially once you were breathing easier.

he got to work stitching up your hand, shooing everyone out if someone walked in and made quick work of it. once he was done, he kissed your forehead.

“i’m sorry about what i said earlier.” he said softly, sitting next to you on the bed and holding your non-injured hand.

“i just miss you jack.” your voice was soft. “i feel like i never get to see you.”

he nodded, “i know. i want to see you more too, sweetheart. i’ll figure it out. either switch to days or get more off days, one of the two.”

“i don’t want you to give up night shift if that’s what feels better to you.” you were sympathetic to the reason why he worked night shifts, but it’s didn’t make it any easier, “i guess just make some extra time for me in places we hadn’t thought about.” you shrugged and then smiled, “maybe i’ll bring you food, once i get off.” you normally got off around 1am from the restaurant so that could work well.

“well, i wouldn’t say no to that.” he smiled at you ever so softly and caressed your cheek, “i love you. i just want to make you happy.”

“you do make me happy, jack. that’s why i want to see you so bad.” you leaned your head on his shoulder.

“well then, i guess we’ll start doing food with each other. just no more getting hurt at work.” he said.

you nodded, “okay deal.” you sealed it with a kiss, “but can we discharge me so i can get out of here.” you said with a slight smile, after all, you still hated hospitals, but for jack, you would come and face your fear to bring him food.

[nerdygirlramblings]

the real rut (finally!) and an update on Dad's litter

a/n: I have been so genuinely excited for this chapter. Best settle in, it's longer than normal. PSA: aftercare is sexy, y'all.

cw: poorly executed accents, handjobs, omegaverse tropes (rut, knotting, male pregnancy/birth*)

previous

It was dark, quiet. Calm. A siren song for the bone-deep fatigue creeping through Ghost's veins. He shuffles into the room, peeling off his trousers and jersey. He's trying to steal a few brief hours of sleep now before his rut takes over. There's no point into pulling back the coverlet; he knows it'll be supper soon. Ghost tries to settle in for a quick kip, but as soon as his eyes slip closed, he's surrounded by the scent of you, and his alpha roars to life. The sweet citrus smell floats like a cloud around his head, bypassing all rational thought. A rumble starts deep in his chest. His rut isn't starting yet, but he's been distracted all day with thoughts of you. Of how he left you behind. Of how he doesn't know where you are. Of how he can't protect you.

His alpha is barely caged, straining against the leash Ghost keeps him on. This false scent cloying the covers of his bed makes his teeth itch. His alpha scratches the back of his brain. It wants you. It misses the flash of determination in your eyes, how capable you are at every task they put you up to. It misses your quick wit, intelligence on full display. It misses your kind heart, how you check in on your former squad and help those rookies who are struggling. It misses your sweet smile, the one you reserve for the people you let close, lips closed, corners slightly upturned, a contrast to the toothy grin that never reaches your eyes. It misses your lilting voice, like a song only the team gets to hear.

His alpha wants its omega. It wants to sink its teeth into your soft skin. It wants to bite. To claim.

His alpha has waited long enough.

Shuffling off thoughts of sleep, Ghost picks himself up and makes his way to the door. The quiet of the room is shattered by laughter echoing from the kitchen where Soap and Gaz are preparing dinner. The idea of sleep still pulls at him. His upcoming rut is already draining him, and he knows from experience that some decent sleep and a few good meals will make the whole situation easier to bear.

But he's on a mission.

Ghost bypasses the betas in search of Price. Having you on the team and not courting you is no longer acceptable. Price is settling down with some paperwork in the office he'll make his home for the next ten days. Ghost slips into the room, closing the door so it's just the two of them. If this conversation doesn't go the way he wants, there's no need for the betas to even know it happened.

"We need 'er, Price," he says with no preamble. There's no clarifying who he's talking about. Ghost knows Price knows. "This 's gone on long enough."

Price leans forward, forearms braced against his legs, hands steepled together. The silence stretches for long moments, Soap's and Gaz's laughter floating up from the main floor. Ghost knows how to be patient, but right now his alpha is ready to fight Price for you. Ghost needs you. Ghost doesn't need anyone. His heart is pounding in his chest, and he can't help the growl that slips out the longer he waits for Price's response.

Price's gaze sharpens on his lieutenant at the noise, then he indicates the other chair with his chin. "I'd rather not," Ghost says.

The comment is met with a huff from his Captain. Meeting Ghost's eye, Price admits, "I know we do. 's part of the reason I urged her to head home. 'm hopin' seein' 'er family pack'll make her a little lonely." He stares at Ghost as he says, “‘m hopin’ it makes ‘er want a pack of ‘er own.”

Ghost levels a glare at his alpha. “Ya better be right. ‘Cuz if yer not, I’m gunna be tempted ta say something.”

It’s an agonizing two days trading texts and quick calls with your moms while Dad is giving birth. True to your word, before the car was out of sight, you were calling Michael and Helen to keep them updated. When he hears, Michael tells you he'll be home the next day. You urge caution, or at the very least not leaving until after lunch. He's close enough that he'd still be home by supper. Helen is a different story. She wants to leave right away, but you walk her through finding the fastest, cheapest way to cross the country. The best deal you could find puts her on the first flight out in a day and a half.

Each time Mum or Mama call, you gather your siblings around your phone so they can see you’re all alive and well. They trust you, but seeing Michael and then Helen safely home, knowing Ben and Norah and Davy are being cared for, eases their worry. It lets them focus on Dad and the safe delivery of a new litter.

Instead, you do everything you can to prepare the house. The nest is tidied and expanded, everyone dropping in freshly scented shirts or blankets for when the moms, Dad, and hopefully a new pup or two come home. There's always three or four pots going on the hob. Soups and stews are cooked in abundance and portioned away. Large batches of sauce simmer next to pans of pasta: trays of ziti and lasagna that will only need the final cooking stage to be ready. Mum's vacuum sealer is put through its paces as you marinate chicken, steak, pork, and salmon. If Dad delivers this litter successfully, Mum and Mama will need to lean on the triplets more, so you work with them, making sure they know how to prepare everything you stuff into the freezer.

In the pre-dawn hours of day three, the call arrives that Dad safely delivered two pups, a little girl they named Amelia and a little boy they’re calling Grant. You don’t know what possesses you to do it, because you know Ghost is in the middle of his rut, Price having called you yesterday while he was restocking food for the others and you could hear faint sounds of a voice keening in the background, but you call Price. He picks up on the first ring, remnants of sleep pitching his voice lower than normal which makes your omega purr. You’re crying happy tears, but he hears the hitch in your breath and is instantly alert. “Ren?! Gimme a sit rep. What’s goin’ on, luv?”

“A little boy and a little girl, Captain. I got two new siblings,” you ramble, cheeks stretched wide from how hard you’re smiling.

“Oh, Ren, that’s wonderful news! ‘M so glad you were home when it happened, yeah? Family is important,” he tells you, as if you need the reminder. “And having the whole pack there is gunna be great for the pups when they come home.” His comment about pack deflates your happiness a little. Yes, this will always be your family pack, but your parents moved on from their family packs when they married, forming a pack of their own. You remember what your dad said about his decision to become Mama’s and Mum’s omega, about it being the easiest and hardest decision of his life. What you didn’t understand at the time was how hard it is to make the conscious choice to step away from the safety of a family pack. But you get it now. Your omega whines at being denied a pack of her own to care for and be cared for by. She whimpers at the idea of an alpha's rut, and you can only imagine how much sharper Ghost’s scent is right now. Would he smell more like Mum’s cooking, or would it be tangier, like pickling spices? Did Soap’s scent change? Kyle’s? You don’t know if beta scents respond to heats and ruts like alphas and omegas. Does Price reek of aggression or is his scent unchanged? How much sweeter does your natural fresh berries scent get during a real heat?

There’s an ache in your chest that wasn’t there before. You hastily say, “Sorry fer waking ya, sir. I just…I’m excited and really happy. I guess I’ll talk ta ya soon, yeah?” He lets you drop the call a few moments later after promising to share your good news with the others as he’s able.

Alone in the kitchen of your childhood home, you let yourself cry. When Davy finds you for breakfast, you tell him the good news and brush off the tear tracks as those of happy tears.

Gaz limps to the door as Ghost rumbles in his sleep. He glances over his shoulder again, a question on his face, but Soap practically pushes him out the door. Though the betas worked Ghost in tandem, hands and mouths everywhere, it was Gaz under him, taking his knot, the last two rounds. He whispers a quick "Thank you" to Soap before ducking through the doorway into the hall. The latch snicks softly as Gaz heads to the kitchen. His stomach has been gurgling, and he needs something more substantial than the granola bar he'd had three hours prior in order to head back to Ghost later. The alpha's ruts are always rough, but there's something sharper, more vicious about this one, and Gaz is certain it has to do with you.

Price is sat at the table as Gaz slowly shuffles in wearing only his trunks, the new scratches crisscrossing his back clearly visible. Though he tries to hide the flash of discomfort as he sits, he's sure Price saw it and knows Gaz took Ghost's knot that last round. The soft, knowing smile he sends at Gaz is confirmation. It used to embarrass him, Price knowing Gaz took Ghost's knot, but not anymore.

There's rashers and eggs still in pans on the hob, set there to stay warm, ready for whomever emerges from the main room in need of protein. Gaz huffs a harsh breath through is nose when he realizes he should have made a plate before sitting down. He braces his hand against the table, but before he can lever himself up, he's stopped by a firm hand on his shoulder. "Let me," Price says, pressing a kiss to Gaz's head. "You rest." Price is here to make sure his pack is taken care of, same as it is on any mission.

The plate Price puts in front of Gaz has a heaping helping of eggs, a few rashers, and a pile of mixed berries. He also sets a cup of coffee and glass of water down too. When Gaz starts to dig into his food, Price tells him about his call with you.

"So she's happy, then?" Gaz asks.

Price shrugs. "Sounded so when she called." Gaz can tell there's more Price isn't saying, so he waits, a minute passing where the only sound is the scrape of his fork against his plate. "Told 'er how important it was for the new pups to have their pack."

Gaz recognizes the opening for what it is. "Ya think she wants a pack, then?"

Price hums and responds with, "Think we should 'ave a talk wi' 'er when we're all back on base." He watches Gaz eat for a few more minutes, encouraging the beta to drink the water he'd set down. The silence as Gaz eats is a comfortable one, borne of years of familiarity. Gaz watches his Captain watch him and smiles softly at the older man.

After a moment, Price breaks their eye contact, mumbling, "Enough, muppet," fondly. He pushes back from the table, snagging the empty plate and dirty fork, dropping both into the large sink. He'll handle them later, when the others are all occupied again. For now, he wants to take care of his beta. "I'll run a bath for ya, yeah? Let ya relax some." He stands next to Gaz and offers him an arm up, holding Gaz's elbow to steady him.

The en suite bathroom on the main bedroom is larger than the hall bath, but as the pack renovated the property, they made sure to install a large tub for instances just like this. Price sits Gaz on the toilet as he starts the taps going, water hot but not scalding. He dumps some Epsom salts in to help, then eases Gaz up, carefully slides his trunks down, and lowers him into the water. Before Gaz settles, Price slips into the water behind him.

Gaz leans back against Price's broad chest, purring a little. His beta preens knowing its been taking care of Ghost and is being taken care of by Price. He closes his eyes and sighs, letting the warm water soothe aching muscles. Price's hands trail lazily up and down his sides, comforting. Grounding. He feels the brush of Price's beard before he feels the voice rumble behind him, "Ghost helpin' ya out as ya help him?" Gaz's mind is too slow to respond before Price snakes his arms around the younger man's waist, "Or have ya been neglected?" His hands drop to Gaz's cock and wrap loosely around it.

A whimper escapes Gaz's lips. He didn't think he'd be able to go again so soon, but there's something about the way the callouses on Price's hand pull just right against the skin of his cock, something in the way Price's own erection throbs hot and hard against Gaz's low back. It's slow and soft, Price not holding tight or moving fast. The languid drag of his hand accompanies the soft kisses he runs up Gaz's neck. A few minutes or hours later - Gaz can't be sure - his hips start undulating, pushing himself into Price's hand with more insistence.

Keeping one hand on Gaz's erection, Price drops his other down to gently cradle Gaz's balls. Gaz trusts Price not to initiate any ass-play when he'll have to be back with Ghost later, but he succumbs to Price's soft pleasure. When his breath catches, Price holds him a little tighter, moves his hand a little faster. Gaz feels the small, almost unconscious thrusts Price makes against his back, but it doesn't go any farther than that. Price strokes him to completion as the water cools around them and a thought flits through him about how nice it will be to do this for you after your own heat.

next

*similar to @dragonnarrative-writes, my stance is male omegas have pseudo intersex characteristics like a uterus and birth canal, and like irl spotted hyenas, female alphas’ clitoris serves as a pseudo penis capable of delivering sperm but only during heats/ruts

series masterlist | main masterlist

~~

taglist: @sirbonesly @z-wantstowrite @thriving-n-jiving @cecelia97 @theycallmevalen @boogeysmoth @cryingpages @riley13 @luxylucylou @lucienofthelakes @ilyztwo @chaosundcoffee @lostintransist @thegreyjoyed @honestlymassivetrash @thebumbqueen @maliamaiden @mordacioust @bina-passion-fruit @kittygonap

[zaineviu]

❛𝘚𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘵 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘵❜ - L.F (SKZ)

synopsis. Felix feels soft at the sight of his pregnant wife.

pairings. felix x reader!

content. sfw, husband!felix, pregnant!reader.

wc. 620

a/n. A very smooth continuation of ‘A little dramatic’ as I saw that many people liked that one.

part 1: ‘A little dramatic’

Don't forget to comment, so I know you like what I write and encourage me to keep writing.

"You shouldn't be drinking this."

"Felix, I have no problem with drinking this."

"But the baby..."

"The baby enjoys it, our little bean like it." Y/N took her husband's hand to let it rest on her belly.

How round and soft it was the poor man couldn't help but not smile.

"Y/N..."

"Come and hold me, drinking coke won't hurt me, it was just a little sip." Felix shook his head.

"Don't be stubborn and give me that." He snatched the empty bottle from her hands, making a mental note with throwing away all the cans that were in the fridge. "My love, the doctor said you couldn't drink these kinds of beverages, I'll make you a natural flavoured juice, okay? Healthier, healthier, and our baby will enjoy it."

Y/N groaned nodding, ignoring the sympathetic look on her husband's face.

She knew she had a commitment to eating and drinking healthy things, however; Jisung had brought a box with cans of soda that ended up forgotten in her fridge in the end, she couldn't help but grab just one can to take a mini sip of that cold Coke.

"You're so obnoxious. Baby, I hope and you don't go out like your dad, or I'll be very upset." She muttered. Her hands slid down her swollen seven month belly, in two more weeks she would be eight and you couldn't be anything but excited about it.

"I heard you, but I know our precious baby will look like you, I hope he does," the blond man confessed genuinely, sitting down next to you after leaving the full can of soda on the bedside table next to his bed. His hand never leaving your belly.

"Seven months in my belly, of course he have to." Y/N groaned, glad to feel Felix move closer and wrap his arms around you to lift your belly a little, letting you breathe.

"Do you want anything special, are you hungry, honey?"

"I don't think so, just you please... or well yeah, can you make me eat those cheddar cinnamon rolls you made the other night?"

"It tasted gross, are you sure you want that?"

"You're talking to someone pregnant, dumb. Of course I want to eat that." She groaned again after the sense of relief she felt at being in her cloying husband's arms.

"Stop doing that..." Felix pressed his lips to her neck, hiding his face in the crook of his beloved's neck. "I love you both so much...you make me so happy Y/N, I thank God for giving me the chance to be able to be with you and to have the chance to have a baby, our sweet love...I love you so much, love of my life..." 

Felix's eyes glazed over, breaking his voice at the end of his little speech, "you don't know how much I love you."

Felix began to cry, clinging to Y/N's body who smoothly turned around so she could hug him.

"I'm not leaving, Lixie, why are you crying, my sweet heart?"

"I don't know..."

"I'm the one who should be crying not you, stop crying, my love."

"It’s just that you make me so happy, so happy that I don't know how to express it."

"Everything you do for me is your way of expressing it, look, you even got me pregnant, what other proof of love do you need to get rid of that insecurity? I love you, with all my soul... and body."

Felix sobbed once more, clinging to his wife's body again. Inhaling your lavender scent, caressing your hair and letting his heart go out to her.

He felt at home.

And you felt loved.

[bluejaysandblackbats]

Hair Trigger

Fandom: DC Comics, Batfam, Superfam, YJ98

Summary: A junior at Gotham University, Jason finds it difficult to conceal his worsening mental health from his family and his friend, Jon Lane Kent. Family secrets are revealed and boundaries are pushed as Jason and Laney struggle to navigate through school, their romantic feelings, and their trauma. Could the reintroduction of Laney Kent be more trouble than it's worth, or is it just what Jason needed to confront the demons of his past?

I will also do trigger warnings for chapters and if there is smut I have the chapter(s) tagged so you don't have to worry about nsfw in the fic if you're just here for the story itself.

Chapters: 22/?

Characters: Jason Todd, Jonathan Lane Kent, Bruce Wayne, Clark Kent, Lois Lane, Cassandra Cain, Tim Drake, Conner Kent, Natalia Knight, Jonathan Samuel Kent, Cassie Sandsmark, Chris Kent, Bart Allen, Original Character(s)

Relationships: JayLaney, Clois, TimKon

Additional Tags: University AU, No Powers AU, Sharing A Bed, Romance, Angst, TW // Kidnapping , TW // Gun Violence

Chapter Twenty-Two: Couples Therapy

Jason sat at the counter with Bart as they looked at the rough draft of Jason's children's book with Bart's illustrations. "How's Conner's brother doing?" Bart asked as he flipped through the printed pages.

"He's doing alright, considering... Laney's tough," Jason answered. "Hey, are you gonna publish your book for real?" Bart asked.

Jason nodded. "Our book. And yeah, I will. I want to thank you for helping—."

"No worries, and you serious about the whole our book thing? Like you're gonna put my name on the cover?" Bart asked. I nodded.

"Where's everyone?" Jason asked.

Bart shrugged. "Tim's grocery shopping. Cissie and Cassie are visiting their parents, and you know where Conner is," Bart answered, "I'm not alone all day, though. My girlfriend's visiting." Jason cocked his head, and Bart took an orange off the counter and used his teeth to peel it. "She's never met my friends before."

Jason smiled, "You shouldn't be nervous. You guys have a cool thing going on here."

"I know, but I don't just want her to like it here. I want her to love it here... So maybe she'll want to move in," Bart confessed. Jason softened, relaxing his shoulders. "I even redecorated my room."

"All the cool haunted houses are open right now. What city has cooler haunted houses than Gotham?" Jason suggested, and a smile spread across Bart's face.

"You're a genius," Bart thanked him. Before Jason could answer, someone knocked on the door, and Bart flew out of his chair and ran over to answer. He stopped in his tracks and looked back at Jason, and mouthed something.

"This is your apartment," Jason whispered.

Bart gestured for Jason to answer. "Please?" Bart mumbled. Jason walked over to the door just as they heard another knock. Bart went back to the kitchen.

Jason answered the door and let a dark-haired girl in. "Hi, you must—. Actually, you're nothing like the people Bart described," she cocked her head, "I'm Carol, by the way."

"Jason, I'm Tim's older brother," Jason answered as he shook her hand. Carol opened her mouth to reply to Jason, but she was swept off her feet by Bart. He spun her around, and he finally put her down to give her a kiss.

He embraced her, and they stepped side to side. "I missed you so much!" Bart exclaimed. Carol giggled as she held him.

"I missed you too," Carol beamed, "You smell good."

"Thanks, I ate an orange," Bart replied, and she playfully punched his shoulder.

Jason got his bag and got ready to leave before telling Bart that he could show Carol the book if he wanted to. Jason's phone rang as he made his way out of the building, and he answered.

"Hey, Dad. Wanna hang out?" Jason asked.

"You don't have another dad do you?" Bruce joked. Jason rolled his eyes.

"I wanna talk to you. Maybe we can grab a bite?" Jason asked. Bruce didn't answer. "Is that a no?"

"No, I'm just a little shocked. Is it bad news?" Bruce asked.

"Um... Not really bad news. I mean, it's good news for me. I'm not sure how you'll react, though," Jason answered as he walked down the street. "I'm a little excited to tell you about it, but I want to tell you in person."

"Where are you? I can come and pick you up," Bruce replied. Jason told Bruce where he was, and he walked into the nearest fast food place and ordered something to eat. By the time Bruce got to the restaurant, Jason already started eating his first burger.

Bruce sat across from Jason at the table. "I got some onion rings," Jason smiled as he pushed the bag over to Bruce.

Jason wiped his hands on a napkin and reached into his bag before passing the printed rough draft of his book to Bruce. Bruce read through the cardstock-printed rough draft, and Jason bounced his legs as he waited for Bruce to finish reading. "Have you shown this to Laney?" Bruce asked.

Jason shook his head. "But he did have a lot to do with why I wrote it... And why I want to publish it. He said I shouldn't give up on it, and I think he was right. I want to surprise Lane with a hard copy," Jason smiled. Bruce smiled a half-smile before taking his pocketbook out of the interior of his suit jacket. "Wait—."

"Jason, let me do this. You're going to be doing all the hard work anyway. I just want to help. You never let me help," Bruce whispered, "ISBN's, copyrights... All those things cost money. If anything, just let me help with that."

Jason nodded. "Okay. Yeah, okay," Jason agreed, "But you gotta let me do the rest on my own." Bruce gave Jason his copy back, and he started eating his onion rings.

"How is Laney holding up?" Bruce asked. Jason pulled another burger out of the paper bag and continued to eat.

"He's holding up... I just think he's waiting to see how things pan out before he loses it," Jason replied, covering his half-full mouth as he spoke.

Bruce nodded. "How have things been between the two of you lately?" Bruce questioned.

"This is the first time in weeks that we've spent real time apart. It feels weird being away from Lane, but I think it's good. Gave me time to get things done, and it gives him time to himself," Jason whispered, "I think I'm gonna go back to my own place tonight."

"Why don't you—? Never mind, I shouldn't—."

"Okay, I kind of didn't want to be alone anyway. I could ride back with you if you're going home after this," Jason suggested, and a smile spread across Bruce's face. "Is Damian home?"

Bruce nodded. "But I think he's going to spend the night in Christopher and Sammy's hotel," Bruce answered, "Jason, how's school?"

Jason's phone vibrated, and he held up a finger to Bruce. "Hold on. I just have to call him real quick," Jason whispered as he stepped outside to call Laney.

"Jason before you—."

"I thought we were doing okay. I feel weird that you're springing this shit on me—."

"Whoa! Whoa! Whoa! Jason, chill. I'm asking you because we are doing good. I just want you to go with me," Laney whispered, "I want you to meet her. You don't have to say yes, but I'd—."

Jason made a noise before offering Laney a chance to finish his sentence. "No, Jason, please just tell me what you have to tell me," Laney whispered.

"I don't know. I'd have to think about it. Listen, I'm sleeping at my dad's this weekend, so maybe we can talk about it on Monday at lunch?" Jason suggested.

"Jason, I love you so much. I mean that... I'm not gonna be mad if you say you don't wanna go. I just want you to consider it," Laney whispered, "This is the first weekend we've spent apart in like two weeks..."

"Yeah, it's gonna be a little weird. I love you, and I promise I will think about going with you next weekend," Jason whispered.

"I love you too. Have a good time this weekend. I just picked your brother up and dropped him off at the hotel," Laney noted. They finished their phone call, and Bruce went back inside to the table.

"Was that Laney?" Bruce asked. Jason nodded. "Bad news?"

"Nah, I just have to think about something. Laney invited me to sit in on his appointment. I don't know," Jason replied as he finished his second burger.

"What kind of appointment?" Bruce asked.

"Therapy, but like... I don't know. Should I go?" Jason asked. "I just don't want to end up saying something that's supposed to just be between Laney and me."

Bruce nodded. "I think he'll just appreciate the fact that you went with him if you do go," Bruce answered. After they both finished eating, Jason followed Bruce out to the car, and Bruce turned the radio on. "How are you doing in school?" Bruce asked a second time.

"Good, I'm still turning in my assignments and studying for tests—."

"And how are you doing?" Bruce asked. Jason shrugged. "Jason..."

"I'm trying to give him space even though I don't think he wants it... And, I guess I'm the one who really needs the weekend to think. I mean, it's not a relationship thing. I love Lane. It's just that so many horrible things happened this week, and I want to process some of it on my own," Jason explained. Bruce nodded.

"That's fair, but don't you think you should tell Laney that?" Bruce asked. Jason shook his head. "And why not?"

"I don't want him to feel like a burden. I'll be fine by Monday. I'm gonna go see him," Jason replied in an attempt to reassure himself. Bruce nodded. "Dad, I don't know how to help him, and I can't face him if I can't help him."

"Maybe you are helping him. Maybe all he wants is for you to just be there for him," Bruce replied. Jason swallowed hard. "Have you ever considered that you're comforting to him?"

"I haven't thought much of anything since I almost lost him... I don't know. Laney's not-. I don't know how to help what I can't see. I don't really know what's going on in his—."

"Ask him... And if you really want to know, you should go with him to his appointment. That's just my opinion on things," Bruce interrupted, "And you know what, I wasn't gonna tell you this, but I think it needs to be said... I changed my mind about him. I think you're both good for each other."

Jason faintly smiled as he looked out the window, and the conversation ended there. When they got back to the manor, Jason went up to his room and made another phone call. "Lane? Are you alone?" Jason asked. He heard a door shut.

"I am now... What is it? You gonna say something—?"

"I'll go with you to your appointment next week," Jason blurted out before he could change his mind. Laney didn't say anything. "Lane? Are you there?"

"Can you repeat that?" Laney asked, his voice low and serious.

"I want to go with you... And yes, the idea of going terrifies me, but not knowing how you're doing scares me even more," Jason whispered. Laney let out a nervous laugh.

"Thanks, Jason. Thank you so much," Laney took a deep breath, and Jason's shoulders relaxed. Jason could hear a soft weeping noise. "I'm sorry, I just—. Jay, I really appreciate you doing this."

"Hey, don't worry about it... I'm promising you right now that I'll be there with you on Friday," Jason ensured. Laney made an affirmative noise. "I love you, and I'm sorry about blowing up earlier. Bruce put things into perspective for me. I want you to know that you can trust me to be there for you." Laney sniffed.

"I love you too," he whispered.

"How did things go with Sammy?" Jason asked. Laney let out a laugh.

"He asked me when you and I were getting married," Laney chuckled, and Jason laughed along with him. "Asking the hard questions at all times. Other than that, though, it was okay. We had fun."

"Good, and tell him to ask you that again in a year," Jason smiled, and Laney choked. "See you Monday."

"Jason, you asshole," Laney laughed, and they hung up.

Jason sat alone in his room for a while before going back downstairs to grab a snack. "Hey, Dad, you were right," Jason raised his voice, looking around for Bruce.

"About what?" Cass asked. Jason jumped before turning around to embrace his sister. "Hi."

"You here this weekend too?" Jason asked. She nodded.

"I saw Lane," Cass whispered as she grabbed a soda from the fridge.

"Did Laney say hi to you?" Jason asked. She nodded, covering her mouth to stifle a laugh. "What?"

"Dad fell down the stairs," she announced.

Jason's eyes widened as he asked, "Just now?" She shook her head.

"When he left to get you," Cass answered. Jason snorted as he peeled a banana and took a bite.

"You're terrible," Jason chuckled.

[frankieburieshisdead]

𝐒𝐚𝐦 𝐖𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐱 𝐌𝐚𝐥𝐞!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

｡𖦹°‧ CW: NSFW, Top Reader, Virgin Sam

You loved what his skin felt like. Smooth and lovely like a petal you rub the water out of to let the smell stick to your fingers. He was taller than you, unsurprisingly- he was taller than most, but tall in the way deer legs were. Gangly and embarrassed to be seen. The first time you saw him you felt like a dirty pervert. He was bent over one of the bar stools at the pub, reaching around for a textbook he had dropped and you imagined taking him apart then and there. Pulling those shaggy bangs away from his forehead and yanking until his pretty shoulders were in an arch.

He made a little gasping sound when you bumped into him. This sweet breathless thing that made you grab your dick in your jeans and shift it from the press of your zip. "Oh I'm sorry I didn't see you," he said with his eyes glued below your belt. You were well endowed enough for most men to assume they'll rise to the challenge but ultimately opt out. Sam stuck his tongue out to wet his lips. You didn't think he would opt out.

It took two more semesters for you to fuck him. There was a chaste kiss once, behind the boiler room of your frat house. You weren't out to any of the guys, and you probably never would be. They we're fucking idiots but you weren't smart enough to get a degree without your football credits. Kissing Sam felt like forgetting all of that. He tasted like coffee bitters and pastry and when you bit into his bottom lip he made that sound for you again. You were probably going to spend the rest of your life chasing that sound, you thought.

"I'm not following you." That's what he said to you the next time you met. It was after a game, you had just come out of the pit and you wreaked of sweat and the grime you dragged off the field with you.

"Okay sweetheart."

He flushed from his toes to his cheeks when you said it. You knew it had to be tonight. You tossed him your keys, "wait for me in my car, I'm going to the showers."

-

When you got back to campus Sam lead you up to his dorm. There was this cloying tension even though neither of you had looked each other in the eye. Once you reached the room Sam slammed you against the door. It was a surprising show of strength from this bambi and you had to huff out a laugh.

"What?" He asked. He was nervous. He kept tucking the longest bit of his bangs behind is ear and shuffling from one foot to another. He wasn't sure he had made the right decision. You didn't let him stay unsure for long.

You didn't need to push, just stalk forward with Sam fumbling backwards till his legs hit the bed. You bent down and kept your lips just out of reach, hands on either side of the mattress. "Can I kiss you sweetheart?" Sam surged forward and locked his knobbly elbows around your neck, smashing his nose into yours. He tasted like he had put a flavored chap-stick on, and you wondered if it was for you. You licked past the cherry bomb blast flavor into his mouth, which was some how even sweeter. He whimpered when you flipped them, with his hips straddling your legs so you could grind up into him. You were so hard you thought you might break through the fabric.

It didn't take long for either of you to strip, you completely nude and Sam with his buttoned plaid shirt being the only thing protecting his modesty. When you moved to pull it off he shook his head. "Can I keep it on please," he had said, and looked oh-so-pitiful that you didn't have it in you to ask further. Instead you ducked under the shirt, letting it cover your head as you teased at his chest. He burst into a fit of giggles and something in your own chest loosened. "Sweet little Sam o' mine" you began to bellow and his giggles turned into a belly laugh, which then turned into a gasp as you teased his nipple with your teeth. "That feel good sweet-Sam?" you practically leered.

He clutched your head through the flimsy shirt, threading his fingers where he could find hair. You wrestled the both of you down so you could cage him in on the bed, smoothing your fingers up and down and into the crevice of his thigh. "How about this?" you sucked two fingers into your mouth and circled the cute puckered entrance, "this feel good baby?"

Sam clutched your shoulders, eyes big and pleading. "I have to tell you something."

Your eyes went wide. "Std?" He wouldn't be the first positive guy you slept with, you were just sure to wrap it up tighter than usual.

"What? No, not, that." He shook his head quickly. You had moved your hand from his hole to his inner thigh, stroking up and down in little swirls that spelt out S-A-M.

"The opposite actually. I haven't, well, I haven't done this before. Sorry. That was a stupid way of saying it."

It shouldn't have turned you on. God knows you shouldn't be straining in your pants at the thought of being Sammy's first. But oh my god I'm his first.

You grinned like a wolf, big and mean- hungry as you fucked two fingers in as far as they could go. You knew it was bad, that you should take it slow and virgin sweet but the way Sam's eyes rolled back into his head as he frantically looked for something to hold onto was too rewarding to stop.

"Oh god," Sam gripped the hair at the back of your neck roughly, undulating his hips on the crook of your fingers. "There! There!"

You lunged for his lips, sucking his tongue into your mouth. It didn't take long to stretch him out, and tomorrow you would feel bad about rushing it but tonight you were selfish enough to flip him over in your lap and smack his thigh hard enough to make him gasp. His legs bracketed your hips with his pretty face pressed into the sheets below you two. The bed was too small for two men, meaning you had to cradle his body as close to you and you could- chest to back, chin hooked over Sam's shoulder whispering filthy things into his ear.

It felt like you were melting when you pushed in. Sam's breath stopped and his knuckles turned white from where they gripped the sheets. Your head was tipped back when you whispered "you're good baby, breathe out" and he could barely whimper back at you. You pumped out a bit, flexing your hips back and forth. You pushed in between his shoulders, flattening his chest to the bed and arching his back further. "I said breathe."

He exhaled a puff of air and it relaxed him enough to push halfway in. His shoulders were shaking and his hair had fallen over his eyes. "Fuck Sam you feel like heaven baby. You think I can get all the way in?" You had your tongue between your teeth and you were teasing that spot you found with your fingers, grinding relentlessly. There was a bit of drool coming out of Sam's mouth from where it was pressed against the sheet, his eyes either squeezed shut or wide open and crossed when you hit that sweet spot head on.

It took you a bit to push in balls deep, but you would have waited years and climbed mountains to feel that tight heat squeezing you like a vice. Sam's hand shot back, wrapping around your wrist where it was clutching his hip. "Slow! Please." He sounded fucking wrecked. It was this pure moment of need clashing with a long earned lesson of delayed gratification. He was beautiful. So much of your sex life was defined by haste. An act of 'getting-it-over-with'. This wasn't that. You wouldn't let it be. You thrust into Sam slow and easy, every now and then snapping forward to watch his eyes roll back into his head because you aren't a Saint. You lost control for just a bit at the end, ramming into him faster than he could snap back, but he didn't seem to mind, lacing his fingers with yours even after he came and was twitching through the aftershocks.

You were lying next to him, trying to catch your breath when, with an unexpected show of strength, Sam pushed himself up onto your chest and straddled your hips, pressing his wet body back against yours.

"Woah there cowboy, you looking for another ride?" You grinned up at him, still out of breath as you gripped both his thighs that hugged your pelvis.

He grabbed your nose between two fingers and you snorted. "Corny." He said, and you laughed, because it was funny and you felt good. Loose. You knew it couldn't last, but as of now, the prettiest boy at Stanford was on top of you, smiling, and you planned to keep him there for as long as you could.