#he KNOWS li bai and how his mind and masks work

[fistfuloflightning]

Moonlight at the foot of my bed Appears to me like frost. Lifting my head, I behold the moon, Lowering it… I think of home.

Quiet Night Thought - Li Bai

[gloomwitchwrites]

Tattoo Artist Simon "Ghost" Riley x Female Reader

Chapter Specific Warnings: swearing, brief mentions of terror, domestic!Simon, intimacy in the shower, hand job, vaginal fingering, brief oral sex (female receiving), non-penetrative sex, the mask comes off

Word Count: 5.8k

A/N: Part Fourteen of Ink & Needle

Simon doesn't see you again for two weeks. Amelia intervenes. Simon removes his mask in front of you.

Chapter Thirteen // Chapter Fifteen

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // ink & needle masterlist

Repetition.

Fingers counting bottles. Counting colors. Counting labels.

White paper. Blank spaces. Pencil. Graphite tip.

Breaking. Breaking. Over. Over. Over, again.

Blue ink. Red ink. Black.

Simon counts the little rows, falling deeper into distraction. It’s a way to quiet his mind, to turn off the fucking noise that’s buzzing there in the back like an annoyingly curious bee. But all this inventory counting isn’t working. Nothing is keeping his thoughts at bay.

A week has passed. An entire fucking week and your absence is a festering wound. Simon isn’t taking it personally. Really. He isn’t. But fuck he misses you. Part of him blames himself, insisting that your distance has to do with something he did. It’s not entirely far from the truth. While Simon hasn’t exactly lied to you, he has omitted crucial information.

British Intelligence may very well be coming to call, but Simon doesn’t know that information explicitly. The situation is precarious. Delicate. The information Simon shifted through with Price, Kyle, and Johnny unnerved him.

Kit Walsh is not your local nationalist prick who spouts shit off in chatrooms or on social media for influencers to stitch. Kit Walsh moved beyond that. Beyond walking in to corner stores or a school or a church for innocent people to understand his lead-drenched wrath. Beyond a week or two of media frenzy. Beyond mugshots and a jury sentence.

This man moves between. One minute he’s supplying arms to opposing sides in another country to destabilize a region, and then turns around to whisper in some politician’s ear to convince them to “intercede” on the behalf of “global peace.”

He pushes weapons, pushes people, pushes drugs.

But he’s not a businessman. That’s just a front for his true intentions. Kit Walsh thinks on global levels and how he intends to make the world into his image. He takes his time. He observes and then moves.

It makes the man more dangerous because he also understands that acts at the local level are just as or even more powerful than the global ones. Nothing is more terrifying than when your own neighbor turns their words of hate into hateful actions.

Kit Walsh knows this.

Which is why Simon didn’t give a fuck when he received all those injuries. He thought he took the fucker out for good. That Walsh was a burnt-up corpse. Simon rarely considers any of his scars to be marks of pride. Yet the ones he received when he shoved his knife into Walsh’s chest were ones he didn’t mind having.

But none of that matters now.

Walsh is alive. And he might have fucking blown the back of Lord Archibald Williams’ head off. For what? Simon doesn’t fucking know. Price didn’t know either which means that British Intelligence likely doesn’t.

And you don’t need to know any of that. Why burden you? Why put any of these worries and issues on your plate when they might not land there at all? Why exhaust you further?

When you brought up Archie, Simon panicked, knowing you were already tired—already stressed. It’s not right that this happened to your friend, but Simon truly believes there isn’t anything to particularly worry about at the moment. That is reason enough not to dump this on you.

Simon’s fingers hover above the lid of an ink bottle. He pauses there, thinking, forgetting the number he just uttered.

Lost count. Starts over.

Blue ink. Red ink. Black.

“Fuck!” shouts Simon, his tatted knuckles turning white as the pencil clenched in his fist snaps in half.

Simon stares at the broken pencil. At the fractured graphite.

Sighing heavily, Simon drops the clipboard and steps away from the storage cabinets. He’s fucking distracted, and it’s not only because of the shit he read in Price’s file. Simon hasn’t seen you—hasn’t touched you in almost a week. Somehow, the separation is difficult, more frustrating than Simon previously thought.

He went three years without knowing your touch. But a week is now too much?

Simon clenches his fists. Releases them. Inhales deeply through his nostrils and exhales slowly through his mouth. He repeats until there isn’t any tension in his limbs and his mind quiets. Using the silence, Simon takes notes of the aches and pains. The leg that always gives him trouble isn’t hurting much today, but that might be a different story tomorrow. Everything else is dull and fine, better than it has been.

Checking his scheduling book, Simon pulls up the name of the next client, retrieving the sketches and preparing the stencil. This is work he knows. This is work that’s natural to him. Safe and secure. When the client arrives, Simon shifts into work mode, slipping into his professional mask, dipping into his creativity.

For these few hours, Simon doesn’t think about you at all and he certainly doesn’t think about Walsh. He’s only thinking about the tattoo and the client and the goddamn inventory sheet that looks ready to slip right off the desk.

But when Simon’s client leaves, and he is left in an empty shop with a snoozing Bravo, thoughts of you come roaring back to the forefront of his mind. There really is no reason to worry. It’s not like Simon is only receiving radio silence from you. You just haven’t been with him. That’s all.

The two of you have talked. Well—not extensively. It’s only been flashes of conversation, brief texts and even shorter phone calls. It is the tiredness and exhaustion that Simon hears in your voice every time he speaks with you that worries him. He knows why you’re staying away, and it’s not because of him. At least, that is what you tell him.

Yet Simon cannot help but linger in those spaces, questioning whether or not he somehow messed up. That he didn’t do enough. Worse, it’s not fair to you to think this way. You have been clear about why you’re not around, but it still chews at him. Simon stills wants to see you, to hold you close even if it’s for a fleeting moment.

He knows there is a baby. He knows you have responsibilities to your friend. He knows and yet Simon is fucking selfish because he wants—no. Needs to breathe you in even if it is just the sweet scent of your skin.

But evening comes as Simon closes up shop for the night, and there is not a text or call from you.

There are none the next day or the day after that.

By Sunday morning, Simon is boiling from the inside out, gripping his phone like a goddamn lunatic.

He hasn’t heard from you, and the few calls and texts he’s sent have gone unanswered. If he were his old self, he’d have already gone to your place demanding to see you. But things have changed for him in some respects. Simon is trying hard not to fall into old habits and behaviors when it comes to you.

Simon has failed on several occasions, but he’s trying to be better. He’s trying to be better for you.

The decision he makes is like pulled teeth. Necessary sometimes but fucking painful without the proper numbing. Simon does not go to your place. Every step he takes in the opposite direction of Amelia’s home are dull razors against the skin. He forces himself to leash Bravo, to go to Dancing Faun, to sit down on his usual fucking stool and pretend that everything is fine.

Routine is good. Routine is comfortable.

Simon is going to leave it—leave you—and give you some needed space. There is a newborn in Amelia’s house, and the last thing Simon needs to do is to barge in and step all over that dynamic just because he hasn’t seen you in a few days.

“Look who it is,” chuckles Ben, the owner of Dancing Faun. He sets down a newly polished pint glass. “Thought you forgot about me.”

Simon grins behind the balaclava, the familiar face a much-needed welcome. “You’re forgettable. But your wife?” Simon whistles and settles on his usual stool.

Ben guffaws and wags a finger in Simon’s direction. “Don’t let her hear you say that. She’d leave me in an instant if you asked.”

“Better ask her then,” replies Simon, pretending to get up.

“Oi. Sit down,” mumbles Ben, shaking his polishing rag in Simon’s direction. “Cheeky bastard.”

Ben leaves and returns with Simon’s usual full English and tea. The two of them chat, Ben forgetting not to talk politics on Sunday while Simon listens and shakes his head, knowing the big guy does it on purpose to mess with him. After breakfast, Simon starts with a pint of dark amber ale, moving on to a second as the first customers begin to trickle in.

For a few hours, Simon forgets about the outside world. He watches a rugby match. Drinks a third beer. Considers whether he should switch over to whiskey. It’s just like all his other Sundays since retirement.

Routine is good. Routine is comfortable.

Simon lifts the pint glass to his mouth, downing the last of his third drink. He sets it down on the bar top, unsuspecting of the coming intrusion.

Reality is such a fickle thing. Sometimes it is a clawing, creeping blob that lurks in the corner of a dark room. Sometimes, it is an abrupt shaking, as if hands are on you, imploring you to look.

“Amelia!”

Simon’s stomach flips at the sound of Ben’s voice calling out to the older woman. Glancing away from the television, Simon turns, seeking you. Hope expands in his chest like an inflating balloon. Sparks pop off in his head with the belief that you will enter in behind Amelia. That you will walk through the door and Simon can finally see you again.

But you’re not here.

You’re not with her.

It’s just Amelia.

Her cheeks are rosy from the November cold, and her coat swallows her up.

“I have photos of the grandbaby,” she says, voice cheery as she removes her leather gloves and stuffs them in her coat pockets.

Ben’s smile widens. “Congratulations.”

Several patrons around the pub hold up their drinks in salute, echoing Ben’s initial statement. Without taking off her coat, Amelia travels from person to person, her wire rimmed glasses hanging on the tip of her nose as she scrolls through photos on her phone. She lingers with each person, telling the same story, showing the same pictures.

Simon patiently waits because that’s all he can do. Inside, he’s boiling in an agonizing twisting of alertness that pulls every muscle in his body taut with tension.

Is she doing this on purpose to mess with him? Did he really fuck up and this is her version of punishment?

When Amelia finally approaches Simon, some of that tension evaporates. Her smile is genuine. Soothing. She’s not upset with him. If anything, Amelia is relieved to see him.

“Morning, Simon,” she sighs, her shoulders sagging slightly.

“Morning,” he replies, not recognizing the gruffness in his voice. Simon swallows, tapping the side of his empty glass with a single finger.

Amelia holds up her phone. “Interested in seeing pictures of my grandbaby?”

Fucking hell, he can’t say no to her.

Simon only nods because he cannot trust his voice. Is he fracturing? What the bloody hell is wrong with him? Is it this distance? Does Simon truly miss you so much that it’s causing him to slip?

Amelia settles herself on the stool next to Simon. Bravo’s head doesn’t even lift in greeting. The German Shepard is out, completely relaxed and dozing on the floor. With phone clutched in one hand, Amelia begins to scroll through multiple pictures. Most of them are just of the baby asleep or cradled in someone’s arms.

“Her name is Lillian,” says Amelia, smiling fondly. “Named after Archie’s younger sister. Poor thing didn’t even get to see the age of three.”

The mention of Archie’s name twists Simon’s stomach. The file, its contents, and the conversation he had with Price, Johnny, and Kyle comes creeping back, wanting to sink its claws in.

“This,” and Amelia brings her phone a bit closer. “Is the day we brought her back.” Amelia hums softly. “So rosy cheeked.”

Simon grunts in agreement. It’s not the kindest response but it’s not because he doesn’t agree. Lillian is cute. She is rosy cheeked. Simon is good with kids and he likes them. But he just wants to know what is happening with you.

Amelia slides her finger across the phone’s screen only to reveal a glimpse of a possible answer to all of his questions.

This picture is one of you. In your arms, you are holding Lillian. This wasn’t taken at the hospital. This is at Amelia’s home on the sofa. Simon recognizes the fucking fabric. You’re smiling down at the girl as if she’s the most perfect thing you’ve ever seen.

At first, Simon’s mind is steady. Resolute.

But then, it drifts. Keeps floating. Floating further away until Simon is imagining that you are not holding Amelia’s grandchild at all. You are holding your child. The one you might have with him.

The thought—this image of you—is sudden and fierce. Simon cannot shake it. His mind fixates on this future as if it’s a completely plausible thing. It sticks to him like honey. Like tar. No fingers can dig in and scrape it away. No cleaning solution could scrub it off. There is no box or hole or wasteland that Simon can hurdle this idea into in the hope that he might forget it.

It has bloomed. Flowered. Roots sinking between the soft folds of his brain.

Oh.

Oh fuck.

“She needs a break,” says Amelia, her tone drifting to a far-off place, pulling Simon from his wayward dreaming.

She is looking down at her phone. She is looking at the photo of you. Amelia glances up at Simon, her features softening into gentle sadness. “That’s really why I came. Hoped you’d be here.” She shrugs.

“Here I am,” replies Simon.

Amelia nods. “Here you are,” she echoes.

Locking her phone, Amelia exchanges it for the gloves in her pockets. Simon glances over at Ben and lightly moves his empty glass in the man’s direction. He comes over and retrieves the glass.

“She’s working herself to the bone. Doing everything for Evie and I when it’s not necessary.” Amelia taps her gloves against her open palm. “And she’s too stubborn to hand the reigns over to me. The woman needs a break. Away from all of us.”

Simon understands. You’re too selfless to step aside. You need to be forced or prompted. Amelia knows this too which is why she came searching for him. Hearing that you’re overworking yourself displeases him, but he’s also bloody fucking happy that he can have you to himself for a bit.

“For how long?” asks Simon, smothering the hopefulness that wants to burst forth.

Amelia frowns in thought. “A few days. Maybe a week. If she accepts that.”

Oh, you’ll accept. Simon will see to it.

“Another drink?” Ben meanders over from the other side of the bar.

Simon shakes his head. “Paying out, Ben.”

Amelia smirks and slips on her gloves as Simon hands off what’s owed. The tension and confusion from earlier are now raw energy, pumping through his loins like electricity. The entire walk to Amelia’s is easy, all the aches and pains in his body suddenly silent as if they too are excited to see you.

When Simon enters Amelia’s home, he finds you sitting on the floor in the living room. You’re surrounded by piles of laundry. Closest to Simon are small stacks of papers. They’re scattered off to the side in some sort of organized chaos that he can’t figure out. Your laptop is open in front of you resting on an ottoman. You’re reading emails while folding laundry.

Bravo stands to the right of Simon but doesn’t move in. He’s waiting for Simon’s command but even he can feel the dog’s excitement to greet you.

You haven’t noticed Simon yet but he certainly notices you. While he’d love to stop and just bask in your beauty, there are so many other things catching his attention that give life to what Amelia was telling him.

Tiredness covers you like a weighted blanket. You’re slouched forward, each movement accompanied by a sigh and a delay that Simon doesn’t like. His gaze focuses and it is then that he sees the slight tremble in your hands as you smooth the top of a folded towel.

Behind Simon, Amelia shuts the front door. The sound of it closing jostles you. Your head snaps in his direction.

“Simon.”

It is a relief. A surprise.

The exhaustion in your voice is cold and palpable like butter right out of the fridge. You’re ready to fall over. Simon doesn’t need to guess because when you attempt to stand, you wobble a bit, reaching out to steady yourself on the sofa.

Amelia is right. You are overworking yourself.

It takes Simon three strides to get to you. Placing a hand on your shoulder, he lightly presses, indicating that you should sit back down. Without protest, you follow his silent command, and Simon sinks to your level.

“What is all this?” he asks, keeping his tone calm.

Beneath the mask, Simon is furious. Not with you but with himself. He should have listened to his instinct. He should have given in to those old impulses. If he had, he could be helping you right now and perhaps you wouldn’t be so goddamn tired.

The sigh you release if heavy like a boulder. It presses on Simon’s chest. His hand on your shoulder shifts, cradling the side of your throat, his thumb brushing against your jawline. You don’t say anything. You’re too defeated—too exhausted.

Bravo cannot reach you with Simon in the way. The German Shepard opts for the ottoman, resting his head on it, ears drooping slightly.

“Simon is going to take you for a bit.” Amelia’s voice drifts over Simon’s shoulder and your eyes widen as you glance at the woman.

“But—”

“I don’t want to hear it,” snaps Amelia. “You’re doing far too much. Let us help.”

That’s a fucking understatement.

Simon presents his other hand and you take it. His hand on your neck slips away to reach behind you to help you guide you to your feet.

 “Go pack a bag,” murmurs Simon, his palm splaying wide across your lower back. “You’re staying with me.”

Your lips part as if to form a protest but Simon isn’t having that. He arches a single eyebrow, daring you to question what he’s told you to do.

Your mouth snaps shut.

Simon leans in. “Good girl,” he whispers.

This time when your lips part, it is with surprise. You blink, a bit stunned, and then a flood of warmth rushes up your neck and cheeks, your gaze dropping to the floor, face turning away in embarrassment.

Your reaction is something. It is something other than tiredness. Other than exhaustion and weakness. This is a piece of you he’s seen before and wants to see again. You shouldn’t be shoving it away to take care of others.

Against his chest is your flattened palm. Your fingers curl inward as your embarrassed demeanor turns into observance. You’re staring at the laundry, upper body twisting back and forth as you look for something.

“What is it?” prompts Simon, following your movements as if he can read your mind and know what it is you’re searching for.

Reaching down, you toss a few unfolded pieces of laundry aside to reveal your phone. Retrieving it, you glance down at the screen.

“Shit,” you mutter. It doesn���t light up. Your phone is dead. No wonder you haven’t been answering him.

“We’ll worry about that later.” Simon nods toward the stairs. “Go.”

Back at his flat, Simon takes your packed bag and drops it off in the bedroom. You stand in the space between the living room and kitchen, lingering with your hands clasped in front of you.

“Sit. I’ll make us something.” Simon gestures toward the couch and you slowly unfurl, nearly falling into the sofa once you get there.

Simon rummages around in his pantry and fridge, knowing that it’s best to find a snack for you to munch on while he cooks dinner. When is the last time you ate a real meal or fucking slept? Would you even admit the truth to him?

He eventually brings you tea and a variety of crisps. Your “thank you” is slightly slurred like you’re close to falling into the lands of Morpheus. Bravo curls up next to you, one paw touching your thigh while the rest of his body reclines away.

Simon stays in the kitchen. When he emerges to bring you food, he finds you asleep, grasping one of the bags of crisps against your chest. The opened end is facing Bravo and the poor dog is having an existential crisis on whether or not he should stick his face in or leave the bag be.

He should let you sleep, but Simon also knows you need to fucking eat something.

Gently, Simon places your plates on the coffee table. He removes the bag of crisps from your arms before rousing you. The meal is devoured. Tea is had. Simon throws on a movie, and you snuggle up to him, sinking into his warmth.

 This is how it should be. With you in his arms.

Twenty minutes in and you’re asleep again. Simon doesn’t care at all. You are here. You are close. You are safe. Like this, Simon can protect you. He can take care of you. Simon finishes the movie by himself, deciding that only after he’ll carry you to bed.

As he shifts to lift you, you awaken slightly, arms sliding around his neck to snuggle closer. Simon turns his face into you, breathes you in, allowing your scent to fill his lungs. You’re drifting off again as he adjusts his grip and stands. His bad leg wants to give out but Simon bites back the quick flare of pain.

Fuck that. Simon is stronger than that.

In the bedroom, Simon bends at the knees, thighs straining as he tosses back the covers on one side of the bed. Sliding you underneath, he tucks you in. You turn over to face the opposite direction, arms curling around his pillow like it’s him. He watches as you bring it closer, nostrils flaring as if you’re inhaling him too.

Simon changes into more comfortable clothing before sliding in next to you.

For him, his sleep is absent of dreams.

There are no shadows or fire. No memory. Just blankness. Nothing.

He wakes early, well before the time he actually needs to open up the shop for customers. Simon doesn’t want to. He’d like to stay in bed all day with you, but he also knows that trying to rearrange today’s schedule just for a bit of personal gratification is a fucking rude thing to do.

Simon stretches, all the joints in his body popping as Bravo’s head appears above the end of the bed. The dog tilts his head and Simon gestures toward the door. Bravo takes off, heading outside to go guard the place from squirrels.

Shifting to the edge of the bed, Simon rolls his shoulders and stretches his neck. More popping but the stiffness quickly recedes.  Glancing behind him, Simon finds you still asleep. Things have changed though. The bedding is twisted around your body and you’ve removed some clothes in the night.

He cannot help himself. Simon’s gaze glides over all the exposed skin. The itch to reach out and run just his fingertips across the curve of your hip is unbearable. Simon has to clench his hands into fists just to stop himself from touching you.

Pushing off from the bed, Simon enters the bathroom, seeking a hot shower. All his clothes including his mask go on the floor. He is aching between his legs, all the blood in his body rushing happily to his quickly swelling cock.

“Fuck,” he mutters, stepping under the water.

Wrapping his hand around the base, Simon begins to stroke. The small bit of underwear he kept as a token is still tucked away in his dresser, but he doesn’t need it. Not anymore. He now has the memory of you, and the fact that you are currently in his bed. It’s enough to drive that pulsing desire higher.

Simon rests his forearm against the shower wall. He leans forward, his forehead coming into contact with that arm. He’s so fucking busy stroking his cock, that he doesn’t hear the opening of the bathroom door.

He doesn’t hear it close.

Nor does he hear the shower door.

It isn’t until your hand slides over his that Simon realizes what’s happening.

Your other hand rests against his back, splaying wide, moving up and down in gentle passes.

“Let me,” you murmur and Simon releases himself, only for you take his place, stroking him perfectly in utter pleasure.

A shiver rattles up his spine. You’re not looking at his face. You stand off to his right, face lightly pressed against the right side of his upper back near his shoulder. Lips move against skin, leaving kisses behind. You give Simon these small gifts with each stroke of your hand along his shaft.

Do you know that your mouth and hand on his back are caressing his scars? Do you know? Because Simon does, and it make him feel unworthy. Those are no longer earned marks but ones of failure.

But it’s not like you know that.

Over the scars is ink. Black ink. Perhaps you feel their lines and ridges under the tattoos. Perhaps you don’t. Yet Simon knows, and he doesn’t hate the touch. Other people he’s fucked have touched them, commented on them, tried to even sexualize them.

You’re not touching the scars. You are but you aren’t. You’re touching him. Touching Simon.

With a gentle twist of your wrist, you glide down his cock and circle the head with your thumb. Simon groans, leaning into your hold. He imagines you sinking to your knees and taking him into your mouth. He imagines you spreading your legs wide in open invitation. Of him sliding into you, watching himself disappear into your welcoming body.

Your pace increases slightly, just enough to drag Simon toward his end.

He bursts, his release marking the wall, but Simon is already grabbing your wrist, twisting around to face you.

You’re fast. Already, you have one hand thrown over your eyes, a playful smile plastered on your face.

Simon doesn’t care. Not really. The mask is just habit.

Gently, Simon guides your hand away from your face and yet you still keep your eyes closed.

“Don’t want to look at me?” he asks teasingly.

You giggle. “Feels a bit wrong.”

Simon smirks and then grabs your shoulders, turning you around to face the shower wall. He leans down, pressing his lips to your ear. “Your turn.”

Your hands go out to steady yourself as Simon slides his hand between your legs. He moans softly at the contact. You’re already wet for him, and it’s not because of the water. You’re fucking aroused. Needy. All Simon can think about is fucking you with his fingers before he fucks you with his tongue.

Simon wants to give you more but that has to wait. When he takes you like that, he needs to have all of you. Without interruptions. Without distractions. That’s how he wanted it to be three years ago at Riot Room. He wanted to take you home and fuck you on and over every surface in his flat. He wanted to make you scream his name until your voice went hoarse.

He circles your clit with his thumb a few times before testing with a finger. It slides right in and Simon feels the gentle flutter of your pussy adjusting to him. With his other hand, Simon slides it up your body to grab the front of your throat, holding you still. He presses his lips to the top of your head, not caring that the water is close to running into his eyes.

Simon begins to thrust and swirl, inserting a second finger quickly, wanting to feel how you’ll stretch for him. You whimper when his thumb makes another pass over your clit. It is sweet and Simon grins against your scalp, drinking in your little sounds.

But you are also reaching for him, left hand dropping from the wall to move behind you, palming his cock back to hardness even as Simon’s fingers fuck your pussy. You rock back, indicating what you want.

Simon nearly loses it right then.

He nearly snaps.

All he has to do is arch your hips a bit, maybe bend slightly at the knee. He’d fucking slide right in. He could fuck you right here against the shower wall, watch you whimper and beg, pinned between two hard surfaces.

You arch your back. Rub against him. His cock slides against the spot where your cunt and his fingers meet.

A vision of you clawing at the shower wall as he fucks you senseless clouds his mind. It infiltrates. Digs its feet in.

Simon nearly gives in right then as you orgasm, squeezing around his fingers. He nearly breaks the promise to himself.

But he somehow controls himself. Instead of giving in, Simon removes his hand from between your legs and twists his fingers in your hair, tugging to arch your back and bend you enough so he can reach that gorgeous fucking mouth.

His lips come down on yours and you moan against him. Simon’s hand at your throat eases, slips away, trailing over breast and waist and hip before stabilizing on your lower stomach. With this support, Simon slides his cock between your legs.

He does not penetrate, just rocks back and forth. With your thighs pressed together, and the slickness of your orgasm freshly coating your sex, he can pretend he’s inside you. Simon knows it isn’t enough but it’ll have to do for now.

The hand on your stomach sinks lower, shifting to your pelvis. His fingers find your clit. You’re already so sensitive from the previous orgasm that the second takes moments to come to life. Simon savors it, allows it to feed his own movements until he cannot contain his own. Pressing on your pelvis, Simon keeps you in place as finishes, his cock soaking in your juices.

The water is growing cold and Simon is fucking smug.

Slowly, he eases his cock from between your thighs, perfectly content with what just transpired. But his cum is fucking everywhere. It’s literally dripping from your sex.

“Fuck,” murmurs Simon, gently wiping some of that away with water.

That’s something the two of you need to fucking discuss. The first time the two of you had sex, there was a condom. This time, Simon doesn’t want there to be any barriers, but that cannot fucking happen without birth control. You might not be on it, and if that’s the case, the two of you will have to figure something else out.

You press into him. “Simon,” you groan, lips parting in wanton need.

A growl leaves his throat as he gives you what he wants. He nips and sucks on your bottom lip before drawing away, leaving you to face the shower wall. Simon shuts off the water and lightly tugs on your hand.

“Come on.”

He tugs on your hand again but you don’t move. Frowning, Simon grabs your shoulders and forces you to turn.

He blinks and then bursts out laughing. “What are you doing?” Your eyes are closed and your mouth is a thin line. “You can look at me.”

“I don’t believe you.”

Simon chuckles, releasing your shoulders. He places one hand flat against the shower wall. Leaning in, Simon drops his voice to low purr. “Think I’m monstrous?”

With his words come the pebbling of your skin. He watches in real time as it fans out across your body. He grins in triumph.

“The very worst,” you reply softly.

Pushing off from the wall, Simon stands tall, shoulders squared, chest forward. “Look at me,” he says, and this time it’s a command.

You suck in a breath before one eye opens. It’s more of a squint but then you open the other, blinking a few times.

For some stupid fucking reason, Simon is a bit nervous. He’s never been nervous like this. Not when it comes to his face.

At first, your eyes widen, and Simon’s chest clenches tight as if a ribbon is twisted around his ribcage. Then, your brow softens, and your mouth forms the most gorgeous smile he’s ever seen. Your hands instantly reach toward his face in eagerness only to pause just before making contact.

The retreat is shallow. You’re asking permission.

“It’s okay,” murmurs Simon, because it is.

You close this distance and Simon turns his face into your soft hands. Your thumbs stroke over his cheeks. Your fingers trace his brow and nose. Every touch is exploratory and gentle, but fucking bliss.

“Hiding all this from me?” you tease. “You’ve been holding out on me, Simon.”

He chuckles, happiness vibrating in his chest. Clasping your hands with his own, Simon brings them down to his chest. In one motion, the two of you are coming together, lips meeting. This is all softness. All tenderness.

Simon draws back, licks his lips. “Will you go away with me?”

“On a trip?”

He nods, stealing one more kiss before continuing. “Next weekend? I can move a few things around.”

“I’m not sure,” you say slowly.

“If you say no I’m telling Amelia.”

You laugh, almost snort, and shake your head. “Fine. Where to?”

“It’s a surprise,” whispers Simon.

You pull back slightly, an amused expression on your face. Simon grins and steps out of the shower, bringing you with him. With towel in hand, Simon soaks up the droplets on his skin. He never takes his eyes off you as you dry yourself. The moment you’re done, Simon snags the towel from you and tosses it to the side.

“Come here,” he growls, needing you all over again.

You playfully bat at his hands but it’s all for show. You easily give in to him, allowing Simon to drag you onto the bed. He sighs as he pushes your legs wide, settling between them to drape one over each of his shoulders.

Dragging you to his mouth, Simon forgoes all teasing and closes the distance. Your back arches off the bed, hands flying to his head as his tongue penetrates your pussy.

It is morning.

He’s simply enjoying his breakfast.

And Simon won’t leave the table until he’s finished his meal.

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[ashortdropandasuddenstop]

James prowled the command center like a predator caged too. His movements were sharp, his eyes scanning every screen and display, his demeanor a storm barely held at bay. The techs worked feverishly, heads down to avoid his piercing gaze. Every second that passed without a lead was a second closer to disaster.

His mind raced, caught between fury and desperation. Homelander was somewhere, vulnerable, and he wasn’t there to stop it. He couldn’t feel their bond clearly, but he refused to believe it was severed. No, it was there—dim, muted. He’s alive. I’ll find him.

Forty-eight agonizing minutes passed before one of the techs, a young woman with trembling hands, called out. "Sir, I think I found something."

James was at her station in an instant, his presence looming. “Show me.”

She rewound the footage, and the screen displayed Homelander backstage at an event, a faint smile on his lips as he picked up a glass of milk from a tray. The tray’s handler wasn’t a staff member James recognized—clad in black, face obscured. Seconds later, Homelander swayed, the glass slipping from his hand. His powerful frame crumpled as the mysterious figure threw a sheet over him, then casually wheeled him away on a cart.

James's body went rigid, and from deep within his throat came an unearthly hiss-growl—half tiger, half serpent. The sound silenced the room, every tech freezing in place as primal fear clawed at their senses.

James snapped his attention back to the team. "Cross-reference every camera angle and staff list. Find out who she is and how she got past security."

The techs scrambled to obey, but James was already moving, his speed defying human comprehension. He was gone in a blur, a sharp rush of air left in his wake.

The backstage area still held traces of her scent. A sickly sweet perfume tinged with chemical sharpness. James inhaled deeply, his preternatural senses locking onto the trail. Got you.

Unaware of what was coming..

Angela tilted her head as she observed Mirrorlander. His growls and snarls would’ve been intimidating to anyone else, but she had long since become desensitized to his displays of aggression. Instead, she saw them for what they were: a wounded animal lashing out.

“You always think brute force is the answer, don’t you?” she said, her tone tinged with mockery. “You can hiss and growl all you want, baby, but it will get you nowhere. This—” she gestured to the cage and the searing heat surrounding it, “—this is your reality now. The sooner you accept it, the easier this will be for both of us.”

Mirrorlander’s attitude irritated her more than she cared to admit.

“You want answers? Fine,” she snapped, crossing her arms. “You were never supposed to be like this. You were meant to be perfect. A symbol. Untouchable. But you were corrupted—twisted by the lies of people who don’t understand you. That’s why I’m here. To fix you. To make you whole again.”

She leaned closer to the cage, the heat making her skin glisten with perspiration. “But you’re right about one thing. I do fear you. Only a fool wouldn’t. And I may have watched them break you, but I also saw you rise above it. I helped create you, John. You belong to me, no matter what delusions you’ve filled your head with.”

But Homelander made a mistake in telling her he belonged to someone else and the jealousy clearly filled her expression. Angela’s voice lowered, a venomous edge creeping in. “Who is she!?” she asked suddenly, her eyes narrowing as jealousy flared in her tone. “This… woman you keep thinking about. Don’t think I haven’t noticed. You’ve never let anyone else get close to you, so who is she?”

She straightened, her expression twisting with a toxic blend of curiosity and fury. “Does she even know what you really are? Does she know the monster you become when the mask slips?”

Mirrorlander was on edge, haunches taught as he paced within the cage. His priority was keeping John safe, protecting him as best he could until rescue arrived. While he didn’t like relying on anyone, even the demon knew that James was their only hope, the only one that would know, that would sense something was wrong. Even if they couldn’t communicate through their bond, it didn’t mean it wasn’t there. Instinct would take over. At least, that’s what Mirrorlander was relying on.

He was an animal, not a man. He growled and snarled at Angela as she watched and chided him like a child. He hated it. Hated her. He wanted nothing more than to rip her to shreds, to fill the cage with her blood. Instead, he had to endure her annoying voice and equally annoying words. “I haven’t forgotten. How could I went you and the others brainwashed me, engrained it into me from the moment I can remember?!” He hissed, shaking his head. “What you consider to be for my own good, is sealing your own demise. Of course you claim to care, to love me. Yet you won’t set food inside this cage nor let me out, will you? Because you fear me and what I’m capable of.” He smirked, all teeth and fangs. “And you have right to be.”

The demon laughed then, a dark and broken laugh. “Took care of me?!?! Is that what you call it? Funny way of showing it. No. No, you’re mistaken. Always have been. It’s why you were let go. You never were good at your job, were you Angela? Always let emotions get in the way. Thinking that somehow I was yours when I belong to only one. And that is not you.” Mirrorlander didn’t realise the words he’d said until they’d been spoken. Had he…admitted to belonging to the leech? Something he swore he’d never do. It would have to wait. There were more important matters at hand.

The moment he caught Angela’s hands brushing over the dials, the demon knew what was coming. He pushed John further, deeper into the back of his mind and locked him away in a safe space. A cocoon of sorts, to spare him for what was to come. Mirrorlander glares and clenched his jaw, bracing for it. He’d been through this before, he could handle it again and spare John the pain. That’s the whole reason why he existed after all, right? He was a shield. John’s sins incarnate, getting what he deserved. The moment that dial turned and he felt the heat, the demon growled, hand pressed against the cage for support as he withstood the heat. The burn. Yet he didn’t scream. No. He wouldn’t give Angela the satisfaction.

His brows furrowed, yet that glare remained. It was evident the heat was hurting, yet Mirrorlander endured. He breathed heavily, the cage quickly growing suffocating, the heat eating up all the oxygen. He could withstand loss of air for a long time, yet it wasn’t comfortable by any means. And then…within the heat and through the haze, Mirrorlander found memories flashing through his mind. Memories and pictures of…the leech. Of James. Happier times…times of them together. Laughing and joking. Times when the demon lay his claim and how good it felt for them both…

Why…why was the demon thinking of him of all people. The brat, his toy. Nothing more. Only…the more he thought of James, the less he felt the pain. And the more he could endure.

Mirrorlander hissed and growled as he panted. Despite the heat, his skin didn’t char. “You…will get nothing from me. The moment you put me in here…was the moment you caused your own demise. The only…affection you’ll get…is death.” He panted, and despite everything going on, a smirk formed on those dangerous features.

[ragingbookdragon]

Tonight You're Gonna Go Down In Flames, Just Like Jesse James

A Jason Todd x Reader Story

Word Count: 7.9K Warnings: Explicit Language, Angst, Mentions of Blood and Violence

Author's Note: This is the series I did a week or so ago. I figured I'd combine it into one big document so no one had to go searching for all the parts. Enjoy! -Thorne

**********************************************************************

It was a horrible idea in the first place and yet, of all the bad decisions she’d made in her entire life, this one apparently was going to take first place. Of course, part of her told her to just chuck her feelings into the back of her mind and leave them there, but the longer she spent around him, the stronger they got. And regardless of how terrible her love life was—and to be completely honest, it was horrible—she was going to admit her feelings and accept whatever outcome came. What’s the worst he could say? No? No, she didn’t think he’d say that. He flirted with her all the time, called her doll, and complimented her on her reading habits—no one had ever done that.

***

She shifted the red roses into the crook of her elbow, free hand nervously smoothing down her pink sundress, discomfort running up and down her spine as she waited on the front porch of the imposing manor. She’d gone to his apartment earlier but after he hadn’t answered, she remembered that he’d once mentioned the manor as a secondary hangout, prompting her to go there after.

Inhaling sharply, she quickly took the flowers back into her hand when the door opened, and she smiled widely at the older man who stood before her. “Hello, you must be Mister Pennyworth.” she greeted warmly. “I’m (Y/N) (L/N), a friend of Jason’s. Is he here?” she raised the flowers and the gift box in her hand. “I’ve got something for him.”

The man smiled and stepped aside, letting her in. “Of course, Miss (Y/N), please allow me to fetch Master Jason.”

“Oh, you don’t have to call me—and he’s already gone,” she whispered. “Wow, he moves fast for an old man.” Her eyes drifted to the portrait above the hall table and she smiled at the faces of him and his brothers. They looked rather regal for the humorous stories he told her all the time. Footsteps drew her attention away and she turned, smiling at Jason as he walked towards her. He wore a surprised smile, but it was a smile, nonetheless.

“(Y/N)? What are you doing here?” he asked and when she opened her mouth all she managed was a dumb, ‘uh…’ then she shoved the flowers in his face.

“These are for you.” She replied, face heating up as his fingers brushed hers when he took them.

Jason brought the bouquet of roses to his nose and inhaled. “Wow, they’re beautiful, (Y/N).” He gave her that smile that had her stomach fluttering. “Thank you.”

She nodded and held the gift box up too, no longer than about nine inches and about eight wide. “This is for you too.”

“Thank you,” he said, tucking the flowers into his elbow while he unwound the twine rope and opened the box top. He shifted away the tissue paper and pulled out a small book, about the size of his hand and his eyes went wide. “Is this—”

(Y/N) nodded. “Yeah! You mentioned that you wanted a pocket booklet of Emily Dickinson’s poems…so I went scrounging some old bookstores and found one.” She smiled bashfully. “For you.”

He huffed a laugh of disbelief and pulled her in for a quick hug. She tried not to pass out in his arms as he breathed in her ear, “Thank you, (Y/N). Really, thank you, so much.”

“It was no big deal,” she brushed off, pulling away from him and he shook his head.

“Well, it is to me,” he retorted with a grin, then gestured to her. “But I don’t understand, what brought this on?” he nudged her in the side humorously quipping, “I didn’t forget a gift exchange, did I?”

(Y/N) laughed. “No, no you didn’t, it’s just…” she trailed off, falling quiet.

“It’s just…” he repeated, tone and eyes ever curious, and she swallowed thickly.

It’s now or never, (Y/N). Just tell him how you feel.

She motioned to the book. “Well…they say it’s easier to relay feelings when you give gifts.” Smiling, she confessed, “Jason, I…have feelings for you. Really, really strong feelings.” He went slack jawed, and though she felt a pang of embarrassment, she kept speaking. “And I was wondering if maybe you’d like to go out on a date with me tonight? There’s this really nice café uptown that has good soups…or maybe we could go to a bar and get a beer together?”

Clearing her throat, she added, with a flustered smile, “Whatever you wanna do of course. I’d be happy as long as you’re with me.”

He was silent. Jason was completely silent, and she wasn’t sure what was worse, his silence or the shock etched across his face, but she kept hoping for the best. That was until he said her name. And the tone he used…she knew instantly what was coming and all she wanted to do was shove her hand against his mouth and tell him to forget she ever said anything.

“(Y/N)…” he started sympathetically, recovering rather slowly. “I’m flattered,” he admitted, raising the flowers and book in his hands. “For the gifts, really I am…but…” Jason shook his head and gave her a pitied smile. “But I don’t feel the same way that you do…and I am sorry.”

For a moment she couldn’t remember how to breathe, simply gazing at the man she’d been friends with for the past seven months and trying to figure out how she interpreted every moment so horribly wrong. All the kind words and hugs. All the smiles and laughter. All of it.

“(Y/N)?” Jason worried. “Are you alright?”

She blinked, suddenly feeling a flush of coldness ebbing out through her stomach and down her limbs; she nodded, pursing her lips. “Yeah—I’m okay.” (Y/N) cleared her throat and pointed back towards the door. “I’m…I’m gonna go…”

She hadn’t even gotten a foot away when he caught the sleeve of her pink sweater and stopped her. “(Y/N), I’m really sorry. I don’t mean to hurt you like this.”

Sucking up all the embarrassment and heartbreak back in, she turned and let out a ‘pfft’, waving her hand as she lied, “What? No! I totally get it, Jason. Absolutely.”

He seemed unconvinced and she hated how he always knew something was off about her at every moment. “Are you sure?”

(Y/N) couldn’t fight the wobble in her lip as she nodded. “Mhm. Completely.” She tugged out of his grasp. “But I totally remembered that I have a thing to do. A very important thing not here.” She gestured to the door. “So I should go. Like now.”

This time, she didn’t wait when he called out to her and she yanked open the door and closed it behind her as fast as she could, hurrying down the steps to her car.

She climbed in, immediately gripped the steering wheel and pressed her forehead to the top of it, eyes starting to water as she tried to get her breathing under control. Her fingers fumbled with the keys and after the fourth missing of the ignition, she burst into tears and dropped her keys. Her lips wobbled and her sight was blinded as she reached for her keys in the floorboard and when she got them, she shoved them into the slot and twisted, barely hearing the engine roaring to life.

Wiping a hand across her face, she could’ve cared less about the makeup smearing across her skin and she put the car into drive, hoping that with every foot of distance she put between her car and the manor, she could leave a broken heart behind.

Because what was the worst thing he could’ve said?

No?

That was exactly it.

***Part Two***

Of all the bad decisions she’d ever made, this was probably the worst, and all she wanted to do was crawl into a hole and ride out every emotion that was coming onto her like a maelstrom. Every bad date, every failed notion of love just kept washing over her, but this one seemed like the nail in the coffin. She drove aimlessly for hours before she realized it was seven o’clock; a quick stop at her apartment and she fed her cat, also wiping the makeup and tear tracks off her skin before she wandered on foot with the direction of anywhere and nowhere.

***

Collapsing onto one of the benches that sat at the pier of Gotham Bay, she sighed heavily and gazed out at the water. It was calm compared to the storm inside and she propped her elbow on the railing, fist against her cheek, sighing again.

There was no way she could go to work and act like everything was okay. Kelly-Anne was going to drill her all about her “date” and she didn’t even go on one. She groaned. I never should’ve told her that I was going to ask Jason out. That’s going to be more embarrassing than being rejected by him. Another groan escaped her and she bent forward, burying her face in the floral dress pattern. I even wore a stupid dress and heels. Going slack, she let her feelings wash over her.

Something grabbed her shoulder. “Hey.”

“AHHHHH!” She yanked away, shooting up to see one of the masked vigilantes of Gotham city before her.

“Woah, woah!” they calmed, hands outstretched non-threateningly. “I’m not gonna hurt you!”

She pressed a hand to her chest and let out a sigh of relief, reclining on the bench as she heaved, “Oh my God, I thought—I don’t know what I thought you were.” A flighty laugh passed her lips. “You scared the hell out of me, Nightwing.”

He smiled and laughed. “Sorry. I saw you over here and thought I was going to find a new reason to call GCPD.”

“No, no,” she affirmed. “Just…dealing with things.”

Taking a seat beside her, he crossed his ankles and leaned back on the bench. “By groaning beside Gotham Bay at nine o’clock?”

She shot him a heat-less glare. “It was that or drown myself in cheap wine and Lewis Capaldi.”

He seemed to know what she was talking about, surmising, “Heartache?”

“Like you wouldn’t believe,” she muttered, lolling her head back on the bench, trying to ignore his steady gaze.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

“(Y/N). (Y/N) (L/N).” She grinned. “What’s yours?”

Nightwing chuckled. “Afraid I can’t give that out or I’ll be in with the Big-Bat.” She giggled and he followed with, “Do you wanna talk about it?”

(Y/N) pursed her lips and shook her head. “Nah…you’ve got better things to do than help a girl nurse a broken heart.”

“Sometimes the better thing to do is talk with someone.” When she met his eyes, he smiled wholeheartedly. “Try me. I’m a good listener.”

Something ached in her chest and after a moment of staring at him, she swallowed thickly and sighed. “There’s this guy I’ve been friends with for a few months now. And he’s really kind and intelligent and super good looking and I—” she shrugged. “I fell in love with him. I mean, it was hard not too with how amazing of a man he is.”

Nightwing nodded. “What’s his name?”

“Jason Todd,” she said, and she couldn’t help the smile that came across her lips. “One of the first times we were hanging out, I told him that his first name meant healer in Greek…but he didn’t seem too keen on that definition.”

“How come?” he inquired, and she shrugged again.

“I don’t really know…Jason’s never been all that open about his past.” (Y/N) looked at him. “I think some bad things happened to him when he was younger and he just…doesn’t let people in easily.” She managed a smile. “I feel like all the times he did tell me about his life, it made me feel special, you know? Knowing he trusted me enough to tell me.”

“You really seem to love him,” Nightwing noted and she couldn’t help the tears that gathered in her eyes.

“I do…Jason���s the first guy that’s ever seen me for me.” (Y/N) pursed her lips. “I’m weird. I work in a library and books are my life and I can talk your ear off about how Raymond Carver single-handedly saved the short story genre.” she sighed. “And I’ve always been the nerdy girl in the friend groups who watched everyone else fall in love while she pined from a distance.” She huffed a pitiful laugh that made even his heart tighten. “I mean, I even went to prom alone.”

Her eyes found his. “But Jason made me feel special. He listened and didn’t get upset when I apologized for talking so much. He just smiled and asked me to keep going.” (Y/N) wiped at her eyes. “I thought that we were getting closer, but God I saw all the signs of him being a good friend as romantic.” She groaned and buried her face in her hands. “And it’s so embarrassing to admit that I’m so starved of love that I saw them as loving gestures.” Another groan escaped her. “And then I asked him out today and got rejected.”

He blinked in shock, wondering why his brother would let this girl go. Obviously, they were perfect for each other. He didn’t tell her that though, instead asking, “What happened?”

(Y/N) moaned. “I showed up at his house with flowers and a book he’d been talking about.” She smushed her cheeks and glared out at the water. “And he was really nice about letting me down easy and I wish I could be upset about that, but I can’t because he was respectful.”

She sat back up on the bench and they both gazed at the stars. “Please tell me that even cute superheroes like you have romantic problems.”

Nightwing chuckled and nodded. “Oh, you’d be totally surprised.”

“Yeah?” (Y/N) giggled and he hummed.

“Two of my exes are super-heroines and they’re really good friends.”

She blinked at him. “Okay, yeah, you win, Nightwing.”

He chuckled and turned his neck, falling silent a moment to gaze at her. “…It does get better, (Y/N).”

Her lips pursed. “I know…I just have to wait it out.” She stared into his eyes. “But I don’t think anyone will ever be as great as Jason is.” Her eyes fell to the water and she sighed, “Is it too much to ask though…that I find someone to hold my hand and love me?”

Nightwing took her hand and laced their fingers. “I can’t do the second thing, but I can do the first for a while…if you want?”

(Y/N)’s eyes watered, and she squeezed his hand. “Yeah…I’d like that.” She propped her head on his shoulder, feeling his cheek press against the top of her head.

“Tell me what your favorite poem is, (Y/N).”

“I’ll bore you to death, Nightwing. And I apologize…a lot.”

“Someone tell you that no one cares when you were younger?”

“More than I’m comfortable admitting,” she sniffed. “From a lot of people I respected too.”

Nightwing hummed. “Well…I’m not them. And I care about what your favorite poem is.” He thumbed the back of her hand. “Please tell me.”

She sighed heavily and murmured, “I will hold you with harbor arms. The lighthouse finding a ship against the lonely sea. A shelter as your legs give out under torrential rain. What I’m trying to tell you is, you are safe here.”

He was silent for a minute, then he whispered, “That’s beautiful, (Y/N).”

“I think about it a lot…about it and Jason,” she replied quietly. “I think he’s afraid of love—of loving someone. I’d give anything to let him know that I’m not afraid of whatever skeletons he’s got in his closet…that…that I’m not afraid of him or what he’s afraid he is.”

Tears gathered in her eyes and she turned her head, quietly sobbing into his shoulder. “I’m sorry,” she cried. “I shouldn’t be—I shouldn’t—”

“Shhh,” he whispered, pulling his hand away from hers to curl around her shoulders, giving her a hug. “Let it out. I’m not here to judge you.” He wrapped his other arm around her, resting his chin on her head. “Let it all go, (Y/N).”

And she did. Every rejection throughout her life, from elementary school to high school to every college bar, she let out. Every “You’re not my type” and “I don’t date X girls” she let go of with every heart wrenching sob that tore her throat.

***

She didn’t know how long she cried, but when she was gone, Nightwing’s shoulder was completely soaked and (Y/N) had a raging headache to go with her heartache.

“Feel better?” he questioned when her sobs had subsided into sniffles every minute or two.

“Yeah,” she whispered. “A lot.”

Nightwing smiled. “Sometimes a good cry is all we need.”

“Mhm,” she agreed. “It’s cathartic.”

“Alright, Aristotle,” he chuckled and to her surprise, she found herself laughing. “And there’s the smile!” he cheered, letting her pull away to wipe her face.

“Sorry for boohooing on your shoulder,” (Y/N) apologized and he merely shook his head.

“Nah, don’t mention it.” He brushed off. “I hope someone like you would do the same for me if I needed it.”

She giggled. “Then we’ll meet here when we need good cries, huh, Nightwing?”

He held out his hand, watching her shake it. “Sounds like a good plan, (Y/N).” A siren went off in the distance and his face shifted instantaneously as he rose to his feet. “Rain check on the cry days.”

(Y/N) waved him off. “Don’t worry about it, go save the city.” As he started off, she called out, “Nightwing!”

He spun just for a moment. “Yeah?”

“Thank you,” she smiled.

“Anytime, (Y/N),” he winked and turned, sprinting off.

“Be careful!” she yelled and laughed when he waved a hand in the distance.

***Part Three***

She balanced the tin of cupcakes in one hand and opened the door with the other, already more than nervous as she stepped into GCPD. Some of the officers smiled and nodded at her while others merely watched as she walked up to the desk and cleared her throat.

“Excuse me,” she interrupted. “Is Commissioner Gordon here? I’d like to speak with him.”

The man’s eyes went from the cupcake tin to her face and he asked. “Can I ask what for?”

“Oh, yes, I just need to speak with him about something…involving Batman’s, uh…helpers?” she winced. “It’ll be quick, I promise.”

He cocked a brow, but shrugged and grabbed the phone, pushing a button. “Sir, you’ve got someone here to see you…no sir, she just said it dealt with Batman and the others…understood sir.” He hung the phone up. “He’ll over soon.”

“Thank you,” she smiled, and waited for the detective to arrive. When he did, she held her hand out, “Commissioner Gordon?”

He shook her hand. “Good evening, young lady. What can I do for you?”

“Well, I’m (Y/N) and um…it’s a bit complicated actually.”

“We live in a city with men and women who dress up in costumes and fight insane clowns.” He snorted. “We do complicated around here.”

(Y/N) huffed a laugh and nodded. “That’s fair, Commissioner Gordon.” She raised the tray of cupcakes in her hand. “This is going to be really weird, but I was wondering if I could use the spotlight to…call one of them.”

Gordon’s eyes drifted from the cupcakes to her, then back to the desserts. “You wanna use the Bat-Signal to get one of them…so you can give them cupcakes?”

Her mouth opened and closed, then she admitted, “Okay, that sounded a lot better in my head.” She sighed. “It’s not crazy, I swear but—”

“Why don’t you follow me to my office, and we can talk about this, hmm?” he asked, and she nodded.

“That sounds great, sir.” She followed close behind him to a closed-off room and took a seat in one of the chairs in front of his desk, waiting for him to sit in his chair.

“So,” he started when he sat down. “Start from the beginning of why you wanna give Batman cupcakes.”

(Y/N)’s cheeks warmed, and she murmured, “Nightwing. I want to give them to Nightwing, actually.” He cocked a brow but said nothing and she cleared her throat. “So, the other week, Nightwing helped me out with something and to repay the debt, I made these.”

“What’d he help you with?” Gordon questioned and she played with the hem of her sweater.

“Uh, he…he, um, helped me with a um…a really embarrassing rejection.” She waved her hand. “And I sobbed like a baby on his shoulder and I just wanna give him these in return and tell him sorry for taking up his valuable time.” (Y/N)’s cheeks felt like they were on fire and she begged, “Please let me use the signal to call and I’ll leave. Promise, sir.”

Gordon watched her for a moment then he chuckled and rose from his desk. “I’ve been doing this for about forty years, and nothing has ever been this funny in my entire life.” She sighed, thinking a ‘no’ was coming and he stood beside her. “Come with me to the elevator and we’ll go up.”

(Y/N) blinked in disbelief. “Wait, what? You’re going to let me?”

“Of all the things I’ve ever had someone come in and ask for? Delivering cupcakes is a new one. And I pride myself on getting the new ones.” He smiled. “Come on.”

Not wanting to blow her chance, she hurried after him with a big smile on her face and soon she was standing next to the giant spotlight, watching it silhouette against the night sky. She waited for a moment, then asked, “So how long does this usually take?”

He grunted. “Takes longer when you ask how long it takes.”

“That makes sense,” she laughed, and someone cleared their throat behind them. Both her and Gordon startled, though his reaction was less noticeable than hers, whereas she jumped a foot in the air.

“Red Hood,” Gordon greeted, holding out a hand to shake. “Good to see you, son.”

“Good to see you as well, Commissioner Gordon.” Red Hood replied. “Big-Bat in charge sent me here to see what was going on. Is everything alright?”

“Yeah,” Gordon said, motioning to (Y/N). “You’ve got a visitor.”

The vigilante turned to her as if finally noticing her presence and he asked, “What’s wrong?”

(Y/N) held out the cupcake tin to him. “I was wondering if you could give these to Nightwing.”

Red Hood glanced down at the cupcakes. “Why’d you make cupcakes for that jerk-off?”

She was shocked to hear such an insult and she bit out, “Well maybe because I wanted to, jerk-off.” He was probably scowling at her from behind that mask, but she wasn’t going to back down. “Nightwing did me a favor last week and I always repay my debts.” (Y/N) held out the tin again. “Will you please give these to him and tell him thank you for his pep-talk?”

Red Hood took the tin from her, asking quietly, “What’d he help you with?”

“Oh my God, why does everyone wanna know?” she griped, then exhaled through her nose. “Fine, I got rejected by a guy I’m in love with, and I boohooed like a baby on a park bench with Nightwing holding my hand like a parent to a child and being super sympathetic.” (Y/N) glared, though she appeared flustered. “Are you happy now, Red Hood?”

“Be a lot happier if you weren’t giving my brother cupcakes,” he muttered under his breath and looked at her. “Do you want the Tupperware back?”

She nodded. “Just tell him that I’ll be back at the bench on Friday this week to pick it up. Same time as the other week.”

“I’ll tell him,” Red Hood said with a rather annoyed tone and started back towards the other side of the building.

“Red Hood!” she called out and he paused, glancing back at her. “Look…I know you’re busy with other things. So…thank you for doing this. Really, I appreciate it.”

He shook his head, murmuring softly, “Don’t worry about it, (Y/N).” And he was gone.

Gordon walked over to her and rested a hand on her shoulder. “Miss (Y/N)? Are you alright?”

She blinked and nodded, though she felt a great deal of confusion as she said, “He knew my name?”

***

Jason watched his brothers dig into the cupcakes, groaning about how good they were. He didn’t even need to eat the one he had in his hand because he knew. He knew she made the best baked goods he’d ever had, especially these ones which were her specialty. Double Dutch Chocolate Cupcakes with little pink, shimmering pearls. She put them on because she thought they were cute.

He glanced down at the cupcake in his hands, asking, “How do you know, (Y/N), Dick?”

The eldest brother paused mid-chew and stared at him with a dumbfounded expression. “Huh?”

“Cupcakes,” Jason said, gesturing to them. “She made them as a thanks to you. For last week.” He looked at his brother. “What for?”

Dick swallowed the bite he’d been chewing and nonchalantly replied, “Oh, nothing big. Just being friendly.” He shrugged. “How do you know her?”

Jason scowled. “Don’t do that shit. We both know how I know her.”

“Oh, right! The rejection after the flowers and book!” Dick exclaimed, taking another bite. “So, why’d you say no anyway? She seems like great girl.”

“She is,” he agreed. “The greatest.”

Tim elbowed Dick in the ribs, murmuring, “Is this Jason admitting he’s in love?”

“I don’t know,” Dick replied. “Jaybird, if you’re this pissed at me—”

“I’m not pissed,” he retorted, very much so pissed. “I just don’t want her getting involved with this.”

Dick’s mouth formed an ‘o’. “So that’s why you rejected her. You’re afraid of letting her know about everything.” He hummed knowingly. “See, she said that was probably it. That you’re scared.”

“What?” Jason’s eyes widened. “What’d she say to you?” He handed his younger brother a thumb drive. “What’s this?”

“Recording of the conversation I had with her last Friday,” he replied. “I was planning on giving it to you later tonight.” Dick laid a hand on Jason’s shoulder and murmured, “She’s not going to run away if you’re vulnerable with her Jason.” He nodded to the flash drive. “She’s stronger than you’re giving her credit for.” Dick patted his shoulder and took the cupcake from Jason’s other hand, biting into it. “Oh my God,” he groaned, walking off. “What does she put in these things? They’re addicting.”

***

I’m not afraid of him or what he’s afraid he is.

Jason put his forehead on the desk and stared at the floor, not really sure what was tightening worse, his chest or his throat, but something in the mix started hurting and he let out a shaky breath, vision blurring and he squeezed his eyes shut to keep the tears at bay. Rejecting her affections meant she forgot about him. She forgot that he existed, and she stayed safe. She stayed alive. Jason wanted that. He wanted (Y/N) to grow old with someone and have a family, not die an early death at the hands of some crazed villain or worse, a failure of his saving.

He let out a low groan and rubbed his forehead against the desk, wishing that it would solve all his problems. Mostly the ones in his broken heart. They had texted each other and video called constantly. Usually meeting up once a week to hang out somewhere or go get dinner. His entire life had changed in one conversation, and the only thing he regretted more than telling her he didn’t feel the same way and making her cry was watching her lie that she hadn’t been bothered when he knew deep down that her heart was shattered. He knew it because he watched her breakdown in her car through the manor window before she pulled out of the driveway.

Maybe Dick was right though…and that thought made him wanna vomit because younger-brother syndrome was a real thing and listening to your older brother wasn’t fun. But if she were that honest with Nightwing, that real with him, then maybe he could tell her the truth. All of it. About everything he was hiding from her. His past and most importantly his feelings for her. Maybe he could really keep her safe if he did.

Maybe Jason could be the one she grew old with. The one who held her hand and loved her.

***Part Four***

“I don’t wanna die,” she whimpered, grasping at his wrists that were digging into her side. “Please, I don’t wanna die now.” Tears slipped down her cheeks and she let out a sob. “I don’t wanna die.”

He cupped her cheek, brushing his thumb across her skin. “You’re not going to die.” He promised. “I’m not going to let you die here.”

Her eyes found his behind the domino mask and she whimpered again. “I’m scared, Red Hood.”

“I’m going to save you. I swear I will.” He ignored the blood that had smeared across her cheek and pressed his hand back to her bleeding abdomen, tears of his own gathering in his vision as he whispered, “I won’t lose you too.”

***

She couldn’t help but look to her wristwatch again, just to make sure she hadn’t been late. Of course, she’d gotten there fifteen minutes early, but still—time was a funny thing and sometimes she found herself late to things even if she’d arrived early. She should’ve just told Red Hood to let Nightwing keep the Tupperware, but that thing was like forty dollars and it was her favorite cupcake tin—she wasn’t letting that go.

Footsteps sounded through the traffic from her right and she looked up, smile faltering just slightly when she saw Red Hood coming her way instead of Nightwing. “Hey Red Hood!” she greeted with a tad of confusion and he waved.

“Hey (Y/N).” he raised the tin. “Sorry for being the one to drop this off but Nightwing was…busy.”

She snorted. “Don’t worry about it. Did he like—”

Red Hood dropped the tin, breaking into a sprint towards her. “(Y/N)! BEHIND YOU!”

“What?” (Y/N) spun and gasped when she came face to face with two masked men. “Oh fu—UHN!” one of them sunk their fist into her stomach and she bent over with a gag, knees going out below her as they grabbed her by her arms and yanked her forward.

She heard him screaming for her as they dragged her to the side of the road and shoved her into the back of a van. (Y/N) tried kicking at them but one of them picked something up and hit her across the head and the last thing she saw before everything went dark was Red Hood fading from view as the doors shut.

***

The tires screeched on the van as it hauled off and Jason had barely managed to grab the back handle as it did. He gripped the sides of his hood and cursed sharply, heart already beating wildly as he panted. “Fuck!” he screamed. “Motherfucker!”

He spun around, mind hopping from place to place as if he couldn’t figure out what to do first, and he punched a button on the side of his hood. “Nightwing, do you read me?” The line crackled a moment. “Nightwing! Come in!”

Jesus, I heard you the first time, Hood. What’s wrong? Break a nail?

“Dick,” he whispered. “It’s—it’s (Y/N).”

Something in Jason’s voice told him all he needed to know. What do you need me to do?

He turned in the direction that the van sped off in. “Two masked thugs grabbed her and took off with her in a van.”

License plate and van description?

“I31-FL4. White Chevy van, tinted windows.”

Alright, I’m away from a computer right now, but let me get Tim on the line. Another crackle. Hey Red, you busy?

At the moment. Why?

I need you to run a license plate for me on a white Chevy van.

Mmm, can it wait? I’m in the—oh shit—middle of something right now.

Tim, it’s urgent. (Y/N)’s been grabbed.

Number?

I31-FL4.

Your van just clocked four traffic cameras heading over the bridge past Chinatown into Founders and off to north of Port Adams. Scans are telling me that Cobblepot’s manor is that way.

“Cobblepot?” Jason repeated. “What the hell is he—” his sighed. “Shit, Dick, one of Penguin’s thugs probably saw you and (Y/N) the other night.”

And Penguin’s assumed that she knows who I am. Ugh, times like these I wish I hadn’t busted his gun running from Blüdhaven. Jason, I’m on my way.

Do you need backup, Hood? I’m about twenty out from your position.

“Don’t worry about it, Red.” He assured. “Nightwing and I got this.” Jason started towards the other side of the street, already pulling out his grapple. “You stay on whatever it is you’re doing.”

Aw man. But rescue missions are so fun.

“Tim. Fuck over the line and get off.”

***

Cold water splashed across her skin and she gasped, startling awake with violent shivers. Immediately she tried to get away but found herself bound to a chair; eyes searching wildly until they came to rest on the short and fat man walking towards her, wearing an eyeglass and smoking a cigar.

“Good morning, sleeping beauty.” He greeted. “Sleep well?”

Swallowing thickly, her eyes darted to the various armed thugs around her and she murmured, “What do you want with me, Mister Cobblepot?”

“Mister Cobblepot?” he cackled. “So polite.” He got in her face. “I want something you have.”

Her eyes found his. “I’m willing to part with whatever you need in return for my life.”

“I want Nightwing’s name,” Penguin said, and she blinked at him.

“Come again?”

His hand split across her face and she cried out in pain. “I don’t want to be drug around. His name. Now.”

She shook her head. “I don’t know Nightwing’s name.”

“Really?” he asked, then held out a hand and she watched someone put a phone in it and he shoved it in her face. “So that ain’t you sobbing on his shoulder like a whore with a heartache?”

Her eyes followed the picture and even from a distance, her and Nightwing’s faces could be seen, as well as their conjoined hands. “Okay,” she started. “I see what that looks like, but it’s not what it is. I swear.” Laughter echoed through the warehouse and she squirmed in her binds.

Penguin gazed at her for a moment, then he cracked his hand back across her face once more, and this time, he busted her lip. “I want his name.”

“I don’t know his name!” she spat the blood out of her mouth. “I was having a moment of weakness and he comforted me like a good person does. That’s it. He didn’t tell me his name.”

“I don’t believe you.” He hissed and she rolled her eyes.

“Look, it’s not my prerogative what you believe but that’s the truth. I don’t know who Nightwing is. Believe me, I asked, and he said he couldn’t tell me.” She leaned forward. “Hit me all you want but I can’t tell you what I don’t know.”

He shrugged. “Works for me.” And he punched her in the jaw, grinning proudly when her head lolled forward and she let out a low groan. “Who is he?”

“I. Don’t. Know.” She hissed through clenched teeth and he waved a hand.

“Someone bring me a knife. Maybe she’ll think better if she’s flowing.”

Her eyes widened and she started thrashing. “Okay! Wait! Let’s not be hasty!”

Penguin flicked open the knife and pointed it at her. “Name. Or I’m gonna slash you.”

“Mine? Mister Cobblepot, I’m disappointed that you don’t know the names of the women you kidnap.” She griped, voice turning into a shout of pain when he swiped the knife against her cheek. Blood flowed from the cut down her face, dripping onto her sweatshirt and she teared up, cheek stinging harshly.

“Want me to do the other side and make it match?” he asked, and she glared at him through her teary eyes.

“Go fuck yourself, oompa-loompa.” Glowering at the knife coming back down at her and she watched as something collided with it, causing sparks to jump as the knife practically jumped out of his hand.

Penguin cried out and spun in the direction of whatever had knocked the knife from him. “Red Hood!”

Someone dropped beside him and propped an elbow on the vigilante’s shoulder. “And Nightwing!” he glanced at her. “Sorry for getting you involved in this.”

She tried for a smile but still grimaced. “Say that after you get me out of this.”

He grinned and pulled out his escrima sticks, clicking the buttons. “That’s fair.”

“Well don’t just stand there!” Penguin yelled at the thugs. “Get them!”

It was a free for all. And even she was wincing with pity when a thug landed in front of her feet, blood streaming out of his nose as his eyes rolled back in his head. She figured since they were busy with fighting one another, she could use the time to get out of her binds—if at all possible.

She wriggled vigorously until there was slack in the ropes around her wrist and she started yanking her arms back, ignoring the way it broke her skin and rubbed it raw. Eventually she got one hand out and she let out a cheer, eyes scanning the ground for the knife.

It lay a few feet away and she grunted as she slouched in the chair, kicking her leg out as far as she could to toe it closer. Almost there! She strained against the bind and slammed her foot on the knife, dragging it to her. With a winning smile she picked it up and slashed the rest of the ropes on her wrist and stood up, immediately ducking as another thug flew over her head and she glared at Red Hood.

“Hey! Watch it!”

He stopped fighting, a gang-banger in a headlock. “How’d you get out of that?”

She put her hands on her hips. “I’m not some helpless damsel in distress, Hood.”

Chuckling, he slung the guy into the wall and pointed to the exit. “Get out and run as far as you can.”

“Right.” She spun and started towards the double doors when two thugs got in her way and she sighed. “Oh, fuck off.” Taking a step back, she turned on her heel when one grabbed her around the waist, and she yelped as he lifted her in the air. “Lemme go you big bastard!”

“(Y/N)!”

Someone shouted her name and she did the only thing she could do—she swung knife downwards, narrowly missing her own side as she stabbed the thug in the hip. He screamed, dropping her and she grunted when she hit the concrete. (Y/N) crawled along the ground when the same guy she stabbed, hauled her up by her belt.

“Oh, come on!” she yelled, and he threw her into the corner of the warehouse into some plywood boxes. They shattered under the force of the throw and her weight and she collapsed in a pile of hardboard, something in her side aching much more than anything else, like she’d been stabbed.

After a moment, the fighting seemed to die down and she managed to crawl to her knees, glancing down to find whatever kept poking her in skin and her eyes widened when she saw the jagged end of a piece of plywood sticking out of her stomach. And the second she saw it, the pain came, and she gasped sharply, holding it as she looked up them.

They were dealing with Penguin and she watched as Nightwing shoved the escrima stick to his neck and sent fifty-thousand volts into his body, watching as he jerked and passed out.

(Y/N) fell back on her knees and weakly called, “Guys?” they turned and gaped at her. “Help me.”

Red Hood was the first one to her and he dropped to his knees, pulling her against him. “(Y/N),” he breathed, one hand skimming over her face, the other pressing against the wound. She cried out and he said, “You’re going to be okay.” He looked at Nightwing. “Call a bus. Now.”

Nightwing knelt beside her and rested a hand on her shoulder. “Don’t worry, (Y/N). We’re going to take care of you.”

She nodded, though she wasn’t too sure of her belief in them. “It hurts,” she whimpered and Red Hood looked down at her side, raising his gauntlet to it.

“The wood punctured your liver.” He said and she sighed in shock.

“Am…am I gonna die?” she asked quietly, and Red Hood yanked off his hood, pressing down tightly onto her side.

“No. You’re not going to die, (Y/N).”

Suddenly, tears were gathering in her eyes and she whimpered, “I don’t wanna die.” (Y/N) grasped at the wrist that was digging into her abdomen. “Please, I don’t wanna die now.” Tears slipped down her cheeks and she let out a sob. “I don’t wanna die here.”

He cupped her cheek, brushing his thumb across her skin. “You’re not going to die.” He promised. “I’m not going to let you die here.”

Her eyes found his behind the domino mask and she whimpered again. “I’m scared, Red Hood.”

“I’m going to save you. I swear I will.” He ignored the blood that had smeared across her cheek and pressed his hand back to her bleeding abdomen, tears of his own gathering in his vision as he whispered, “I won’t lose you too.”

(Y/N) pressed her head to his shoulder. “I have a cat at my home. If I don’t make it will you get him for me? Find him a good home?”

“Don’t talk like this. You’re going to make it, (Y/N).” He looked at Nightwing. “Where’s the bus?”

“Ten out,” he replied. “I’ll go open the doors.” He hurried off and left the two.

“Red Hood, my cat—”

“You’re going to see Matlock again, I promise,” he interrupted sternly, and she gaped at him.

“How do you know my cat’s name? How do you even know my name?” He met her eyes and slowly reached up, peeling the mask from his face and her jaw went slack. “J—Jason?”

He gave her a weak smile. “Surprised?”

(Y/N) could barely find the words and she huffed, “I called you a jerk-off last weekend.”

“Yeah, I kinda deserved that.” Jason laughed, putting the mask back into place. “Couldn’t help it though. You made cupcakes for my brother.”

“Jealous?” she teased, voice dropping into a groan when she shifted.

Jason cupped her cheek. “Like you wouldn’t believe.” He thumbed her skin as the paramedics entered the warehouse and he smiled. “You’re going to be okay, (Y/N).”

She gripped his hand. “Don’t leave me. Please, Jason, don’t leave me.”

“I’ll come to see you after they get you into the hospital. Okay?”

“Promise?” (Y/N) whispered and he nodded.

“I promise, doll.” He nodded his head and stepped back, letting the medics do their job. And when they had her in the back of the ambulance, he sighed heavily and watched the siren wail as the red lights disappeared down the boulevard.

Dick rested a hand on his shoulder. “Go. I’ll call GCPD.”

Jason turned and pulled his brother into a strong hug, squeezing him tightly. “Thank you, Dick. God, thank you so much.”

“Oh my God, are you willingly hugging me!” Dick screeched, and when Jason tried to pull away, he held on and buried his face in Jason’s shoulder. “My Little-wing!”

“Okay, get the fuck off me. This is embarrassing.” He scowled.

***

Her head felt heavy and she barely had the strength to open her eyes. Brightness flooded her vision and she shut them again, waiting a moment before trying to open them once more. This time, it wasn’t as bright, and she blearily glanced around the room before catching sight of Jason curled up uncomfortably in the hospital chair beside her bed.

She didn’t wake him at first, simply gazing at him. He looked tired. Tired and worn out, like he hadn’t slept in years. Which might’ve been the case if the rumors of Red Hood being the second Robin were true—murdered then revived later. She doubt he slept much at all.

As if he knew she was watching him, his eyes opened and he met hers, blinking the sleep away and then he was leaning forward, gently murmuring, “Hey, (Y/N). How do you feel?”

She sighed, resting on the pillow, the thumb brushing her forehead almost lulling her back into sleep. “…Tired,” she mumbled. “And sore.”

Jason huffed a laugh. “Yeah, getting stabbed will do that to you.” He glanced towards the door. “Let me go get the doctor real—”

“Stay,” she said, grabbing his arm and he stilled. “Please stay. Just for a moment.”

“Alright,” he agreed, sitting back in the chair. “I’ll stay,” he said, but his eyes became firm. “but in five minutes, I’m going to get Doctor Brown.”

(Y/N) stuck her tongue out at him, and they collapsed into laughter, though at one point she groaned, “Oh God, don’t make me laugh.” She rested her hand on her abdomen. “Everything in this general area hurts.”

Jason took her hand. “It will—quit prodding it,” he griped. “You don’t wanna open up your stitches.” He ran his calloused thumb over the back of her hand and met her eyes. “I was so scared when I saw you get taken.”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, and he shook his head.

“It’s my fault. I should’ve seen it coming earlier. I should’ve told you earlier, but I was so scared of letting you know everything.” Tears gathered in his eyes. “But I almost wasn’t fast enough tonight, and you got hurt and—”

(Y/N) brushed her fingers over his lips, shushing him. “Jason, it wasn’t your fault.”

He frowned behind her fingers. “But you—”

“I’m here.” She affirmed. “And I’m okay.” (Y/N) grabbed his chin. “You saved me.”

“What happens if I’m too late next time?” he asked, eyes searching hers and she smiled.

“We’re not going to let that happen.”

“But it—”

“It’s not going to happen again.” She brushed her thumb over his lip and smiled at him.

He cupped her hand to his face and bent over, pressing his lips to hers; Jason stayed there for a moment, merely resting his forehead to hers and he lamented, “I’m sorry I turned you down. I never meant to hurt you…I was just—”

“Keeping me safe,” she surmised. “I know, baby.” Jason froze, eyes wide. “Too early?”

He chuckled and kissed her again. “Say it again.”

“Mmm, say please, and I’ll throw in a ‘I love you’.” (Y/N) countered.

“Pretty please?”

She grinned. “I love you, babe.”

“I love you, doll.”

[caws5749]

Dazed and Confused, The Quarantine Series, pt. 35

A/N: FINALLLYYYYYY!! I'll be writing a TON tonight (or at least, that’s my plan, which may very well change). I’m enjoying writing so much, and perhaps it will turn a bit into a DWN

Masterlist

By the time Natasha had returned with the food, you’d fallen fast asleep. Talia was so exhausted that she would probably sleep through the night and when Nat saw you on the couch, your neck bent at an angle that looked less than comfortable, she knew you’d probably do the same. 

“Hey,” she murmured, gently rubbing her hand along the length of your arm. “I’ve got food.” 

“Mmmm... ow.”

“Yeah, you fell asleep at a weird angle.”

“I can tell,” you grumbled, stretching. “Thanks for picking up the food, baby.”

Your girlfriend nodded, opening the bags and handing you some food. “Think she’ll wake?” she asked, nodding at the sleeping little girl across the room. 

“With the smell of the food, maybe. But she’s exhausted. I probably would have slept through the night if you hadn’t have woken me.” 

“Probably,” Natasha agreed, taking a seat next to you and taking a bite of her food. 

“Steve got a little too happy watching us with a kid,” you stated after a few minutes of silence. Though your girlfriend was exhausted beyond belief, her eyes widened significantly as she recalled that moment from earlier. When she didn’t say anything, you turned to look at her. Her expression was unreadable, a neutral mask placed carefully on her face. You weren’t quite sure why. 

“What is it?” you prodded gently. 

“Nothing, Y/N. I’m just tired and can’t think straight.”

Not wanting to push and not quite having the energy to even do so, you nodded and focused on the food in front of you. All you wanted to do after eating was to curl up and go to sleep with Nat, but you couldn’t do that and it was starting to dampen your already low spirits. On top of that, you would be sleeping on the couch for the evening. 

“Should have set her down on the couch,” you joked. 

“Trying to get into bed with me that badly?” Nat smirked. 

“Yes,” you answered seriously, though you were overcome with a fit of giggles two seconds later. At your antics, your girlfriend rolled her eyes. 

“You need sleep.”

“So do you, the bags under your eyes are designer.”

++++++

A high pitched scream had you shooting up, your hands out in front of you as you tried to assess the threat. After a few seconds of looking around, you found nothing, save for a five year old who was thrashing about on your bed, clearly having a nightmare. 

You scrambled off of the couch and towards Talia, shaking her gently. 

“Talia, hey, sweetheart, you’re okay,” you soothed, your heart beating rapidly at the fear that shone in the child’s eyes. She cried out a phrase, one in a language that you couldn’t understand. After Talia repeated it, you recognized it as most likely Arabic, but you still couldn’t understand. Thoughts flashed through your mind quickly as you wondered whether or not Natasha spoke Arabic. You were fairly certain she knew a bit, even if she wasn’t fluid, and so after a few more moments of Talia crying, you quickly ran from the room with the promise that you’d return. 

Nat had stopped locking her door at night after a few months of dating you and so you had no trouble running into the room. At the first sound of her door opening, your girlfriend was up and was out of the bed within seconds. 

“She had a nightmare and she’s only repeating phrases in Arabic and-”

“She’ll be okay, Y/N.”

You could only hope that was true as you both rushed back into your room. Natasha was by Talia’s side in less than a second and was quietly murmuring to her in fluent Arabic. The girl quieted promptly at the recognition of her first language, going as far as to scramble into your girlfriend’s lap. Though a bit shocked, Nat scooped her up and rocked her back and forth. 

Sighing quietly, you sat down on the couch, feeling relieved. You took the moment to worry about the little girl, before thinking of your girlfriend. Once again, she’d done what no other person could seem to do. As she sat there with Talia on her lap, you couldn’t help but feel your heart swell. This was a woman who’d done countless for you, loved you unconditionally, supported you through everything, and was now waking up in the middle of the night to help a child she didn’t even know. 

You had already been wondering if she was the one, like truly the one, but you couldn’t be more certain in this moment. You knew you’d marry her. 

You were so lost in your thoughts you didn’t even realize how silent the room had become. 

“What are you thinking about?” your girlfriend asked softly. Catching her gaze, you could tell she was amused and had seen the smile on your lips. 

“You,” you shrugged, before focusing on Talia. “She’s asleep.”

“I’m afraid to move her.”

“Maybe in a few minutes you can move her. She’ll be further into sleep.”

“What were you thinking about me?” Natasha asked. 

“How much I love you.”

“And how much do you love me?”

You laughed quietly at her antics. “More than you know.”

Quiet fell as she took in your words. 

“Enough to want to marry you,” you added, a whisper. 

“You want to marry me.” It wasn’t a question, more of a statement, but you couldn’t tell whether it was born from a place of fear or happiness. 

“If you don’t want to or - it’s fi-”

“Y/N, stop. If I could come over there, I’d slap you and then kiss you. Of course I want to marry you. Just maybe not right now.”

A tear fell down your cheek from happiness. Someone wanted to marry you. The love of your life wanted to marry you. Natasha Romanoff wanted to marry you. 

At your tear, Nat must have thought something different, because she gently set Talia down on the bed before moving over to you. 

“I do want to marry you, Y/N,” she repeated, pulling you into your arms and pressing her lips to your forehead. 

“No, babe, I’m not sad, I’m happy,” you cried, more tears flowing. Pushing you back, Natasha’s thumbs wiped at your cheeks, shaking her head with a slight smirk. 

“Will you cry this much at our wedding?”

“Probably more,” you admitted with a watery chuckle. When you yawned a moment later, Nat kissed your cheek before standing. 

“I think we should go back to sleep.”

“But you just told me you wanted to marry me,” you pouted. 

“And I will tell you again in the morning.” 

++++++

“Baby, wake up.”

You sighed, rubbing at your eyes before finally opening them to a beautiful red-head. 

“Hi.”

“Hi,” she smiled, amused. “Bruce wants to give Talia a check up. He’s worried about some of those cuts and bruises.”

You turned your head to look over at the girl still sleeping in the bed. You looked back at Natasha. “She’s probably not going to like that.”

“She’ll be scared,” Nat agreed, before tapping your thigh lightly. “But, it has to be done. Come on.”

“No, cuddle with me.”

“There’s no room on that couch. You’re a space hog.”

“That’s not true,” you lied, knowing full well it was. 

“You have to get ready. He expects Talia at nine,” she replied. You sighed, yawning before sitting up. When you did, Natasha rewarded you with a kiss, one that you wished lasted longer. 

“I’ll be in the kitchen with Talia after I wake her.”

++++++

By the time you’d stumbled into the kitchen still half asleep, Bruce was speaking to Natasha and Talia. With Talia seemingly doing okay with Bruce, Nat stepped towards the coffee maker to speak with you.

“He wanted to get acquainted, make her feel a bit more comfortable,” she explained.

“It seems to be working,” you nodded, pouring yourself some coffee. 

“Do those cuts and bruises hurt?” Bruce asked, causing you to turn your head. You didn’t think he’d begin the visit in the kitchen, but perhaps he thought it would make it easier. 

“Not really.”

“Good, that’s good.”

He continued asking a few questions, you and Nat listening in. When it came time for the physical exam, he asked that you make your way to the med bay. Talia didn’t seem too phased, making you feel a bit calmer about the entire experience. She let Bruce push on her abdomen, look at her cuts, and even wash them out. The only thing she requested was hot chocolate after the ordeal, which you were happy to provide. 

As you were sitting on the couch in the living room with her watching a movie after her exam, Steve came up to the three of you. He looked apologetic, which puzzled the other two adults in the room. 

“Steve, what is it?” Natasha asked. 

“There’s a social worker here for Talia.”

“They’re taking her away? Just like that?” you questioned, already standing. 

“No,” Steve shook his head, holding his hands up to get you to stop for a second. “They just want to talk to her and see if they can figure something out. They can’t just leave her here.”

You knew that was true; you knew that she couldn’t stay here with you and it’s not like you’d even thought about having her stay but you certainly hadn’t wanted her to be taken away. Though you knew all of these things, you left the room, tears brewing in your eyes for a reason you couldn’t quite distinguish. 

“Y/N.”

You kept walking, ignoring the threat of tears falling down your cheeks. But your girlfriend didn’t stop, chasing after you until finally catching you down a few hallways. 

“Y/N, stop.” 

Her hand caught your upper arm, tugging and turning you around. Shock crossed Nat’s face as she was met with tears. 

“Y/N, what’s- why are you crying? I know it’s upsetting but-”

“I don’t know!”

“You don’t know what?” Natasha questioned calmly. 

“I don’t know why I’m crying.” 

[americxn]

Run - part 2

warnings: violence  word count: 2300 a/n: as requested. btw you’re all so sweet, can you hear me crying??

Kai’s grip around the back of your neck was unforgiving as he hauled you out of the car, the grit of his driveway biting into your knees as you lost your footing and fell. Hissing in discomfort, you let him pull you up, both of you wordless as you let yourself be dragged up the front steps of Kai’s house.  The door was kicked open by Kai and you were shoved over the threshold, somehow managing to stay upright. You could make out quiet voices in the living room to your right, voices that fell silent as Kai slammed you to the hard wooden floor, landing a harsh kick to your ribs that left you gasping on the ground. And then you were being dragged again, Kai’s grip unrelenting as it tangled in your hair once more and you were pulled into the living room. When he let go, helping you to the floor with a shove, you were able to lift your head, meeting the cold stares of the cult members as they leered down at you, all of their faces painted with distaste. Your hands began to shake, knowing full well that the jealously and anger of the other members might well be allowed to turn physical at Kai’s order. Kai seemed to realise this too and he smirked, stepping forwards so that his scuffed shoes were mere inches away from your face. You didn’t dare move, your laboured breathing filling the silence of the room.  “Let me have a turn, Divine Ruler.” One of the men to Kai’s right spoke gruffly. It was silent for a moment before the sound of skin on skin impact thudded through the room. You grimaced, looking up slowly to see the member on the floor, cradling the side of his face and Kai sneering down at him, shaking out him knuckles. “None of you get to touch her.” He hissed. “I just want you to get a good look at her and keep it in mind to compare how she looks in a few days time. To remind you,” your shoulders shook violently as he raised his voice, “what happens when you scheme against me.” Footsteps sounded down the hall at the commotion, Beverly appearing moments later in the doorway. Her eyes landed on your cowering figure on the floor, filling with desolation before quickly becoming vacant. Her face went slack, her expression becoming as uncaring as the men crowded around you.  You knew she had to be careful to mask her emotions, otherwise she risked revealing that she had been the one to warn you of Kai’s pursuit of you. But the possibility that she hated you as much as everyone else in the room still stung as it cut deep.  You watched in silence as Beverly’s eyes drifted across the space, slightly to the left as you followed her gaze, every thought eddying from your pain-clouded mind as your stare settled on one of the cult members. Liam. Satisfaction filled your head as you regarded him coldly, glad to find that he looked just as terrified as you felt. A little smile formed on your lips. And then your body snapped into motion, moving before you had a chance to process your thoughts. You were on your feet in less than a second and upon the boy in two, the crowd parting with a cacophony as gasps as you lunged at the boy, knocking him to the floor and clawing his face, leaving deep marks in his skin with your nails. Blood spilled instantly, dripping down his pale face in stark contrast. The others scattered and started shouting but none of the moved, too scared to interfere as you yelled in Liam’s face, managing to land a few hard punches on his face. “You lying prick,” you screamed at him as his arms rose in a weak attempt to protect himself. You felt a strong pair of arms loop around your waist and you were pulled off Liam. To your utmost gratification, his face was bloody.  You bucked in Kai’s grip as he pulled you away from the trembling boy who was being helped to his feet by two other members.  “Let go of me.” You snarled at Kai, fighting to turn around in his arms, wanting to hurt him too. To hurt everyone in this room. “He lied!” You declared, trying to dig your feet into the smooth wood floor as you were hauled out of the room, Kai struggling to lift you up and flip you over his shoulder as you screamed insults at him, clawing at his back as he walked the both of you up the stairs.  Your fists bashed against his back in desperation, but to no avail. Kai kicked the door to his bedroom open before throwing you down on the bed, leaping upon you immediately. You were once again pinned beneath his considerable weight and he snarled at you to “stop fucking moving” as you writhed on the bed beneath him, your brain screaming at you to throw him off and go after Liam again, the boy who had lied at your expense and had gotten away with it. To spill more of his blood. “Y/N, STOP.” You stilled your movements, pulling feebly at your arms as they were pinned above your head.  “He lied, Kai.” You insisted, voice trembling in rage and fear. His face was cold above yours but you caught the glimpse of uncertainty that flashed in his eyes. “Why the fuck would I want to kill you? Why would I want to lead the cult? I can’t do that. I don’t want to do that and I know that you realise too, please, Kai,” you rambled on, “Liam came to me last week asking me to help him get out of the cult and I didn’t want him dead so tried to help him excuse himself from the meetings, Kai, you know I would never hurt you, I-”  “Stop,” he cut you off grimly as your eyes filled and overflowed with hot tears that stung as they worked their way down your face.  “You have to believe me. Please.” The last word was carried on a sob. “I said stop.” He repeated, firmly. You fell silent, chest heaving with the force of your weeping that you didn’t try to conceal.  “You’re telling me that he lied?” He spoke with a calmness that rallied the anger within you. “Yes, that’s what I’m saying.” You snapped at him, shrinking back into the bed at the warning that flashed in his gaze as he considered your words.  “I’ve been with you for years, Kai. Years. He’s been here for a matter of weeks.”  You tried to reason with him, your sobs quieting as you watched his gaze soften more and more with each word. “And he never would of accepted your offer if you hadn’t have promised him a place to stay. You know this, please, Kai.” Kai studied your tear and blood streaked face carefully and your chest swelled hopefully as his hand drifted to your cheek, caressing the side of your face softly.  But then his grip tightened on your face, his hand clenching onto your jaw painfully and you winced as he jerked you head back, exposing your bare throat to him. “If you’re innocent, then why did you run?” And with that he dragged you up, moving off you so that he could tug you by your face off the bed.  “No!” You screeched. “No, KAI, PLEASE.”  He lugged you across the room, to his closet, pulling open the door to the small space and slapping you hard enough to see stars before shoving you in. You let out an ungodly squeal as he slammed the closet door shut, the sound of the lock clicking into place a condemnation that summoned the most primal part of you.  You kicked at the door, slamming your fists against it repeatedly and pleading to Kai as he walked away, the sound of his bedroom door closing sending you into a panicked frenzy.  Your fingertips bleated in pain as you tore at the door, fists throbbing as they were pummeled against the hard surface repeatedly. But it was pointless, Kai was long gone. You sat back, heaving down air as you tried to calm yourself. “Please don’t leave me in here.” You whimpered into the unappeasable darkness. What if he just didn’t come back? What if he had decided that he didn’t need you around anymore and just left you to rot. The dark enclosed space was illuminated by the borders of light around the doorway and you lifted your shaking hands into the dim light, frowning as you saw that your knuckles were bloody and swollen. Helplessness like you had never known it settled over you and your body shook violently as the events of the past two hours finally caught up to you. The sound of your cries were smothered by the darkness of the closet as you curled your knees to your body and sobbed luxuriously into your hands. ____________________________✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*_________________________________

Kai returned later that day, the light stinging your eyes as he opened the door and stared down at you blankly. You reluctantly met his gaze, your eyes puffy and face blotchy, unsure of how long you had been locked in the dark. Your gaze flicked down to his hand, seeing that he was holding a sandwich, which he presented to you, holding it out and watching you carefully as you extended an aching arm to take the plate from him. “No.” He said quietly, moving the plate out of your reach before taking the sandwich and chucking it onto your lap. You scowled as the contents spilled out of the bread, smearing onto your pants.  “I don’t trust you with the plate.” He explained quietly, tearing his gaze from you as he closed the door again in your face. “You’ll probably break into pieces and use it to cut your own throat or some shit.” He muttered, his voice muffled through the door. You took a steadying breath as the darkness closed in around you once more.  “Wai-wait.” You called after him as you heard his footsteps heading towards his bedroom door. Your voice was raw but he heard you, his foot falls halting. “Can I please have a glass a water?”  Kai was silent as he considered your question. But then he walked the last few steps to his door.  “Maybe tomorrow.” His words were cold, the sound of his bedroom door closing condemned you to silence once more. ____________________________✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*_________________________________ Kai left you in his tiny closet space for days, only letting you see light when he came to bring you scraps of food, barely enough to keep your stomach’s incessant rumbling at bay. Your tailbone burned throughout it all, forcing you to shift your position every ten minutes, making sleep almost impossible. Any sense of time had long since evaded you and you were forced to sit in your own blood, piss and tears for god knows how long before Kai finally unlocked the door, holding a hand out to you silently and helping you to your feet. You looked at him, eyes dull as you held you upright, scanning your body and grimacing at the smell of you. You swallowed, apprehension building in your gut as you anticipated his next move.  His gaze softened. “It’s over now.” He assured you softly, bringing your head to his chest and embracing you tightly. You didn’t return his hug, fresh tears squeezing their way out of your eyes, wetting the front of his shirt as he held your head to him. Pulling back, he eyed you in concern as you stood motionless before him. You met his gaze. Was that...guilt? Frowning, you struggled to discern the emotions displayed on his face before you scooped you into his arms, pressing a careful kiss to your temple. You didn’t have the energy to protest as he carried you into the bathroom, setting you down on the counter beside the sink and tugging off your pants and shirt.  Exhaustion clouded your consciousness and you let Kai take control, allowing him to lift you down from the counter and leading you to his shower. He helped you wash, scrubbing the piss from between your legs and the blood from your hair. Kai apologised to you before peeling off your underwear and you cringed as you became completely exposed to him, but he consoled you softly as your face flushed and you began to protest weakly. Eventually you gave yourself over to him, the need for sleep weighing down on your body.  After he had washed every inch of you, you let him lead you out of the shower and wrap you in a warm towel, taking your hand to bring you to his bed. You fell asleep as Kai took up a hairbrush in his hand and struggled to work it through your knotted hair, letting you fall forwards onto the bed and making sure you were completely dry before folding the covers over you and leaving the room, allowing you to sleep deeply.  You were woken up several hours later by Kai who helped to sit you up and presented you with a large glass of water, not leaving your side until you had drained the entirety of the glass. “I’m fine.” You said to him sharply as he mother-henned over you, hurrying to his dresser and finding a warm shirt for you wear as you sat yourself up, using his duvet to cover your exposed chest. But Kai really didn’t seem interested in your body as he passed you the shirt and let you pull it on yourself.  You ignored him completely, scowling at the floor as you got dressed. “I meant what I said to you in the car.” He said quietly after several beats of silence as you pushed yourself to your unsteady feet. He took a glance at you as you had to take a moment to steady yourself on your feet. You knew what he meant, the accidental declaration that he had made. “Why the fuck would I kill someone I love?” The memory of this brought a glower to your face and you brushed past him as you exited the room. Without so much as turning to address him directly you bit out, “yeh? It’s going to take a hell of a lot to prove it to me, Kai.” He turned to follow you, a reply forming on his lips. But it was your turn to close the door in his face, your turn to cut off his words as you took the stairs the kitchen, a single clear thought occupying your head: Liam. 

[sisterspooky1013]

Only One Choice, Part 2, Chapter 14

Read it here on AO3 / Tagging @today-in-fic

“It was so good to see you, Will,” Valerie says in a muffled voice against his chest as he has her wrapped up tightly in a bear hug.

“I know, I’m so glad I ran into you,” Mulder replies, brushing his hands over her back. He pulls away and kisses her softly on the cheek.

“It makes me really happy to see you so happy,” she says with a smile, her long brunette hair lifting softly in the breeze, brown eyes holding affection that can only be held between two people who have the type of bond that can withstand a breakup and then a transition from lovers to friends.

“Likewise,” he says, nodding towards the small swell of her growing belly.

“I’d love to meet your girlfriend someday, if you think she’d be okay with that,” she says, collecting her purse.

“Yes, I’d really like that. I think you two would get along really well, actually,” he says, and she smirks at him.

“You’re not afraid we’ll bond over having to sit through your shitty movie collection?” she teases, and he laughs good-naturedly.

“Hey, Scully likes my shitty movies, that’s why we’re a perfect match,” he retorts.

She squeezes his arm.

“Call me sometime, okay?”

He nods and watches her walk away, feeling like he’s on cloud nine. A great friendship with his ex-girlfriend, a promising new love with the woman of his dreams; he can only imagine what lies in store next. He practically skips on the walk back to his car, wondering if Scully might let him come by tonight, hoping that he won’t have to wait until the weekend to see her again. He decides to call her as soon as he gets home.

The first few times he gets her machine, he assumes she must be at her mother’s. When she still hasn’t answered or called back by 9:00 pm, he’s confused. When he emails her the next morning and still hasn’t gotten a response at 10:00am, he’s officially worried.

Something is wrong.

———

She had eventually turned off the ringer on her phone and put the volume all the way down on her answering machine so she wouldn’t have to hear his increasingly obsessive attempts to get ahold of her, then slept fitfully all night.

She knows that she needs to give him some kind of response or he’ll show up on her doorstep, but she can’t bring herself to face him, even in voice. Every time the image of him with that woman pops back into her head, she feels a lump form in her throat immediately, a sick sadness welling in her belly. She’s pored over every memory in her mind, every interaction they’ve had, searching for signs. Signs that he was seeing someone else, that he wasn’t interested in anything other than getting in her pants, that he was lying to her. Her thorough inventory brings up next to nothing, which almost makes it worse; how adept he must have been at creating a false reality for her to exist in. Perhaps he’s garnered some tips from the sociopaths he studies, or maybe his background in psychology allowed him to manipulate her.

When she arrives at work, she is unsurprised though still dismayed to see an email waiting for her.

From: fmulder@fbi.gov

Sent: May 5, 1997 7:57 am

To: dscully@fbi.gov

Subject: Where are you?

Scully, you’re freaking me out. Are you okay? Please respond.

She deletes it immediately and tries to focus on work. She performs an autopsy and teaches a class, both welcome distractions from her emotional torment. Just before 11:00 am, the phone rings.

“Autopsy bay, this is Trudy…yep, she’s here, one second.”

Trudy turns and opens her mouth to speak, but sees Dana waving her arms and shaking her head. She makes a confused face and puts the phone back to her ear.

“Oh, actually she just stepped out, sorry. Can I take a message?”

She watches as Trudy scribbles something on a piece of paper.

“Uh huh…yes. Okay, I’ll tell her…you have my word.”

She replaces the phone on the receiver and hands Dana the paper with a sympathetic frown.

“Trouble in paradise?” she asks rhetorically.

Dana looks down and deciphers Trudy’s messy scrawl.

Call Mulder immediately. Send a sign of life.

She crumples it up and tosses it into the trash can.

“You wanna talk about it?” Trudy asks.

“Nope,” Dana replies, turning back to the computer.

From: fmulder@fbi.gov

Sent: May 5th, 1997 11:03am

To: dscully@fbi.gov

Subject: PLEASE RESPOND

Scully, I don’t know what the hell is going on, but if you don’t reply to this within an hour I’m driving down there.

Please respond

She feels fresh tears well in her eyes. Why is he trying so hard if he’s seeing someone else anyway? Why is he doing this to her? With a surge of anger, she hits reply.

From: dscully@fbi.gov

Sent: May 5th, 1997 11:05am

To: fmulder@fbi.gov

Subject: RE:PLEASE RESPOND

I’m fine, Mulder. Please just give me some space.

With that she closes her email, begs someone to take her second class of the day, and goes home.

———

He feels like he’s stepped into an alternate universe. He’d left her happy and satisfied, and out of nowhere she’s shutting him out. What does she need space for? Space from him? Why? Did he come on too strong and freak her out? He thought they’d moved past that. He picks up the phone again.

“Autopsy bay, this is Trudy.”

“Trudy, it’s Agent Mulder again. Look, I don’t want to put you in an awkward position, but is Dana there?”

She pauses. “No, she went home for the day. She seemed pretty upset.”

“Do you have any idea why?” he implores.

“No, other than the fact that it seems to be directed at you.”

“Yeah, that much I gathered. Thanks, Trudy, sorry to bother you.”

“No worries, good luck.”

He slams the phone down, grabs his jacket off the back of his chair and leaves.

———

She is half expecting his knock, but it still makes her jump, nearly causing her to spill her wine. She wants to just ignore him until he goes away, but she knows his proclivity towards persistence won’t let him do that. Better to just get it over with, she thinks as she slumps towards the door.

The second she lays eyes on him in his slacks and dress shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows and his tie discarded, she feels her chin pucker and tears threaten her eyes. As angry as she is, she immediately wants to go to him, to curl up within his embrace so he can comfort her. The problem is, what she needs comforting from is him.

“What is going on?” he says with a mix of frustration and fear.

She stands in the open doorway, not making space for him to enter.

“I saw you,” she says, her voice strained with emotion.

“You saw me...what?” he asks, his face a mask of confusion.

She lifts her chin, clenching her jaw and summoning strength.

“I saw you with her. Yesterday, at the Bluebird Cafe. After I had lunch with my family.” her voice holds steady, anger carrying her through.

His face falls and her gut twists. She wishes she didn’t have to watch this.

“THAT is what this is about?” he asks, but there’s no shame or regret in his voice. If anything, he sounds a little mad.

She nods curtly.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” he spits out, and she recoils a little at his vitriol. “Let me in, Scully. Right now,” he demands, and against her better judgement she moves aside.

He pushes past her into the apartment and she closes the door softly, leaving it unlocked in case either of them decides to make a hasty exit.

“Did you consider,” he begins, his back to her, “maybe, I don’t know, asking me about what you saw?” He turns to face her, one hand on his hip and his face contorted with anger. “Or were you just planning to avoid me until I gave up and went away again?”

She doesn’t know what to say. She’s confused about why he’s yelling at her when he’s the one who did something wrong. She just looks at him, expressionless.

He juts his chin out expectantly, waiting for an answer, but gets none. She averts her eyes.

“Is that all this is worth to you, Scully?” he continues, “you’re ready to throw this away over a simple misunderstanding, without even talking to me?”

She lifts her head and looks at him with a pained expression. “Okay then, talk,” she gets out.

He drops his head in frustration. “The woman you saw me with,” he says flatly, lifting his head to meet her eye, “was my ex-girlfriend, Valerie. I ran into her while I was running errands yesterday, and we had lunch. She has a boyfriend and is three months pregnant. We spent the majority of our meal together talking about you.”

She shakes her head gently, her throat closing as a tear rolls down her cheek. “I saw you kiss her,” she whispers, her jaw quivering.

“You saw me kiss her on the cheek? I also kiss my mother on the cheek, Scully, it’s hardly an intimate gesture.”

She feels a new wave of sickness pass over her, but this time it’s entirely different. This time it’s the sick feeling of realizing that she was very, very, wrong, and that she has, yet again, hurt the man who loves her. She opens her mouth to speak but she can’t find the right words.

He steps forward but doesn’t touch her. When he speaks, his voice is softer, more defeated than anything else.

“I’m sorry that you saw something that upset you. But if you actually thought for a single second that I want to be with anyone but you, you’re fucking insane. I meant what I said the day you left my apartment last year. I felt it then, and I feel it now. I want this to work more than anything, Scully, but for that to be possible you have to trust me. I can’t live with the knowledge that you might just shut me out at a moment’s notice when you get scared.”

She keeps her head down, overwhelmed by a combination of shame, embarrassment, and gratitude that he wouldn’t let her walk away. She does not deserve this man, but she wants to.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, still unable to meet his eye.

“I know you are,” he replies, moving towards the door. “Take the space you need, and let me know when you’re ready to trust me.”

When she hears the click of the door closing behind him, she collapses to the floor, sobbing for so many reasons she couldn’t possibly name them all. When it’s faded to snivels and hiccups, she stands and goes to the hallway, picking up the phone.

“Hello?”

“Missy,” she chokes out, “Can you come over?”

———

He’s not sure if leaving was the right thing to do. The risk that she might not come back around is one that sends his stomach into knots, but at the same time he finds it hard to accept that she wasn’t even going to give him the opportunity to explain. He’s been actively working to temper expressing his feelings so he doesn’t overwhelm her, but then she gets it in her head that he’s not invested. It feels like he can’t win.

He goes back to work and stops by Kirkbride’s office to apologize for disappearing. Kirkbride just gives him a quizzical look, clearly not having noticed he had left. The rest of the day he buckles down on his caseload, distracting himself from the catastrophic thoughts that dance through his head, and gets more work done than he has in quite a while. When he leaves the office just after 5:00 pm, he feels melancholy and grouchy, and annoyed that he left the ball in her court.

The elevator dings to announce his arrival on the fourth floor and he steps out with a takeout bag in his hand, eyes downcast. Halfway down the hall, he readies his key and looks up, startling when he sees Scully sitting on the floor against his door, knees tucked up against her chest and her forehead resting on her kneecaps. She’s very still, and as he gets closer he realizes that she’s asleep. His heart aches knowing that she’s been waiting that long, that she didn’t want to leave without talking to him.

He crouches down beside her, setting his dinner on the floor, and gently touches her shoulder. She jerks, her head snapping up and her eyes wild for a moment while she tries to orient herself. When she focuses on him, she immediately starts crying, reaching out to wrap her arms around his neck. He’s surprised by her uncharacteristically emotional response, but says nothing and just holds her until his knees start to ache, at which point he sits down on the floor and pulls her into his lap. They stay this way for several minutes, long enough for one of his neighbors to walk by and politely avert their eyes, entering their apartment as though there was nothing out of the ordinary happening in the hallway. When the crying seems to have subsided a bit, he gives her a little squeeze.

“Wanna go inside?” he asks, and she nods against his chest, his shirt damp from her tears.

She stands unsteadily and he follows her, grabbing the takeout bag off the floor. They enter the apartment and Priscilla plods up to them with an excited meow. Scully leans down and picks her up, tucking the cat against her neck as they nuzzle each other. Mulder smiles at them with a bemused expression.

“She was talking to me through the door,” Scully says with a small smile, “she heard me knocking and was meowing from the other side. We had a conversation.”

Affection swells in his chest and he steps forward to kiss her. Her shoulders drop and she lets Priscilla down so she can get closer, threading her arms around his waist and kissing him back in earnest. Desperate, thought I’d lost you again kisses that are as arousing as they are a relief, because he knows that they will be okay.

He pulls back a little and she makes a whimpering sound in protest.

“I’m gonna go change really quick, okay? Then can we talk?” he asks, and she sighs and nods. “You can have half my Chinese,” he adds, and she gives him a tight-lipped smile.

When he sits on the couch beside her five minutes later, she scoots closer so they are pressed against each other, and he gathers that she needs physical closeness right now. He loops an arm around her shoulder and she crawls right back into his lap, curled against him as though trying to fuse her body to his own. Her head tucked beneath his chin, she holds one of his hands in her lap, fingers laced tightly together, and begins to speak.

“After you left, Missy came over and we talked for a long time. I’ve come to realize how much I’m still affected by...what happened last year. I harbor a lot of guilt for being unfaithful to Ethan, and that’s actually largely why I married him even though I knew my heart wasn’t in it.” She pulls in a deep breath, pressing their joined hands tight against her belly, trying to get even closer. “When you and I reconnected, in a way it felt like a chance to validate it. As though things working out with us would mean that what I did wasn’t as bad, because there was something real between us. But at the same time, a big part of me doesn’t believe that I deserve to be happy.” Her voice remains steady, but he feels the wet drop of a tear on the back of his hand.

He tightens his arm around her waist. “I’ve always been a person who values doing the right thing, and integrity was something that was very important to my father. It was his measure of a person’s character, and that’s something he instilled in me as well.” She sits up a bit so she can look at him, and his heart breaks at her red-rimmed eyes, her icy irises so mournful. “It’s not that I don’t trust you, Mulder. You haven’t given me any reason not to. It’s just that I don’t feel like I deserve this, especially with you, and I’m waiting for the moment it all comes crashing down. So when I saw you with that woman, it was almost like I’d been waiting for it, expecting it. Getting what I deserved.”

He brings his palms to her cheeks, brushing away the tears with his thumbs.

“Thank you for telling me that,” he says softly. “I wish I could change how you feel, but I know that I can’t. I do know how it feels to spend your life harboring guilt over something you could have done differently, and I can tell you that punishing yourself won’t make it any easier. It makes me really sad that you’ll always regret how we met.”

She closes her eyes and shakes her head gently. When she opens them, her expression is more tender than it is mournful.

“I don’t regret it, Mulder. I do feel guilt, and shame, for not ending it with Ethan so we could have done things the right way, but I could never regret meeting you.”

He pulls her back into an embrace, her arms wrapping around his ribcage, and plants a kiss to the top of her head.

“Are we okay?” he asks softly.

“I hope so,” she says hoarsely.

“Is this a bad time to tell you that Valerie wants to meet you sometime?” he asks, and she laughs.

“I don’t know, did you tell her that I freaked out on you because you had lunch with her?” she replies, and he can already hear her tone shifting back to their typical lighthearted banter.

“No, of course not. That’ll be our little secret. Well, plus Trudy. I think Trudy knows too much honestly.”

She laughs again, and god he could spend the rest of his life trying to make her laugh. In fact, that’s exactly what he hopes to do.

“Speaking of meeting people,” she continues, “Missy mentioned you to my mother yesterday and she wants to meet you.”

A grin stretches across his mouth, but he doesn’t say anything. She pulls back to look at his face, to gauge his reaction, and smiles softly in response.

“You want me to meet your mom?” he asks, the delight on his face carrying over to his voice.

Her mouth screws up shyly. “My little brother will probably be there too, and Missy. Is that too much?”

He shakes his head. “Sounds perfect. But, there are some friends I’d like you to meet too, if we’re meeting people.”

“The Lone Gunmen?” she asks with a skeptical lilt.

“Those are the ones. They’re my only friends, actually. Aside from Val.” Just then, Priscilla hops up onto the couch beside them. “Oh, and you Priscilla, sorry,” he adds.

Scully smiles at the cat, and then at him. “Can I bring Missy as a human buffer?” she asks hopefully.

“Of course. You may set a record for the highest number of female visitors to their lair in a day.”

“Lair?” she asks with wide eyes.

He chuckles. “They’ll grow on you, I promise.”

[aressss1]

Through Fire and Ice Chapter 5

(Technoblade x Reader)

Chapter 5

< Prev Chapter | Next Chapter >

~~~~~~

Dream felt you shift into him, his arms tightened around you to keep you steady. The two of you were almost to the mines. Spirit was running through the snow like a champ. When it was just starting to snow again, he sighed in annoyance. George and Sapnap were going to have a hell of a time getting back. He just hoped Techno wouldn’t cause too much trouble… ‘Should’ve just left him. He wanted to be alone anyway.’ Dream thought to himself rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand.

 He looked down at the patch job he did on your shoulder, pleased that it still was holding, even if it was bloody. You were going to need a real doctor soon, between that and your sickness, you really weren’t doing well. You were hot to the touch and it was worrying.

It had taken around two hours, but he could see the community village everyone lived in or nearby. It was surreal seeing it without life. Everyone had been evacuated underground. He even saw his old home; it was weird to think that his home wasn’t his anymore. So many memories happened behind those walls.

“Dream!” A voice called from the community mineshaft. A hooded shadowy figure waved cheerfully. Dream smiled at BadBoyHalo from behind the mask, happy to see him. Bad was carrying supplies and he was struggling to keep them in his arms when he waved to Dream. His tail swishing back and forth. Dream steered Spirit up to the mine. “Who’s that? And where’s George and Sapnap?” Bad’s eyes flicked from you to the surrounding area, looking for Dream’s team.

 “Bad, I’m going to need help, with her.” Dream carefully jumped down from the horse, keeping you in his arms. “The others are fine, but she is sick and injured.” Bad’s tail swish in curiosity. His eyes flicked to the bloody mess that was your shoulder. “Please tell me we have health potions.”

 “We might…” Bad looked up in thought. “But the amount of injured people we have, might have used up all the glistering melons we had… The food situation isn’t any better…” Bad looked back to Dream, as he grabbed ahold of Spirits reigns.

 “Once Phil gets here, we can start production.” Dream started pushing past Bad into the mine. It was a long way down, but he had been through these mines many times. He was just thankful the mine had been widened so Bad could follow with Spirit.

 “I don’t know if the doctor will help her right away…” Bad peered over Dreams shoulder at you.

 “Why’s that?” Dream asked his arms tightening around your frame.

 “He’s… not the nicest doctor around.” Bad hesitated. “He has a huge room full of patients, I think it’s wearing him thin.”

 “Is he from our village?” Dream was trying to think of who it could be.

 “No, he’s not. But he’s all we have.” Bad sighed. Dream could hear the exhaustion in Bad’s voice.

 “We will see what happens.” Dream shrugged. It didn’t take long for him to reach the end of the staircase and it led to a short hallway, with an iron door at the end of it. He could hear an immense amount of activity on the other side of the door.

 “Are you ready?” Bad asked with a tint of excitement. Dream slightly nodded his eyes trained on the door. There used to be a small room on the other side of that door. But with the amount of activity, he was hearing, he didn’t think it was that small anymore. When The iron door was just in front of him, Bad reached around and pulled the lever for Dream.

 Through the door… A man-made cavern lied in wait for them. Dream felt his eyes widen at the sight of it. People had carved out holes into the sides of the walls, working on where their houses were going to be. People on the ground floor were rebuilding shops and other buildings. The ceiling of the cavern was covered in clusters of glowstone.

 “Med bay is this way.” Bad pulled at Dreams sleeve and led him to their destination, Spirit still in hand. There were still parts being worked on in the cavern, but Dream watched the activity around him. A tree farm was being built, the huge hole was already carved out and Tubbo was seen placing around bee houses near the trees. Awesamdude was placing down grass, while showing a reluctant Tommy how to farm. None of them paid Dream any mind and they kept working on their project. Bad pointed out something ahead of them.

 “We can keep Spirit here.” Bad said cheerfully. He was pointing at a nicely half-built stable. Where other horses were being kept. Dream nodded and Bad handed the horse off to a nice enough woman manning the stables. Dream promised the horse he would be back, receiving a nudge from Spirits nose. Spirit did well in the last two days, he was proud of that horse.

“Bad… This is amazing,” Dream couldn’t stop staring. The glowstone from above shimmered and cast a nice warm glow on everything. The best part about all this though… Was it wasn’t cold. It was a little humid, but it was going to work out.

 “I don’t think anyone slept,” Bad beamed, “I’m glad you like it, because this is going to be our new home! Might as well make the best of it.” It wasn’t long, before Bad stopped in front of a blank cave wall with nothing but a wooden door leading into it. “This is it. I hope he helps your friend out quickly. I gotta go find Skeppy.” Bad, with his arms still full of supplies, gave Dream a half wave before he walked back the way they had come.

 Dream had kicked at the door, trying to simulate a knocking sound. A few seconds had gone by and a woman had answered the door. It was Nihachu. She had looked tired. She hadn’t got a wink of sleep it seemed. Her eyes scanned over you and she brought her hand up to her mouth.

 “Oh no!” She held the door open for Dream to come through. The inside was just as plain as the outside and Dream bit his cheek looking at the long line of other patients. Niki followed his gaze, and she had anticipated what he was going to say next. She had heard it from all the others before him, but he had to try.

 “She’s in really bad shape, Niki.” Dream stated, almost pleading.

 “It-” Niki was tripping over her words. “We have others in bad spots…” The look she gave Dream was apologetic. “It’s not my call, Dream…”

 “She’s sick and injured,” Dream swallowed dryly. “She needs medical attention now.” Niki opened her mouth to say something, but she was cut off completely by a voice behind her. The owner of the voice had just walked into the room.

 “If she’s sick, leave. I will not have her contaminating my other patients and worsening their lives more.” The voice came from an older man with a rather large nose. “We run on a first come first serve basis here. You can’t just expect to jump ahead of these people.” He motioned to the people in the waiting room. Dream supposed he was right… but having a closer look at the people waiting in the room, they had only suffered minor injuries. You had a hole in your shoulder…

 “I don’t give a fuck,” Dream spat stepping toward the doctor in an almost menacing way. “This woman was stabbed, and you think a swollen ankle trumps that?” Dream motioned to someone who had a swollen ankle resting up above their heart.

 “Listen.” The doctor hissed, his eyes narrowing at Dream. “No, I do not think that a swollen ankle is more important than a stab wound… That’s preposterous. What I do think is… That she could make the people who have bad wounds worse. They do not need to get sick. We don’t have the resources for illness here.” The doctor turned away from Dream, this made Dreams blood boil. “The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few. And that girl in her condition will die anyway. I can’t waste resources on someone who I think will die.” With that he turned to Niki. “Miss Nihachu, please escort this man out.” And with that he was gone, walking into the backroom where the groans of the wounded were.

 Niki hesitantly stepped up and Dream stepped away from her. If his mask wasn’t on, she could’ve been able to see the daggers he was glaring at her. She bit her lip and turned, walking to a bag left on the ground. She fished around it and when she found a pouch that she was looking for, she stood and handed it to Dream. Dream felt the stares of all the other people in the room boring into his back.

 “I-I’m going to have to ask you to please leave…” She didn’t want to say it, but she had to, and he knew it. Taking the pouch, he gives her one last look, wishing she had taken his side. “Dream… I wouldn’t stand for this if others didn’t need my help. Find my bakery, Its one of the spruce buildings by the entrance. The key is in there.” She whispered, pointing at the pouch. “She can use my bed in the back, and you can use what I have left in that pouch.” Niki gave him a sad look. “Good luck.” Her eyes flicked to your wound. The bloody material needed changing.

 Dream huffed, retracing his steps, his legs moving on a new sense of urgency. If the doctor could take one look at you and think you were on the brink of death… Then he had to hurry. He couldn’t bring himself to just easily give up on you or anyone else. He wanted to help lead these people and how could he lead the people if he couldn’t save even one?

 When the plain square building, that was still under construction, entered his vision, he breathed a sigh of relief. The sign from Niki’s old bakery leaning against the wall next to the heavy spruce door. At least it had walls and a roof. When he walked up to the door, he kneeled, setting you briefly onto the ground. He opened the pouch and fished out a key. The pouch seemed to be a mini first aid kit. A small vial of health potion sat in the pouch along with bandages sutures gauze, and some hydrogen peroxide. Taking the vial in hand he examined it. He didn’t think it was enough to close a wound like yours, but it could help. He quickly unlocks the bakery and promptly gets you inside.

 There was no furniture in the main room, but he remembered Niki said something about the bed in the back room, he wouldn’t bloody her bed… So, he opted to clean your wound on the floor. The inside of the bakery was bare bones, the walls didn’t have any insulation yet and the floors were still stone. ‘This would do for now.’ Dream thought to himself while carrying you to the middle of the room, a lantern hung just above his head. Lying you down on the stone floor, he lit the lantern, and carefully sat down next to your body. He inched himself closer to you and brought your head to rest on his leg. Peeling back the sloppy patchwork and cringing when some of it stuck to your skin. He took his mask off to get a good look at the wound.

 “Shit.” He hissed through his teeth. It looked as though an infection was starting to set in. Taking some of the gauze he soaks it in the hydrogen peroxide, dabbing at the skin around the wound cleaning it. The peroxide bubbled on contact. He cleaned your wound as best as he could and waited for the peroxide to dry. He then took the healing potion into his hand, uncorking the small vial. This amount would have been great for small wounds but not for some thing as big as this.

 He pours the vial of health potion into your wound, careful not to spill it. Just as expected, it only heals a tiny bit of the wound. Any progress was progress. He bit the inside of his cheek, his eyes skimming over the sutures still resting in the pouch. That was when he felt you stir below him. His eyes meet yours and he felt his breath catch in his throat. He felt a blush creep up on his cheeks, and it never occurred to him that you might wake up in the middle of him tending to you, especially at the worst part to come.

 ~~

 Your eyes fluttered open to a dark room, and you were thrown for a loop between the pain in your shoulder and the dizziness. The only thing grounding you was the persons leg your head was resting on. When you finally had focused in, your eyes met a pair of green ones. A halo of light circled around his head and you reached up, your fingers caressing his face. You were questioning if you were alive at this point. He slightly leaned his face into your touch, and you felt your heart flutter.

 “Is this real?” Your voice was hoarse, your throat ached, and your lungs burned. His hand came up and around yours, tenderly holding it.

 “Do I feel real to you?” His fingers interlaced with yours and he gave your hand a squeeze. You gave a nod pretending that you didn’t feel the blush that spread on your cheeks. Hearing him chuckle he lets go of your hand. “I’m Dream, what’s your name?”

 Your throat burned as you uttered your name to him, trying to clear your airway, “Where’s Techno?” You asked your eyes searching around the barren room for him. An irritated look crossed over Dreams features at the mention of Techno, for a split second, though you had missed the look altogether.

 “Not sure…” He said leaning down over your shoulder, “He’s on his way here, but knowing him he’s not going to stay anyway. He’s not the best person to be around anyway.” You were surprised by his words. He seemed fine to you… When you gave him a questioning look, he sighed, and he showed you his neck. You had to sit up a bit to see it fully. On the back of his neck, was a scar, just under his hairline on his neck.

 “O-Oh.” You bit your lip, you quickly set your head on his leg again, your body needed to rest and you sitting up was taking a toll on you, even if it was just for a second.

 “Techno,” Dream began, as he inspected your shoulder, “isn’t to be trusted. I nearly lost my head to him. He can’t control himself, and I would hate to see you getting hurt because you don’t know what he’s capable of.” Dream withdrew a suture. You weren’t sure that he was talking about the same man… He seemed very caring, it seemed like he had a hard time showing it sometimes. He even had his tender moments when you two had shared the bed for warmth. You had woken up many times during that night and when you would move, his arms would instinctively pull you closer even though he was asleep. Is that why he moved away from other people? Because this was what others thought of him?

 “I-,” you hesitated, “I’ll be careful, I promise.” Your eyes flicked up to Dreams again. He gave you a soft smile and brushed some hair from your face.

 “Do what you want, I won’t stop you. But if you need my help… Come find me, and I’ll be there.” He spoke the last words earnestly. You would remember that. After a few moments of silence, he changed the topic to your shoulder. “This is going to hurt… Badly.” He warned. You gave a nod and swallowed back your fear.

 “Let’s just get this over with…” You eye the suture in his hand. He gives you a nod.

 “Don’t worry… I’ll take care of you.” His words echoed in your head. The next few minutes were filled with excruciating pain.

 --

 Techno rode in the back of the caravan with Philza. Phil was on his back trying to get some sleep, his hat covering his face, and Techno let his eyes wander over the sling Phil had his arm in. He felt horrible, he had lost control… Again… And in the heat of the moment, he would have killed Philza. Guilt riddled his thoughts.

 “Mate.” Phil said, “I told you, you can’t blame yourself for this…” He sighed. “I’m just happy you’re alive.” Techno was silent. “You can’t let it eat at you, and I can feel your self-loathing from here.” He could hear the smile in Phil’s voice. Techno inwardly sighed, ‘If only it were that easy Phil…’ He shook his head and crossed his arms over his chest. The silence that followed rolled into minutes.

 “So…” Phil started as he peeked out from under his hat at Techno. “You found a girl?” Phil let out a laugh as Techno looked away sheepishly. “I approve, but you’re going to have to teach her how to defend herself better.” Phil joked.

 “We’re just friends, Phil.” Techno said in a huff.

 “For now,” Phil repositioned the hat back over his face again. “I still have to apologize to her.” Phil simply said, “Maybe we can work off of that.” Techno looked over at Phil with irritation. He just wanted the subject dropped.

 When there was nothing, but silence coupled together with light snores from Philza, Techno sighed and lied down himself. His eyes staring up at the fabric of the caravan. He wanted to take you to Nihachu’s bakery and find out your favorite foods. He would help you build your house. He wanted to be there as a familiar face, as a… friend.

 ‘She’ll leave, once she figures out what you are.’

 ‘She’s going to betray you.’ The voices rang clear through his mind. He was so exhausted; he couldn’t even push the voices away in his mind. He wanted to give you a chance, and he would do just that. He felt his eyes become heavy, and before he knew it, he had drifted away into the land of sleep.

[in-2004-fandoms-and-counting]

AU where Nico dies (don't hate me pls I'm sorry I love Nico and ship the hell out of Solangelo, this is just to allow for some dark AUs) transporting the Athena Parthenos in BoO.

(Sorry it's such a long post) Reyna Avila Ramírez-Arellano, revered praetor and peace-loving daughter of Bellona, loses the ability to share strength. Now, when she uses her power, she saps your energy, draws on your bravery, and poisons your mind with horrific images. Nico's death has allowed suppressed traits to resurface and overwhelm all her progress since San Juan all those years ago. She picks fights. She becomes a dictator in all but name, abolishing the Senate and making War Games a lot more "realistic": weekly funerals become commonplace, words are spoken under breaths, and terror resides in the heart of every New Roman. And so, Reyna Ramírez-Arellano turns her brilliant mind and poisonous power to Gaea's aid. Gleeson Hedge doesn't seem more than a broken satyr at first glance, his smiles never sincere, his voice never loud, his bat never raised. But when he slips off into the wilderness, he does not sit quietly among the trees and reflect. He whispers into the trees' leaves, his twisted words echoing the bitterness that now consumes his being. He has been tricked too many times: Pan, forcing thousands of satyrs to lose their lives in their quest to find him when he was alive all along; Clarisse, who never tried to connect with nature or understand his own ties to the natural world, who teaches his child the game of death while Mellie watches, fading away, unable to fight back; the gods, who, in their promise of protection, conveniently ignored the nature spirits. He is bitterest about Nico's death: about all he could have done, about what the kid should have done. The glint in his eyes scares even the worst monster that Tartarus could send. But it is Gaea he turns his allegiance to. It is Gaea who promises that he will always be good enough for her. And so, Gleeson Hedge turns nature back to its true mother: Gaea. Hazel Levesque is not someone you want as an enemy. Her golden eyes, gold like the masks of the judges of the dead, seem to see everything. Her powers grow stronger, but now she is able to control them. One glance, and she can cause an entire legion to scream and writhe in agony as she manipulates the iron in their blood, twists their shining armour, forces weapons to turn on their handlers. She stops wearing normal, mortal clothes, and now she wears flowing dresses of molten gold and bronze that no spear could pierce nor hand touch. She calls on the remnants of metal in the cave in Resurrection Bay to rise, and rise they do, twisting and weaving together at her command to form a cathedral-like vault with a solid Stygian iron throne. At the front of her temple lies a chasm from which her first creation arises, complete and healed, at last. Alcyoneus clambers out of the pit, back with his mother's life and Hazel's burning desire for destruction. And so, after seventy years, Hazel Levesque joins forces with Gaea of her own free will. Frank Zhang's arrows are no longer aimed at Tartarus's monsters, but at the people he once considered friends. The ruins of the Zhang family mansion become a shrine to Gaea, the ancient walls falling in blissful happiness into the Earth Mother's embrace. Frank returns often with fresh skulls, unfailingly whole - his arrow pierces cleanly through the eye every time. His piece of firewood safe in Gaea's belly, protected where no flame could reach, he is unstoppable. His shapeshifting causes unforseen problems with the allies' plans, it's very hard to plan how to fight a lion when he could turn into a swarm of bees at any moment. He is the ultimate spy, a literal fly on the wall, and for once, he feels needed. He feels worth something. He feels as though he is good enough, something the gods could never give. All the gods ever did for Frank, he realises bitterly, is take. His mother. His grandmother. His self-confidence. His chance for a stable, loving family. Nico. And so, Frank Zhang finds a different kind of family, one that will not let him down, in Gaea. Piper McLean never wanted to be a tragic love story; that was purely for her mother's entertainment. She

cuts her hair short. She kills Gaea's enemies on sight. Her charmspeak forces even her old family, Camp Half-Blood, to turn against each other, brother against brother, sister against sister, until bodies litter the strawberry fields and the Big House crumbles to smouldering ashes. The gods have her no love. Their boundaries mean nothing to her any more. Her love extends to her favourite mother, her boyfriend, the rest of the Seven, Grover, Reyna and Hedge. Beyond that, it is poison. Gaea takes her hands, looks into her eyes, and tells Piper that she is more than the spawn of an unfaithful, air-headed immortal, more than the damsel in distress. She tells Piper that she is who she decides to be. And Piper agrees. Gaea gives her the opportunity to be out of others' shadows. Piper McLean takes the chance and joins with Gaea, her charmspeak almost her most dangerous feature, second only to her unbridled wrath when Nico's death is mentioned.

Jason Grace owes fealty to only one eternal goddess now. He scours the Underworld with Hazel and Frank, relentless like the wolves he was brought up with. He knows no bounds, his destruction barely controllable by even Piper and her charmspeak. He has obliterated entire cities, counties, even an entire nation. He feels no regret, no remorse, no nagging guilt. He seeks out and electrocutes homophobes as his powers grow in complexity, along with his ability to control them. No matter how much they scream, the same two words shoot from Jason's scarred lips like the lightning bolts he commands: for Nico. As the darkness inside him grows, the son of Jupiter advances on Olympus, eyes and hands blazing, to destroy his father, as one of Gaea's allies, as one of Gaea's found children. Jason Grace vows by Nico's soul and Gaea's love to destroy the gods who shamelessly abandoned them.

Percy Jackson has been close to the darkness before. As just one examole, he's controlled poison to choke the goddess of misery at the edge of Chaos. But now, Annabeth's words at the time - some things aren't meant to be controlled - strike differently. Percy doesn't follow rules any more. That brooding, troublemaking face now alludes to his new form: gone is the class clown, here is something more akin to a devil. Like Hazel, he has made hundreds of people and monsters shriek in pain as he controls their blood, contorting their bodies into unnatural forms and snapping necks with a mere snap of his fingers. If Nico's death is mentioned around the pair of them - Hazel and Percy - both turn on the individual, eyes smouldering with the deceitfully cool ashes of the fire of grief, and slowly unleash their wrath. Percy cannot be controlled. He wants revenge. Part of him wishes he had never given his mother the head of Medusa to kill Smelly Gabe; it tore him to pieces when he made the fluid in her head seep out of her eyes. But she wouldn't stop begging him to leave Gaea. She had to go. She was no longer loving him as he knew he deserved. Now, Percy Jackson takes his support from the mother he should have accepted long ago: Gaea.

Annabeth Chase did not accept powers from her new mother, her better mother. She chose to use her mind as her weapon and Gaea respected that. Gaea gave her the resources she needed to wreak havoc on mortals and immortals alike. Now, instead of studying for a stupid internship in a misogynistic, capitalist society, Annabeth unleashes her fury, her grief, her mind on the world. The gods deserve to pay for what happened to Nico. The demigods need to feel her grief. The mortals started this stupid cycle of overwork and inadequate pay. Annabeth is ready to work with the mother that respects her, that loves her, that nurtures her as she deserves. And work she does. Plan after plan is developed, improved, redrafted, mocked up, redeveloped, and finally executed with clinical precision. Her mind becomes what her enemies most fear, even above her reputation: first child of Athena in millennia to reach Arachne, retriever of the Athena Parthenos, survivor of Tartarus. And she laughs, laughs in a maniacal way that makes you want to take a step back as she strides towards you, grey eyes alight with an unnatural glint as you realise that she knows everything about you and she knows how this will end. She will not let herself or her friends die. She refuses to let another situation like Nico's death happen again. So, Annabeth Chase takes Gaea's resources and turns them into a mass genocide, executed with her new mother's blessing.

Grover Underwood leads the nature spirits now. He commands dryads to extend their unstoppable tendrils through the paths that Gaea forms for them, deep in the earth, then sending them exploding through the surface and reclaiming all that was torn from them under the pretence of friendship. His empathy link with Percy allows him some degree of control, both over the son of Poseidon and over naiads. Grover is betrayed and bitterly disappointed in Pan, in the gods, in demigods, in mortals, in Nico. And so, he turns nature back home with Gleeson Hedge. The hauntingly beautiful whistling of his pipes lures demigods, mortals, even gods to their doom. Apollo is the first to fall, trapped by the music of the satyr whose horns now make him seem diabolical as he dances in the flames. Grover Underwood finds his roots in Gaea and his revenge in destruction.

Leo Valdez wants to burn the world to ashes. There's not a moment he's not on fire, his hair smouldering, his skin aglow. At his feet lies Hera, trussed up like a rodeo calf, bound by the power of the guardian Leo knows he deserved as a child. There is no Piper with her charmspeak to free the ex-queen; at least, Piper is by Leo's side as he blasts her with his searing flames. There's a smile on Leo's face that rivals even Annabeth's as he torches cities, razes acres and lights up the sky with plumes of smoke and columns of fire. His reasoning feels etched into his heart: the gods let Nico die. The gods let us down one time too many. And so he lets the flames go. Gaea stands behind him, her hand on his shoulder, proud and respectful. She knows that he secretly enjoyed starting the war with New Rome. He has fire powers; it's only natural, and that Octavian is enough to drive anyone mad. So, Leo Valdez finally makes his peace with Gaea.

Will Solace goes out like a light as the news of his beloved's death is announced. He lies, broken and silent, in Gaea's arms, tears streaming down his face. He stirs only for Nico's name, and his eyes turn slowly to whoever dared say it. He reaches out an arm, eyes turning black, leaching all the colour from the surroundings as his whisper echoes: there is no hope. Behind him stands Gaea, a tear of her own on her earthen cheek. She feels his pain, raw and fresh. But she takes some of it onto herself. Will Solace shares his grief with Gaea now.

And so they stand, eyes alight and expressions dark and triumphant, by the side of the goddess who did not want to let Nico die.

Gaea smiles.

[wannabe-fic-writer]

Natasha Romanoff x Reader : Time

55 - “She’ll bleed out before nightfall and you think we should stay? Are you stupid?”

Thanks for the request Anon. Probably one of the hardest ones to write.

Warning: Violence, Blood

Word Count: 1,704

******

“Jesus! Could they not have chosen a better location?”

A shiver runs up your spine as you run through the building. Gun shots, grunts, and curses fill the air as you slide behind a cement pillar. 

Snow billows past the windows outside. The cold pours into the facility as if the walls aren’t even there. 

You were told during briefing that it would be cold, the mission being in Siberia, But your girlfriend had cockily mentioned that she didn’t get cold and you took that as a challenge. So you stupidly pulled on one jacket and a thermal before coming out here. 

“Don’t tell me you’re cold.”

A grimace passes your face at her teasingly sultry voice.

You huff,“ bite me Romanoff.” 

She chuckles, pausing to let off a couple shots,“ since you asked nicely.” 

Thank god no one can see the heat rising to your cheeks.

“If you two could save the flirting for later, that would be nice.” The voice of the young witch joins.

“Sorry Wan.” You apologize, knowing Natasha won’t.

It takes the three of you another thirty minutes to clear the floor before you head to look for the data. 

Splitting up, you each go into a room. Apparently these guys keep a lot of files. 

You’re tempted to make a comment on it but decide against that. You’ve joked enough during this mission and it’s best to focus up. 

Searching through the room proves fruitless. There isn’t a single bit of the info you need in here. 

“I’m empty.” You speak into the comms, leaving the room with a frown. 

Natasha had gone left and Wanda right. Knowing the red head can handle herself(and that you didn’t want to be that girlfriend) you go right.

You find that Wanda has just barely finished searching half the room when you enter. Giving the girl a supportive smirk, you search the other side. 

It’s when she opens the last filing cabinet that you hear it.

tick tick tick

“Wanda move! Now!’ You shout and the girl takes off running. 

She’s just made it to the door when it goes off. You throw yourself behind her, taking the brunt force of the explosion. 

You want to scream when you feel the heat rush up your side, joined by the pain of something piercing your back. It’s a blinding pain, starting at one spot in in the middle of your back and spreading. 

Natasha, having heard your call, rushes down the corridor. Her green eyes widen as she takes in the sight of you on the ground. 

A piece of green metal sticks out of your body and jacket, shrapnel from the filing cabinets. The material of your jacket is quickly staining with blood. 

She moves faster than she ever had, kneeling beside your body, and picking your face up off the ground. 

Trying her best to maintain a calm composure, she presses the button on her ear piece,“ Steve. Steve come in, we need evac now. Y/n’s down.” 

When static replies she feels the panic starting. The building has to be blocking her signal, they were communicating fine outside.

“Wanda.” She snaps at the girl unintentionally.“ Help me get her up, we can’t stay here.” 

Together the women hoist you up, your arms around their shoulders, feet held by Wanda’s powers. You’re just barely holding on to consciousness as they carry you through the facility.

Once you get outside, the cold doesn’t help. The wind whips past your face, snow quickly sticking to your eyebrows.

Natasha tries the coms again,“ Steve come in, we need medics and evac now.” 

“We-” static,“ Natash-” more static,“ wait.” 

She clenches her teeth and nods for Wanda to keep walking. The facility obviously has some sort of signal jammer. 

Not knowing how far it extends, she doesn’t stop until she has you under heavy cover. Trees block the snow from falling so heavily and small cave allows for some shield from the heat.

Once again she tries.“ Steve, we need evac and medical.” 

“On it.” 

Having his reply makes her give a relieved breath of air. 

She runs her fingers through your hair, your head in her lap as you breath raggedly,“ I have to take a look at this y/n.” 

You just barely nod. 

As carefully as possible, she pulls your arm from the jacket, hating the way you hiss in pain with each movement. The back of your shirt is completely soaked in blood, letting her know exactly how much you’re bleeding. 

The metal sticks out from your ribcage. You’re still breathing but that doesn’t mean it hadn’t hit your lung or any of the arteries around it, 

“I’m sorry baby.” She says before tearing your shirt from the bottom to the top of the wound.“ Wanda, give me your scarf.” 

Apart from slowing the bleeding, there’s nothing she can do. She wraps the scarf around shrapnel to catch the blood spilling from further. 

You don’t make any sounds of complaint, which would’ve been good had you not been losing so much blood. 

She’s quick to turn your head. Her eyes widen when she sees your shut eyes and she starts tapping your face.

“Y/n open your eyes.” You simply hum.“ I need you to wake up.” She taps a little harder and your eyes flutter.

They’re just barely open but they’re open.

On the other side of you, Wanda sits, hugging her knees to her chest. She’s blaming herself for this. You were shielding her. 

“It’s cold.” You mumble, head nuzzling closer to Natasha’s body.

She nods,“ I know. Evac will be here soon.”

As if having heard her, Steve’s voice returns,“ Natasha, we’re having a hard time finding your exact location. There’s a storm in the way. We need you to stay right there.”

Natasha frowns, angrily pressing the coms button,“ she’ll bleed out before nightfall and you think we should stay? Are you stupid?” She snaps into the coms, panic masking itself as rage.

The man replies quickly,“ we’re working as fast as we can.”  

“Doesn’t sound very soon to me.” 

Somehow, while barely holding on to consciousness, you manage to make jokes. Natasha’s and Wanda’s laughs are short lived though as they notice your state worsening. 

You start to sweat despite the cold, body shivering, as you fall unconscious.

Both women surround you, calling your name to wake you. 

Wanda presses the button on the coms and tearfully begs Steve to do something. She knows there’s not much he can do but she can’t lose someone else. 

As she speaks to the Captain, Natasha stays cradling your head on her lap.

“Please wake up lyubov moya. You promised me a vacation after this.” She’s freaking out and has to stop herself from rocking.

You’d taken to doing that whenever she had nightmares and it soothed her to sleep. She didn’t want to rock you and make you fall further into unconsciousness.

Her fingers trail down your arm, wrapping around your wrist to feel your abnormally weak. It’s then that a single tear rolls down her cheek. 

“Y/n, detka, please.” She begs, hand rubbing your cold, clammy cheek. 

There’s far too much for you two to do together for you to die. She wouldn’t be able to handle that.

She’d spent some many nights dreaming of a future with you. Dreaming of the day she makes you her wife. She can’t lose you.

She’s so lost in the thought of losing you she doesn’t hear the whirring of the jet’s engine.  

“Natasha, they’re here.” Wanda shakes the woman from her own mind.

The medics move fast, running the short mile into the woods, getting you on the stretcher, and back to the jet. 

Wanda and Natasha follow closely, rejecting the medical attention offered to them.

Brown and Green eyes watch every thing they do to you. 

There isn’t much they can do in the jet but they replace the scarf with actual gauze, they hold the resuscitator to your mouth, pressing air into your lungs.

Neither woman leaves your side, that is until you’re pushed into the surgical room. From there they’re asked to wait outside. 

Hope lies deep in Natasha’s heart. She’s never been religious but she’s praying. Begging whatever higher power there might be that you’re okay.

Wanda wraps her arm around the woman, giving the little comfort she can. 

It’s no long from that point that Sam, Steve, and Bucky come down to the med bay. Sam is quick to ask questions, earning a slap over the head from Bucky.

Steve just sits on Natasha’s other side and holds her hand.

“She’ll be okay.” He sighs.“ She’s a fighter.”

That’s what it all rests on. You have to be a fighter or you won’t pull through. Or at least that’s what the doctor comes to tell them hours later.

None of them had moved but the second she steps out they’re standing in front of her.

She pulls her mask off and sighs,“ we removed the metal from her side, along with the remaining pieces of imbedded shrapnel. It managed to tear her lung but it wasn't too deep and we were able to stitch it up. We also stopped the internal bleeding cause by a severed vein. Had it been an artery she wouldn’t have made it so that’s good news.”

“Doc,” Steve stops her before she can speak again,“ is she okay?” 

The doctor shrugs,“ right now she’s asleep. A self induced coma, her body’s way of getting her to rest and heal with out disruption. We’ve done everything we can. It’s all up to her now.” 

"Can I see her?’ 

Natasha’s voice had never been so quiet, so soft. She’d barely been heard.

“Of course.” 

Both women leave the team behind, walking through the med bay, and to the bed you lay in. 

Natasha instantly hates seeing all those machines and tubs connected to you. But you still look as beautiful as the day she met you.

She sits in the chair beside your bed and clutches your hand in hers like it’s all that’s grounding you both. 

“Please wake up. I need you.” She cries.“ I love you.” 

******

[besanii]

shattered mirrors 63

WangXian ; 1431 words

[set before #20]

“Wei-gongzi, your attendance is required in the main hall.”

Both Wei Wuxian and Mo Xuanyu look up in surprise. The servant at the door is an unfamiliar one, tall and stony-faced, even though he wears the dark blue robes sported by all male servants of the Imperial Family. Behind him, however, stands Bai Hongsheng, Lan Wangji’s chief steward, who nods almost imperceptibly when their eyes meet, his mouth set in a tense line.

“Of course,” Wei Wuxian says, masking his wariness with an easy smile as he stands. “Please tell Wangye I will be there promptly.”

Lan Wangji had departed for the Imperial Palace less than one shichen ago—there is no way he would be back already—but neither the servant nor Bai Hongsheng correct him. They also make no move to leave the doorway. Wei Wuxian exchanges meaningful glances with Mo Xuanyu as he dons his thick winter cloak, a gift from Lan Wangji made of the warmest, finest fur.

“Come, A-Yu, we mustn’t keep Wangye waiting,” he says, nodding to the servant and then to Bai Hongsheng as he passes them. “Bai-zongguan.”

“Wei-gongzi.” Bai Hongsheng bows, and falls into step behind him as they walk towards the main hall. He lowers his voice to a murmur. “Taishi is here.”

Ah.

The wariness that had been lingering in the back of his mind grows. There is no way Lan Qiren does not know Lan Wangji is in the palace, and yet he is here, in Hanguang Manor, requiring Wei Wuxian to attend him. He has not seen the Imperial Tutor since he left Gusu in his youth, but he remembers the man as austere and unyieldingly principled, the paragon of the morality and values of the Imperial Family. He also remembers that the man had held no great love for him back then, as a ward of a neighbouring kingdom and a gentleman in his own right; he imagines he would love him even less now that he is not.

“Does Wangye know?” Wei Wuxian asks quietly.

“I have sent word to the palace already,” Bai Hongsheng replies. “Wangye should be home soon.”

“Thank you, Bai-zongguan, I owe you a great debt.” His breath forms a cloud of steam as he exhales. “I suppose there is no point in putting off this encounter any longer.”

Lan Qiren is seated at the front of the room when they enter the main hall, the place Lan Wangji usually occupies as the master of the house. He makes no move to stand or greet Wei Wuxian, does not look up from his tea or acknowledge his existence until Wei Wuxian sinks into a bow.

“Wei Wuxian greets Taishi,” he murmurs. He does not rise.

Lan Qiren sets down his teacup with a clink and a grunt.

“Raise your head,” he orders. His eyes are hard and flinty when Wei Wuxian complies, and he studies Wei Wuxian’s face closely. “So you are the one who claims to be Wei Wuxian.”

He doesn’t wait for Wei Wuxian’s reply before he continues.

“I have had people look into your past,” he says. “You made a name for yourself in the brothels of Qishan near the end of the war, becoming the most sought after courtesan—” he spits the word like a foul-tasting poison, “—in the kingdom before relocating to Runan. You stayed there only three months before relocating again to Baling, where you stayed six months. From there, you have worked in brothels all over the kingdoms until you arrived in Gusu one year ago.”

Wei Wuxian bows his head. “Taishi is correct. But as Taishi should be aware, I am originally from Yunmeng.”

Lan Qiren raises an eyebrow. “Even so, there is no record of you before Qishan. How can you prove you are indeed Wei Wuxian? Or if you are simply an imposter assuming his identity to get closer to Wangji and the Imperial Throne?”

Wei Wuxian raises his eyes to meet Lan Qiren’s.

“It is clear Taishi has already made up his mind about my identity,” he says. “What can I say to convince Taishi that I am Wei Wuxian?”

“Insolent,” Lan Qiren barks, slamming his hand down on the table. “A person of such low moral standards dares show such disrespect to a member of the Imperial Family?”

Wei Wuxian inclines his head, his own irritation simmering beneath the surface of the respectful gesture.

“Taishi would remember that I once argued that morality lies not in the action but in the circumstances behind it,” he says. “And that we should not be too quick to pass judgment on others if are not aware of the circumstances.”

Lan Qiren is the foremost scholar in all of Gusu, with an impeccable memory, and he instantly recognises Wei Wuxian’s words. He shoots to his feet, face pale and mouth falling open in shock; his hand clenches and unclenches where it is poised in mid-air, trembling as it points at Wei Wuxian’s face.

“You—you—!” he splutters. “You dare—!”

Wei Wuxian smiles grimly. “Taishi seems to recall something now.”

He watches Lan Qiren’s face change from ashen to puce as he draws himself up to his full height. Wei Wuxian is not a small person by any means, but he is not as physically strong as he used to be, and Lan Qiren has always had an imposing presence about him. The servants still in the hall—presumably from Lan Qiren’s own staff—immediately stand at attention on either side of Wei Wuxian, ready to move with one word from their master.

“I recall an impertinent child who spouted dangerous views that deviated from the good moral teachings upon which this Empire is built,” he says through gritted teeth. “I also recall him showing no acknowledgment of wrongdoing despite his punishment. I see this has not changed in this slightest.”

Wei Wuxian inclines his head, the smile never leaving his face.

“Then perhaps Taishi would allow me to be impertinent once again,” he says, which earns him a huff from Lan Qiren. “Is Taishi’s concern for Lan Zhan, or the Gusu Lan Empire?”

“They are one and the same,” Lan Qiren returns, tucking one hand against the small of his back as he looks at him. Wei Wuxian sees his own wariness reflected in the crease between his brows, in the tense set of his jaw. “Wangji is a pillar of the Imperial Family, the Emperor’s right hand, the very backbone of the Empire itself. Any harm that befalls him strikes at the heart of the Empire. I will not have him ruined in the hands of a courtesan.”

Wei Wuxian is glad for the heavy cloak and its fur lining that hides the way his hands begin to shake. The words, the sentiment, are not new—he has said them himself, many times, told Lan Wangji the very same thing over and over again—but somehow, hearing it now, does he truly appreciate the weight they hold. Lan Wangji has never just been Lan Wangji. He has always been, will always be, the Second Prince of Gusu Lan, the Emperor’s younger brother. His very existence, his choices, his actions, have a direct impact on the stability of the Empire, on the people’s belief in the Imperial Family. One wrong move could be used against them by their enemies, one moment’s weakness could destabilise centuries of peace.

“I hold no ill will against you, only the danger you present,” Lan Qiren says. “If you insist on staying with Wangji, you leave me with no choice but to take matters into my own hands.”

He raises his hand, and the servants close in on Wei Wuxian. Two of them grab his arms while another holds Mo Xuanyu at bay; their hands are rough, their grips firm and unyielding, and Wei Wuxian gasps at the sharp sting of pain as they wrench him backwards.

“Taishi!” Bai Hongsheng exclaims. “Perhaps it would be best to wait until Wangye—”

“Bai-zongguan,” Lan Qiren says sharply, cutting him off mid-protest. “You served the Imperial Family faithfully for over forty years. I trust you would know the clan rules better than anyone else in the room. Take him away.”

Wei Wuxian catches Bai Hongsheng’s eye as he is led away by the servants and shakes his head; the steward falls silent in understanding. A message has already been sent to the palace. Lan Wangji will be home soon. He bites back a hiss of pain and allows himself to be lead outside.

--

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This was originally meant to be more about the punishment, but this scene also begged to be written, so I’ll do the punishment scene next!

[crushed-like-an-ant]

like father, like son

Tony Stark was a good liar. It came with having to deal with press (and his father but he's not ready to unpack that just yet thank you very much) all his life. Plaster on a disarmingly charming smile, make a few jokes. No one questioned the darkness lingering in his eyes. It was easy to be what people believed you to be when it was negative. Becoming an asshole and a playboy was easy. It was harder when it was positive. Being something like a mentor. A father. Tony Stark was many things, a good man - in his mind at least - was not one of them. So when a kid from Queens rocked up in red and blue pyjamas with the crazy belief that Tony (or "Mr Stark") was a genuinely good person, Tony dismissed it. He hadn't planned on the kid worming his way into Tony's heart. He hadn't planned on wanting, needing, to be better for the kid. So the kid didn't realise just how much of a disaster Tony was. But when Tony fucked up, the kid still believed in him. Not many people had done that in Tony's life. And even a good liar like Tony wouldn't be able to tell you he didn't care about the kid. And that terrified him.

Peter Parker was not a good liar. It came with the anxiety (which was only made worse after the bite, thanks for nothing spidey sense). Plaster on an unconvincingly nervous smile, fidget awkwardly. Everyone questioned the words spilling out of his mouth. That was as Peter Parker. Spider-man was different, in Peter's mind at least. Spider-Man was everything Peter wasn't. He was everything Peter Parker could never be, could never compete with. So when someone (a genius billionaire superhero) found out his identity and came to visit him when he was Peter Parker, there was no way he would be able to lie his way out of it. He knew that. And he didn't want to. Because it was pretty frigging cool that Iron Man wanted his help. For the first time, someone knew who he was outside of the mask. Maybe Iron Man would like him for Peter, not just for Spider-Man. Of course, that didn't happen - not at first. But over time, things got easier. Lab days turned from every second week, to every week, to three times a week. Tower sleepovers were some of Peter's favourite memories. Tony was slowly becoming the third father figure Peter had had in his life. And that terrified him.

At first the idea had been for shits and giggles. Take a DNA test, it's not like anything would show up. Or at least that's what they all thought. The whole team (and Pepper) was gathered in the med bay, Bruce preparing the needles to draw blood from Tony and Peter. Peter's veins were coursing with nervous energy, legs bouncing up and down, up and down, up and down. His body was shaking like a leaf and Peter tried not to think about the sound of his thundering heartbeat. Tony was calm - outwardly at least. He had an almost bored look painted across his features, sitting perfectly still. But Peter could hear his heartbeat, racing, racing, racing. He was comforted by the fact that they were both nervous. Peter didn't exactly know why he was nervous. He just sort of was. It's not like the negative result would change anything. No, Peter wasn't worried about that. He was terrified of the other outcome. Trying to reassure himself, Peter told himself over and over in his head that it wasn't plausible. His father was Richard Parker. But what if? He'd never looked anything like his father. Everyone wondered where he got his brown eyes from - Richard's eyes being blue and Mary's being green. Tony's eyes were brown. No. He couldn't think about that. Peter struggled to keep his breathing even. Everything would be okay, he told himself. The chances of being him being Tony Stark's son were minuscule. And yet he couldn't quite get rid of that little voice that whispered in the back of his mind. What if he was? What then?

"This might prick a little," Bruce told them, nerves underlying his calm 'doctor' voice, as Peter had dubbed it. He didn't blame Bruce. Peter was pretty nervous himself. And then Peter was watching the needle slide into his skin and feeling it pierce his vein, blood filling up the vial Bruce was holding with steady hands despite Bruce's heartbeat thundering. And then the blood was collected, the needle out of Peter's arm, the skin closing before a dot of blood even had time to form. Enhanced healing factors came in handy. And Peter was watching, desperately trying to quell the shaking of his hands, as Bruce took Tony's blood, the dark red liquid filling up the vial. The dark red liquid that looked so innocent, so harmless. The dark red liquid that could change everything . Blood. An interesting thing. It held so many secrets, so many problems waiting to be diagnosed hiding in its depths, right under everyone's noses as they searched for reasons behind an ailment. Blood held all the answers, and yet it told one so little about someone. It could dictate how long they would live, or how much energy they would have and yet could not tell the courage of a person. It could not tell how their life would pan out, or who would care about them, or who would draw that blood out of one's veins and stain one's skin red. 

Peter's thought process was a mess as he determinedly thought of blood rather than the fact that Tony Stark could be his fucking father. Damn, his life would be like fucking Princess Diaries. Peter would be Mia, a poor, slightly odd, not-very-popular, shy brunette with terrible social skills (although he denied it) who was in high school and had a best friend (Lily who Peter thought was a combination of Ned and MJ) who they stuck with and had a strange handshake with. They were also tormented by a bully (Flash, in Peter's case, Lana, in Mia's (holy shit, Flash was Lana, it was perfect, Peter would never be able to talk to Flash again with a straight face)). Mr Stark would be Queen Clarisse, coming to meet Peter out of the blue and changing their life by provided a ton of money and rich people lessons. Fuck. Peter Parker was Mia Thermopolis. He was living Princess Diaries. (Peter was only slightly excited he had so many similarities to Mia)(slightly)(totally)(okay maybe a lot)

Tony had no idea what the hell Peter was thinking but goddamn it must have been a good thought at the way his the kid's eyes lit up, excitement dancing across his features. Although Peter's smile was small and nerves clung to his body, Tony felt a rush of warmth in his chest as he looked at Peter. Tony couldn't stop the nagging voice whispering in his ear, what if he's yours? He had no idea what he would do. Tony had always known it was a possibility, despite his religious use of protection, sometimes it doesn't work. He'd been pretty wild in his younger years (understatement of the century - according to Pepper and Rhodey anyway), so a child being out there somewhere was something Tony had spared a second to think about over the years. But then the thought was replaced by an exciting new idea for the Iron Man suit and Tony wouldn't entertain the thought for the next few years. He'd never given it serious attention. Looking at Peter now, Tony realised that maybe he should have. Because now there was a possibility of him being Peter's fucking father and Tony had no idea how to be a fucking parent. Especially not to a genius, superhero teenager with a shit ton of emotional baggage and trauma. Hell, Tony didn't even have a role model given Howard's shitty parenting. If it even deserved to be called that. 

So, Tony was freaking out. Understandably. Or at least, understandably to everyone but himself. He was being ridiculous, he repeated like a mantra. The chances were minuscule, he reasoned desperately. There was no way Peter was his, he lied. Tony Stark was a good liar. But not even he could fool himself this time. There was a chance. And so, as the team waited in silence for the thirteen minutes and twenty-nine seconds it took for FRIDAY to get the results, Tony attempted to push back the tidal wave of anxiety threatening to crash over him. Inhaling shakily, Tony reached forward, fingers hovering over 'get results'. He looked up and found Peter's eyes boring into his, their gazes locking. Tony could see the anxiety dancing in Peter brown eyes, ones he was sure were a mirror of his own. Peter nodded. Tony brought his hand down.

Positive. 99.8% Paternity match.

Oh god.

Shit.

Fuck.

What now? What would happen now? He was a father. Tony fucking Stark was a motherfucking father. No. It couldn't be right. Peter was his... Peter was his son. Tony had a son. A living, breathing, genius, superhero son with a shit ton of emotional baggage and trauma. He was his. Tony finally gathered the courage to look up at the team who waited in tense silence for Tony to announce the results. From the shocked expressions - eyes widening, jaws dropping - Tony knew the answer to their unspoken question was written all over his face. Peter gasped, rushing over to check the screen, hand flying to his mouth when he read the results.

Positive. 99.8% Paternity match.

What. Shock coursed through Peter's veins like ice, freezing him where he stood, StarkPad in hand. He could hear voices, but couldn't make out what they were saying. Familiar voices, familiar faces. But he couldn't name them. His mind was blank, every single thought about blood or Princess Diaries gone. The bold writing emblazoned across the StarkPad's screen was seared into his brain, flashing before his eyes when he closed them. There was nothing. And then it all came crashing in. Cheering, exclamations, gasping, crying, racing heartbeats, bright smiles, thudding as someone jumped up and down, light from the window as though fate was smiling. Peter's thoughts were loud, they were so loud, they were too loud. He had a father. A living, breathing, genius, superhero father with a shit ton of emotional baggage and trauma. Peter was Tony's. And Tony was Peter's. What the fuck. And suddenly someone was hugging him. Tony, Peter registered in the back of his mind as the familiar smell of oil, metal and whiskey hit his nose. His father. Peter's fucking father. Tears streamed down Peter's face as he clung to Tony, joy filling his heart. He had a dad. It was Tony Stark. The man who'd believed in him. The man who'd cared. The man who Peter cared about. They were honest to god real life biologically father and son.

And as Peter and Tony clung to each other, tears falling from their eyes and staining their cheeks, smiling so wide it hurt, they knew that nothing would really change. Because Tony had always been Peter's father. And Peter had always been Tony's son. A blood test didn't make that happen. They did. Through pain and mistakes and lab days and supersuits, their bond had become unbreakable. It would forever be unbreakable, one of a kind.

Even if now Peter was a little bit more like Mia Thermopolis.

[yaimlight]

Not Worth The Truth

“I lied when I said I loved you”.

He looks back at you with wide pain filled eyes, tears clinging to his lashes. You feel your hart crake just a little bit more but you push your own pain aside, keep your face blank and neutral. You can’t let there be any doubt, any chance that he might see through the cracks and know you don’t mean it.

He blinks once, twice, those forest green eyes so big and honest and you have to fight the desire to reach out and brush his tears away. Izuku’s eyes have always been so expressive, the man unable to hide anything he was feeling and you had loved it, basked in the way he looked at you with such love and devotion but now it makes you feel sick, makes your skin crawl. You force yourself not to look away though, commit every flash of pain and confusion to memory. You didn’t deserve to forget this, your greatest crime.

“You don’t mean that,” he tries to sound confident, sure in his statement but his voice wobbles slightly as the tears begin to fall, his words catching as he sucks in a shaky breath. You knew this wouldn’t be easy, knew that Izuku wouldn’t let you make a clean break and disappear into the night but you had hoped that you wouldn’t have to get cruel but you were rapidly running out of options and time. You were going to have to break his heart, his stupidly large and trusting heart that you had once sought to protect.

You glared at him as you took a step back, relying on old habits to see you through this. He wouldn’t believe you if you cried and you needed him to believe every word you said. For both your sakes.

“How could I ever love someone like you? Look at yourself Izuku, you’re pathetic,” you spat, voice dripping with distain. He flinched back from you, the large muscled mass of a man shrinking in on himself like your words had physically hurt him. It felt like your heart was being cracked in two, every word that left your mouth another stake driven in to make the gap bigger. After everything you knew he still strives with his self worth, his right to be here and it was a low blow to strike him where you knew it would hurt but you needed it to hurt, needed him to look at you one day with nothing but contempt.

He looked so broken and you wanted desperately to wrap your arms around him and take it all back but you couldn’t. Not now, not ever. Instead you sneered at him, letting out a bitter huff of laughter. You turned to leave, determined to get away whilst you could but Izuku wouldn’t let you, a scared hand grabbing at your wrist and keeping you in place. “Please,” he whispered, his normal cheery voice hollow and desperate. You did that to him.

You screwed your eyes shut, hands curling into fists at your sides and jaw clenching. “Please, if I...if I did something wrong...I’m sorry...I didn’t mean to upset you...please just...” you cut him off with an all to real laugh, bitter and mocking, not directed at him but at yourself though it doesn’t come across that way and you hate that that works in your favour. You yank your arm free turning back to look at him with anger in your eyes. He’s taller than you, not by much but enough you have to tilt your head back slightly to look at him. You loved that though, liked to cuddle up to him and slot your head under his chin and listen to the rumble in his chest as he mumbled on and on about the most random of things. You wouldn’t get to do that again.

“Are you thick? What about i don’t love you are you not getting?” you hissed out, taking a step back to put some much needed distance between you. You weren’t sure that you would be able to go through with it if he touched you again. His warm and scared hands sending pin pricks of heat across your skin.

Izuku was still in his hero costume though his utility belt and gloves were gone, abandoned on the table. You had been waiting for him when he got home, the greenet having been excited to see you and expecting to find you lounging around in one of his stupidly ironic t-shirts with a coy smile and a promise of love. Instead he had found you cold and shut of, a bag sat at your feet that contained every last little thing of yours that had found it’s way into his apartment over the last six months.

“I don’t understand. We were fine this morning. Just please talk to me, tell me how to fix this and I will,” he pleads with you, those to green eyes looking at you like you hold the sun in your hands and your threatening to take it away. Izuku has always wanted to help people, fix things and make everything right in the word, his strong ideologue often make people mistake his genuine desire to do good as stupidity. You had never believed that though, had always seen it as a sign of a good heart, a true hero who wanted to make the world a better place for all but now as he desperately tried to cling onto the tattered remains of your relationship you began to wonder if you had been wrong all those times and he was actually living in an impossible fantasy land. His dream had always been a nice one but you had always known it wouldn’t happen.

“Nothings changed I just can’t be bothered with this little game anymore,” he looks betrayed, taking a step back and almost tripping over his own feet. “Game?” he chokes out and finally you can see your words starting to sink in, his to quick mind running through every aspect of your relationship and trying to see if he had missed something. You knew you had to push just that little bit more, had to tip him over the edge before he could start to fight back again and you knew this would hurt him but he had to let you go, give up hope.

Smirking you looked up at him with cruel amusement. “You didn’t think this was real did you?” you laughed watching the way his eyes widened impossibly more with shock and pain. It didn’t matter if it had been real, didn’t matter that he was the first person in a long time you had actually cared about, had actually wanted to be around. You had known when this started it was a mistake, that nothing good would ever come of it but you had been selfish, had wanted to bask in the light of his smile and the warmth of his arms. This was all your fault, his pain was all because of you and you carry that with you until the day you died.

“Oh you did didn’t you? You actually though that I could want someone like you, let alone love you,” you mocked his feelings, the words coming easy despite the nausea you could feel building. His tears and flowing quick and plentiful, streaming down his lightly freckled cheeks and dropping down onto his chest, soaking into the green fabric. He’s a noisy cryer, sucking in sharp and ragged breaths as he shakes his head, like he’s trying to deny what your saying but you know him and you know that by now he has realised that you had only told him you loved him once and that had been to get him into bed. He had noticed that you never really went out with him, had been reluctant to meet his friends and had never tried to introduce him to yours. He was probably wondering about all the late nights at the office that you knew didn’t exist, was probably imagining our with someone else and laughing about how easy it had been to string him along. It was better than the truth, better he think you a heartless bitch that what you truly were.

Sighing like this was growing boring you snatched up your bag and slung it over your shoulder, “look let’s not make this more than it actually is. You were a good fuck, something to pass the time with but that’s all it ever was. No need to get so emotional”. His knees give out then, hitting the wooden floor with a loud thud as he presses both hands over his mouth in an attempt to keep his chorales sobs and whimpering at bay. It doesn’t work and you feel your mask threatening to fall apart, your eyes stinging as your own tears threaten to fall. You need to leave and now, before he notices.

You turn away again, managing to take a step this time before Izuku is once again grabbing at your wrist, his grip tighter and damp with his tears. Huffing you turn back to him, finding him looking up at you with the desperation of a man who is about to lose everything and you hate yourself just that little bit more. “Please...I...love...you,” he forces out between sobs, his quiet voice full of despair.

Wordlessly you loosened his grip, one finger at a time and letting his hand fall to his lap once you were free. You crouch down in front of him, cupping his cheek with one hand and using your thumb to wipe away the tears but there falling so fast it doesn’t make a difference. He screws his eyes shut, his face pressing into your palm and you can practically feel the last little shrewd of hope he is clinging onto. You’re going to have to crush it, extinguish that flickering flame and leave him cold and hollow. You don’t want to. You don’t want to hurt him any more than you have but if there’s hope there’s the chance he will follow and only madness lies that way.

Leaning forward you press a kiss to his damp lips, Izuku whimpering and pressing back but you don’t let it last, pulling away before it can be something more. His eyes open and this close you can see all the different shades, see the depths of his soul. It also means you can see the moment his heart finally breaks when you say your next words, “I know yet I just don’t care”. The sound that comes from his lips is one of pure pain, his hands pressing back against his mouth as he doubles over and cries like his whole world has been shattered.

You push to your feet quickly, licking your lips and tasting salt as you dig his keys out of your jacket pocket and chucking them into the table, the little green bunny key chains ear snapping off on impact. He sobs loudly at the sound of them hitting the table, something closer to a scream that’s muffled behind his hands. You can’t stay there any longer, spinning on your heals and having to force yourself to walk casually through the apartment and not run. Izuku doesn’t try and stop you this time.

His cry’s follow you and your thankful you had waited for him with your shoes and jacket already on because the thought of having to stand there and listen to the man you loves heart brake as you laced up your trains makes you feel sick.

The door creaks as you open it, the lock clicking into place as it shut it softly so as not to disturb his neighbours. You make it to the stairwell before your own tears start to fall and you find yourself sinking down into the cold concrete floor as your body shakes with it. You burry yourself head in your knees, hands grasping at the back of your head and just let them fall, bitting down hard on your lip to keep the sounds at bay. Oh gods what had you done?

You always knew that you would have to be the one to end this, the one to make sure he wouldn’t try and cling on but you had never thought it would hurt so much. You weren’t supposed to get so involved, wasn’t supposed to fall in love yet here you were, hopelessly infatuated with the man, a hero no less. You had been cruel, malicious even and though you had done it for his own good he would never see it that way. Every morning cuddle and stolen kiss, every lazy day spent lounging on the sofa and just enjoying each other’s company, every aspect of your relationship was now tainted, twisted and blackened with the implication that he had been nothing but a bit of fun, nothing more, nothing less. He would never think of you again without remembering what you had just done to him, without feeling the phantom twist of your words as they ripped through his heart.

You had done a lot of things wrong in your life and loving Izuku was probably the worst in a long list.

Your phone dinged, the sound cutting through your muffled cries. You lifted your head, scrubbing at your eyes and taking one shaking breath after another as you try to regain some sort of control over yourself. It takes a few moment and your breathing is still ragged but eventually your vision is clear enough for you to pull your phone out and look at when you had been sent. You were half expecting it to be Izuku, begging you to come back but it’s not his name that flashes across the screen. It’s a simple thing, just a time and a quick glance at the clock tells you that you don’t have the time to sit here and wallow in pity and lamenting your mistakes in life.

With one last shaky breath you push your self up into your feet, pulling your hood up and start on your way, bouncing down the stairs quickly. You take one last look at the photo of you and Izuku on your Lock Screen, the both of you happy and smiling, before you flip it over and prise the back off, not caring as the something snaps. You slip the chip out just as you burst through the buildings door, dumping the phone into the bin just a few steps down the street and dropping the chip down a drain.

You couldn’t risk Izuku using it to find you, didn’t want the temptation there to contact him either. It was better this way, disappearing into the night like you hadn’t ever been there. You had moved out of your apartment that morning, not leaving a forwarding address behind. Not that it really mattered. The name on your lease was a fake anyway, the name on your new one different to the last and on the other side of the city. Izuku wouldn’t find you, no matter how hard he looked.

You kept your head down as you made your way through the city, slipping into the night time crowed easily and getting lost in the mass of others. It was with practiced ease that you disappeared down back alleys and side streets, getting deeper and deeper into the city and its dark and seedy underbelly. This was the forgotten part, full of drug addicts and petty criminals, prostitutes and street gangs. No hero came here unless they had a death wish, leaving this part of the city to rot and fester. This place had its own rules, its own hierarchy and as you slipped past the lowlifes and degenerates no one dared touch you, watching you with open hostility as you approached ‘The Unholy Hero’, the bars neon green open sign fright in the darkened street.

You burst through the door, bouncing down the steps and ignoring the four sets of eyes watching you, heading straight to the bar. “Trouble in paradise?” the annoying cheerful voice called through the silent room and you gritted your jaw, trying to ignore him. You let your bag fall off your shoulder, throwing it against the counter as you lent across the counter and snatched up a bottle of whiskey and a shot glass. “How about you go fuck your self,” you snarled, leaning against the bar as you pours yourself a shot and nocked it back, quickly refilling the glass.

No one here knew about Izuku, you had been careful about that but they did know you had been seeing someone. It was hard to hide the change in your behaviour when you spent so much time with these people. You knew if they ever found out about him that neither of you would survive the night, him dead and you a broken mess beyond repair. No this was better. Izuku would hurt for a while but he would be okay in the end. He would wake up one day and realise you hadn’t been worth it and he was better off without you.

Across the bar Higashikuni snorted, his kohl lined golden eyes shimmering with amusement. “How about you fuck me yourself coward,” he smirk, winking at you and he shook his head, moving his jet black hair out of his eyes. “Like I would ever be that desperate,” his gold eyes narrowed as the others laughed, flashing brightly as he stuck up his middle finger at you. This was normal for you two, an odd mix between flirting and hostility that had worked well for the two over the years. Normally you would just roll your eyes and get on with it but you were feeling raw and stolen, on edge and ready for a fight and he would be a good distraction, your quirks complimenting the other in a way that meant any fight you had would be long and painful. You wanted it to hurt and he wouldn’t disappoint.

Before you could spend your mouth though the side door opened, the quiet murmuring of voices stoping instantly. Huffing you took another shot, eyes falling to look at your shoes as you ignored the new arrival. It didn’t last long, shinny black shoes appearing in your line of sight. “Bad night?” he asked, like you were some sort of puzzle to be turned over and put back together. Your grip tightened on the bottle, your eyes screwing shit for just a moment as you seriously contemplated leaving but you knew you wouldn’t get far, you never did.

Sighing you opened your eyes and looked up, glaring into blue/grey eyes that looked as cold and uninviting as a winter storm. “Yeah. Some asshole is waisting my time when I’m pretty sure there are a thousand other things I would rather be doing right now,” you were never normally this rude and over Fuyuhito’s shoulder you could see Higashikuni raise an eyebrow at you but you didn’t care. You had already fucked up your life tonight so why not carry on as you started and set the rest of it up in flames as well.

The room got colder, an impossible breeze ruffling at your hair as Fuyuhito’s cold eyes narrowed. You didn’t back down down, held your head high and glared back hoping he would take the bait, even as you felt your skin prickle with the cold. Something must have given you away though, the sudden cold breeze disappearing and Fuyuhito turned away from you with a sigh, his silver hair glinting in the light. Growling you took another shot, letting the liquid burn as you glared at his back.

“Let’s get on with it then,” he said airily, waving his hand and the lights go off, a project whirring to life. He sinks into a chair next to the other, leaning back into the plush leather and looks at you expectantly. Glaring at him you took another shot before placing the bottle and glass down on the counter and headed to stand next to the glowing image of a high end skyscraper. “As you all know this is the headquarters of the Nakamura foundation, the countries largest supplier of high end luxury goods and services to the rich and famous and tomorrow night they will be hosting a party to show of their newest collection-“ you waved your hand and the image changed showing off a group of of diamond and precious jewel encrusted necklaces and bracelets “-jewel of the night”.

This was easy, the words flowing from your lips like water. You had been working on this for six months, had spent months doing recon and test runs and you were sure in your plan, as was Fuyuhito. This is what you were good at, how you had made your living and gotten through life and your confidence was well earned. After all this wasn’t the first high end robbery you had orchestrated and it wouldn’t be the last.

As you went on about security systems, who would be in attendance, heroes that would be on duty and exit strategy’s your mind wonders back to the man you had left broken and alone. You hated yourself for what you had done but it was better this way, better for him to think he had fallen in love with a heartless bitch and not a wanted criminal. You didn’t want to put him in that position, to have to watch you be lead off in cuffs or for him to be the one to arrest you. No this was definitely a mercy and come tomorrow night it wouldn’t even matter. You would take your share and run, put as much distance between you and Izuku as you could and never set foot in Japan again.

[yeenybeanies]

Could u do #36 with Hawkeye? If not Hawkeye then could u do Logan?

you can still send prompts & questions -^w^-

36. “ what do you want me to do about it? i’m three inches tall. ” 

clint would be great for this but i gotta go with my favorite manlet this time :> also i am once again spending time designing characters that i’ll only use once smh

marvel | logan howlett / wolverine & joy fredericks / heartbreaker ( oc )

1,394 words

mild language warning

thanks for sending!! 

A guttural growl rumbles, sounding like something that would come from a beast more than a man. There’s a familiar pressure in his forearms, but he holds the metal claws housed within at bay. They wouldn’t be particularly useful in this situation anyway.

“ I could use a little help here, ”  the man snaps. He glances down at his flannel shirt, at the pocket on his breast.

“ Hmm. Looks like you’ve got it to me, ”  comes a reply from within the pocket.

“ Kid. ”  He growls again, both in frustration and from exertion. He shifts his grip on the crumbling concrete to try and hold it better. It’s only just barely keeping together. Every second, every movement, threatens to bring the whole wall and ceiling down.

“ Yes, Logan? ” 

“ Ghrr––help me with this damn wall! Before it buries the both of us! ” 

The pocket shifts. Out pops a little head-full of tight, red curls. From underneath them, proportionally tiny eyes look up at Logan, and then at the wall, unimpressed. Her lips purse.

“ What do you want me to do about it? I’m three inches tall. You’re Wolverine. ” 

“ Kid, I swear to god––– ”  Logan starts, but another jolt in the wall cuts him off. He leans into the weight, eyes closed, features pulled into a snarl.

The little one rolls her eyes and sighs, exasperated. She pulls herself further out of the pocket, then summons up her mutant abilities. Her minuscule weight lifts into the air, powered by her telekinesis. The casual clothes on her body start to glow a bright pink and morph, leaving her in her pink-and-black uniform when it fades. A black mask appears on her face in a similar fashion.

“ Fine. Heartbreaker clocking in for hero duty. ”  She flies out from between Logan and the wall and raises her hands, fingers splayed. With another breath, she channels her energy, her willpower. For several seconds, nothing happens, much to her alarm.

“ Any day now . . .! ”  the man says. His arms are shaking.  “ Joy! ”

“ I’m trying. Hold on––– ”  She pushes again, willing the concrete back with growing desperation. Under her breath, she curses. Focus, she tells herself. Push. Lift. She squeezes her eyes shut in concentration. The concrete is much heavier than she’d anticipated.

Fucking LIFT!

The rubble starts to move, no longer pulled by gravity, but by mind power. Joy moves the large chunks away from Logan, using her hands to guide her energy. Her breath is heavy. Once the weight is off of his shoulders––literally––Logan backs away. Any abrasions from falling and scraping concrete quickly seal shut, vanishing as though they’d never happened to begin with.

“ Attagirl, ”  he says. His hands lift up to cup around her tiny body. With her in his hold, the man turns on his heel and breaks out into a sprint, making for the door. Cracks in the ceiling match his not-inconsiderable speed.  “ C’mon, Joy, hold it for another minute . . .! ” 

A minute is about all she has left in her. Logan only just makes it through the door as the ceiling comes down behind him. The shock wave pushes him down to his knees. Acting on instinct, he curls around the little one, surrounding her, using himself as a shield from any flying debris.

Though her efforts were not physical in nature, Joy still suffers physical and mental fatigue from her exertion. She lies limply in the man’s hand, her chest rising and falling with exhausted breaths. Logan stays curled around her for several long moments––longer than she’d normally allow without some sort of snarky comment. Luckily for him, she’s too tired to come up with any such comments.

Only when he is sure that the rubble has settled does Logan unfold himself. He pushes himself to stand, hands still cupped around Joy. He spares a quick glance over his shoulder to the collapsed building, then turns his attention to the little mutant.

“ Hey. Still alive? ”  It’s a rhetorical question; he can hear her breathing and her heart’s beating.

The initial answer he gets is a groan. Joy sits up, a hand to her forehead to try and nurse her rapidly-worsening headache.  “ No, ”  she says flatly. Dust covers her, muting the fiery red of her hair. Everything hurts.

“ Yeah you are. ”  Logan gently hooks a thumb under her chin and tips her head up towards him. One corner of his mouth is quirked up in a half smile.  “ How ya feelin’? ” 

Joy does not resist him. She meets his eyes, her brows furrowed.  “ I feel like shit, Logan. ”  On top of her exhaustion, she feels a sense of shame. She couldn’t hold the collapse. Any other psionic mutant wouldn’t have had a problem with it! 

“ You did good, ”  Logan says, sensing her internal turmoil.  “ Maybe a little less lip next time. ” 

Joy rolls her eyes and groans. Logan picks the worst times to make jokes.  “ It still came down. ” 

“ It was coming down anyway, ”  the man says with a shrug.

“ I should have been able to hold it, ”  she huffs.

“ Nah. You did fine. You’re still learning your powers. ”  He looks back to the debris, thoughtful.  “ I’m more curious about what caused the collapse. I didn’t detect anyone else in there with us. ”

“ Neither did I . . .. ”  Joy shakes her hands through her hair to try and clear some of the dust, then gathers her focus and levitates up from Logan’s hands. His head whips back around to face her. Were she in better spirits, the little mutant might tease him for being so outwardly concerned. Unfortunately, both her spirits and energy are pretty low. She only manages to hover for a few seconds before dropping back down. Logan, having not moved at all, easily catches her again. His fingers curl, giving her something to lean on.

“ Easy now, pipsqueak. You’re gonna have to rest a while. ” 

Joy huffs indignantly and supports herself against the man’s thumb. This is embarrassing. She hates feeling so weak.  “ I’m fine. ” 

“ Uh hunh. And you’re gonna rest while I investigate. ”  Before she can offer any sort of retort, Logan stuffs Joy back into his breast pocket. She squeaks in protest, but he pays her no mind.

“ Logan! ”  Once she’s regained her bearings, the little mutant pushes her head out from the pocket and glares up at the underside of Logan’s jaw. She narrows her eyes and pushes with her mind, but finds a familiar barrier blocking her out.

“ Can’t read me, kid, ”  he says knowingly. There’s a smug twinkle in his eye. He gives his temple a tap.  “ Steel trap. Well––adamantium. ”

“ I wasn’t going to read you, ”  she says.  “ I was gonna insult you. Telepathically. ” 

Logan pushes a sharp, amused breath through his nose.  “ Heaven forbid. ” 

“ But that’s fine; I can just do it out loud. ” 

“ Can’t wait. ”  He shoves Joy’s head back down into the pocket, more teasing her than anything, and makes for the door he’d come through. For the most part, debris obstructs it. He can’t squeeze through. With a contemplative hum, the man lets his eyes wander, looking for alternative entrances.

There.

“ Hold on, ”  he says. He jumps to grab a handhold in the cracked brick face and clambers his way up to a barred window on the second story. Joy peeks out from the pocket in time to see the Wolverine’s famous claws slip out through his knuckles with their characteristic snikt! 

Gross.

She grimaces, but keeps her comments to herself. She knows it’s worse for him; he has to feel the pain every time he pops those claws.

Logan makes quick work of the bars, dispatching them with two easy slashes. His claws slice through them like a hot knife through butter. They retreat back into his knuckles with another sickening noise, freeing his hand to punch through the glass.

“ The building was already unstable before we got here, ”  Joy points out.  “ It was probably, like, a cat or something that stepped wrong and sent it all down. And you weigh more than a cat. ” 

“ Guess you’ll just have to catch me if I step wrong then, ”  he says. Though his face doesn’t give anything away, Joy can hear the implicit smirk in his voice. 

“ Ugh. Y’know, I don’t think I could yet, even if I wanted to. ”  She sits up further in the pocket, arms folded over the lip.  “ So if you fall, you’re shit outta luck. ”

[thecipherlegacy]

12 and/or 21 for your choice? ~@dragonheart-swtor

I chose both with Arianness and Noshiir, hope you like it!

Arianness had spent the day out doing smuggling runs non stop as she waited for Toovee to contact them about her boyfriend's recovery from their last run together. It wasn't life threatening that she knew of, but he had been knocked out for over two days after an escape gone wrong against pirates. He had gotten a hard hit on the noggin and a couple of scrapes after a rough jump into hyperspace and hadn't woken up since. Toovee got the poor man into a kolto tank, but the waiting was the worst part.

"Hey, pinky" chasaadia greeted her captain as she sat up front with her. "How are you holding up?"

"Im fine" the Twi'lek responded. "A little worry won't stop me from making credits. Also, Noshiirs skull is resilient. He'll come through. I know he will. That thick skulls gotta be good for somethin." The captain smiled at her friend, but that weak chuckle was less than convincing.

"You mask your concern with humor." The large nautolan crossed her arms and gave an unamused look. "And you keep your nerves in check by working."

Arianness scoffed "what in the galaxy makes you think that, Red? Suddenly a psychology expert, are ya?" Her curt reply got no answer, so she stayed silent as well. Her hands ran over the steering console and she sighed. At one point she would have been happy to be rid of the man, but so much had changed since then and she missed his stupid jokes and his silly smile. The ship was quiet without the sounds of his tinkering echoing throughout it.

"Talk to me, Ari." Chasaadia demanded in a sisterly tone once the silence became too much. "I'm not some meathead. I know you're upset."

The smaller woman's purple eyes glanced at Chasaadia, then back down at the console. "Do you think he'll be alright? He hit his head pretty hard." Was all she could think to ask. Realistically she knew her friend had the same knowledge of Noshiors condition as she did, but the reassurance was all she needed.

A numbing silence filled the ship, then the nautolan took a deep breath. "I gotta admit, he took a nasty spill, and there was a pretty gnarly amount of blood." This earned her a sharp look. "But, I trust my Toovee with my life, and I sure as hell trust him with Noshiirs. He's in good hands." Despite how her response began, her gentle smile comforted Arianness. The Bounty hunter never was good woth being gentle, so this was surely the best she was going to get.

"Thanks Chassy. I should really put more faith in Toovee. Hes patched us up in much worse circumstances. Im sure Noshiir will be okay... I just need to not think about it"

The other womans large hand pat Arianness's shoulder "Then let's go make some credits. Toovee will call when that bonehead wakes up."

With a nod, the captain jumped to hyperspace to go to their drop off on Tattooine. Right out of the spaceport there were Jawas swarming to try and trade, which the Captain denied and Chasaadia threatened if they got too close or too rowdy. Couldn't risk the shipment being stolen or damaged.

Both women kept some wraps over their heads to avoid the heat in any way they could until they made it to the Cantina, where they finally met up with their contact, who looked seedy, but had the credits.

"Alright so you can count it. All the blasters and stims you ordered are in there." Arianness said. As the man counted, her communicator began to go off. "Chasaadia, take over for a sec." She stated before getting up and answering the call. Toovee was a relief to see. "Oh thank the force- how is Noshiir?-"

"I am pleased to tell you that he is awake and functional. He still needs rest, but everything seems to be in order, so whenever you're ready to come home-"

"We'll see you soon!" Arianness grinned from ear to ear before hanging up "He's awake, Chassy! Lets go!" She called and rushed out of the cantina before getting any response.

"He hasn't paid!" The hunter argued and watched the younger woman leave with a grunt.

"Well, guess I dont gotta pay, then" the client smirked, but was quick to change his mind when a blaster was shoved against his nose.

By the time the Nautolan was back on the ship, her captain was already getting it started up and ready to go. "So,what happened to 'a little worry won't stop me from making credits'?" She asked with a frown. "You almost didn't get paid for that shipment."

"I lied. C'mon, red. You knew that" Arianness said woth a shrug. "Now strap in. We're going home."

"Im taking a bigger cut from this one, you idiot." Chasaadia sighed again and sat down beside her "and I mean that in the most loving way."

Those purple eyes looked at her playfully as they left the space station. "I know. And you deserve it, take what you want."

This surprised the hunter,but she decided not to mention it. Arianness used to care more about a missed score or being ripped off. Her love for the zabrak had changer her priorities for the better.

The ride home was relatively quiet as Arianness was so focused on getting there fast. The moment they entered the atmosphere of Alderaan she was practically buzzing with joy.

"I've never seen you like this" Chasaadia finally said. "So happy. Its nice."

The captains cheeks flushed bashfully "oh- thanks Chassy... I'm just relieved he's okay- I mean... aren't you excited to see Toovee?" She asked as the ship was brought in to land in their hangar.

"Of course I am." The other scoffed. "But you're like a little kid on life day."

Arianness huffed and shut off the engines "I'm just... going to be happy to see him walking around again, you know?... it was my carelessness that caused his injury. I could have lost him, kinda puts things into perspective. Helps me appreciate what we have even more."

There was a brief silence, then Chasaadia chuckled fondly and stood up. "Sap." Was all she said as she walked to the airlock.

"Hey!" Arianness frowned and followed her "shut up."

They stepped off the ship to see Toovee waiting for them. He was instantly fretting over Chasaadia, as he always did after their runs. The Twi'lek waved to him as she rushed up to the medical bay, where Noshiir was standing up on shaky legs.

She smiled at the sight, but also worried since she knew he probably shouldn't have been walking yet. "And what are you doing out of bed, mister?" Her tone was like a mothers as she approached him to look the poor man over. He had fresh bandages on his head and stomach and a few bruises on his red skin. His hair was up in a messy bun, leaving some of it hanging over the right side of his face. Despite it all, Noshiir looked up at her and gave her that million credit smile.

"Damn... youre a sight for sore eyes, Captain." He said. "When Toovee said y'all were coming home i thought I'd greet you but... uh... yeah I only made it this far."

She sighed and put his hands on her hips "Put your weight on me, can't have you falling and hitting your head again, you goof" Arianness chuckled a little and held his face in her palms softly. "Nice to see those blue eyes again..." she brushed the strands of hair from his face and curled it behind his ear. "Im so sorry you got so hurt... I should've been more careful."

His brows knotted "What? Darlin.... this wasn't your fault, shit happens. I'm just grateful to be up and looking at your pretty mug again" he argued. The captain frowned and her pink cheeks tinted red.

"You flatterer." Came yet another sigh. "I love you.... never scare me like that again"

His weight shifted so their foreheads touched. "I love you too, but no promises. You know I'm accident prone."

Arianness snickered. There was truth to his words. He was clumsy and definitely drew attention in a fight. She gently guided his head lower to kiss his brow. "Then lay back down, clutz. I'll get you some lunch, I'm sure you're famished"

He smiled and relaxed into her touch before doing as he was told "Once I'm all fed maybe you can just.. lay with me a while?" He asked. The twi'lek smiled back at him and gave a small nod.

"I'd love nothing more."

[sleekervae]

The Neighbour [0.7]

Masterlist

The sun was high in the sky, bright and casting everything in a flattering golden light. The grass blades beneath Eva's body pricked at her fair skin and Remington's hair tickled her spine, the May heat was blazing but she was happy as she proofread her latest article.

Remington had his white heart-shaped sunglasses on, and Eva was sure he must've been asleep from how still he was. She broke her attention from her laptop and looked over her shoulder, stormy blue eyes gliding over the expanse of his torso and the many tattoos that were like a gallery to his world. A gallery that she had the pleasure of enjoying just for herself.

With a sharp intake, Remington stirred when he felt he was being watched. And when he saw Eva's delicate face looking back at him, he smiled back, face thick with sleep but he looked happy.

"What are you looking at?" he asked.

"Just checking on you," she replied coyly, "You comfortable?"

"Yes I am. Had no idea you made such a good pillow," he grinned, to which Eva simpered amusedly, "How's your article coming?"

"Just proofing before I send it," she said.

"How much you getting for it?"

"Seven hundred and fifty bucks"

He gave a stirring whistle, settling down against her flank and closing his eyes, "Make that money, Eva,"

Eva was quiet as he nestled down again, but she kept her eyes fixated on his body. She admired the way the light bounced over the sunscreen-slick film on his skin, and how effortlessly pretty and cool Remington looked in contrast to the lush green grass beneath him. The tips of her fingers brushed at the cooler blades beneath her chest, fighting the urge to reach over and touch the ink on his bicep.

And just like that, a new poem jingled in her brain and sprinted to her fingertips. The poem was drafted in minutes, and as Eva read it over and over to herself she was at a loss as to whether she should publish it to her blog. She knew Remington had looked at her poetry, and she wondered what he would think if she posted a piece about him. Or what his fans would think if they happened to find her blog. Would people even know it was about him?

Nevertheless, she took another glance at his rising and falling chest. In her lens she looked at him like a muse, a piece of art that she wanted to record and worship with her words. And that feeling made her nervous.

... But it also had her simmering with excitement.

"You're still staring at me," he suddenly said, a mischievous smile spreading across his face.

Eva rolled her eyes, though a sheepish grin spread across her own lips as she pushed her laptop across the grass, "Let me up,"

Remington's eyes snapped open again as he lifted his head so Eva could get to her feet, "You alright?" he asked.

"I'm just gonna' get something drink. You want anything?" she replied.

"I'm good," he threw his hands behind his head as he laid back down in the grass, "I'll guard your computer for you,"

Eva chuckled, "You're so brave,"

"Aren't I?"

Eva slipped her tank back over her bikini top, rubbing at the hot spot where Remington's hair had prickled over her skin. Her hand seemed to shake as she pulled back the glass sliding door, quickly slipping inside and finding Emerson sat on the couch with his notebook and variety of charcoals. Pepper was sleeping at his feet, but she perked up and tried to crawl to the top of the couch when she heard Eva's footsteps.

Emerson turned to his neighbour, "You okay, Eva?"

"Yeah," the small brunette replied, "Could I grab some water?"

"Of course," he smiled, "You know where the glasses are,"

"Thanks," she grabbed herself a glass of cold water and headed back for the door, stopping when she peaked over Emerson's shoulder and gazed in awe at the gothic victorian architecture covering two full pages in his journal, "That's so sick,"

"Thanks," he replied happily, "Did Remington tell you about our graphic novel?"

"He did. Did you illustrate everything?" she asked incredulously.

Emerson shrugged sheepishly, "I had a lot of help. I'll let you read the first copy that comes out, if you'd want"

"That would be awesome,"

It was then an idea stirred in the back of Emerson's head, "Do you write any fictional stuff?"

Eva shrugged, debating whether she should bring up her fanfiction hobby, "... I've dabbled,"

Emerson smiled, "Well, I'm planning to make these into a series. When we start drafting the next volume, would you want to work on it with us?"

Eva's heart nearly leapt into her throat, "You serious?"

"Why not?" he shrugged, "It's always more fun working with friends, anyway,"

Eva's face flushed, "Emerson, I'm honoured! I'd love to work with you guys,"

Over in the backyard, Remington shifted and sat up from his nap. He blinked his eyes a few times to get used to the sudden influx of light, then focusing in on the shadowy silhouette of Eva and Emerson in the house. He watched her smile, and the hand that wasn't holding a water glass came to rest on her chest. He wondered what they were talking about: probably art, the pandemic, the album party that was coming up this week.

Or was it possible that they were talking about him?

Remington took a glance at her macbook, the screen having just fell asleep. Curiosity got the better of Remington, he wondered why Eva kept glancing at him between her writing. He checked again and Emerson and Eva were still having their conversation, and Remington reached over and tapped the touchpad, bringing the laptop back to life. Eva's main page was her article about dog fighting and the people who ran these gambling rings, but Remington clicked on the open Tumblr tab. A draft of a new poem stared back at him, and before he knew what he was doing he was reading it word-for-word.

"You sleep soundly, protected by the company of

snakes, angels, and demons.

They guard your organs, flesh, and muscles.

Without moving eyes they watch the world pass you by

While you're none the wiser, drunk on beer and sunstroke.

The breath that leaves you fans over a crest of regality, valiance,

The summer grass tries to scratch away the frowns of the skulls on your arms,

You've come too far to continue to be sad.

At least, that's the impression I get.

I like your homage to the illuminati: that little triangle below your intestine

forever searches for lies and enlightenment.

Or maybe you just decided that it looked cool?

And I love that angel, clinging to your spine as you dive into the four corners of hell

Yet it drags you back to the surface, reminding you of the better qualities you have

that overshadow the bad ones.

Your body is a gallery, and I've bought myself a ticket.

I only planned to take the basic tour, a brief introduct --"

Remington quickly clicked back to Eva's article when he heard the door sliding open again, but Eva had caught him snooping. She looked down at him quizzically.

"What are you doing?" she asked, her standing figure blocking out the searing sun.

Remington glanced back at the screen, "Reading about the bastards who exploit defenseless animals and force them into fighting for monetary gain," he replied quickly, "Very profound work,"

Eva had the mind to know he was spouting straight bullshit, but she didn't press on, "Thank you," she set down her water glass and started to pull off her shorts.

"Your thirst quenched?" he asked.

"Yes, and now I'm going to go for a swim," she smiled, "You're more than welcome to join me,"

Remington sat back as her tank top fell to the ground, revealing the small flower tattoo on her ribs peeking out from the band of her bikini. Eva stood at the edge of the pool, shook out her hair, and dived head first into the crystalline water. Remington smiled to himself as he stood up, his heart thrumming as fast as a hummingbird could bat its wings when as the words he read fluttered behind his eyes.

She was writing a poem about him.

Eva emerged from the water just as Remington took a running start, and without warning, cannonballing into the water beside her. As she wiped the water from her eyes more had splashed over her head. Remington broke out of the water seconds later, laughing when he saw the scowl on Eva's face.

"You're so fucking chaotic!"

"You love me,"

The album was to drop this Thursday at midnight, and they were going to stream and celebrate its release at Sebastian's place with a party. A small party, with Daniel, Andrew, their mom, and their girlfriends.

And of course, Eva had been invited.

Remington assured her it was just going to a small casual affair, and all she needed to bring was her "gorgeous smile". Those were the words he used. Nevertheless, Eva had a constant flutter in the pit of her stomach as Thursday neared; annoyed because no matter what she pulled out of her closet she seemed to have nothing to wear, and popping advil because her period decided to pay her an early visit the morning of the party.

Remington continued to check Eva's Tumblr and Instagram pages now and again, wondering if she had posted the rest of that poem. He felt a little guilty about snooping, and he wondered what her reaction would be if she knew he had looked. Or perhaps she already knew that he had and she was only letting it slide because she didn't want to talk about it. And as he stood in the shower on the morning of the party, not snapping out of his thoughts until Emerson banged on the door loudly for his turn, Remington began to realize he wanted Eva so much more than he should have for a friend.

Pluto lay diligently at the foot of Eva's bed while she worked, wearing a face mask to hopefully keep her period acne at bay. She read through her most recent poems, a shiver crawling up her spine every time she read them. It was scary because within the last few days, she realized Remington had become the muse she examined and picked apart in her pieces. It wasn't that she hadn't written about boys before, she had, but they didn't elicit the same excitement Remington did when he touched her; or when he was even near her.

In the two and some months she had come to know him, Eva's world had grown so small and yet exploded so suddenly in such little time. Remington was a firecracker of wild colors that splattered across the folds of her brain and drew her into him like a moth to the light. She wanted to watch him move, work, and no matter what she wanted to make him smile. After listening to his music, she knew how badly he needed to be happy. And there was a part of her that wondered what it would be like; how would he be with her if they started a relationship? What's it like dating a rockstar? She imagined the day-to-day wouldn't be very different from how they were now: great friends just one step further on the scale of intimacy.

The more she thought about it, the more she wanted it. She wanted him.

✧✧✧

Remington's tongue tingled as he approached the complex courtyard in the late evening, his gaze flying to her balcony to hopefully get a small glimpse of Eva. He smashed the call button for her apartment and waited for her sweet voice to pick up.

"Yellow!" she answered happily.

"It's your friendly neighbourhood psychopath," Remington smiled as he spoke into the speaker.

Eva chuckled, "Come on up! I got the door open,"

The front door clicked and Remington slipped inside, his mask over his face as he waved to the landlord who was too nose deep in his newspaper to give a damn about him.

He pulled his mask down and knocked first before entering Eva's apartment, first being greeted by Pluto who leapt out of his bed and began to rub himself against his pant leg. Remington scooped him up in his arms.

"It's good to see you too, buddy!" he cooed at the cat, "Are you coming to the party with us? Maybe if we ask nicely your mom will take you?"

Remington's attention diverted from Pluto when he heard Eva walk in from behind. Turning around, any words he had were suddenly stuck in his throat when his eyes fell over her. Just when Remington thought she couldn't look any more gorgeous, she blew all his expectations out of the water in a body-hugging black, white, and red plaid dress, white sandals on her feet and her short hair loose and wavy. She only had on mascara and some eyeliner, but in his opinion, Eva didn't need any more than that.

She was absolutely beautiful.

Her smile faltered when Remington hadn't said a word, not even a hello, "... You're looking at me weird," she said, bordering on panic as she glanced at her dress, "Do I look weird? 'Cause I can go change --"

Remington quickly snapped out of it, "N-No! You're fucking gorgeous," he gaped, "Sorry, I didn't mean to stare like that --"

"No, it's okay," she assured him, smiling sheepishly as her heart skipped a beat, "You look really good, too. Yellow suits you nicely,"

Remington chuckled, continuing to cradle Pluto as he glanced at his pants, "See -- me and Emerson got into a debate. I say they're yellow, he think they're lime,"

Eva shrugged, "Regardless, they're on the citrus spectrum," she grinned, going to grab her purse, "Are you sure I can't bring anything? Like a bottle of wine, or --"

"Nope! Seb's got all the alcohol we'll need," he replied, "You can bring Pluto if you want, though. Emerson's gonna' bring Pepper,"

"He's better off here where I know he'll be safe. Over there, I'll constantly be worried if he's trying to tear up the carpet or... or eating another shoe," Eva shook her head.

Remington shrugged as he set Pluto down, "Just as well, I don't think he and Pepper like each other," he said.

"Oh really? What gave that away?" Eva asked in mock disbelief, "The constant hissing, the yapping, the growling? The cat's staying here,"

"Sorry bud, I tried," he said to Pluto. The tabby spun his tail before striding off back to his bed.

Eva took a deep breath and stared up at the ceiling, "He'll be fine," she sighed.

Remington cocked his head, "You okay?"

"Yeah," she nodded quickly, "It's that time of the fucking month again and my stomach does not like me,"

He swallowed with uncertainty, "... It's just a period thing, right? You're not losing taste or smell or anything, right?"

"No, it's just a period thing," she assured him, "I'll be fine. I feel like shit, but I just need some fresh air and some good music,"

"Lucky for you, I can provide all of those things. And just to reiterate, you look fantastic," he said.

"You're sweet," she smiled, slinging her denim jacket on and clutching her purse, "Shall we?"

"We shall," Remington quickly held the door open for her, "After you, my lady,"

"Why thank you, kind sir,"