#he swings so far between calling himself a genius and not being able to take a compliment from david. i love him

[chirpychipslive]

rick wright's last interview with mojo magazine, july 2007 (published september 2008)

[yoonpobs]

love language | myg

pairing: min yoongi x oc

genre: FLUFF, that's it

warnings: this is just so cute and self-indulgent lol

words: 5, 123

summary: how min yoongi loves you

“You know there isn’t a point in inviting me out for brunch to only sigh and stab your overpriced meal with a fork right? I already see you enough on a daily basis and I think I’m exceeding my _____ quota for the month.” Jimin says dryly.

Usually, you’d quip back with an equally brute remark of your own but there’s something far heavier lingering at the back of your mind. A territory you weren’t quite sure how to navigate and vocalise. Jimin picks up on your silence and stamps it as odd behaviour because you were far more … hands-on when it came to your retorts but today you’re dead quiet.

Jimin leans forward on his elbows to give you a concerned look when you still silently assault your meal with the fork in your grip.

“… is this even _____?”

You look up and your expression is unimpressed. Jimin raises his arms up in defense before retreating to the comfort of his plush sofa chair—a product of allowing him to choose the venue for your dire brunch that and the cost was your empty wallet and every last bit of your mental health.

“What do you think of Yoongi?”

The question throws Jimin off not because he has no idea who that is—but because you were shy and timid. A soft-spoken person by nature that liked keeping to yourself and that was a huge juxtaposition in terms of your friendship with Jimin because he was everything you were not. He was loud, the biggest person in every room, and the person that everyone knew on campus.

Your friendship was an unlikely occurrence even for your lecturers when they’d glance at you from the hallways or when your peers would eye you oddly when they’d see Jimin partaking in every extra-curricular there was available and while you chose to do your own thing, far away from the action and where you were safely kept in your own bubble.

Jimin is surprised because you were already very private, and as your best friend, he didn’t take any offense to that when you didn’t share matters of your life with him. He already overcompensated for the fact that all he did was talk about his personal life—which you didn’t mind either. It was a healthy balance and a give and take that the two of you found a pattern with.

So for you to bring up the name of your boyfriend—which Jimin only knew because he caught a glimpse of a name with a heart and a text with the word ‘date’ attached to it—was definitely out of character.

“Yeah. This definitely isn’t _____,” Jimin says, “I’d like her back, please. I need someone to have no backbone so I can trample on her without her ever complaining.”

You glare at him even harder and stab the lettuce on your plate harder.

“You know what? Forget it …” You mutter, pushing your plate away from you.

Jimin levels you with a wry look and reaches his hand out to stop you from being overdramatic with your actions. Since you weren’t the best with words, you naturally compensated for being a little excessive with your actions in hopes for other people to be able to pick up on your hints. And as your best friend—Jimin knew that you were bottling something inside and wanted him to pry.

“You know this trick isn’t going to work on me, right?” Jimin points out, “And as much as I call myself the self-proclaimed genius between the two of us I can’t read minds so you’re going to need to elaborate on what you mean by ‘what do I think of Yoongi’.”

You scowl and fiddle with your fingers when Jimin gives you a look that tells you that you should speak up or forget about it. Sometimes you hated the fact that Jimin was confident and assured of himself, never avoiding confrontation while all you did was dodge it. Another reason why your friendship was unlikely but somewhat necessary.

“As my friend … what do you think of Yoongi—” You mumble, “—for me.”

Jimin raises an eyebrow at your soft tone.

“For … you?” He parrots your question back.

Your ears burn and you feel stupid enough asking Jimin about his opinion on Yoongi when you already felt flustered even mentioning his name to anyone that wasn’t yourself.

“Jimin …” You whine.

“Don’t Jimin me,” He snaps, “You know my hearing is bad.”

You roll your eyes and cast your eyes downwards to your abandoned plate as you pick at the skin around your nails, a habit you’ve picked up from Yoongi. Though you can’t really say that you picked it up from him since it was also a nervous routine of yours but knowing that Yoongi shared that in a different way made it feel like you got it from him.

Jimin sighs.

He wasn’t being harsh on you—in fact, this was him encouraging you to open up because while he was all hard and edges, and possibly overbearing at times; he respected you and loved you as a friend. You were never mean, rude or disrespectful and even if the two of you were fundamentally different in nature, you co-existed peacefully and were able to share little things in common that made the interactions between the two of you fruitful.

And he knew that speaking of your relationship with Yoongi was hard not because he was treating you horribly (at least he hopes so) but because you had the tendency of solving all your problems yourself. Even ones that were far out of your range of capability, and as someone who has received an abundance of help and advice from someone as soft-spoke as you—he wanted to be able to reciprocate somehow.

“Are the two of you okay?” Jimin asks.

You nod your head.

“We are … I just—well …” You mumble, “I just want your opinion.”

Jimin raises his eyebrow because he didn’t want you to feel like he needed his approval for you to date Yoongi. He trusted you and knew that you were smart enough to let the people you felt the same way about in.

“Babe, you don’t need my opinion. You’re the one in the relationship with him and as long he’s not being manipulative, abusive or an unwarranted jackass then I have no right to interfere in your relationship.” Jimin frowns.

You sigh.

“No, no … it’s not like that,” You shake your head, “I just wanted to know what you think of him … as a person.”

Your request is odd for multiple reasons, but mostly because of the timing because it seemed like a question you’d pose before the two of you made it official but this question came eight months into the relationship.

“I don’t think I can give you an answer _____. My interactions are limited with Yoongi as it is and I can’t give you an objective answer without sounding like a complete asshole if I judge him based on the way he looks.”

“Why would you sound like an asshole?” You furrow your brows.

Jimin shoots you a deadpan.

“Min Yoongi is the poster boy of the average college girl’s wet dream and he checks all the boxes of fitting all the stereotypes of a brooding, mysterious jock with a secret that he hides only for a girl to swing into his life and change his outlook completely. He’s quiet—quieter than you—and downright intimidating. It doesn’t help that you don’t want me hanging out with him just yet—which I totally respect by the way—so that just adds to his aloof aura.”

You blink at Jimin.

The description of Yoongi based on his outward appearance is … apt. But not what you were looking for. You knew that when you first saw Yoongi at band practices was when you first decided that you were scared of good-looking people. Albeit Jimin was also insanely attractive but he had an atmosphere around him that made people feel comfortable. Not that Yoongi actively made people uncomfortable … but he radiated major celebrity vibes that it was intimidating to get close to him.

Until small talks happened to shared giggles and him eventually asking you out informally, a context outside of your band practices that you saw glimpses of Yoongi that no one else did. He was soft, understanding, and though a little bad at expressing how he feels … but he was Yoongi and you liked him.

You might even love him, but there are times where you’re hesitant about your relationship.

“I think I love him.” You squeak.

Jimin’s eyes widen, another surprise for him for the day because you’ve just ignored his very superficial description of your boyfriend, which he half-expected you to be mad at. But for you to say that you thought you were in love with him was just a reaction he was not expecting at all.

“You—okay?” Jimin scrunches his eyebrows, “I’m happy for you, I really am! But … that doesn’t explain why you need my opinion?”

You breathe out and will yourself to look at Jimin’s face, even with the burn of your cheeks.

“You’re my … best friend, Jimin.” You say softly.

Jimin’s eyes ease on your timid features before he reaches out a comforting hand to grab onto your own, nudging you to look into his eyes. Even though Jimin was outgoing as it is, the reason why you stayed friends was that he took the time to understand you and adapt to you even when he didn’t need to. He knew that you were just shy and he never berated you for it, which is why you wanted him to know how you felt—because what he thought was important too.

“_____, love,” Jimin whispers, and you offer a weak smile, “I’m happy for you. Truly. Being in love is a beautiful feeling and I don’t need to be in love with a person to tell you that because love exists everywhere. It exists in the small things that make you smile or giggle when you come across it, and it exists in the way you do the things you adore and achieve your goals. But you don’t need me—or anyone’s—validation to love Yoongi. Love is so personal and so collective at the same time but it’s yours.”

You swallow and hope that you don’t cry in the middle of this posh and overpriced place, and it’s partially because Jimin sounded so earnest when he was talking to you but also because of the ruminating thoughts that plague your mind that made you suggest this brunch in the first place.

“I think I’m in love with him and he doesn’t feel the same.” You sniffle.

Jimin’s grip on your hand tightens momentarily along with his jaw, but he doesn’t want to act irrationally just yet.

“Why do you say that?” He asks tenderly.

You sniff and the tip of your nose turns red and Jimin wants to pat you on the head to comfort you, but the two of you are in public and he knew you hated being vulnerable in general—especially in the public eye.

“It’s just—it’s just—” You stutter, “You know how shy I am and how hard it is for me to … ask for things …”

When he hears your soft tone as your eyes dart away from his face, possibly embarrassed, he rubs a soothing thumb across your knuckles and listens to you intently.

“But I really try with Yoongi … because I want him to know how much I-I like him,” You whisper, “And every time I tell him how much I like him he just … he just smiles and looks away. Like he doesn’t—doesn’t feel the same.”

Jimin absorbs your words before he smiles softly at you. He understood how difficult it must’ve been for you because this was your first official relationship with someone who looked very closed off, to begin with, but based on your very short and rapt descriptions from time to time, Jimin could say that Yoongi wasn’t a bad person.

“Have you considered that he shows his love a different way?” Jimin asks.

You look up at him confused.

“Huh?”

Jimin chuckles before offering you a small tissue, and you meekly accepted it as you dab at your waterline.

“We all have different ways of giving and receiving love, _____.” He tells you, “No person loves the same and no one feels the same type of love. We are all different because that’s in our nature. And like I said—I don’t know Yoongi well enough to say that he has a specific type of love language but if he’s stuck around for this long … it has to mean something, right?”

Your brunch with Jimin leaves you with something else to think about.

Perhaps you were a little shallow—narrow-minded if you will. But you trusted Jimin, and you decided to see what he meant. You knew that you didn’t have the stereotypical love of shows or movies because while it did depict some form of reality, it was heavily sensationalised and exaggerated. But you never considered that Yoongi had a way of his own, one that was personal and unique to him.

Yoongi never made you feel like you weren’t enough. But the lack of the words that sit on your tongue also made you feel like he didn’t feel the same. It was never what he did, but how you felt. It was irrational, but he was objectively a very attractive person. In more ways than how he looked but the way, he treated others.

He’s mellow and gentle. Words never harsh but sharp enough to make people think. He’s efficient and kind when he wants to be and you see the way he treats his friends and staff at restaurants, even if he’s a little quiet too. The two of you were somewhat similar, but you felt so much for him that you somehow overlooked that one part—that maybe he was quiet in the way he loved too.

But you didn’t want to get your hopes up because while you weren’t … horrible. You weren’t anything spectacular either. You did decently in school, had a decent friend group that mainly consisted of you, Jimin and his other best friend, Taehyung—who told you that you were as much of his best friend like you were Jimin’s—and your bandmates that you shared with Yoongi.

Yoongi was quiet but collateral. He excelled in school, topped his classes two terms in a row, and produced impeccable music on the side. He was charismatic when he had to be an extremely introspective that you sometimes felt lacking when you hear him speak about the world and people.

Maybe that’s why he just smiles and looks away because Yoongi is too kind to break your heart, and his eyes tell the truth.

Maybe that’s why he doesn’t—

“______?” Yoongi calls your name and snaps you out of your daydream.

“Huh?” You respond dazedly and he just smiles at you, gentle as always before he nudges your shoulder slightly forward to place a—pillow?—in between your back and the chair that you were sitting on in his apartment.

“I’ve read somewhere that this helps with your posture.” He tells you, “You said you were having lower back pains so this may help.”

You blink at him and then at your assignments sprawled on his dining table, before turning your head to spot the pillow that you remember gifting him as a small present months back, behind your back, and in between you and the chair. The tension in your lower back does feel alleviated, and you turn back to Yoongi to offer him a gentle smile.

“Thank you, Yoongi.” You say softly.

He smiles at you and the simple gesture makes your stomach flutter with butterflies and your heartbeat a little faster. It’s crazy that the simplest of acts could turn you into mush and that he’s had your heart captive. The word sits on your tongue but fear wins over again.

He brushes stray hands of hair that falls by the side of your face, away, before gathering it with his hand at the back of your neck and tying it with a rubber band that you remember leaving at his place a while back.

“How can you see with your hair in the way?” He scolds, but it’s light.

You scoff, giving him a glare but it’s playful too. It does feel better like you have a clearer vision of the work that you were doing.

“Don’t be mean …” You mumble.

Yoongi laughs and it’s your favourite sound after the bell of your favourite bakery.

You like this look on him, eyes crinkled and mouth open in a gummy grin that you were the cause of. The will to say the word becomes harder, the way he leans in to peck you on the lips makes your mouth move on its own accord.

So before you can justify your actions, you say—

“I love you.”

The words are out and it seems to linger in the air because of the silence. You’re mortified, one because you had just blurted it out in the most unromantic setting ever, but secondly, because Yoongi is just … looking at you again. Like he always does when you tell him how much you like him—a soft smile, but this time his eyes are trained on yours.

The fire on your cheeks feels all the hotter when you know there’s nowhere to hide, or no way to retract your words because you didn’t want to. You loved him—and his silence only solidifies your guesses on the unrequitedness of your love.

“I-I’m sorry!” You yelp, covering your face with your hands, “I-I didn’t—I know that you—I didn’t mean to say that!”

Yoongi continues to look at you and he’s inching closer to you until your locked against your chair, his arms resting around your back as his other elbow leans on the table when he brings his face closer to yours.

“You love me?” He whispers and his breath is on your lips.

Even as you’re overcome with the fact that you do indeed love him, and that he doesn’t feel the same. You can’t bring yourself to deny it, not when your heart has always been for him and your words a reflection of your own heart.

“Y-Yes,” You mumble, eyes looking away, “I’m sorry …”

Yoongi furrows his eyebrows and pulls away from you. The warmth of his body suddenly gone and it reminds you that you may have overstepped. That he realised that you were in too deep and couldn’t just leave you. It scared you, but the silence scares you more.

“Why are you apologising?”

You gulp, looking away but Yoongi nudges your chin to look at him gently. His eyes are still confused, but kind. The look that usually comforts you only makes anxiety settle in the pit of your belly.

“I know you don’t feel the same … it’s okay. I understand. I’m a little … hard to love … I know. B-But it’s okay. You don’t need to say it—at all. I can … I can deal with it. Just please don’t leave me.” You whimper.

Yoongi pulls away completely as if he’s been scathed. You don’t have anything else to say but you’re appalled to find your vision getting blurry and the lump in your throat getting unbearable. But you try not to cry, especially when Yoongi looks torn.

But he doesn’t do what you’re expecting and tells you that it’s over, but instead, he returns into your space, making you forget about your embarrassment and cups your cheeks ever so gently while looking at you with ardent eyes.

“Please don’t cry …” He whispers.

And you hate that you do. You cry because he’s holding you so gently and his hands feel warm against your cheek. You cry because you love him and he doesn’t feel the same. You cry because all your cards are out on the table and he’s seen it all.

“I-I’m sorry.” You choke.

Yoongi’s eyes soften before he leans in, pressing a gentle press onto your lips that has your tears in the way as a barrier. You’re still choking on your sobs but his kiss feels comforting and painful at the same time. You want to push him away but you’re selfish—you love him and the feeling of him holding you close like he may feel the same.

When he pulls away, he looks at you again with a gentle, yet intense gaze.

“You’re not hard to love,” He murmurs, “It was so easy falling in love with you because you’re my person. You’re the person that I look forward to seeing every day and the person that I think about the most. Please don’t ever say that you’re hard to love because falling in love with you was the easiest thing that I’ve done in my entire life.”

Your eyes widen, especially when he looks you directly in your own. Your eyes are a little puffy and you’re sure it’s an unattractive sight.

But Yoongi thinks you’re beautiful. He always does. He thinks you’re beautiful when you see him after your classes. He thinks you’re beautiful when you broke the plate you wanted to give his mother as a gift. He thinks you’re beautiful when you’ve just woken up and he thinks you’re beautiful when you’re laughing with his friends and your bandmates.

“I—I—you … you love … me?” You rasp.

Yoongi still has a soft hold on your cheeks, and he feels the wetness of your tears stain his hands but he’s unbothered. He’s more bothered about what you said. The way his heart clenches makes him feel like he’s not done enough. That he could do better to never be the reason for the sadness along with your tears.

“I love you. I do. So much.” He whispers, “You’ve made me feel the kind love that I never thought existed.”

You sob harder and you feel a little pathetic crying in his arms because … how could you have doubted him? You feel relieved and happy, and a little frustrated because you were insecure on your own terms. Even now that you know he loves you—you’re sceptical because he’s Yoongi and you’re you.

Yoongi tugs you into his arms and caresses you with the warmth of his hold, hand patting your head gently. He feels mellow and close while he allows you to cry a little longer. The silence isn’t suffocating anymore, but your mind runs wild with insecurities that you can’t help but—

“Do you really love me?” You ask softly.

Yoongi doesn’t let you go, but you feel him nod and hum against your head.

“I do.”

You nibble on your lips and clutch his t-shirt.

“Then w-why … why do you just smile and look away when I tell you how much I like you?”

Yoongi stays silent for a while, but you don’t take it as a bad sign. Even with your small arguments with him from time-to-time throughout the eight months you’ve been together, Yoongi has never once raised his voice at you or acted irrationally. In fact, he’s always stayed a little quiet for a while, as if he was thinking of the appropriate way to handle the situation before he spoke.

It only made you love him more.

“I’m sorry.” He apologises, and you feel like shit when you realise you made him apologise to you for no reason but he continues before you can pull away—grip tight around your relaxed figure.

“I’ve been in love with you for months,” His confession makes you gasp, the time that he’s mentioned only makes you a lot more confused, “I … this is the first time I’ve felt this way.”

You stay silent as Yoongi rubs gentle figures on your back, breathing into your hair as you rest your cheek on his chest.

“I’ve always been a little … quiet.” He tells you, “And maybe that’s why I felt so drawn to you because we were so similar. I saw you and thought that you were a beautiful person. That your kindness wasn’t empty promises but actions and your smiles weren’t forced but comforting.”

You feel your eyes water again because of Yoongi’s truthful words. Damn your boyfriend for being able to wax poetic.

“I’ve always found it hard to express things with words, despite writing songs like people eat their meals. My mom always told me that I was a doer rather than a sayer.” He jokes, and you find yourself giggling a little when you think of Yoongi’s mother.

A strong woman, her tongue was as sharp as her sons and you definitely see where he gets his wisdom from. She was louder spoken, confident—and yet she was gentle and kind. A person that drew people in.

“I do things for you because I love you, ______. I love you in a way that can last forever because I want it to. I want to love you in a way that you’ll remember and always think of me when you see the physical pieces left by the footprints of my affection.”

It should’ve been cheesy but Yoongi has a way with words to make you blush and your heart flutter.

His words register in you, and you feel blind to not have seen it the entire time.

Even before this, when he placed the pillow behind you to support your lower back—or when he tied your hair back so you could focus better. Or the time when he drove all the way from his hometown back to campus because you were performing a solo piece for band, then drove back to see his parents.

You remember the song he wrote to you for your birthday, accompanied by a book that you’ve put on your Wishlist for months. The memory of his gentle hands removing the face mask from your face when you’ve fallen asleep and tucking you into his bed pricks your mind.

Looking back—you remember feeling absolutely loved and adored. Even if you didn’t explicitly think of the word ‘love’—but you felt safe, comforted and accepted. And you realise that love isn’t one-dimensional. Love is everything that makes you feel complete.

When you look up at him, he’s still offering you the same gentle smile he does when you told him how much you liked him—to when you said you loved him. He still looks the same, smiles the same, and feels the same. It’s you.

“I’m sorry.” You wail.

His eyes widen but you don’t cry. You feel dumb, blind almost because he’s been nothing but loving towards you but it was you who had your doubts.

“Baby, please don’t apologise.” He runs a thumb across your cheek.

“I just—I can’t believe I accused you of not loving me when all you’ve been doing is—when all you’ve done is treat me amazingly. I feel so … stupid.” You groan.

Yoongi smiles at you and rubs his thumb in between your furrowed brows.

“You’ll get wrinkles if you frown all the time.” He tuts.

You glare at him through puffy eyes but hold on to him tighter.

“I really am sorry.” You mumble.

Yoongi hums.

“I’m sorry too. I should’ve been more—explicit.”

You frown, pulling away.

“No Yoongi.” You say, “You loved me in your own way and I felt every bit of it. I just conflated the need of being reassured with words and being reassured in your gestures. I shouldn’t have doubted you and projected my insecurities onto you.”

"And it's not your fault for feeling insecure. I'm your boyfriend and I want to be able to reassure you in every way I possibly can. If you need to hear an I love you I'll shout it on top of the highest roof I can find—if you want to be held then I'll hold you and never let go."

Your heart flutters and you bask in his gentle words.

Yoongi wraps a gentle hand around the nape of your neck before bringing you closer, lips hovering right above your own before he closes the distance. His lips are warm and soft, and he doesn’t rush the kiss as if he was dealing with porcelain glass. But he knew you weren’t fragile and easily broken—but he still knew that you were someone that he wanted to care for, for a long time.

He kisses you and it feels right. It feels like you were returning home after months away.

When he pulls away ever so slightly to look into your eyes, breath still fanning on your lips—you feel welcomed.

“When I think of love I think of you. When I think of happiness your face appears in my mind. And when I think fo you, I think of what I can do to make the environment we have a little better for you. I love you, _____. And I’ll spend as long as I can reminding you.”

“Yoongi …” You blush because you didn’t know how romantic he could be when he wanted to.

“I’m serious, _____.” He looks at you seriously, “You know what my mom said when I brought you over?”

You raise an eyebrow because while you remember the meeting being absolutely pleasant, even if you did fumble and break the gift you brought. His mother only smiled at you, the same one that marks her son's face—and said that it was okay. It only meant that you should come again to compensate. Her tone was light and comfortable, and you immediately felt the tension be alleviated from your shoulders.

He takes the tilt of your head as his cue to continue.

“She said that she’s never seen me as expressive as I was when I was with you,” You snort at his exasperation, but you see the honesty that pours out, “Hyung even said that I’ve gotten soft.”

You roll your eyes when he tugs you closer by your chair until your legs were dangling by the side of his hips. Your arms are wrapped around his shoulders and Yoongi still smiles at you like it’s the most natural thing to do.

“But I like you soft …” You smile.

“And I love you with me.” Yoongi returns.

You blush, and you allow him to hold you close.

And in his arms, do you realise that some things didn’t need to be said.

[invisibleanonymousmonsters]

two can keep a secret

Character: Jason Todd x Fem!Reader

Summary: What is the difference between a secret and a lie? Jason Todd is in love. But will his relationship survive when Y/N realizes she doesn’t know him at all?

Word Count: 9,500+ [One Shot]

Warnings: Violence, mentions of rape, domestic violence, and murder

She is the first thing he thinks of when he slowly comes to.

Not her face, like some glowing angel that you always see in those stupid movie montages, where the protagonist’s wife or girlfriend tragically died and he’s thinking of her.

No, Jason is thinking about how pissed Y/N’s going to be when he misses date night.

Jason didn’t need to go out to a fancy restaurant or cocktail bar to be content. Doing absolutely nothing with Y/N was more than enough for him. But she deserved more than that – not that she ever said so. Jason was the one who insisted on taking her out every so often. So he sucked it up and did anything to make that woman smile. It didn’t hurt that Y/N was too talented at dolling herself up.

Y/N was probably sitting with her hair curled and her makeup done to perfection (after watching a YouTube tutorial for a look she had been wanting to try for weeks). Or, depending on how much time had passed, she had given up and bitterly changed into her pajamas.

The other unfortunate fact was that Y/N still didn’t know that Jason had a double life. She had zero idea that her boyfriend of a few months was also the infamous Red Hood.

So, yeah, Y/N was going to be pissed, thinking that Jason simply forgot about date night or just completely blew her off.

Just when Jason was fighting the migraine to open his eyes, someone kicked his shins roughly.

“I know you’re awake,” someone sang to him.

Jason blinked and squinted, realizing that his helmet was still intact.

Well, that’s one positive.

He looked at the man standing just a few feet away from him. Decked out in a fancy green suit, horned rimmed glasses, and that stupid little bowler hat.

The Riddler.

Jason always found him to be mostly an inconvenience. But clearly he’d done something to piss off the annoying genius, because this was a lot of effort on his part.

“What the fuck do you want?” Jason growled, knowing his voice sounded even more dangerous with his helmet distorting it.

Riddler smiled and put his arms behind his back. “You have become rather troublesome, Red Hood.”

“Oh, how the tables have turned,” Jason answered with sarcasm.

But Jason hadn’t been interfering with the Riddler for quite some time, so he was still rather confused what was going on.

“Our mutual friend is quite tired of you meddling with his business. Also, it’s not cheap to replace all of his goons you keep murdering.”

Jason tilted his head. “You’re gonna have to be a bit more specific.”

Riddler narrowed his eyes with slight annoyance. “Why the Clown Prince of Crime, of course.” Jason’s body tensed at the name and the Riddler noticed immediately. “He figured if you came back from the dead once before, there’s a chance you could do it again.”

Then the Riddler stopped his pacing and did a dramatic gesture to himself. “Which is where I come in. You see, he thought it would save him some time and effort to simply hire me.” He moved closer to Jason. “He figured if he couldn’t kill you…maybe you deserve a different punishment.”

Jason audible sighed. “Am I supposed to be scared?”

While it sounded like a joke, there was a truth to the question. Jason stopped fearing death long ago. And once you’ve died and come back to life, there’s nothing really that scared Jason Todd anymore. Which was why he had become the ruthless and merciless antihero of Gotham.

Batman would hurt criminals enough to break them. Red Hood would simply kill them.

Though after fighting his family became too much, Jason finally agreed to stop his massacres. But the criminals of Gotham didn’t need to know that. And Jason would be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy how much they shook at the mere sight of him.

“Oh, I’m sure we can figure out how to return some fear into that ice cold heart of yours,” Riddler whispered in Jason’s ear before pressing a button.

A swinging light bulb flashed on.

No, no, no, no. no.

Below the source of the light was Y/N, tied to a chair by her hands and feet. A rag was across her mouth and tied at the back of her head. She was only in her underwear and a baggy t-shirt – Jason’s t-shirt. Further proving that she had been ripped from her bed and brought here against her will.

Jason completely controlled his reaction to seeing his girlfriend being held captive just 20 feet across from him. But in reality, his heart was about explode out of his chest.

Not this. Not her. Anything but her.

“What is this?” Jason asked, trying to sound as devoid of emotion as possible. The less she seemed to mean to him, the less Riddler would want to use her against him.

“I think you know exactly what this is, Red Hood.” Then Riddler practically skipped to Y/N’s side, who looked confused and terrified, clearly having no idea why any of this was happening to her of all people.

“Your quarrel is with me, Riddler. There’s no need to involve an innocent civilian.” Jason’s voice was cool and even.

But he ignored Jason and pulled a pistol out from the back of the waist.

Jason couldn’t remain calm any longer. He started struggling against the ties.

“Don’t worry. The fun has just begun. You get these three riddles right and I won’t hurt her – at least…not yet.”

But Jason was looking at Y/N. She was looking back at him, which did little to reassure her. She didn’t know who he was and his helmet wasn’t designed to comfort people.

“Hey, it’s gonna be OK.” He tried to tell her as softly as he could.

For some reason, she nodded. But Jason knew her well enough to see his words had little impact on her. Tears started streaming down her face and her entire body was shaking as she felt the cold metal of a gun pressed to her head.

“Shall we begin?” Riddler asked with a creepily joyful smile.

Jason waited. But as the Riddler was distracted, he was able to maneuver his arms to press the panic button on his wrist to send out a distress signal to the right people. It was his first time using it, always too proud or stubborn to ask for help.

But if Y/N was involved, none of that mattered anymore.

The Riddler’s eerie tone brought him back, “When you have me, you feel like sharing me. But if you do share me, you don’t have me.” He took in a deep breath. “What am I?”

Jason’s chest was heaving with anger. He should’ve been more careful. He should’ve stayed away from Y/N. He was a curse, a disease. Anyone that got close to him just ended up in danger. And he should’ve known better than to think he could be happy without consequences.

“Clock’s ticking, Red Hood.” He cocked the gun. “What am I?”

“A secret,” Jason growled.

“Surprise, surprise. There does seem to be some semblance of a brain underneath that stupid helmet of yours.”

Y/N closed her eyes in relief, causing more tears to escape and slide down her cheeks.

“When you have me more, you can see only less. What am I?” The Riddler asked.

Jason thought on the next riddle as he tried to find one of his knives hidden in his sleeve. But even when he grabbed one, it would take far too long to cut through this thick rope that kept him tied down.

“Darkness,” Jason answered confidently.

The Riddler seemed annoyed now. “One more riddle and then we’ll move on to another game. Or maybe we won’t, if you get it wrong.” He shifted so he was directly behind Y/N and facing Jason as he pointed the gun at the back of her head.

“The person who built it, sold it. The person who bought it, never used it. The person who used it, never saw it.” He tilted his head. “What is it?”

Jason finally found the edge of a knife. He subtly started cutting at the ropes on the back of his chair, praying he could buy himself enough time to get him out.

The Riddler lifted the gun to the ceiling and shot it, causing Y/N to jump and let out a yelp.

“I’m waiting!” He snapped at Jason.

“A coffin!” Jason growled. “Put the gun down and let her go. You’ve had your fun.”

The Riddler laughed. “Oh, you think that this was the main attraction?” He put the gun down, but moved to grip Y/N’s chin roughly.

“Secrets, darkness, coffin,” Riddler listed the three answers aloud. Then he turned to Jason. “What do all of them have in common?”

Riddler moved back behind Y/N and leaned down to whisper in her ear. The feeling alone caused a chill to go down her spine. “You’ve been lied to, my dear. The decision to bring you here was not random at all. That I can promise you.”

“Secrets, secrets are no fun. Secrets, secrets hurt someone,” he sang loudly, his voice echoing in the warehouse. Then he danced back to Y/N and pulled down the rag around her mouth, finally allowing her to speak.

“Red Hood, question for you. How many people have you killed?”

Don’t do this, Jason begged in his mind. 

He didn’t answer.

The Riddler didn’t appreciate this and quickly walked to Y/N, smacking her across the face with the back of his hand.

Jason struggled against his restraints.

Riddler whipped back to him. “Answer the question!”

“I don’t know,” he barked back.

“You don’t know because there’s so many?” Riddler challenged.

“I don’t keep track,” Jason answered quickly, knowing his silence would only cause Y/N more pain.

“More then 10?”

“Yes.”

“More then 50?” Riddler asked with an evil grin.

“Yes.”

Riddler turned to Y/N. “It’s actually 83.”

It was the first Jason had heard the number. But he knew better than to question it.

“You call yourself a hero. But looks to me like you’re just a murderer,” the Riddler cooed with a sneer. 

Jason hung his head in shame. “I’ve never called myself a hero.”

Riddler ignored his comment and turned his attention fully to Y/N now. “Now this next one is for you, dear. And it’s a tricky one.” The Riddler took in a deep breath. “I hurt the most when lost, yet also when not had at all. I’m sometimes the hardest to express, but the easiest to ignore. I can be given to many…or only just one.”

Y/N swallowed, repeating the words over and over again in her head.

“L-Love,” she finally stuttered out, but seemed sure of her answer.

The Riddler smiled at her response. He turned to Jason. “You sure know how to pick ‘em, Red Hood.” Then he shifted his weight. “Or should I say Jason?”

Jason saw the confusion on Y/N’s face from the comment.

“Tell me dear, did you know you were in love with a murderer?”

Y/N was discombobulated by such a question.

But before she could figure it out, the Riddler rushed to Jason and ripped off his helmet. When he saw that Jason was wearing a domino mask underneath, he rolled his eyes. “All you bats and birds are so paranoid!” Then he ripped that off, too.

Y/N’s eyes widened at the sight of her boyfriend.

But Jason didn’t catch it. He was too busy hanging his head, scared to meet her gaze.

“Surprised?” The Riddler asked her with glee.

Her tears started again. But they weren’t just from being scared now. They were tears of betrayal.

“Oh, sweetheart. Don’t cry,” the Riddler mocked.

“You did what you wanted. Now let her go,” Jason growled.

He tugged at his ropes, but his knife wasn’t cutting fast enough.

“Let her go?” The Riddler was baffled. “Who said anything about letting her go? I said I wasn’t going to hurt her if you cooperated. But killing her is the only way I can hurt you, Red Hood. Don’t worry, I shall make it quick!”

With that he raised his gun to her head once again. Y/N squeezed her eyes shut, truly believing this is how she was going to die.

“NO!” Jason screamed.

But right before pulling the trigger, Riddler’s grip was knocked away by a batarang.

Jason felt sick with relief when he turned to see Batman and Robin making their way to the Riddler.

Riddler was not a fighter. He always made a run for it.

But when he turned to do so, he was met with Nightwing blocking his path.

Jason felt someone drop behind him and realized that Red Robin was getting rid of his restraints.

Riddler looked around him with crazed eyes, realizing he was about to be outnumbered five to one. “This is too many vigilantes for my liking. Time for backup.” He pulled out a button and pressed it before Dick could rip the unknown device from his hands.

An explosion erupted in the warehouse, catching everyone off guard.

Tim had just finally released Jason from his restraints when the impact hit.

Jason saw as Y/N’s chair was knocked off its legs, taking her to the floor with it. Her head slammed against the hard concrete floor.  

As soon as the explosion settled, Jason sprinted to her.

When he reached her, she was knocked unconscious. “Y/N! Come on, beautiful. You’re OK. You’re OK.” 

But the words were to convince himself. He felt for a pulse and let out a sigh of relief when it was still strong.

Ever so carefully, he untied the ropes that held her to the chair. He ripped his jacket off his body and wrapped it around her shoulders. She seemed so small like this – so vulnerable. He’d tried so hard to keep her away from this darkness. And seeing her like this was the horrid reminder for why he’d lied to her about who he was.

His family watched with concern as Jason stood with her limp body in his arms. By some miracle, the blast missed all of them. It was used as more of a distraction than as an attempt to take any of them out.

Jason slowly walked to Bruce.

“Take her. Please.” His eyes desperate at first, but then they darkened. “There’s something I have to do.”

Bruce’s jaw tightened. “We had a deal.”

But he still gently took Y/N out of his arms.

“That was before her,” Jason answered as he took a final glance at Y/N.  

“Jason, don’t do it,” Dick urged.

“Keep her safe,” was all Jason said before turning from them and running after the man that had put his love in danger.

“What shall we do with her?” Damian asked coldly as he eyed the young woman he was seeing for the first time.

“We’re taking her back to the manor,” Bruce told his sons.

“Is that wise?” Damian countered.

“He’ll need her. And she’ll need to know everything,” was all Bruce said as he started carrying Y/N to the batmobile.

————————

Y/N wasn’t awoken by people screaming from the streets below or the garbage truck coming too early to throw every neighbor’s trash can around at 5AM. She couldn’t hear the blasting of her window unit air conditioning.

No, instead she heard birds chirping outside and the wind rustling countless trees.

Did she even have a single tree on her block?

She squinted her eyes open and the night came rushing back to her.

Goons storming into her apartment, ripping her from her bed and throwing a bag over her head. Y/N just remembered thinking, “I’m just glad Jason wasn’t here. At least he’s safe.”

But Jason was far from safe. He was Red Hood: the infamous anti-hero that half of Gotham thought was a murderer and the other half swore he was just as much of a hero as the the other masked vigilantes.

How did she not see it sooner?

The random cuts and bruises. Constantly missing dates. Late-night texts when she had already fallen asleep. Always being exhausted when he was present.

But it was easy to ignore all of this because when they were together, things were good – no, things were amazing.

No man had ever made Y/N feel more seen and loved and appreciated. In fact, before him, Y/N had come to terms with being alone for the rest of her life. She made peace with it, had no problem with it.

But then Jason came stumbling into her life. And he didn’t accept Y/N being unloved the way she did. It was the thing that made him get over his own self-hatred and constant need to punish himself. If he wasn’t going to love Y/N for him, then he’d love Y/N because that’s what she deserved.

And Y/N felt that.

But he wasn’t who she thought he was. He had lied to her over and over again. When she was concerned over his injuries, he made up story after story. When she asked where he’d been after skipping a date, he used work as an excuse.

Did Y/N actually know Jason Todd at all?

Or had she only seen what she wanted to see?

Did the man she love even exist?

These were the questions racing through Y/N’s mind as she awoke in a bedroom that she didn’t recognize. Bedroom – if that’s even what she could call it. It felt more like a palace. She’d never slept on softer sheets or a comfier mattress. The room was bigger than her entire apartment. And from what she could see in the ensuite bathroom, it looked like it belonged in a five-star hotel.

Y/N’s observations paused when she saw Red Hood’s leather jacket tossed on top of the fancy chaise lounge on the other side of the room. No, not Red Hood’s leather jacket. Jason’s. It was the only indication that he had been there.

Am I in Wayne Manor? Y/N asked herself.

At least Jason hadn’t lied about that, explaining his afflicted relationship with his family casually a few times. But in a way that always told Y/N he didn’t want to talk about it in depth.

The leather jacket then caused Y/N to look down at herself. She was wearing a white t-shirt and grey cotton sleep shorts. Clearly they were mens. Someone had changed her while she had been asleep – or…unconscious.

Fuck, her head really hurt.

Having enough of being confused, Y/N slipped out of the bed and decided she was going to hunt down an explanation.

The bedroom was placed in a long hallway. Taking a 50/50 chance, Y/N decided to go right instead of left.

She walked as quietly as possible, still feeling uncomfortable in such surroundings.

After she stepped down the most extravagant staircase she’d ever seen, she heard sounds come from around the corner. It sounded like movement in a kitchen.

When she reached a doorway, she saw an elderly man dressed as a butler. As he was cooking, he caught Y/N’s presence from the corner of his eye. He quickly turned and gave her a comforting smile.

“Ah! Ms. Y/L/N, your timing is impeccable. I was just finishing up breakfast.”

But she remained unsure of the situation.

“Oh, I do apologize. Where are my manners? I am Alfred Pennyworth.” He quickly stepped to her and offered his hand. “I am the butler for the Wayne family.”

“So…this is Wayne Manor?” Y/N asked after awkwardly shaking his hand in the doorway, completely forgetting to share her own name. But he cleary already knew it.

He smiled at her. “Yes, Master Wayne brought you here after last nights…theatrics.” Before either of them could discuss the “theatrics” he slyly mentioned, he pulled out a chair at the table in the kitchen. “Please, sit. You must be famished.”

This man hardly looked threatening, so she decided to follow his instructions.

Alfred quickly placed a large plate with a full English breakfast on it, a mug of steaming coffee, and a glass of water. Then he offered her a bottle of advil.

Y/N looked up at him with a curious glance.

“I can only assume your head is aching quite a bit. From what I was told, you took quite the fall from the explosion.”

At least Y/N knew she hadn’t imagined the nightmare. It was real. She quickly took two of the pills and chugged the glass of water.

Alfred didn’t hover, instead continuing to work on more breakfast.

But Y/N’s breakfast was quickly interrupted when Bruce Wayne walked into the kitchen.

He eyed her carefully, hiding his surprise at her being awake. Casually, he went to the coffee pot to pour himself a cup.

“How are you feeling?” Bruce asked her.

Y/N was surprised how genuine his concern sounded.

“Confused,” she blustered out without meaning to.

Bruce smirked. “I meant your head.”

She cleared her throat. “Right. Ummm…just a terrible headache. But I think I’ll live.”

“Good.”

To her shock, Bruce sat across from her. He drank his coffee as his eyes raced across the tablet in his hand.

Y/N took a few bites of food before she had the courage to ask one of the many questions that were racing around her head.

“Where is Jason?” She asked slowly and carefully.

Alfred seemed to tense at the question and hesitated before saying, “Master Jason thought it best to give you some space.”

Y/N didn’t know what to make of his answer.

Bruce seemed to be studying her.

Y/N wanted to shrink under his scrutiny, but fought the feeling and met his gaze head on, as if challenging him.

“He’s in the cave,” Bruce told her evenly.

It seemed no one was trying to hide their family secrets from Y/N.

“I’d like to see him.”

Bruce and Alfred shared a look and what seemed to be a silent conversation.

After a moment, Bruce stood up. “I’ll take you.”

Y/N jumped out of her seat to follow him.

Next thing she knew, Bruce was taking her through a secret passage and there was a dark and dreary staircase in front of her.

Bruce gestured for her to go forward, silently telling her he wasn’t coming with.

As soon as Y/N started down the cold staircase, a shiver went down her spin. The temperature immediately dropped.

When she reached the bottom, she looked around and found Jason sparring with a man she recognized as Dick Grayson.

Jason did a double take as soon as Y/N took a step away from the staircase.

Dick followed his gaze and his face dropped.

The two men shared a look and their sparring ended.

Dick walked to her and gave Y/N a charming smile as he held out his hand. “It’s nice to finally meet you, Y/N. I’m Dick.”

Y/N forced a shy smirk and shook his hand, but said nothing.

Now it was just Jason and Y/N.

Y/N’s arms tightly held herself because of the freezing temperature of the batcave, and because she didn’t know how this conversation was about to end.

“Hi,” Jason said awkwardly.

“Hi.”

“How’d you get down here?”

Y/N shrugged. “Bruce.”

Jason looked her up and down before quickly turning and grabbing the sweatshirt he had discarded before working out and sparring.

He handed it to her, making sure not to get too close. “Here. It gets fucking frigid in this stupid cave.”

Y/N quickly put it on. But she didn’t miss how Jason tried to keep his distance.

“I’m not scared of you,” she muttered.

He cocked an eyebrow, but she could still see the hurt in his face. “Really? Because you’re not looking at me like I’m the same person.”

“Because you’re not,” Y/N snapped.

Y/N imagined this conversation would be filled with rage. She thought she’d start yelling at Jason and then she wouldn’t be able to stop. She’d tell him how disappointed she was in him, how he was just like every other man who had hurt her. Her hands would be quivering in fists at her side. The anger…it would consume her.

So imagine her surprise when her bottom lip started trembling and tears started streaming down her face. And she could do nothing to stop it.

Little did she know that watching this hurt Jason more than her anger ever could.

He took a step toward her. It was his instinct – an instinct that was so hard to fight in this moment.

“You know…it’s really hard for me to let people in – no, it’s hard for me to let men in. I don’t trust them. I stop doing that a long time ago. But you – fuck – I don’t even know why now. But I did let you in. I really did. I told you things I’ve never told anyone. I trusted you. I…I loved you, Jason.”

Jason looked in more pain than ever before. His eyes watered from seeing the woman he loved breaking down like this. And it was no one else’s fault, but his own.

“But you hid this whole part of yourself. You lied to me. Every excuse you made for your bruises and cuts, you were lying. Every time you canceled a date, you were lying. And I’m realizing that you lied to me about your life more than you ever told me the truth.”

She tried to wipe away the tears, but they were coming down too fast.

“Was the Riddler serious?” She accused. “Have you killed all those people?”

“I have.”

Y/N studied him for a second. A part of her hadn’t expected him to admit it. She was waiting for him to give her another lie. After all, it came so naturally to him.

“Were you ever going to tell me?” She practically whimpered.

“Yes,” he answered quickly. “I just…I didn’t know how. I was scared.”

Was there even anything he could say that would make her hate him less?

Jason ran a hand through his hair. “Y/N, I’m so sorry. I should’ve told you. And I should’ve kept you safe. You almost–” He felt sick. “You were almost killed last night. And it was because of me.”

Y/N’s eyes went dark. “Did you kill him? Did you kill the Riddler?”

Jason’s jaw clenched and his hands turned into fists at the mentioning of the criminal’s name. “No, but I should’ve.”

In truth, he almost had. It hadn’t been hard to catch up to the bastard. Jason beat him to in an inch of his death. But not before he confirmed that no one else knew of Y/N’s existence. No, he didn’t kill the Riddler. But he beat him so badly that he would be in the coma for the rest of his days – unable to speak, meaning no one else would ever know about Y/N.

“I don’t do that anymore. Bruce and I…we have a deal.”

“He’s Batman,” she wasn’t asking. “And your brothers…” she didn’t need to finish.

“I don’t expect you to forgive me.” His head hung low. “I don’t deserve it. And I never deserved you in the first place. I always knew that. It’s probably why it was so hard to tell you. Because I knew the moment I did… you’d see me for the monster I really am.”

Y/N’s eyes were red now and her nose congested.

“You don’t owe me anything. But I just…I need to tell you this before I never see you again,” Jason quickly said, sensing this was their final goodbye. “I love you. I didn’t even think I could love someone the way I love you, Y/N. You…you’ve made me better. And you’re probably the only reason I was able to stop myself from killing that son of a bitch last night.”

It was Y/N’s face Jason saw when he was beating the Riddler. And then he realized, in some twisted way, that such a death would also be on her hands. He could handle having blood on his hands forever. But would never do that to Y/N.

Then Jason’s word turned so, so quiet. “But I also know I can’t ask you to stay after everything I’ve done to you.”

And for a moment, the two of them just stared at one another.

Y/N tried to wipe the last of her tears away once again. “I think I should go,” she mumbled.

“You can’t go back to your apartment. It’s not safe there anymore. Bruce offered to let you stay here for as long as necessary. I’ll leave,” he quickly added. “So you don’t have to worry about being around me.”

“No.”

“No?”

“I’m not staying here,” she said with a surprising amount of conviction. “I’ll stay with friends or something. But I don’t want to be here.”

What Y/N meant was that she didn’t want to be surrounded by the secrets Jason had kept from her. She didn’t want to be reminded of how little she actually knew him.

Somehow Jason seemed to realize that.

He took a cautious step toward her. “For what it’s worth, you do know me. I know you think that’s a lie. But no one sees me like you see me, Y/N. No one.” He pointed up. “Not even the fucked up people that call me their family.”

His words struck in a way she wasn’t expecting. But she made sure he didn’t know that and controlled her expression, staying as emotionless as possible.

Jason sighed, knowing this was their end. “Alfred will take you anywhere you want to go.”

He wanted to tell her more. He wanted to ask – no, to beg – to hold her. Just one last time. But he would never ask that of her. How could he?

So he just watched as Y/N slowly turned and made her way back of the stairs.

Jason wanted to memorize her face as if this was the last time he’d lay eyes on her. But he knew himself better than that. He’d make sure she was safe, add her to his patrol as if it was normal addition to his vigilante life. Y/N didn’t deserve to be at risk for the rest of her life because she made the mistake of loving a man like him.

————————

1 MONTH LATER.

————————

Y/N didn’t realize how hard it would be. She thought she could just go back to the life she had before Jason ever fought his way into her heart. But it took her a month to understand that was never going to happen. She’d never be able to just forget him.

She thought anger would take over and make her hate Jason. Hate was always easier than love. And Y/N was banking on that.

But after everything Jason did, Y/N still couldn’t find it in her heart to hate him.

Because, at the end of the day, they still loved each other.

Despite his secrets and his lies, Y/N knew that Jason had been telling the truth about his feelings for her. He really did love her. She had felt it every day. Even at the beginning of their relationship – before they realized what they were feeling was love – Y/N always felt how much Jason cared for her.

That was why all of this was so hard for her.

Take away the lies, the secret vigilante life, the killing. Take it all away. And Y/N knew she had never met another man that made her feel the way Jason did – or…had.

That was really what Y/N had finally realized over the past weeks. She had thought it was betrayal and fear. 

No. 

She now understood that what she was feeling was a broken heart. 

It was a first for her. One had to be in love in order to get their heart broken. And the only man Y/N ever loved was Jason Todd.

As the understanding washed over Y/N, she was staring out the window. She’d made herself a cup of coffee, but had been so lost in her thoughts that she’d let it grow cold. Then she felt a tickling down her cheek and realized that she had started crying. 

Suddenly there was a quick knock at the front door of her apartment.

Y/N squinted in suspicion at the sound and sloppily rubbed the tears off her face.

She slowly walked to door, but stopped a few feet away, and just stared at it as her heart rate increased.

After Riddler’s men broke into her home and ripped her from bed, she had been anxious and cautious about any and all unexpected visitors. She hadn’t been sleeping. Either she couldn’t fall asleep or if she did, her night was infested with nightmares.

“Y/N? It’s Dick Grayson,” a voice called from the other side of the door.

She let out a small sigh of relief. How long had she been holding her breath?

There was a part of her that was screaming to still ignore the uninvited guest, despite it being someone she knew. But how well did she actually know Dick Grayson?

Except the other part – the part that could admit she missed Jason – wanted to speak to anyone that was from the part of her life she was trying so hard to forget.

Ever so slowly, she opened the door.

“Hi,” Dick beamed at seeing her appear. His smile and eyes were warm and friendly in a way that none of the other boys were.

“What are you doing here?” Y/N asked with a bit of rudeness.

She didn’t appreciate him giving her a scare. Especially because her two best friends that she now lived with were out of town for the weekend.

“I was hoping I could talk to you,” he gave her a shy but hopeful grin. Then he held up a tray of coffee and a paper baggie. “I brought you a latte and some doughnuts.”

Y/N eyed him. Her first thought was that maybe something had happened to Jason. But Dick’s delivery proved that wasn’t the case.

Her only invitation to Dick was a widening of the door and making room for him to walk past her.

This seemed to make him happy though.

Y/N directed them to the little breakfast nook that was flooded in the morning light.

She didn’t waste any time. “Did Jason send you here?” 

“No, Jason doesn’t know that I’m here,” Dick clarified as he slid one of the lattes to her side of the table.

Her nerves were the only reason she picked it up and started sipping, just trying to give herself something physical to do while Dick stared at her from across the little table.

“Is he OK?” She mumbled without looking at him.

Her pride wanted to her to shut up and not ask. But she couldn’t stop the question from spilling out, even though all evidence pointed to Dick having no bad news to share.

“He’s fine,” Dick quickly assured her. “Well…physically, at least.”

“What are you doing here, Dick?” She repeated her original question.

“It should be Bruce here, really. But he…” His words died out and then he cleared his throat. “Well, these types of things aren’t exactly his strong suit. Tim wanted to come, too. But I didn’t want to…overwhelm you.”  

“And what ‘type’ of thing is this exactly?”

Dick took in a deep breath and then leaned forward, placing his forearms on the table.

“You deserve to know the story – the whole story. I’m not here to get you to forgive Jason or to change your mind about leaving him.” He rubbed his face. “But I just want you to know the truth about him before you live with those decisions.”

Y/N’s heart was racing now. She felt sick.

Was she even ready for this conversation?

“So, is that OK?” Dick asked her carefully.

After a moment, Y/N finally nodded her head.

Dick took a deep breath.

He knew where he needed to start. And he wasn’t just about to share Jason’s secrets, he was about to tell Y/N all of their secrets. But it was what needed to be done.

Dick told her about Jason living on the streets, how his dad abused him, and his mother was a drug addict that couldn’t protect her son. Little Jason Todd turned to crime to take care of himself and get enough money to take care of himself and his mom.

Dick smiled as he told her how Jason tried to steel Bruce’s wheels on the batmobile. That was the moment that Bruce knew he couldn’t leave such a desperate child on the streets. Then everything happened so quickly. Next thing Dick knew, Jason had replaced him as Robin and Bruce had a new sidekick.

“I should’ve been there for him more,” Dick confessed. “Jason didn’t just need a home and a parent… he needed a brother, too. And I take responsibility for not really being there for him. If I’m being honest, I was bitter. It was hard for me to see how quickly Bruce could just…”

“Replace you?” Y/N offered softly.

Dick swallowed and nodded.

This was the hard part. Now he had to explain how Jason died, how the Joker tricked a child who was desperate to find the truth about his mother. How a dead boy became a resurrected man.

Dick knew he couldn’t gloss over the gory details. Jason deserved better. He didn’t need to have his secrets protected from the first woman who loved him. He needed to be seen and still loved.

Dick watched as Y/N shifted in her seat, trying her best to compose herself as Dick told her about Jason dying so horribly and then being resurrected. Joker’s maniacal laugh flashed in Y/N’s mind. As Dick spoke, she could almost feel the warmth of the explosion that he’d set for Jason. 

It was all so terrible.

How Jason was able to overcome it all left Y/N in awe of him.

“Jason has never really fully been himself since before…everything,” Dick said. “But it wasn’t fair that any of us ever expected that after what happened to him. I know there’s still so much that he’s never told any of us. And I’m not sure he ever will.”

Dick explained Jason’s rebellion from the family and his war with Bruce. Dick was the one that got emotional now, as his eyes glossed over, remembering how angry and ruthless Jason had been.

“Bruce has one rule: no killing.” Dick sighed and rubbed his face. “Jason thought he was being what Gotham needed. He was tired of watching criminal after criminal beat the system and repeatedly get set free. We eventually had to make a deal with him. We couldn’t stand by and let him continue on the way he was.”

Dick gave her a nervous look. “I can only assume that the hardest thing to wrap your mind around is the–”

“Killing,” Y/N quickly interrupted harshly.

Until now, she had remained quiet but engaged. Never interrupting or adding unnecessary responses.

“Yes,” Dick replied before tightening his jaw.

Y/N couldn’t look at him now. “I know–” She had to pause because her voice was shaking so much. “I know he did it to protect people. And I know – in his mind – that they deserved it, because they were bad people.”

“I might not agree with Jason’s views or his past actions. But one thing is for sure: Jason Todd has never killed an innocent.”

“I just don’t know if that’s enough,” Y/N said with teary eyes.

“I understand,” Dick nodded.

There had been a part of her that always knew Jason was fighting demons. But she could’ve never guessed how bad it had truly been for him.

How could he hide all of this from her?

Y/N couldn’t hold back her emotions any longer. After hearing Jason’s life story, how could she? Tears silently ran down her face. She wasn’t embarrassed to cry in front of Dick. He had such a calming presence about him.

Dick just let her consume everything he’d spent the past hour telling her. He just wanted to be there for her as she processed it.

So he sat there and let her cry. And eventually she got a hold of herself.

“You’re forgetting the most important part of this story,” Dick told her with a shy smile.

“I am?”

Dick nodded. “You.”

She scoffed at that.

“I’m being serious, Y/N.” Dick leaned forward again.

Y/N didn’t know what to say to that. She wasn’t one to share her emotions and feelings freely. So she wasn’t about to open up to her ex’s older brother, whom she hardly knew.

“He loves you, Y/N.” Dick insisted.

“None of you even knew about me,” Y/N tried to argue.

“That’s not true. Just because he didn’t tell us directly doesn’t mean we didn’t know about you.” Dick smirked. “We’re a nosey bunch. When we noticed a change in him – a good change – we did a little investigating.”

Y/N couldn’t find it in her to tell Dick that Jason made her change for the better too.

So she changed the subject to what was really stopping her from running back into Jason’s arms despite all the lies and secrets.

“How did you get over it?” Her voice was so quite that it was almost a whisper.

“Get over what?” Dick squinted.

“The killing.”

He sighed and leaned back in his chair. “Police Officers kill people every day.”

Y/N made a look of disgust. “Law enforcement in this country is corrupt. I figured a man who felt the need to wear a mask and become a vigilante was well aware of that.”

Dick winced. “Why do you think Gotham is so hard to clean up?”

She stayed quiet.

“Soldiers have killed more people on a single tour than Jason has,” Dick continued.

“Soldiers are following orders,” Y/N countered. “Orders from authority whose ethics and motives are often questionable.”

“Exactly.” Dick’s back straightened. “We’ve normalized both of those things. But I can assure you of one thing, Jason has no ulterior motives. There is no systemic prejudice that controls his actions. Just right and wrong, good and evil.”

Then he rubbed his face, wondering if he wanted to say the next part. “When things with Jason were bad – really bad – and I thought I would have to be the one that put him behind bars, the one thing that gave me hope was knowing that Jason had rid the world of evil. That doesn’t mean I condone his actions…but it helps me sleep at night.”

Silence filled the apartment. Y/N was still processing the information. And Dick didn’t want to force her to talk or speak just to fill the silence.

Slowly, Dick rose from his seat.

“I don’t want to intrude any more than I already have,” he told her gently.

There were those classic Wayne manners that both Bruce and Alfred had ingrained in him. It reminded Y/N of Jason. Even though Jason had a dark, sarcastic sense of humor and quite the temper, Y/N couldn’t remember a time when the man didn’t say ‘please’ and ‘thank you’ – not to mention all the old-school gentlemanly gestures that always caught her off guard.

Y/N followed Dick to the door.

He hesitated. “Thank you for listening, Y/N.”

She just nodded.

“Like I said when I got here, I’m not telling you what to do. All I ask is that you consider everything you learned.”

She nodded again. “You’re a good brother, Dick.”

He chuckled darkly at that. “Jason would disagree with you on that. I’m lucky if he even calls me his brother most of the time.”

Y/N managed to force a shy smirk on her lips for his benefit.

Then Dick was reaching into his pocket for a piece of paper. He slowly handed it over.

She looked down to see what appeared to be an address. “What’s this?”

“The safe house Jason’s been hiding out in since you last talked.” Then he gave her one final nod. “Goodbye, Y/N.”

————————————— 3 WEEKS LATER. —————————————

Jason had been on autopilot these past couple of months. He let his work take over his life. To make matters worse, he barely added eating and sleeping to that mix. The only reason he managed to get himself to eat was to keep his strength up… so he could keep working.

Right now was the one of the few times his exhaustion was so heavy that he managed to get a couple hours of sleep.

That is until one of the alarms for his safe house went off.

Someone had triggered the sensor for the floor.

It could easily be a homeless person. It wouldn’t be the first time. But that assumption went on the window when Jason heard a polite knock at his front door.

Completely silent, Jason moved out of bed and grabbed the gun that sat on his nightstand.

Quickly he tiptoed to the door and waited, half expecting someone to start shooting. It wouldn’t have mattered, seeing as the door was made out of bulletproof steel.

Without making a sound, he made his way to the peephole.

When he spotted who was on the other side, his body moved on reflex alone. He instantly put the gun on safety and whipped open the door.

His guest jumped a little in surprise.

“Y/N,” Jason gasped.

Once she got over the scare, she seemed to take in his appearance.

Jason looked awful. There were shadows under his eyes. His hair looked greasy from the lack of washing. And because he was “working” so much, his body was littered in more injuries than usual. He stood completely shirtless in black boxer briefs.

But the only thing Jason was embarrassed about was his autopsy scar that was on full display for her.

Yes, Y/N had seen and felt it. But it was always in the cover of darkness. If they had sex in daylight, Jason always found a way to keep a shirt on. It was always effortless and subtle. Plus Y/N was so preoccupied with the passion between them that she never really considered how self-conscious he was about it.

Once again, Y/N was wondering why she normalized things like that instead of pushing Jason to open up about things he was obviously hiding.

She had assumed they were scars from his childhood. He had told her his dad was abusive and his mom did nothing to protect him. Y/N thought the scars were from an incident – an incident that was too traumatizing for him open up to her about.

But they were autopsy scars… Because Jason had died once.

“Did I wake you?” She asked him gently.

“No,” he quickly lied. Then he shook his head, still processing that she was standing in front of him. “Come in,” he hurriedly added.

She game him a grateful nod and walked past him.

Her eyes quickly took in the safe house. It looked like an industrial loft. But what she was really locking on to was the multiple tables covered in weapons and gear.

After all that time of Jason’s vigilante life being hidden, now it was all completely on display for her to see.

“Are you OK?” Jason quickly asked her.

She nodded.

“How is your new place?” He then asked.

“Fine,” she offered.

“Your roommates are OK?”

She nodded again.

“Are you sleeping alright?”

“Jason,” she said it sternly, in a tone that she knew would make him finally stop with the frantic questions. “I came to talk to you.”

This took him aback.

Then he looked around him. There was a fold out table a few feet away from them.

“Here,” he muttered before rushing forward and moving what appeared to be a dozen knives and multiple guns.

He pulled out one of the chairs and motioned for her to sit.

Then Jason seemed to finally realize his state of undress. “I’ll…just give me a second.”

Y/N would’ve laughed at his adorable franticness. But she was too busy feeling nauseous and anxious.

She turned her back to him changing since the loft style gave little privacy. 30 seconds later, Jason was moving back to the table and sitting across from her in a black hoodie and sweatpants.

Y/N gently cleared her throat. Her gaze couldn’t meet Jason’s as she said, “Dick came to see me.”

Jason’s face darkened. “I’m sorry. He shouldn’t have done that. I’ll ta–”

“No, it’s fine.” Then she shifted in her seat. “He came to…uhh…he came to talk to me about you, actually.”

That wasn’t what Jason was expecting.

“He told me everything,” she stated. “I mean, everything you never did.”

The true meaning of her words slowly washed over Jason.

He leaned back in his chair, his massive form making it squeak.

Y/N took in a shaky breath. “Jason…I’m-I’m so sorry.”

He shifted his weight.

“You have nothing to be sorry for, Y/N.” He told her quietly.

Usually Jason’s death and resurrection was a joke. He loved making his family cringe, shrink, and become uncomfortable with his dark humor about it. That was just how he’d grown to deal with it all.

But he couldn’t do the same for Y/N.

A few beats of silence passed between them.

“I miss you,” Y/N finally told him.

Jason’s eyes widened at the confession. “I miss you, too.”

Silence again.

“Was I just part of a cover?” She quickly asked him.

“No,” he immediately answered.

“Was our relationship even real?”

“Yes, Y/N. I promise you that it was.”

Y/N bit her lip. She came here with no plan. And now it was starting to feel very real. She knew what she needed to know and she knew what she needed to say. But she wasn’t sure how to get there.

“Do you still love me?” She whispered.

Jason flinched at the question – not because of the answer, but because she felt the need to even ask it.

He nodded.

“After everything that’s happened,” she began, “what would a relationship between us even be, Jason?”

This was not the follow-up question he was expecting.

“What do you want it to be?”

But what he really wanted to say was it could be anything she wanted. He would do absolutely anything to get her back. Anything.

Still, he didn’t want to push her. So he let her take the lead.

“No more lies,” Y/N demanded. Jason opened his mouth, but she cut him off. “I know you can’t tell me the details of the nightly occurrences from your…other life.”

“It was to keep you safe,” he tried to explain. “The less you know, the safer you are. No one can try to use you for information.”

Y/N nodded in understanding. “I’m saying no more lies about where you are or why you can’t make something. And no more hiding injuries.”

Jason nodded firmly, trying to mask his eagerness.

“But more importantly…No more lies about your past. Dick may have told me everything he knew. But I know there’s missing parts and it’s only his perspective.” Then she hesitated, “And I’d…I’d like to hear it from you.”

Jason felt sick by the idea. He thought maybe he’d gotten out of such a request because of his nosey brother.

“You might not like what you find…” he warned her.

But Y/N was already shaking her head. “You know me inside and out.”

Jason did a weird half shrug, half nod. “I like to think so.”

“Don’t you think I deserve the same?”

Jason knew he had a point. But he loved everything about her. Y/N’s flaws weren’t even flaws to him. They were just what made her the woman she was. And that so happened to a woman he was deeply in love with.

But his sins? They were what convinced him that he was unlovable – a monster.

“You do,” Jason agreed with a mumble.

Y/N struggled to swallow with how dry her throat had suddenly become. “You had made a deal with your family – a deal you almost broke because of me.”

Jason knew what she was really asking. She didn’t even really know what she wanted.

“You want to know about the people I’ve killed,” he said low and even.

But she didn’t answer.

Jason leaned forward on the table and thought over her request. He rubbed the scruff on his jawline and chin.

“One was a man who was trying to rip down the pants of 5 year old girl in an alley of the Narrows.” His expression and tone was numb as he started listing them. “Another was an abusive husband that pushed his pregnant wife down a flight of stairs, causing her to have a miscarriage and almost die.”

Y/N felt sick as she listened.

“The last person I killed was Gotham’s number one human trafficker. When I asked him – with a gun to his head – how he had such a lack of remorse, he said, ‘These sickos are going to find their fun one place or another, I might as well make a buck off it.’”

Y/N could tell as Jason shared these stories that he felt no remorse for his executions.

“Bruce would tell you that every one deserves a chance to change. Or he’ll tell you that we’re not the law, we’re just enforcing it.” Jason shook his head. “But I’ve seen thousands of rapists, murderers, and – god knows what else – get freed time and time again. They may get locked up for a bit, but most of them find their way back on the streets. The system is broken. I know it. You know it. And Bruce knows it.”

Then his eyes darkened. “And before you ask, I wouldn’t take any of it back. Truthfully, I believe the world is a better place without those fuckers in it.”

As harsh as it sounded, Y/N appreciated the honesty. And perhaps there was a part of her that agreed with him. 

Jason was right: she did know the system was broken, just as much as he did. But she wasn’t in a position to execute the same justice as he could.

“Can I ask you something in return?” The softness in his voice surprised Y/N.

She nodded her head.

“That morning at the manor…you said you weren’t scared of me.” He paused. “Were you telling the truth?”

“I wasn’t scared of you – at least, not like you’re implying. I felt–” She searched for the right word. “Defenseless. Because you knew me, but I didn’t know you anymore. Does that make sense?”

Jason nodded. “And what about now? After knowing all I’ve done.”

To his surprise, Y/N reached across the table and gently grabbed one his hands. She held it in her grasp, tracing the lines in his palm. The skin was rough and scarred.

After so long without it, the feeling of her touch caused a shiver to go down Jason’s spine. 

Y/N knew these hands had killed dozens of people. But she also knew that they’d been nothing but gentle with her.

“You’ve never hurt me, Jason.”

“I never would,” he answered quietly, almost with a certain desperation.

She nodded, already knowing that.

“No matter what happens with us, I don’t ever want you to be scared of me, Y/N.”

Then she was crying and jumped from her seat. Without even thinking, she was on the other side of the table, throwing herself onto Jason’s lap, and wrapping her arms around him. Jason pulled her even tighter to him, cradling her face to his neck.

“I’m sorry, Y/N. For everything. I just…I just want you back. OK?”

Y/N pulled away and Jason wiped the tears from her cheeks. She nodded and gave him a teary smile, “OK.”

Their relationship wouldn’t mend itself just like that. They were going to have to work at it. But with all their secrets on the table, they knew what they were fighting. And from now on, they were going to face them together.

----------------

Yeesh. That one was a lot. 

Let me know what you think!

(If you have criticisms about how I wrote Jason, I’d love to hear them, just don’t be a fucking asshole about it. There’s a right way to give feedback and there’s definitely a wrong way.)

[wheezyandchesterwrite]

"Please don't leave me" ~ Peter Parker

Summary: When you are injured in battle Peter begs you to stay

Word Count: 3.4k

Pairing: Peter Parker x Fem!Speedster!Reader

Warnings: Mentions of violence, death, injuries, and blood. Just overall sad. (If we missed something that you feel should be tagged and/or mentioned let us now and we'll include it)

A/N: Hey, so as you can see we are not dead! :) (I don't know why I did that it hurt me too ok?) Since there was no post in March we are going to try our best to post two other one shots this month, but we'll see how that goes. Hope you all enjoy this and have a great morning/afternoon/night! -W&C :)

Also major thanks to @apotatoinabigfield and @too-attached-to-fiction for proofreading and beta-reading this!

*GIF IS NOT OURS* (We got it off of Google, but if anyone knows who the credits for it belong to let us know so we can rightfully tag them)

5 years ago:

“Something’s happening,” said the girl with the antennae, Mantis. At least, that’s what she had said her name was. Suddenly after, she turned to dust. She just disappeared. In shock, you got closer to Peter, looking for some kind of safety or comfort. Everyone was shocked; no one could understand what had just occurred before your very eyes. Before anyone could say something or even gather their thoughts, it happened again.

“Quill?” was the last thing Drax said before suffering the same fate as Mantis. We lost. That was the only explanation you could fathom. The Avengers had lost and Thanos won. You tightened your grip around Peter, fully embracing him now. You were all desperately trying to decipher who would be next, fearing it being yourselves or your loved ones, but it was pointless. Whatever was causing this came and left without a warning.

“Steady, Quill,” said Tony, but it was to no avail.

“Oh, man,” sighed the man who had introduced himself as Starlord, dusting away defeatedly. You looked up at Peter, who had wrapped his arms around you in a protective manner. He was scared, that much you could tell, but he wouldn’t meet your eyes, determined to conceal the unsettling fear of not being able to hold you for much longer. You tried to convince yourself it was done—that no one else would be taken—but it was pointless. Deep down, you knew this was far from over.

“Tony,” the man turned to look at Strange, “there was no other way.” Stephen Strange took a couple more breaths before dusting away like the others had. Although Strange had said he saw over sixty-three billion outcomes, you couldn’t see how this could be the one you won in. It definitely didn’t feel like it.

Suddenly, breathing became hard. You saw dust particles floating from your hand and the reality of what was going to happen hit you. “No,” you whispered anguishly.

“(Y/N)?” Peter brought your attention to him instead of the particles which declared your fate.

“Pete, I—” you started as you reached up to stroke his cheek, but before you could come in contact with his skin or finish your declaration, you faded away in his arms.

“I know,” the boy said softly as he watched the wind carry what was once his lover.

Tony was at loss for words. He felt like the universe was playing a sick, twisted prank on him. As Tony sulked, Peter felt it. He felt his spidey sense warn him that something was going to happen. He could feel his body struggle to keep him in one piece, to keep him together, to keep him alive. No matter how quickly his body fought, it was destined to lose. “Mr. Stark,” the boy called out to the man who was more than his mentor, the man who had become like a father to him.. “I don’t feel so good,” he painfully admitted. Peter started stumbling around, his legs struggling to keep him up.

“You’re alright,” defied Stark. More than an attempt to console the boy, Tony Stark was trying to reassure himself that the universe, as cruel as it had always been to him, wouldn't do this—that it would not take his boy away. But alas, the genius man was to be proven wrong.

“I— I don’t know what’s happening. I— I don’t understand,” countered the Spiderboy hurriedly. His feet gave out, and he would’ve fallen forward if it hadn’t been for Tony catching him and holding him up. More and more particles could be seen emerging from the boy, and in that moment, the only thing Tony could do was hold on to Peter for as long as he had left.

“I don’t wanna go,” Peter pleaded. “I don’t wanna go, Mr. Stark, please.” His voice was cracking and his legs couldn’t support him any longer as more particles escaped him. Peter’s pleas wouldn’t cease much like the cracks in his voice every time he spoke. Tony lowered him to the ground not daring to say a word. Peter, with teary, bloodshot eyes, looked at the man and whispered an apology before finally letting his body dissipate.

Tony couldn’t speak; he couldn’t even think. “He did it,” said Nebula. Yet the genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist didn’t respond. He just looked at his hand, which was covered in dirt—dirt that had once been Peter Parker. Tony let himself cry, allowing grief and shock to take over him. After all there was nothing else he could do.

***

Present day:

“Love you—wait, what happened?” You find yourself reaching up, but the person you had been trying to touch no longer stood in front of you. Your body was slowly regaining feeling, but your mind felt as numb as ever. You had so many thoughts running through your brain at such a speed that you couldn’t focus on any of them.

“I love you too, Speedy.” You heard a voice answer from behind you. You felt some of the anxiety subside once you put a name to the voice, which was easy since only one person in the entire world called you Speedy.

“Peter,” you exhaled in relief. Turning around in an instant, you ran into the arms you had chosen to call home. Peter embraced you tightly, not wanting to release the other in fear of permanently losing one another this time. You didn’t know how much time had passed from when you lost your consciousness, but that didn’t matter for Peter. Seeing the person he had deemed to be his soulmate dissipate in front him had been more than enough for him to feel like the amount of time that had passed between then and now had been an eternity. Suddenly, Strange spoke up, answering the question plaguing everyone’s minds.

“It’s been five years. Come on, they need us.” He stated commandingly. You all shared looks of dumbfoundment and bewilderment. Five years? How could that have been possible? The only one on the planet you stood on who looked at ease was Stephen, his calm demeanor never faltering. You looked up at Peter confused, but he simply shrugged, not wanting to believe such time had passed yet knowing better than to contradict Dr. Strange.

“Okay, everyone, this is it. Activate your badass stances!” exclaimed Quill.

“What did you say about my ass, Quill?” Drax started charging towards him, visibly offended. You raced to wedge yourself between the two men, struggling to keep them apart.

“Hey, no time for that. Look!” You called over their attention to the portal Strange was opening in front of you. Peter swung his way to the front, landing elegantly. After making sure Quill and Drax would not try to go at each other's throats, you swiftly made your way to the front and stood beside Peter.

Glancing around what was going to serve as your battlefield for today, you grimly recognized the location. What was once known as the Avenger’s Headquarters was now no more than a field of scattered debris. Clouds of dust littered the air, the remains of mass destruction visible wherever you looked. You gave yourself a chase to take in the sight of Thanos’ army, and as you did so, fear and worry tried to etch their way into your brain as you realized what you were facing. This was an enemy that had already defeated you once, and when you had fought him, he hadn't even had an army backing him up. Your determination and will to fight and live to tell the tale overpowered those negative feelings. The sight of the spaceship filled you with spitefulness instead of dread, and you knew in that moment that you would do whatever it took to win. The Avengers would not lose again; you were going to make sure of that, even if you had to lay down your life for it to become a reality.

“Is that everyone?” Strange asked Wong.

“What, you wanted more?” Wong yelled back in disbelief, and Strange shrugged nonchalantly in response.

As everyone settled into position, Cap’s voice was loudly heard, like thunder rumbling through the field, “AVENGERS.” This was the moment of truth—your last chance to save humanity. You could feel the seconds pass before Steve gave the signal, “Assemble.” And with that, everyone was off.

A beautiful and empowering mess of battle cries could be heard around you. You, on the other hand, were silent as you ran, calculating your every move. Using all the knowledge you’d gained over the years about hand-in-hand combat, you started to hastily assassinate those monsters. You would jump at one, taking them down, and godspeed to your next target, sending each one you came in contact with on a one way trip to meet their maker. Near you, Peter was also taking out some of the Chitauri, at times propelling you onto your next target or eliminating some of them when you got surrounded. After clearing out most of the aliens near you, Peter tapped you on the shoulder and pointed to Tony. Understanding his intentions, you nodded and made your way towards the infamous Iron Man.

As you slid into the crater where Tony lay, Peter landed from his swinging. Tony stared at the two of you in disbelief, doubting whether or not to believe you were actually there. When his expression softened, and tender affection spread across his factions, Peter began rambling, and you shook off some of the concrete dust from your suit. “Hey, holy cow! You will not believe what’s going on,” Peter exclaimed as he helped Tony stand up.

“No?” Tony asked sarcastically, but it only encouraged you.

“Do you remember when we were in space? And we got all dusty? I guess we must’ve passed out because when we woke up, you were gone.” You now stood beside Peter as you spoke, your hands increasing their pace as you rambled on, making them impossible to follow with the human eye.

“But Doctor Strange was there right? He was like ‘It’s been five years. Come on they need us,’” Peter said as he tried to make an impression of Strange, mimicking the way the man had moved his hands when opening the portals.

“Yeah, and then he started doing the yellow sparkly thing he does all the time.” You took over from Pete when he gave you the chance.

“He did? Oh, God!” Tony exclaimed with feigned incredulity. He started walking toward you and grabbed you both by the shoulder, pushing you into him.

“What are you doing?” Peter asked, bewildered.

“Huh, what’s this?” You questioned, confused as Tony engulfed you both simultaneously. He held you tightly, and when the shock passed, you and Peter hugged the man back even tighter.

“Oh, this is nice.” Peter sighed, earning a light chuckle from Stark.

“Listen, kids, we don’t have a lot of time right now, but I’ll catch you up on the latest trends once we take this bitch down. Okay?” Tony assured as he released you, holding on to your forearm to look the both of you in the eyes as he spoke.

“Yes, sir.” Peter saluted.

“See you on the other side of the war.” You smirked, knowing Tony and Peter must have caught that reference. Tony shook his head as he took off, the ghost of a grin barely noticeable on his lips.

Peter nudged you. “Be careful, okay?” His eyes showed genuine concern.

“Alright, I solemnly swear—” Peter gave you a warning look. “Okay, fine. I’ll try my best to be as careful as possible in the middle of a battle.” You finished, your tone a weird mixture between sarcasm and affection.

“Good.” He pressed a quick kiss to your temple before taking off.

“Alright, Chitauri, give me your best shot.” You smirked at the unsuspecting figure that was currently fighting off T’challa. Having speed and regeneration to your advantage, you zig-zagged around Thanos’ army, ducking and killing as you went. You moved with precision, only stopping when you were sure to have a clear shot at the enemy you were targeting.

You went on that way until you weren’t able to dodge a body that dropped in front of you, making you trip over it. The collision made you roll down a mountain of debris, hitting your head dangerously hard several times, as well as getting a couple of cuts along the way from the exposed, sharp metal.

“That’s sure to give me a concussion,” you grunted to yourself. The throbbing of your head distracted you from the burn of the cuts that now littered your abdomen, some deeper than others. It wasn’t until you brought a hand to your head, that you noticed the crimson liquid that coated it. “Oh, shit,” you exhaled. The pain was starting to catch up to you as the adrenaline subsided. You tried to use your powers to find yourself a safe spot until you recovered, but your attempts were futile seeing as the pain coursing through your body rendered you immobile.

“Is that Peter falling?” The figure you saw was indeed Peter and the sharp spiderlegs of his suits were still out for blood. You managed to move just enough that you were barely graced, another gash prompting blood out of your system. Peter tumbled in the opposite direction, clutching what you assumed to be the gauntlet you were supposed to keep out of Thanos’ hands. The sudden movements to dodge Peter hadn’t come without consequences. You felt like your surroundings were spiralling around you, dizziness overtaking you as you started to cough up blood. You managed to stubbornly sit up and when you looked to your side, you saw Peter giving the gauntlet to a glowing woman.

“I don’t know how you’re gonna get it through all that,” you heard him admit to her out of breath.

“Don’t worry,” Wanda stepped in.

“She’s got help,” Okoye finished, her hands wrapped tightly around her spear. Soon the rest of the women joined and took off together. It was a powerful moment to witness and one you would’ve loved to be a part of, if it weren’t for your current situation. You closed your eyes in a somewhat successful effort to ease off the pain pulsating in your head.

“Man, those are some badass women,” Peter muttered as he sat down. “Wait—” He quickly looked around, but missed you completely. “Where’s my badass woman?” Peter frantically shuffled to his feet, hoping to see a flash of yellow zoom by, but no such luck. You tried to call out to him, wanting to let him know you were there, but your voice got caught in your throat, replaced by a cough that was followed by blood. The sound caught Peter’s attention, his gaze trying to find where it came from. His heart constricted in his chest when he finally caught sight of you and the state you were in.

In a flash, he was hovering over you, putting your own abilities to shame given the speed at which he got to you. Your eyes were still closed, as you relished the relief it gave you, but you were drifting off at this point and didn’t have the energy nor strength to open them again. That was until Peter started shaking you awake. “(Y/N)? Oh God, come on, please be okay.” You could hear the panic and desperation in his voice. Your eyes felt so heavy, it was almost impossible to open them, but you managed to do so, just enough to see Peter exhale in relief after seeing you respond.

Tucked away behind blood and dryness, you managed to find your voice and you raspily told him, “I’m okay, Peter. It’ll heal. Go help the others.” You took ragged breaths between each sentence, your lungs struggling to keep up. Peter could very much tell you weren’t okay and knew that with the amount of injuries you had suffered it was almost impossible for your regenerative abilities to save you.

“(Y/N), we both know that’s not happening; it’s too much. I mean, it might heal, but there are too many things to heal for you to survive waiting and—” He abruptly stopped his own rambling after he noticed you had closed your eyes again. “(Y/N)? (Y/N), please, stay with me.”

His voice was breaking and his eyes were starting to swell up with tears. It broke your heart to hear him like this. You fought to stay conscious, for his sake, but the blood loss and pain was becoming too great to bear and you felt yourself falling into a deep slumber once more.

Peter was getting desperate, tears freely flowing down his cheeks now. “Please, (Y/N/N), please don’t leave me.” He held your body close to his, burying his face in the crook of your neck. Sobs rocked his body as he kept begging for you to stay. His voice and your tear stained neck was the last thing you registered before you let go and fell into the dark abyss of unconsciousness.

***

“Everybody wants a happy ending, right? But it doesn’t always roll that way. Maybe this time, I’m hoping if you play this back, it’s in celebration. I hope families are reunited, I hope we get it back, and something like a normal version of the planet has been restored. If there was ever such a thing. God, what a world! Universe, now. If you told me ten years ago that we weren’t alone, let alone, you know, to this extent, I mean I wouldn’t have been surprised. But come on, you know? The epic forces of darkness and light that have come into play. And for better or for worse, that’s the reality Morgan’s gonna have to find a way to grow up in. So, I thought I’d probably better record a little greeting... In case of an untimely death on my part. I mean, not that death at any time isn’t untimely. This time travel thing that we’re gonna try and pull off tomorrow, it’s—it's got me scratching my head about the survivability of it all—that’s the thing. Then again, that’s the hero gig. Part of the journey is the end. What am I even trippin’ for? Everything’s gonna work out exactly the way it’s supposed to. I love you 3,000.”

Pepper walked out of the cabin she and Tony had called home, holding a wreath that in its middle held Tony’s first arc reactor. Everyone stood out in front of the lake, waiting as she gently placed it on the water. She took her place beside Peter, who was silently crying as he held your emotionally devastated self in his arms. Having passed out when you did had ultimately saved your life, your body using its remaining energy in healing you rather than keeping you awake, but that meant you missed the events that led up to your victory and were therefore unable to say a proper farewell to the man who served as your mentor for years.

Waking up to the news that the man who had taken better care of you and had looked out for you more than your own parents was dead didn’t settle in easily. It took a while before you were able to accept he was gone.

Peter had been there for you every step of the way, holding you during all the sleepless nights you had spent crying and shaking you awake when your dreams became plagued with nightmares from the battle. Guilt had made a home in your heart, the feeling never leaving as you thought of ways you could have avoided getting injured, ways you could have fought better, ways that could have resulted in being able to say goodbye to Tony Stark, the man who sacrificed himself for the universe.

Everyone stood silently as you all watched the wreath float out of sight, before turning to share your condolences with each other. You held on to Peter tightly, as if he too were to slip from your fingers at any moment. You stood there mindlessly listening in on the nostalgic conversations between the people who cared for Tony. Looking around at everyone gathered, it became clear that the arc reactor which was now floating off in the lake was not the only proof that Tony Stark had a heart. All his friends, colleagues, family and adopted students were walking proof that not only did Tony Stark have a heart, but that he had the biggest heart a human could possibly have.

Taglist: @steveisherdaddy @apotatoinabigfield @xlostinobsessionsx @izjustafaze @yourlocalwhitemanwhore

[spasmsofthought]

flashes. (dick grayson x reader)

I’m not really well-versed in DC, at all, but I wanted to give this a shot. let me know what you think! It’s a bit of a mess, so please take this with a grain of salt and some grace. sorry if he feels ooc; I tried my best but I am by no means an expert or even an amateur. please be kind. idk if i’ll write anymore for him, but i wanted to try. it might be trash but it’s out there now xo

-- 

It’s not like Gotham is known for being a walk in the park. The city is all alleys in the middle of the night, dark vapors rising from sewers, and secrets in the shadows. At least, in your experience. 

There were no gated communities or fences to keep the darkness out in the apartment complex you lived in with your family. Only survival and common sense keeps you returning to your bed and food on the table.

So, when your younger (genius) brother is offered a scholarship to Gotham Academy on what feels like a whim, the world shifts. 

When your mother still works, though, it means you are the de-facto adult during the day. Your job keeps your busy in the mornings, hers during the afternoon and night. You’re just getting into learning what it’s like to handle a job and bills of your own, even though you’re still living with your family (part of it is to save money, part of it is because you just don’t want to leave). Your family is the only real home you have ever known. Why leave to only find inadequate housing where you have to worry about your safety and theirs separately?

So, like every month, you swap out of your work clothes, put on your newest (at least 2 years old) pair of jeans on, the only blouse you own that hasn’t faded or stretched or shrunk from countless wash cycles, and grab the bag you’ve stored in its own special place in the cabinet by your family’s loud, old, run-down fridge. 

You chance a ride on the bus, hopeful for no public catastrophes today. You listen to your small, but loved, playlist through the one earbud that works during the ride and you almost want to leap with joy when you step back down on concrete like this is what it is like everyday.

The architecture is a thing to behold. There is no wonder why this is acclaimed as the most prestigious private school in Gotham. Light is everywhere, and it’s like the outside world doesn’t exist. Every month you step on this campus it’s like you’ve never seen it before.

The grounds are meticulously groomed, everything in lines and straight edges. Concrete and nineteenth century buildings both cast heavy, sharp shadows in the late afternoon sun. There are some students lingering about, all grouped up and chattering in their similar uniforms. Compared to public art, haphazard graffiti, and buildings of all shapes and sizes, this place feels foreign. Different. It makes you feel strange and unwelcome; like entering a different world altogether. 

When you enter the pristine, elegant office, the entrance door propped open, there’s two figures you immediately spot: the secretary and the man standing in front of her. Your brother is yet to be found. He’s running late again. 

“Hi, hun, take a seat,” Grace’s sweet voice soothes from her position behind the desk. “He should be here any minute.” The man standing in front and a little to the right of her glances behind for second, casually swiping a look at you, before he turns forward again. 

“Thanks, Grace,” You exhale as you sit down. 

The chairs are nice, soft fabric and cushioned, but small. You so desire to bring up a leg to draw close to you, but it’s impossible without making yourself a human pretzel. And you don’t want to dirty it with your less than perfect shoes so, instead, you chose to bring the bag onto your lap and you pick at your cuticles, resisting to bring your nail to your mouth and chew on it anxiously. 

There’s never been anyone else in here when you’ve come before. Grace can make polite chatter, but then she leaves you in relative silence. It makes you feel anonymous. The man uttering sweet words to the secretary and then glancing at you again before sitting down next to you does not. You stop fidgeting with your hands and intertwine them together instead. 

A flash of the ceiling’s fluorescent lighting on glass against your eyes is what you first get a taste of, then all polish and silver, or something like it, cradling a wrist. The watch looks heavy, expensive. It looks like it could buy your family a newer, safer, apartment in a suburbia far away from here. 

“Hey,” Smooth as honey it drips out, and you are drawn to blue eyes and ebony hair. There’s a softness to his face and his eyes are warm. It would only take an hour, you think before you stop the thought from going any further. An hour to do what? You’re not sure, but the list expands the longer you take him in.

The first thing you ever learned on the streets when you walked by yourself to work was how to be aware, vigilant; on guard. Men were unpredictable creatures who were driven by greed or lust or power, and any of the good ones were swooped up and carried away to better things or dead before any second glances could take place. Or carrying on just fine behind their high fences and impenetrable walls. Just because this one introduces himself first does not mean he has proven otherwise. 

“Hi,” is all you can offer, a quirk of lips to his gesture of kindness.

You glance towards to door before your eyes make their way back to him. The gesture doesn’t offend him. There’s a familiarity to his face, but you decide to not spend time right now trying to figure it out. It already only tells you one thing: this guy is way out of your league. 

Grace gets up from her seat, rounds her desk, and makes her way out of the office, leaving you two alone. You watch her the entire time. 

“You waiting for someone?” 

“Yeah,” You nod even as the word comes out, “My brother.” 

He leans back like he’s got all the time in the world, and there’s a perusal that makes you taste butterflies and gulp down caution at the same time. You wonder if he saw the scuff marks and stains on your worn-out sneakers, or if he notices that you still haven’t had the chance to wash your three-day old hair and that’s why it’s up and back, and that your blouse is definitely from the clearance rack at Goodwill.

“Your favorite one?” 

Out of self-preservation, you try to hide the reaction to the humor you feel, “My only one.”

“I think that’s the same thing.” You almost want to roll your eyes. But there’s a genuineness in his conversation, like he means the words he’s saying to you. Like this isn’t a game. 

“Sure,” You shrug, “You’re allowed to be wrong.” 

“My name’s Richard.” It’s old-fashioned. It’s something you don’t really hear rolled off of tongues in your neck of the woods, that’s for sure. A hand comes out and rests halfway between you and him, and it’s one of the most graceful things you’ve ever witnessed in your entire life. 

“It’s nice to meet you.” You smile. Your hands stay clasped in your lap. 

“You gotta earn a handshake from my sister,” A voice pops up from the open door way. You swing your head around and watch for a moment as your brother makes his way towards you.

“Hi, J,” Your stand, open your arms wide, bag moved from your lap into one of your hands. His solid presence allows a brief hug before he steps back again. “Sorry, I don’t mean to be rude--” 

The man sitting next to you has chosen to rise as well and you’re closer than you thought you would be when you turn back to him. You notice now that your height means your eyes literally meet his lips straight on. There’s a curve of a smirk there for a flash of a second before it straightens back out into the smile you saw at first. The rest of your sentence is forgotten. He takes one, two, three steps back.

“You got them all?” The question saves you. Your brother pulls you back to him as you hand him the brown plastic bag. In it? His favorite snacks from the liquor store on the corner (the nearly sold-out, hard-to-come-by ones). 

“Every last one,” Your hands come to his cheeks, turning his face to each side.

You have to reach up now and it strikes you just how much he’s grown even in the past month. You both spend much of your time on the phone with one another. These monthly meetings set-up frequently enough for deliveries and some quick face-to-face time and seldom enough to avoid embarrassment (that’s what he says anyway). 

He brings the chip bag out and holds it up, “You even got these.” 

“Geraldo got them special order just for you.” 

“Tell the old man I said thanks,” He smiles like he’s seven again, spoiled and self-indulgent. “Richard” is still standing behind you and to the side, silent. You can feel his eyes flipping back and forth between the two of you. 

“Of course,” Your hands smooth over his shoulders and brush away imaginary dust. “Mom sends her love and says she’ll try and call you on her lunch in a few hours.” 

“Yeah, I know. I’ll make sure I answer.” 

“Thank you.” You exhale an affectionate sigh. 

Avoidant loner that your brother can be, there’s a reason you both want him here. He’ll be able to do the things you only dreamed of when you were his age. And one day, hopefully, you’ll all be out of this hellhole, onto better things. 

“I gotta go, but thanks for these. Even though you should be saving every penny,” He chides, holding up a finger like his words are somehow a threat. 

“Okay,” You chortle like you wouldn’t give everything up for your brother in a heartbeat. There’s another quick hug before he’s looking back at the man behind you, who is still standing there like some sort of stealth ninja. 

“Like I said man,” He nods and there’s something in his face that changes as he looks at “Richard”, “You gotta earn it.” 

It’s with those parting words that he begins to walk out. You stay stock still for a second before you leap after him, “I wanna hear all about what happened last week with Cara tomorrow on the phone!” 

Your brother, a mile away already on longs legs, shouts something indistinguishable back at you from down the hallway, his figure turning a corner.  

“Who’s Cara?” The voice brings your back to reality. 

You sweep your palms against your jeans and turn back to face the man with a three-piece suit and a watch that probably costs more than 20 years of your salary. Oh God. 

“This girl my brother asked out the other week. I bribed him with some of his favorites so he would tell me what went down.” You shrug your shoulders, not worried about spilling the tea about your brother’s romantic life. 

“Does he know that?” His arms seem to relax a little more and you think you could stare at him all day. 

“Eh,” You say, creeping back towards the open door. Your small crossbody bag is already on you and there’s no reason to sit back down. Richard follows you as you, apparently, both start to make your exit from the office. Nothing about it feels unnatural. “Sometimes you got to persuade instead of demand.” 

“Ha,” There seems to be something you are missing based on the way his mouth curves and his eyes spark, “That’s the truest thing I’ve heard in a long time.” 

“You’re welcome. That’s the only one that comes for free!” Your arms swing back and forth. “Anything else is gonna cost you.” 

The hallways usually feel like a labyrinth here, but you don’t feel lost this time. 

“What forms of payment do you accept?” You pretend to be thinking, but really you’re just glancing between the different features of his face. You’re not sure you’ve ever met someone like him. You’re not sure you ever will again.  

“The bank’s closed right now, actually,” The wariness is back. This guy walks like he’s used to treading on perfectly paved gold streets in his shoes. All you’ve ever known is cracked cement and rusted pipes that burst underground. “But I think it’ll be back up and running soon.” 

He doesn’t falter and there’s no anger or hurt in his expression at the metaphorical rejection. Instead, it looks something like silent patience. Maybe even acceptance. This guy could totally not be interested and you could just be being (too) ambitious. The door to the open courtyard, and your way home, is already before you both. 

“It was nice meeting you Richard,” You say as you begin to take steps forward. Your hands nervously hold the strap across your torso. You take a few more steps before his words turn your head back to him. 

“You can call me Dick,” He says with ease. The tone makes you feel like he’s speaking a language you don’t really understand. His blue eyes seem like they’re on fire; a contradiction, you know. There’s something about him that almost makes you catch your breath. You’ve never been been winded by just looking before. 

“Maybe I’ll see you around.” You offer, hands squeezing your bag strap. 

“I look forward to earning that handshake next time!” He calls out when you’re several feet away. 

I think you’ll earn a lot more than that, you almost say, but refrain. 

Instead, you wave back to him once before making your way out of the courtyard, caught between staring at your shoes and looking ahead to make sure you’re going to right way. You smile and daydream the entire bus ride home. Blue becomes your favorite color. 

[sirthisisa-wendys]

The Sacrifice Part 10: Geto Suguru x Fem!Reader

synopsis: death isn't always the final stop.

wc: 1.2k

tw: none

masterlist

You can breathe here.

Your eyes wink open and you’re no longer on the mountain.

There’s an echo of slats falling into place and clicking neatly as a wooden bridge forms beneath you and spans across a starry sky, like the ones you used to lie under when you were on your own.

You look down at your hands and find that they’re translucent, just like the rest of your body.

“Y/n,” a voice calls out to you from somewhere far away, and you look around you, trying to find the source. You locate the voice on the other side of the bridge, where two figures float toward you slowly. “You grew into such a beautiful woman.”

“Mom. Dad.” The figures stop in front of you, smiling and reaching out to you. They’re outlined in a blue glow, but they look the same as when they left you, still youthful and brimming with pride.

“You did the right thing. You were brave until the end. Now, come. Join us.” You hesitate at their words, thinking about--

“Don’t think about that now,” your mother interrupts. “They will all make it without you. You did what you were destined to do.” You consider the possibility of joining your family and being in the underworld together. But what if...

You glance back to the other end of the bridge, the other side of this earth. It’s just an empty expanse, but it’s something other than the emptiness of the underworld. You turn away, the voices of your mother and father gaining volume the more you think about those you left behind.

But you’d finally found something to live for.

Would you accept the fate Toji dealt you or--

“You do have one other option.”

The voice comes from a blonde man who appears on the bridge, leaning on air and reading a book. When he looks up, his spectacles catch the light of the stars, obscuring his eyes from sight. “But you would never be able to see your family again.”

“Immortality,” you breathe, and the man shuts the book.

“Bright girl.”

“How did I--” The man sighs, removing his glasses.

“Toji’s rage reached beyond and interfered with the way of things. You have a choice, and you must pick wisely. There is no path back from either side.” You look back to your parents and think again. Would you forgive yourself if you never got to see them again? Would you regret choosing them over your future with Geto? “I must tell you this, though. You were with child when you departed from the mortal realm. As the god of transformation, I have the power to grant you life… and your child’s life as well.” With child? Your hand flies to your translucent stomach, and you inhale deeply. There’s someone else to think of now.

“What must I do?” The man swings his arm to the opposite side of the bridge, then looks at you.

“Keep walking.”

You nod, then begin your trek to the other side of the bridge. “I hope you’re happy with your choice,” is all the man says before disappearing behind you along with your parents.

The first few steps are silent, and nothing occurs. But five steps in, the bridge behind you begins to disappear and you feel yourself speeding toward a yellow light, loud sounds and smells rushing at you. It’s more than overwhelming, and part of you longs for the silence you had before.

The light engulfs you entirely, and sensations rush at you like never before. You can see all of time in a flash, memories rushing between your hands and body, and wrapping you in ribbons of gold. “All of time is accessible to you here,” you hear the man echo. “All of the world is yours now. You are afforded any time and all of time, and you are allowed to go as far back and or as far forward as you please. Where will you go?”

“Back home,” you whisper, and think of Suguru, Gojo, the girls, everyone you left behind in the world of the living. And when you feel your fingers, your toes, the dry clothes on your body, and hear the sounds of Suguru and Gojo speaking quickly, you rest in the feeling of being back in your body… your old body.

You rise from the bed and feel for the cut at your neck. But there’s nothing there. No one is in the room - your room - when you sit up. But the sounds of arguing and fury reach you from the outside of the room, and you hear Geto roar,

“Find him and bring him to me!”

“Your Holiness, it’s been three days. Toji has not appeared anywhere, and he’s not in his realm right now.”

“Find Nanami, then. He knows where everyone is.” You contemplate opening the door. You’ve been dead for three days? But it’s only been a few minutes… When you finally decide to open the door, you find Gojo pacing frantically, hands running through his messy hair. He’s mumbling to himself, and it takes a moment before he realizes someone is standing behind him.

“Gojo?” The man flinches at the sound of your voice, not turning around.

“You’re not actually here. You’re not real. She’s not real, Satoru. She’s gone. Just… just… it’s Toji. He’s playing a trick on your mind again.” Gojo slaps his hands to his ears, grunting as you try to pull him away from his delusion, from his fear.

“It’s me, Gojo, I’m really here, I--” Clymenestra appears, first to try and comfort Gojo, then backing up in terror at your visage.

“Y-y/n…” As you approach her, her hands fly up, stopping you in your tracks. “Come no closer, evil spirit. You must return to where Toji sent you from. Haunt us no longer.”

“Cly, it’s really me! I haven’t been haunting you, I swear. I was dead, but now I’m immortal and I--” Cly moves to push you away, but when she touches your hands, she snatches them back.

“Gojo,” Cly hisses and grabs his shoulders. “Snap out of it! Toji’s sending his worst. This one we can touch, so we need to get this thing away from Geto before he tears this temple apart.”

“Wait, Cly, but I--”

“The room.” Gojo murmurs and Cly grabs your arm, dragging you behind her and Gojo. You go down a dark hallway to where there’s no one around, and you look around, noticing the shredded tapestries, the doors that are torn apart, and the massive gaping hole in what you assume used to be your bedroom shared with Suguru. “Put her in the room.”

The door you never opened is standing in front of you, looming large in your fear. You try to yank away from Cly but she holds onto you with a death grip as she unlocks the room and then pulls you down the stairs.

“Geto!” you shout, fear latching onto your bones. “Geto, please come and help me, oh god-- Geto!” Clymentestra shoves you into the dank room without care and spits at your feet.

“You had the chance to leave, apparition. Now you will be confined to the darkness until your master calls you back to his side.” Before you can clamor up to your feet and catch up to Clymenestra, the door shuts and seals you in darkness yet again.

_____________________________________________________________

TAGLIST: @wack0-genius @sunfloweroranges @jibe-gajima @jotazinha @brownskinnedgirll @leanne-tamashi @vabybizzle @amaris9 @fuegy-fuegy @ambiguous-something @kontentious@missbonekitty @fyotituti @honouredsatoru @sandyscastle @flare-on @sasahime @ggotgame @just4readingfics

[legends-live-in-memories]

Talk So Pretty, But Your Heart Got Teeth

AYO another day another oneshot as a part of the MGI Trope Tussle! BUT WAIT THERES MORE thanks to @nightlychaotic for letting me continue her oneshot that can be found HERE! 

Fics Masterlist

Dickinette Oneshot 2.8K words 

Summary:

“Nightwing was desperate to figure out Kit Noire. For reasons beyond professional.” 

without further ado:

Some days, you're the only thing I know

Only thing that's burning when the nights grow cold

Can't look away, can't look away

Beg you to stay, beg you to stay, yeah

It had been two weeks since Nightwing had last seen Kit Noire. While the lack of thefts and reported break-ins was doing wonders for his day job, he found his nightlife severely lacking its usual luster. He had done some research into her powers, cross-referencing with some of his more magically inclined coworkers. Aquaman had an interesting story about some god of destruction but it was Atlantean lore that led nowhere. He was drawing blanks on what his next move was going to be. Conflicted on whether to bring her to justice or to help her get justice. 

His team was of no help either. Batman was adamant on chasing her out of Gotham, her destructive powers too dangerous in the city, while his siblings were more engrossed in teasing him about his affections for the cat thief. Jabs about ‘learned behaviour’ and ‘truly being the next Batman’ went ignored for his own piece of mind. He loathed to admit it but his intrigue in her, his adamance to be involved with her case, stemmed from less professional intentions. He was compromised in this investigation but he was unwilling to relent to anyone else.

Kit Noire was his to solve. 

Sometimes, you're a stranger in my bed

Don't know if you love me or you want me dead

Push me away, push me away

Then beg me to stay, beg me to stay, yeah

He finally found her one night by the Gotham Harbour. She was in the middle of an altercation with the same guy who had stolen some grimoire from her. ‘Guardian’ he had called her. 

Rather than intervene immediately, Nightwing hung back in the shadows, observing the two of them. The man was obviously much older than her and was particularly equipped to combat her style of fighting. He used what appeared to be a wooden staff and was dressed in Buddhist-inspired robes. Another piece to add into his investigation. 

Their fight was approaching a stalemate, neither willing to yield to the other. Nightwing decided to make his presence known. A couple smoke bombs were tossed into the fray, halting the fight. Taking the opening, he jumped in between and threw two bolas at the old man. He was wrapped securely in the wires and collapsed gracelessly on the planks. Not giving him anymore attention, he moved to intercept Kit Noire; choosing the evil he knew over the one he didn’t.

“Sorry, songbird.” She spoke with more bite than usual, her frustration with the older man still clinging to her. “But I already have plans tonight. None that involves you sadly.”

“What?” His casual drawl, partnered with his carefully crafted smirk did nothing to placate the hissing cat in his arms. “I can’t let the kitty have all the fun.”

“Please,” she scoffs; she slackens in his hold only fractionally. “As if I need a little birdy like you to give me permission to do anything.”

She slipped under his grasp and shot a leg up directly into his chin. He was taken completely by surprise and before he could react, one of his own smoke bombs was thrown at his feet. He was disoriented and by the time he switched his mask to infrared, she was already gone with the older man. His discarded bolas were the only thing that remained between the clearing haze of smoke.

Call me in the morning to apologize

Every little lie gives me butterflies

Something in the way you're looking through my eyes

Don't know if I'm gonna make it out alive

He was pulling into the precinct parking lot for his morning shift with a poorly concealed bruise on his jaw and excuses already on his tongue for how it got there. His ego wasn’t fairing much better but that was concerns for his punching bag back at his home gym. Now, he was Dick Grayson, rookie cop at the GCPD. Now, his nighttime problems can’t reach him.

Or so he thought.  

He didn’t make it ten feet into the building before detective Montoya was slamming a file into his chest. He quickly glanced into the file, partially listening to her debriefing of the case, then immediately wished he hadn’t. In the file there were pictures taken from the most recent crime scene and sitting on top of the pile was a picture of a wall from the local aviary. The words ‘Sorry about last night, Songbird -KN’ were spray painted in steel blue. 

He felt his irritation flare as heat crept up his neck while a weight settled in the base of his spine. His warring feelings drowned out everything around him as he fixated on her very obvious declaration. Kitty Noire had been gaining infamy for never being caught by both the cops and the bats. Some in the precinct hadn’t believed she was actually real, just some urban legend the streets were stirring up to cause trouble. To let herself be caught like this, and to admit to contact with one of the bats— it didn’t take a genius to guess which side of the law she was calling out with ‘songbird’— was damning to say the least. 

Fight so dirty, but your love's so sweet

Talk so pretty, but your heart got teeth

Late night devil, put your hands on me

And never, never, never ever let go

Fight so dirty, but your love's so sweet

Talk so pretty, but your heart got teeth

Late night devil, put your hands on me

And never, never, never ever let go

It was another week before he was crashing into her midleap, throwing both of them down onto the nearest roof. They rolled a couple of times before he stopped them by pinning her down. Both of her arms were held above her head; his grips were tight around her wrists, avoiding her palms in fear of what her destructive powers could do. They were on top of the platform that had the doorway to the building’s stairs. Her distracting smirk curled up further as she was about to speak. Probably a suggestive comment but he wasn’t in the mood for their usual back and forth.

“Enough games, Noire.” He shifted his knees to brace on her shins, in case she had any ideas. “You need to tell me what’s going on. You’re bringing suspicious people into the city, dangerous people, and it’s my job to drive them out.”

“I’m not bringing anyone into the city,” she all but spat at him, the fury in her eyes burned bright at the accusation. “He tracked me here.”

“And he is…?” He was getting tired of being out of the loop, meta-abilities and magic are safety hazards if left unchecked in Gotham. He needs to put a lid on this before it spirals any further.

“He is my business and soon to be not a problem for the both of us.”

“Why should I believe you?”

“You have no other choice, songbird. Above your paygrade, remember?” She mumbles something he doesn’t hear but from the shape of her lips it looked like Cataclysm. He didn’t have time to react before the roof was caving in under them. 

The freefall was disorienting but he could see from his periphery that Kit Noire was prepared. She had extended her staff out to fit between two walls and was hanging on, dangling over what was probably twenty flights of steps. Nightwing wasn’t so lucky and he had to angle his fall to crash into steps a couple flights below her.  

“It was nice crashing into you, songbird, but I have things to steal and people to rob.” Retracting her staff, she let herself freefall to the bottom floor of the building. Nightwing dove after her, shooting out his grappling line to one of the higher railings. She had reextended her staff, this time aiming for the height of the building, and was sliding down it like a pole. Banishing the improper thoughts of ‘Noire’ and ‘pole,’ he questioned how the staff was even able to extend that far. 

Right, magic.

Once they were more comfortable feet above the bottom floor, she paused in her descent and let him over take her. He wasn’t given a chance to question her actions as she immediately swiped at his grappling line, snapping it with her rather sharp claws. This time he was prepared enough to brace himself for the fall. He landed on his feet and crouched to roll out of the harsh impact.

“I thought it was cats that landed on their feet, not birds,” her jeer echoed against the walls. He looked back up to see her rapidly climbing her staff. She was gaining distance fast and he was running out of options just as quickly. He didn’t trust climbing her staff so he took to climbing the steps from the railings, jumping and swinging himself around to gain altitude.

“Maybe you’re rubbing off on me.” She had made it to the door that led back to the roof and her staff retracted in an instant. He was still a couple flights away but he knew he wasn’t going to catch her. He resigned himself to knowing that tonight was another failed night. He had let her go again.

Some days, you're the best thing in my life

Sometimes when I look at you, I see my wife

Then you turn into somebody I don't know

And you push me away, push me away, yeah

Something Kit Noire had said was bothering him. She said she was a hero once. That she had given it up because of accusations that ruined her reputation. He had half a mind to not believe her. Write it off as one of her tricks to try and get under his skin. But the other half, the louder, more desperate half, implored him to keep searching. To uncover the cat themed enigma he had grown frustratingly fond of. 

He expanded his search, looking for anything or anyone cat themed with destructive powers. A deep web search had him discovering an old video. It was labeled ‘Reflectdoll’ and nothing else. It was a part of some long forgotten blog that had an entire catalogue of videos labeled in similarly vague ways. Desperate for answers, he rationalised that if anything else, he would cross this source and narrow the search further.

The video was quite the fanfare, looking something out of a movie with impressive CGI. He was about to label this video as another bust but something paused him in his tracks. Her. Kit Noire, or at least a younger version of her, lept into the action. Her and some ladybug patterned partner dealt with the fiasco and Nightwing watched, enthralled and hopeful, as the two worked to take down the foe. He was both impressed and even more confused because he recognised that infamous tower but had no memories of there ever being attacks of that caliber in the city of love. He had done several missions there over the years, and there was never any call for help or an attack to get his or the League’s attention.   

Just what was going on? 

Call me in the morning to apologize

Every little lie gives me butterflies

Something in the way you're looking through my eyes

Don't know if I'm gonna make it out alive

Fight so dirty, but your love's so sweet

Talk so pretty, but your heart got teeth

Late night devil, put your hands on me

And never, never, never ever let go

He had her pinned again, one of his hands holding both of hers above her head, the other was fisting her braid in a tight pin. They were staring at each other, neither wanting to tip the scales in their own favor. The air was charged and each breath felt like one step closer to a dangerous precipice. Nightwing was struggling with what to do. He had a responsibility to this city. This was his home. And he was letting some magical ex-hero trample all over it because he let his infatuation get to his head. He was too involved but he didn’t care. She was his case to solve. 

“Something you would like to share, songbird?” Her smirk was enticing and infuriating. He couldn’t look away. 

“I have a lot on my mind.”

“What? Is keeping me here not entertaining enough for you?”

“I’m not keeping you here for entertainment.”

“That could be rearranged.” She had surged up to kiss him, her lips soft and inviting. He would be a fool to pass up the opportunity.

Blood on my shirt, rose in my hand

You're looking at me like you don't know who I am

Blood on my shirt, heart in my hand

Still beating

She was hurt. The old man found her again and left her with a painful reminder of who she was up against. Nightwing wished he could track him down and beat him to bloody pulp but right now he was more concerned with patching her up. She was lucky he found her when he did. The gash on her side would be easy to stitch but he first needed to get her to somewhere safe. His options were limited. No clinic would take them in, she was still a notorious criminal after all. Batman would have his head if he brought her to any of their safe houses. The cave was completely out of the question. 

But she was still losing blood. 

“Why the long face, songbird?” Her voice which was usually jovial was tinted with strain. 

“Oh, you know, just getting blood on my suit while a cat bleeds out in my lap.” He tried to lighten the mood and her chuckles were relieving. 

“Sorry.��

“Don’t apologize. Just need to find somewhere to put you.”

“Oh, is the birdy worried about his kitty cat?” She was teasing him, he knew, so he decided playing along would do more for his own peace of mind than trying to refute.

“And if he is?” He mirrored her own joking tone but he couldn’t help the taxes of sincerity that slipped in. She caught on if the slight widening of her eyes were an indicator.

“Oh.” The stunned look she had on her face would be adorable if it weren’t for their situation. “I have a place, not far from here you can drop me off there.”

“Lead the way,” he said, picking her up bridal style. If he pulled her closer as she wrapped her arms around his neck then no one had to know.  

Fight so dirty, but your love's so sweet

Talk so pretty, but your heart got teeth

Late night devil, put your hands on me

And never, never, never ever let go

Fight so dirty, but your love's so sweet

Talk so pretty, but your heart got teeth

Late night devil, put your hands on me

And never, never, never ever let go

Nightwing never noticed this before but Kit Noire was small. Her waist fit in the palms of his hands so well and her legs were slender and lean as they tied themselves around his hips. He looked like he could overwhelm her but he knew better. He knew how strong and dangerous she was but the mental image of just holding her down as she submits beneath him spurred him on further. Her lips were cherry sweet and intoxicating. And her weight on his thighs left him reeling, silently begging for more.

“Someone’s eager,” she had pulled away from his mouth to speak but rather than entertain any conversation he just moved to suck bruises into her jaw. The hand she had in his hair tightened and pulled at the short strands. Her breathing became laboured as she pants into the night sky. He wanted to coax out more reactions from her, wanted to see if she can really mewl like a cat. 

A wayward hand had her grinding down harder in his lap. They were in their own bubble on this abandoned rooftop; it sat between two skyscrapers, both casting the roof in an almost impenetrable shadow, one would really have to be looking to see them. The sound of traffic below was nothing more than white noise, a background soundtrack for their current encounter. Using her grip in his hair, Noire dragged him up from her jaw and crashed their lips together again. Her kittenish licks asked for entrance and he eagerly granted it, savouring the taste of her as she mapped out his mouth with her tongue. 

He gripped her tighter, not wanting to let go, blind in the pleasure of her lips and tongue and teeth.

Teeth

Teeth

Teeth

Never, never, never ever let go

[rmg91]

Zoe Week; Day 5-ROTT

So I know we got given a free day considered ROTT was...what it was but I decided to still go with the prompt and it turned into more of a small rewrite than just a ‘Let’s slip Zoe into this scene’. Zoe is everyone’s braincell and we know it.

Also I tried writing a fight scene....I donno how well it turned out lol

AO3

~*~*~*~*~*~

“He WHAT?!”

Zoe stared at the assembled guardians, the kids, that had gone up against the demigods bent on restarting the world with that crazy plan to strip them of their powers, only for it to fail. Yes, they were alive. Yes, they had Nari, in spirit, but the Arcane Order had her body, had Douxie, and that was not okay for her! That stupid, self-sacrificing idiot! Of course he'd do something like that! But all it would do would buy them time and just what was going to happen when those power hungry beings found out?! It wasn't going to be good, that was for sure and now Zoe had to hatch a plan to try and save her idiot before something bad happened.

Ignoring the overlapping explanations and assurances they'd come up with a plan, Zoe marched her way out of the ex-throne room and down to what was becoming her studio. Shuffling around the various tomes and grimoires, she searched for the one she was certain had the spell she needed to find him, growling to herself when she couldn't. This is what she got for not sorting through all these yet. Finally, just when she'd been about to say 'fuck it' and do it without the book, she dug up the dusty purple codex of scrying and grinned in victory. Oh, she was finding that idiot of hers and then she was going to give him a piece of her mind once he was safe.

Coming back upstairs, the pinked haired witch flipped through the book, looking for the magic circle that would allow her to find Douxie. Ignoring everyone's voices, she quickly read through the directions, reminding herself how it worked and set to etching runes in the air with her wand. The symbols of power fell to the floor in sparking pink power, forming the necessary element for her spell. “Nari.” She called, “I'm gonna need Archie for a moment.”

The little nature spirit, inhabiting her partners body, let his familiar go from her hold as she finished the magic circle, sending the tomb to rest on the floor outside it. Sitting in the center, Archie crawled into her lap in dragon form, already having a feeling on what she was going to try to do. Normally she could sense Douxie's power, they'd known each other for so after all it was easy, but between distance and most likely being blocked, she couldn't without help. It would be easier if their magic was bonded, tied together for the rest of eternity and the ultimate sign of trust and love between magic users but...they weren't. Not for lack of wanting to but their lives had been pretty hectic and dangerous and bonding their magic came with lots of consequences as well as benefits. If one of them died...it would be the worse kind of hell on the other. And as much as they loved each other they hadn't wanted to have the other suffer so. But maybe, after all this, they'd change that.

“Uh..what are you gonna do?” Toby asked, standing near as he watched the pulsing pink runes.

“I'm going to track Douxie using the bond between him and Archie.” She explained, holding the dragon-cat gently, one hand scratching between his ears, “It should, in theory, help me find where the Order is holding him.” Then they would retrieve him and she was going to kick his ass for putting himself in danger, again.

Everyone took that as the queue to be quiet, to let her work, and Zoe breathed in deeply, letting her magic seep out and take shape. The circle glowed as she let herself fall into a trance, focusing on Archie, who was relaxed in her lap, his own magic open to letting hers in. She found the bond, a shining string of magic that was warm, comforting, powerful, reaching out beyond their little space in search of their missing wizard. She followed it as it swirled, twisting and turning through the space between, searching, searching, searching until-There! It sung brightly, tightening like a perfectly tuned guitar string and humming with life and she knew in that moment just where to find him.

Opening her eyes, a pink glow encompassing them, she grinned sharply. The Order didn't know what was coming to them.

~*~*~*~

The group entered the abandoned train tunnel, sans one Trollhunter, looking for any sign of the Order or Douxie. Zoe knew she had been harsh when she told Jim he needed to stay behind but she was not going to take back what she said. He was injured and therefore a liability and she wasn't going to let him kill himself or any of his friends if things were to go pear shaped. But hopefully they wouldn't and they'd be able to rescue Douxie with minimal trouble.

Her blue eyes roamed over the various crates and scaffolding, sensing him near but unable to see him. But she just knew he was here. Even as the group spread out and looked around old, crumbling crates and rusty metal drums, confused as to why they couldn't find anyone, Zoe was reaching out with her magic, searching for her wayward husband. Frowning down at the tracks, something just wasn't sitting right with her, she tried her best to see and think like Douxie would. There had to be something here she was missing...

She blinked, a thought coming suddenly and could it really be that easy?

Trotting up a staircase to get higher ground, she looked down at the tracks, shaking her head lightly because for some eon's old beings, Skrael and Bellroc really couldn't be original? “Their hiding in plain sight!” She shouted to assembled guardians, flicking her wand out and rearranging the train tracks, “They've made a giant sigil with the tracks!” The tracks moved, soon lighting up and dispelling the room around them, revealing a much darker room and three beings in the center.

She wasn't sure if they were aware they weren't alone anymore but it looked as if the demigods of ice and fire were taunting who they thought were Nari. She, or rather Douxie, was hovering in the air, held aloft by his hands in glowing magic and maybe, possibly keeping quiet as to continuing fooling the gods. But then, as they were staring confusedly as the Genius Seals, wondering why they weren't opening, he opened his big fat mouth.

“Abracadabra, Buttsnacks.”

Zoe groaned, because why had he said that?! But before the Order could do more than threaten him, she raised her wand high and cried, “Hey! Hands off!” She then sent a bolt of pink lighting down, just barely hitting Skreal, and then it was on!

Everyone jumped into action, firing and fighting the two remaining members of the Order. Zoe jumped down, joining the fray, firing spells and shields as she made way to Nari's body. She was put to a stop though as the icy wizard floated in front of her, brandishing his staff. Oh, if he wanted a fight, he was getting a fight. Ignoring Douxie's strained call of her name, the hedge-witch ducked a swing of the staff, dodging to the right and not giving in to Skreal's taunting. Hedge-witch or not, didn't mean she wasn't powerful and she wasn't about to let these bastards win.

Zoe fired spell after spell, wildly missing the floating god as he chuckled darkly at her. But that was okay, all part of the plan because when he least expect it she smirked and performed a round-house kick, planting her foot below his belt with a cry of “Rule Number Three!!”

As Skrael crumpled, she turned back to Douxie in Nari's body, running closer and hoping she could break the spell keeping him in the air. Fire had started to burn everywhere, the old wood catching easily to the spells Bellroc fired off but she ignored all that as she examined the magic around Douxie's wrists. She shushed him as he tried to talk to her, needing to concentrate on what she was doing, hopefully she wouldn't need Claire's help. Then a dark chuckle came from behind her.

“You won't break him free.” She turned to glare at Bellroc, their ever fluctuating voice grating on her nerves, “That magic is too powerful for even a full fledged wizard, let alone a little hedge-witch.” She growled as they laughed at her. And maybe she wouldn't be able to break it herself but if she could break this beings concentration... A wicked grin came to her face, feral as she remembered the chaos she'd wrecked at Killahead, and she began drawing runes behind her back.

“You're right...Guess I'll just have to make you break it.”

And with a flash of pink, twenty more Zoe's surrounded the demigod.

Crying out, Bellroc began to blast away her clones, easily poofing them from existence, which was fine as it was only meant as a distraction. The real Zoe dodged behind him, thankful for the rest of the crew keeping Skrael busy as she charged her magic. She'd only have one shot at this and she hoped it worked. It had been a while since she last did this. Bringing her now brightly flashing hands together, she drew them apart, a glowing, sparking, pink arrow held between them.

“Foolish girl! This won't defeat me!!” Bellroc cried with rage, dispelling the last of her clones.

“It's not meant to!” She yelled back before firing the arrow, sending a million volts through the wizard and causing them to spasm. And it was enough, for the spell holding Douxie up sputtered and died, dropping him to the floor. Zoe dived for his staggering form as Bellroc cried out again, pushing him out of the way of a blast of fire. Of course now she needed a plan to get them out of there...

Just as the fire god was approaching, already up from her attack and ready to end her life, a black portal formed beneath her and Douxie and they dropped away.

~*~*~*~

Zoe groaned as she was dropped onto the floor of Camelot, rolling onto her back. That had been...something. She really needed to practice that attack again, it took far too much out of her but at least now Douxie was safe. And Nari. She heard the rest of the guardians tumble in, shouts from their assembled allies rising and still she laid there, catching her breath.

“Zoe! Zoe, are you alright?!” She looked up at Douxie's voice, finding Nari's face above her looking at her with concern and they were needed to change back because this was just getting too weird. She watched him sag with relief, most likely due to her opening her eyes and he sighed, “You were nuclear, Love.”

“You better switch back before you kiss me, Casperan.” Was her only response.

Chuckling breathlessly, he nodded and she watched him hold out his hand for Nari to take, the goddess now crouching on her other side. A flash of magic and she was then being pulled into Douxie's lap, the wizard now back in his body. She let him nuzzle his face into her neck, still recovering from the adrenaline and almost overuse of her magic as they sat there, friends and allies all around.

“Thank you, Zoe.” Nari said softly, sitting primly in front of her, “You risked so much.”

“It's fine, Nari,” Zoe said, smiling at the forest child, “There was no way I was letting them keep your body and Douxie's mind.” Let alone risk the possibility of them forcing the two back into their proper bodies. Then they really would have been in trouble.

“So what do you do now?” She heard Claire ask because now they were back at square one. Keep Nari out of the grasp.

“I donno,” Zoe sighed, “But the important thing is the Order doesn't have Nari anymore.”

“That's not all they don't have..” The nature goddess smirked shyly before holding up the Genius Seals.

Zoe's eyes widen as cries went up around her, Douxie laughing in surprise, before she grinned wide and shark like. Oh, things were about to get interesting.

~*~*~*~*~*~

How the rest of the movie would play out from here I have no idea but there’s some choice Zouxie protecting each other/Nari/Archie so...there’s that. I hope you all enjoyed!

[greenninjagal-blog]

Deja Vu pt 7

Hey guys. Been a hot minute. If it makes you feel any better this was supposed to be a short chapter and it ended up being 25 pages long. :) If you’re new to the story, you can check out the first chapter [here] or if you need a refresher check out the previous chapter [here]!

Summary: Dee takes on The Prince in a fight, and Remus takes on the Prince’s sidekick.

Word Count: 12029

TW: temporary character death, blood, teargas, guns,

Read on Ao3 || Hero Worship Series || My General Writing Masterlist

Remus is twenty-one and he doesn’t think he’s ever been as terrified before in his life as he is the second he sees Dee launch across the stage. 

He’s been scared before though: scared from the moment he saw Roman hit the asphalt at eight years old and there was so much blood outside his body and Mom wouldn’t stop cradling the body even when the EMTs were trying to help; scared from the moment he stood in the gas station bathroom miles and miles from what he’d thought had been his home and trying to tell himself that that was going to be the last time he chose to look at a future where he tossed himself into the jaws of death; scared from the moment when he was laying in Dee’s lap with a million lies stuffed in his throat and still was choosing to tell him the truth about this stupid ability of his that only ever ended with him alone and forgotten and not missed at all. 

Remus has been scared out of his mind, scared in his mind, scared far beyond the way that he thinks that any other living person could understand. He’s been walking with one foot in the grave since he was eight years old and eleven minutes younger than Roman and people still-- since that was still-- since the first time it started mattering to him at all.

He’s been scared.

It’s still nothing compared to the horror that grips his heart in an icy fist as Dee throws himself mindlessly into a fight Remus can’t see the end of.

It’s stupid and Remus doesn’t quite know how it got to this point even though he had been listening so hard to what Dee was saying. Dee is smart. He’s brilliant. He’s the type of kid that grew up excelling in everything he touched and he liked touching everything. He does math in his head like the numbers work for him, he speaks French like his tongue had never known another language, he lies and steals and uses people without them ever knowing they were puppets in his show.

Dee is a genius among idiots.

And somehow Remus is still watching him pitch himself into a physical fight with The Prince despite how he spent the previous three days saying that physical fights weren’t his forte and that their best bet was to humiliate and discredit the man on stage instead.

The Prince is smart and fast and most likely expecting the attack, but even he doesn’t have a chance to dodge against the agility of Dee aided by a surplus of invisible animal speed traits. Dee is moving for less than a second and--

--his claws are morphing right there in front of Remus’s eyes, too slow to make out, too fast to miss and Remus is beyond time and space as he stands there feeling more stuck than he’s ever been before. Dee’s nails are sharp with hatred, with protectiveness, with a selfish defense that Remus had only ever seen in spurts before. The Prince’s throat is soft and fleshy and weak.

One hit would take him out, permanently. One hit could have him covered in his own red blood, one hit could remove him forever and Remus would be in love with a murderer.

Dee lunges for The Princes throat, but at the last second he dips down and aims for an upsweep of his claws, cutting clean through that sash, shallow, painful, but not deadly because Janus is not a murderer.--

--One hit would take him out, permanently. One hit could have him covered in his own red blood, one hit could remove him forever and Remus would be in love with a murderer.

Dee lunges for The Princes throat, but at the last second he dips down and aims for an upsweep of his claws, cutting clean through that sash, shallow, painful, but not deadly because Janus is not a murderer?--

--shallow, painful, but not deadly because Dee is not a murderer.--

--Dee is moving for less than a second, but The Prince is expecting an attack and raises his arm in a flash of green light, and rolls to the side. Dee’s fist misses his face by inches, but it’s enough for the superhero to stumble off the stage which is not right, which is not what Remus saw, not what is supposed to be happening. 

His head is screaming so loudly he can’t piece together a single thought. His stomach lurches up his esophagus, leaving him choking on something that might or might nor be real while Dee fights up on that stage. 

The police bodyguards nearest to the shapeshifter swing into action, with guns or tasers or whatever-- it doesn’t matter because Dee’s body turns to a golden jelly like substance and absorbs the bullets and negates the electrical charge with a near maniac grin.

((And god, is it alluring to see Dee go absolutely feral even when Remus thinks that his own body is trying to kill him. He’s always so posh, so sophisticated, so in control. This is the side of Dee that he hides under a pleasant smile, the part that matches the scales and the fangs and the claws, the part that is half animal and doesn’t care about empty words.))

The crowd screams, chaotic and messy and dangerous and it turns the atmosphere into a thick soup of confusion and desperation. Remus feels one of those stupid fucking signs crash into his shoulder blade as someone gets shoved or hit or slammed or run over-- Remus isn’t sure because his focus is only on Dee, only on The Prince, only on the absolute anarchy that is playing out on stage like a theater production.

Remus remembers suddenly that he’s never made it through the intermission of a theater show, never made it to the second act and never made it to see the lead actors take their bows. Remus always left early.

He can’t leave early now. 

He doesn’t even want to, not really, not in any way that matters. Remus’s lungs are burning and his heart is slamming against his ribcage like it’s trying to break out and taste the world for itself. He grips the crowd control fence, so hard he’s not sure anything short of a nuclear bomb can get him off of it-- there’s a cold feeling stroking his spine, a voice in his head that tells him he needs to go and go now or he’s going to end up in one of those futures he promised his seventeen year old self that he’d never go through with. 

He can’t move.

Call him a captive audience but Remus is on the edge of his seat, off his seat, one breath away from joining the actors on stage and ruining everything. 

Dee lunges forward at the police line while The Prince crawls back up to his feet in a stupid daze, too slow, too dumb, too much like someone who couldn’t actually believe this was happening and too thick-headed to keep up with the actions. 

Dee never told Remus that he was an acrobat, that he was as flexible as an Olympic Gymnast, that he could twist in the air and remove his own bones and make use of every breath between him and his enemy. Remus thinks of every time he’d counted the feet, inches, centimeters, between the two of them and for the first time he thinks that Dee might have been counting them too, thinking of every way in which he might be able to use that space as leverage to pin Remus up against the wall--

Dee said he wasn’t good at fighting. But Remus watches him grow claws that slice right through bullet proof armor and then flip in the turbulent air and drive his heel into the soft of someone’s neck. A bullet misses him by a hair’s breadth and Remus catches sight of his fangs dripping with blood or venom or something as he hisses at the unfortunate soul who shot at him, missed, and lost a bullet to the dissonant crowd.

The techie with the bright purple hair stumbles back to the van pressing his hands to his headphones and squeezing his eyes closed like he can make all the bad things go away if he pretends hard enough. Remus wants to laugh at him; can’t he see this is too real to be fake? 

Someone barrels into the side of him, knocking Remus nearly through the crowd barrier. His head rings at the collision, sending sparks of stars shattering over his vision that he thinks match the pattern of tire treads on an eighteen wheeler that once ran him over.

Someone with another ability lets it loose and there’s an explosion from down the street, sending more people running towards the stage and the battle up there. The winds twist unnaturally, ripping the confetti papers into the air again and throwing them straight up into the air along with any loose accessories not pinned down. 

A girl screams right in his ear, an arm jostles into her throat to make her stop and Remus isn’t entirely sure it’s not his arm. Her face is gone in the shifting crowd before Remus can even figure out what she looked like. People shove and jostle and move and tear apart so quickly that Remus can’t keep track of it. 

There’s so much noise Remus can’t think. Gunshots, screams, the screech of metal and whirl of the wind-- it’s so much and Remus is so small against it. He feels the world moving around him, feels the time breathing through his skin, detaching him from reality and yanking him into something else, somewhere else, somewhen else. He’s not breathing, his heart isn’t beating, he’s not moving and his vision is flickering, flashing, fleeting: there and then it’s not and he can’t stop any of it. He can’t figure out what to do, what he needs to do, what’s supposed to be--

There’s a coin in Remus’s hand, pressed in his palm cutting into this numbed skin and he clings to it like a lifeline. There’s a Barney in his hand, the Barney from the night he met Dee, the Barney that means nothing to Dee and everything to Remus, the Barney that represents a decision Remus made when he caught it in the air three days ago.

Who gives a fuck about what’s suppposed to happen? Remus stopped Roman from dying thirteen years ago and the universe is going to have to live with it because Remus is not going to get Dee die, either.

He’s somewhere in the crowd, coming into his body, unsure when he left it, and there’s something thick in his throat he swallows away before he figures out what it tastes like. An arm is in his gut, a body slams into his shoulder. The force of the crowd is tearing him back from the fight, and Remus can’t go against it.

The sky is tinged with a low hanging cloud; something grey green and the screams are largest near it, the people shoving vigorously forward and away as it sweeps over--

--them like a wispy wave. Remus feels it pass over him too, a force that he’s barely aware of for a second because it's so quick and then nothing happens at all. It's hard to see anything, hard to hear, hard to focus. Why are they screaming?

Remus opens his mouth and it’s a mistake, a mistake, a mistake. It smells like vinegar, sharp and pungent and it fights its way down Remus’s throat when he breathes it in. His skin burns and itches and smolders where the smoke touches, where it seeps into his clothes, where it floods over his eyes. He screams as his lungs warp and twist in on themselves, tight, tight, tight and he can’t breathe through it.

He’s dying, he’s dying again, he’s dying and he doesn’t know what he did--

--them like a wispy wave. Remus feels it pass over him too, a force that he’s barely aware of for a second because it's so quick and then nothing happens at all. It's hard to see anything, hard to hear, hard to focus. The gas is everywhere and Remus can’t see where he’s going and if he stops whoever is behind him will run him over.

He shoves forward burying his mouth and nose in his sleeve, but it's not enough. His heart is exploding in his chest splattering across, bursting so hard it shatters his ribs but not enough to break his skin. He claws at his chest certain there’s blood there even though he can’t see it. He dead and dying and he can’t even gasp an apology to Dee he’s sorry Dee please he’s sorrysorrysorry--

--them like a wispy wave. Remus feels it pass over him too, a force that he’s barely aware of for a second because it's so quick and then nothing happens at all. It's hard to see anything, hard to hear, hard to focus. He’s trapped, caught in a gaseous net of tear gas that lives up to its name because he’s sobbing at the burn that he’s sure is the worst death to have survived. He doubles over, and he’s gone and done and dead because he can’t do it a third time. 

He doesn’t have enough sense to brace himself before there’s someone else’s panicked foot on the small of his back. Remus curls on himself covering his head in the chaos to protect himself, but the agony over his body is shredding his insides like razor blades that could pass through anything.

He can’t breathe. He can’t think. His eyes flicker trying to catch an understanding of anything around him, but his tears make it hard to make out anything up close and the smoke obscures the world he knows is past that.

Someone is screaming something, but Remus can’t make out the words.

This is the exact thing Dee did not want to happen, he thinks as his body convulses, as a guy with horns trips over him and several more people without powers descend on him with signs and fists and whatever else they have. Remus’s tears are streaking down his face and he weakly raises an arm towards them like he can help anyone when his own body feels like it’s dying. This is the exact thing they were trying to avoid.

It doesn’t make sense, Remus curses as someone steps on his ankle and he feels the bone do something it probably shouldn’t and his throat cremates the air in his lungs. It doesn’t make sense. Dee is smart. He’s brilliant. He’s clever and witty and always seven steps ahead.

Dee was the one who said a fight would cause a riot in the crowd and it would make everything bad. A fight was the opposite of what they wanted. Dee had even said that if he couldn’t get The Prince to agree with him, he’d back off and find another way. 

“It’s not so much for The Prince,” Dee had said. “It’s about getting the message to the people.”

And Remus is twenty one years old and can’t think of what Dee was expecting to happen when he launched across the stage like that when his own head just got kicked again and his lungs are a birthday candle away from engulfing him in flames.

What The Prince was saying was stupid, but it wasn’t something that Dee would have let get on his nerves. Dee was better than that-- Remus had seen him be better than that. Remus had said things that were more annoying, more irksome, more cutthroat than The Pitiful Prince could have thought to say. Dee had been shot half a million times in futures that didn’t happen and Remus had plucked him from the jaws of death every time.

Dee trusted Remus to keep him safe and informed. Even against The Prince.

Dee shouldn’t have been attacking at that point. 

Someone kicks his stomach again, and Remus tastes the dregs of Dee’s latte wander back into his mouth with a burn that reminds him of his worst nights except this is worse than all that. He feels like he’s one open flame away from igniting which doesn’t make sense because fire needs oxygen and he’s not getting any. Something happened to Dee, something wasn’t right-- Dee wouldn’t have attacked unless The Prince did something to him. 

Remus thinks that if he gets up he’s going to put The Prince in the ground, permanently. His earpiece sings with noises from the fight: Dee’s grunts, his huffs, his ha’s. Remus latches on to the sound of them, of Dee being alive, of Dee being completely in the moment rather than his usual twenty steps ahead of it. He’s not sure if the terror is from the shoe that slams into his spine at that moment, the ache of being unable to help, the fear that the teargas is going to kill him, or the idea that whatever The Prince did to Dee is still happening.

He tries to sit up, but someone jumps over him just poorly enough to kick him in the side of the head as they go. Remus feels the sting of wet concrete at 3 AM shock through his body again, stupidly. His brain screams something about windshields and rain and Remus tells it to shut up because Dee was in trouble and Remus had made him a promise to stick around all those lifetimes ago in that Casino where they’d met, on the balcony when he’d been stuck rather than gone, when he was laying in Dee’s lap in their hotel room saying all the words he’d never told anyone else ever before.

There’s wind. Remus blinks hard, choking on a sob that claws through his esophagus far more effectively than glass from a windshield ever did. There’s wind and it’s moving like a storm front, a physical force, direct, and purposefully. The wind is twisting through the crowd and catching the greenish tear gas in its invisible hands; Remus watches in delirious disbelief as it funnels upwards with the remains of confetti and signs, hats and papers, trash and abandoned items, upwards and out of his lungs, upwards and saving his life.

He breathes in a breath that feels like his ribs are going straight through his lungs, and desperately scrubs the memories of things that he swore weren’t going to happen from his mind. Another foot slams down inches from his face, and loose gravel sprays up into this face.

“HEY!” a voice yells. There are hands on him, Remus realizes in the next second, someone helping move him out from under the current of people that are in too much of a panic to help him. “HEY!--

-- “Are you okay?” the person says, and Remus has to squint to make him out against the tears in his eyes. At first glance Remus thinks he looks like someone important, someone familiar: a teacher he had once, a youth pastor from a church that his family only went to on holidays, someone in the community that all the other kids flocked too, except that they had to be the same age, so Remus’s marks that as his brain spewing nonsense again. He’s got glasses with smudges on the lenses, freckles that dance across his cheeks like a dot-to-dot for adults, and a smile that looks increasingly stupid compared to the background setting.

“You’re going to be okay, sir!” the man chirps right as another round of gunshots go off to their left as the armed guard fires one someone in the crowd and the winds shrivel up and die in response. “We’re going to be okay!”--

 --“Are you okay?” the person says, and Remus has to squint to make him out as his eyes ache and burn and he can’t scrub them. At second glance Remus thinks he looks like someone inconsequential, someone familiar: a college student who came here to follow the rules and trust his government, a guy who is in over his head, a kid who doesn’t know what he’s doing, and Remus hasn’t seen any sign of a power at all. He’s got a blue polo on speckled with dust, and bruises and scratches up his arms, a solid footprint on his abdomen that Remus doesn’t need two guesses to figure out where he got it from.

“You’re going to be okay, sir!” the man chirps, but Remus is busy spinning around just in time to see the armed guard fire at a civilian in the crowd and the winds overhead shrivel up and die because they lose whoever was telling them to move in the first place. “We’re going to be okay!”--

-- “Are you--OOP!” the person says as Remus throws himself up and bonelessly tackles that guard before he can fire his weapon. His throat is ragged and strangled and the noise that comes out of his is not even remotely human. His eyes are flashing with the futures he doesn’t want to see and he thinks for a moment if he stops moving he’ll forget which future is the present.

Dee should not have attacked. But he did, and every death that happens now is going to be pinned on him, on them, on anyone who isn’t the government and every plan Dee made will settle into ashes and fall through his fingertips.

Remus is twenty one and knows all too well that he can’t change the past. But he’s going to save the future, their future. His and Dee’s future.

The gun goes skidding across the ground and under the crowd barrier out of reach and out of touch and Remus’s head spins trying to orientate himself. Blood drips down his chin and spatters on the visor shield of the man under him, the would-be murderer, the all-to-willing homicidal maniac. Remus’s heart pounds in his throat, making its way to his mouth, until he’s not sure if he’s biting down on his tongue or the pulsating mass that keeps him alive and the tang of vinegar won’t leave him alone.

People stumble around the both of them, tripping over Remus’s legs, and someone stomps on his captive police guard's wrist so hard Remus feels it snap more than he hears it. The man lets out a yowl, as his eyes roll back and he gives in to the pain of it. 

The guy who does not look familiar in any way that Remus cares about is just a step behind them, grabbing Remus’s armpit as if to pick him up, but his focus is on the person in the crowd controlling the winds. Confetti screws through the air, a sign slams into the face of someone who gets too close to them and the two kids crouching behind them. They’re making a barrier. It’s for protection. They saved everyone who hadn’t been able to to get away from the teargas.

((They’re beautiful, Remus thinks, almost deliriously. The power and control and the fierceness. It’s like watching dancing, like watching pure strength, like seeing a miracle in first person. Remus never thought about other people with powers before, never thought about powers being a good thing when his ruined his life, but now he’s staring at this stranger with burning eyes and one foot in the grave, this stranger who is half wind and all power, this stranger who makes him think he might understand why Dee is so passionate about mutants like them.))

Remus is twenty one years old when he sees out of the corner of his eye, the man in the blue polo’s face screws up in concentration as he throws an arm out at the person controlling the winds and pale white light flickers from his fingers right next to Remus’s face. 

There’s a moment between Remus’s heartbeats where the sound disappears and Remus doesn’t need to breathe and time doesn’t pass at all. There’s a moment where Remus is frozen in place, half standing, half on the ground with his blood making him want to vomit. There’s a moment where he’s staring at the man right next to him and he thinks don’t you fucking dare--

But then the moment is over and Remus is watching the winds drop everything they’re carrying: the accessories, confetti, all of it that had been between them and the armed guard, falls to the ground and Remus watches the surrounding crowd descend on them like a pack of wild animals. His head rings with words that don’t make sense and he thinks that the smile the man gives him has a cold edge to it when he turns back to Remus like he’s expecting a thank you.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Remus jerks the man’s hand down, rasping where the words grate on his sandpaper throat and shoving him away. “What is wrong with you?”

He blinks and tilts his head at Remus like he’s not sure where the question is coming from, why Remus is asking, like he didn’t see what just happened right there at all. “Let’s get you somewhere safe, okay? I think you might have hit your head a little hard.” He says, “Wait… Do I know you fr--?”

Something soars overhead, and Remus rolls to the side and hunkers down as Dee’s draconic form sweeps over the crowd and nearly decapitates everyone still standing. Piercing screams echo in the crowd so loud Remus doesn’t hear whatever else the man says.

The man who helped him up, the man who looks like no one to remember, the man who just did something to that other person that made them not use their power, that man shoves both his hands into the air toward where--

--Dee is and Remus watches in horror as Dee’s fierce expression flips to a confused one. His glorious golden wings flap, once, twice, and then they vanish without a trace.

He’s been confused before, he’s been terrified before, he’s been scared. He’s seen Dee get shot, get run over, get hit until he bleeds. He’s seen Dee laugh at broken bones, seen him choke on his own body fluids, seen his eyes good dark and empty and lifeless. Remus has been scared, but that’s nothing compared to his feelings when he watches Dee drop like a stone through the air.

Remus knows what that fall feels like, he knows how his stomach swoops at the sudden empty air, how the air feels like daggers, how dreadterrorregret fills his lungs until he can’t even take that last breath. He doesn’t want Dee to know. Please, he can’t know, please Remus needs to stop this, fix it, please pleasepleaseplease--

--Dee is and Remus moves before he even knows what he’s doing. His blood is pumping so hard he thinks it's amazing that all his blood vessels don’t pop on him. He swings his elbow back with everything that he has in him, everything he can spare and then the stuff he can’t, because that was Dee and Remus would do anything for him. The man’s glasses shatter under Remus’s attack and he stumbles backwards several steps in shock. Remus follows him with a kick to his stomach that throws the stranger who can take away the only thing protecting Dee at the moment to the ground.

“DEE!” Remus shouts, glancing up because he has to make sure that he’s still in the air.

“You!” The man chokes on his own breath, looking up at Remus with something that might have been betrayal. “You’re with him!” 

And then--

--from behind him something sticks into his back, barbed enough to go right into his jacket and pinches there touching his skin. Remus inhales just as he realizes what it could be and then there’s white hot electricity coursing through his flesh. Remus feels every joint he has lock up, feels pain wrack through his body and ricochet around his bones like the worst game of pingpong, feels the tortured scream carve out of his lungs as he falls forward and his skin bubbles and melts around the prongs of the taser that does not have a safety setting engaged.

He head hits the asphalt and his vision fades and Janus is screaming his name in the worst way possible--

--from behind him something sticks into his back, barbed enough to go right into his jacket and pinches, hooking on his skin, and Remus lunges away, but he’s not fast enough. There’s white hot electricity coursing through his flesh. Remus hears the crackling of violent arcs break through his skin, hears the way that his scream terrorizes the air far worse than that time he dropped a toaster into the bathtub with himself, hears the way that Dee screams his name and lands on the ground next to them.

He head hits the asphalt and his vision fades and Dee wrapping his arms around him in the last embrace he’s going to get--

--from behind him and Remus twists to the side before something sticks into his back, barbed enough to go right into his jacket and stick there. He wants to vomit, but he’s more focused on throwing his body forward and tackling the police officer who just killed him twice and will not get the satisfaction of doing it again. Remus snarls as the man tries to bat him away. 

Remus might not have any intensive training, but he spent four years homeless, learning about the world from the streets of it. He spent more than his fair share of nights sleeping in alleys before he realized that he could use his power to find an empty hotel room for the night, a sucker that would give him money, an odd job that would get him off the street. 

He’s been in fights. This is nothing compared to those fights. 

He feels woozy, flighty: like his bones were replaced with helium and lead at the same time. He doesn’t dare let that stop him. He survived a 3 AM that never ended and he’ll survive this too. He didn’t need to see the future for that.

His knuckles hit the bullet proof padding, hard enough to send jolts through both of them. The officer swings an arm out, but Remus ducks under it and kicks his foot around the man’s ankle. There’s blood on his chin, screaming in his ears, the scent of burning flesh in his nose, and Remus grins as he shoves his palm into the officer’s face. Before the guy knows what is happening he’s on the ground again and Remus is slamming his heel into that visor so hard it shatters. 

He thinks he might be laughing, wheezing, as the blood welds up over the man’s nose and his eyes roll back. Remus brings a shaking palm up to his mouth and smears away his blood as much as he can, because it feels like he’s choking on it again. His eyes are searing and he’s almost surprised he’s not bleeding from them too.

Dee uses a brick wall of a building as a launch board to throw himself back at The Prince in the middle of the blocked off area. He flips mid flight, and whips his tail out of nowhere to land a blow that Remus can’t see if it hits or not.

“Motherfuck--” Dee’s shouts through that earpiece Remus forgot he’d been wearing. He hisses, with a stinging edge that matches pitch to the ringing in Remus’s head. “Do you know what this suit cost, you ingrate!”

Remus can’t breathe and is breathing too fast at the same time. He spins around searching through the chaos for something, someone, he doesn’t know-- what does Dee need from him? What is he supposed to do here? The man in the blue polo is gone and Remus can’t find him which means that he can’t see, not that he can see regularly, not that people aren’t still running around, screaming, the water pipes in a building didn’t burst and the metal of a few lamp posts isn’t warping, there aren’t trampled bodies everywhere he looks.

“Dee,” Remus coughs, choking on ragged words. “Hold on a moment. Let me get somewhere…. where I can... fucking see. Fuck!”

“That would be lovely dear,” Dee says although it sounds like he just ate asphalt and didn’t really hear what Remus said. “The Prince is being disagreeable.”

“I can’t...imagine why,” Remus says. “Personally, I love getting my... throat torn out.”

“We’re going to have a lovely conversation about your masochism, darling,” Dee says, and spits out whatever else is in his mouth and then grunts and swears again. There’s the startling sound of metal on asphalt and Remus’s brain tries and fails to configure the scene playing out where they are.

“It might be a pain kink at this point,” Remus says as he dodges between unfamiliar and panicking strangers he can barely see. He’s afraid if he wipes the tears from his eyes he’ll get whatever of the gas that’s in his jacket in them again. He can’t let that happen, not now, not when Dee needs him, and he knows that he can’t stifle the panic if he does. He sends a kick to the back of another armed policeman in the middle of aiming a taser at someone else.

Dee growls something at The Prince. Distantly, Remus hears what sounds like someone or something slamming into a car, and he thinks he sees the roof of the news van jostle along with the new round of screaming. 

“I would love to know all your kinks,” Dee manages after another second. “Fuck-- how is he doing this?”

Remus ducks out of the way of a blue post office mail box sailing through the air, missing him by inches, but taking out a police officer he hadn’t noticed before. He doesn’t get to see who threw it, but he thanks them, whoever they are. 

He needs to be closer to the fight again, closer to that eye of the hurricane that’s blocked off with crowd controlling barriers, closer than he is now so that he can do something. He jumps over a body, nearly tripping on an abandoned purse. A large shadow sweeps the area again, and Remus catches sight of Dee in the air, with his arm at a terrible unnatural angle. Remus thinks he feels his blood catch in his body freezing all at once despite the rapid pace of his throat bound heart.

Dee doesn’t seem to see him at all, his gaze is stuck solely on where Remus assumes The Perfect Punchable Prince is. There’s a shattering sound of gunshots from somewhere that echoes off of the walls of the surrounding buildings, but Dee remains in the air alright and fine and holding his shattered arm carefully.

His expression is contorted into something awful, something bad enough that even from the ground Remus can make it out perfectly and hates the sight of it-- the amount of pain he must be in, the pain that he never should have felt, the pain that Remus would take on wholeheartedly without a hesitation if he had the ability to sap it away from Dee. But before he can say anything Dee’s arm warps, twists, snaps back into place, and Dee snarls as he rolls his neck and flexes his fingers again.

“Did you just heal yourself?” Remus asks breathlessly, almost certain that his itching eyes are playing a trick on him. 

“Surely this came up in one of your futures before, darling,” Dee says without taking his gaze off his opponent.

Remus doesn’t say that in all of his futures Dee is too dead to show off, dead before Remus can get to him, dead before there’s even a hope for him to think about healing himself, dead, dead, dead. He doesn’t think it matters. There’s a feeling in his chest that blossoms and blooms and fills him like helium in a balloon threatening to take off with him. Dee’s wings flap powerfully to keep him in the air and Remus wonders how they would feel under his fingertips. Leathery, maybe? Somewhere between vinyl and bare skin maybe-- Remus doesn’t know enough about birds, bats, wings in general to know the answer. 

“Serpent!” The Prince shouts from somewhere on the ground. Remus thinks for a moment he can see the man through the crowd, but it's too much of a blur. There’s smoke in the air now, a fire from a nearby building, and Remus feels it burn acridly in his throat, heavy flumes of it sweeping through the crowd and obscuring the ground around them. Remus can almost hear the sirens in the background.

“I hope you aren’t referring to me, Prince,” Dee says with a bit of a hiss.

“Don’t you see what your actions have caused?” The Prince yells and Remus thinks the sound of his voice is grating. His knuckles crave to jam themselves down the superhero’s throat and rip out his voice box, just to make sure he stops talking forever.

“Me?” Dee says. “You are the one who wanted a crowd and a ceremony and a fight. I shouldn’t be surprised. One can’t pretend to be a hero without making someone else the villain!”

“You started this fight, Wyvern,” The Prince shouts back. “Crashing onto the stage and then attempting to kill me.”

“If you’re going to call names like a child, use my actual name,” Dee says, “Basilisk.”

The name sends shivers down Remus’s spine, and he isn’t sure if it's the good kind or the bad kind. His blood is pumping so heavily he thinks it should have drowned out all the other noise. 

Basilisk. Like the Casino where they had met. Like the mythical animal that could kill with a glance. Like a warning and a threat and a challenge. Remus swells with an emotion that’s so bright he’s not sure he can put a name to it, he just knows that he’s never felt it before: so proud, so happy, so thrilled. Dee chose his name and the rest of the world will know it.

((Part of Remus wonders how long he’s had it picked out, how long had he whispered it under his breath when Remus wasn’t there to hear it, how long Dee had thought about having his name up there in the lights outshining The Prince’s.))

“Basilisk,” The Prince snarls. “What type of person answers to the call of a monster’s name?!”

“The King of Serpents,” Dee shoots back. “The killer of foolish knights, and even stupider princes.”

“Now who’s name-calling like a child?!”  The Prince yells. 

It would have been comedic really, if it weren’t for the smoke and the screams and the gunfire. If it weren’t for Remus’s heart beating out of his chest and his mouth tasting like vinegarcopperasphalt and his ankle crying in a pain he can’t afford to actually think about. He thinks about leaving, about running away, about escaping alone but Dee’s life is on the line and Remus needs to make sure he makes it through this because he doesn’t know what he’ll do if Dee dies.

((That’s a lie. Remus does know what he’ll do if Dee dies because he’s seen it a million times before, in a million other places, with a million other feelings and still no one there to mourn whoever he was and whatever he could have been. Remus is twenty one and he knows that if Dee dies there will be no more reasons not to break that promise to his seventeen year old self. He knows, he knows, he knows.))

He’s closer to the fight now, back to where he had been before the riot chaos. Most of the crowd is gone, leaving smokey forms that Remus only semi recognizes from his nightmares. The crowd barriers have been shoved, there are bodies on the ground, the news van is jostled and the crew abandoned it in favor of maybe not ending up with their blood all over the place.

All of them except that techie in purple with the headphones and the face mask. 

“Hey,” Remus says, slamming against the van next to him. The techie stares at him like he’s lost his mind-- and to be honest, that’s fair. He’s got more blood outside of him than inside, and he’s pretty sure the imprint of him is plastered on the side of the car now: a red silhouette to go with the station logo. His eyes are red rimmed, his smile twisted and pained, and it’s only his own inertia that was holding him up. “Don’t mind me.”

The guy is holding a phone peaking, around the corner of the van, dutifully filming Dee barely dodging getting shish kabobbed by The Prince’s rapier and he looks very much like he minds  Remus’s presence within 10,000 feet of him, but is too terrified to move.

Remus doesn’t blame him; where would he go anyway? Into the disassembled crowd where the horror movie screams come with real blood and tear gas was just used on hoards of innocent people for no reason with no warning? Into the arena where The Prince and Dee were taking turns causing massive destruction to public property without a care in the world? Remus doesn’t blame him from hunkering down behind the cover of his news van and praying for this hell to end.

He is a bit curious as to who’s watching this video he’s taking, though. 

Dee twists in the air dodging The Prince’s attacks on his wings, by a hair's breadth. Remus swears for a second that the silver shining rapier slices through Dee entirely, but Dee’s back in the air the next moment, fluttering back out of reach and catching his breath for both of them.

“You fight like a coward!” The Prince yells from the ground, swiping his sword in a motion that is illegal in Fencing. His red mask gleams like blood, but Remus can’t see a speck of it anywhere else on him, not even a scuff from where he fell off the stage moments ago.

((Was it moments? Remus’s head rings with the question. Was it moments? An hour? Days? Lifetimes? He died, Dee died, the strangers in the street died-- how long ago was it that none of that ever happened?))

Dee looks scratched and scarred to high hell by comparison: his suit is in tatters, slices through his left side and his right shoulder, tears in both sleeves where he gave up human hands for scaled claws and sharpened talons, and he was missing a pant leg at the knee, as well as both his shoes that he loved so dearly. Despite his apparent healing abilities blood was trailing from scratches not fully closed up around his elbow, his shoulder, one cheek.

The two of them had to have been fighting this whole time but Remus gets the sinking, sickening, drowning feeling that Dee hasn’t landed a single blow at all.

Which considering the bodies of unconscious police officers piled around them all like lifeless dolls, seems incredibly unreal. Remus saw Dee fight. There’s no way. It’s not possible.

“It’s not fighting like a coward to use your own advantages over your enemies,” Dee says, to The Prince. He steadies himself in the air, his wings and scales glowing gold. “Surely you’re familiar with that idea? You have all the marks of her other training.”

The Prince steadies his stance, shifting his weight around on the toes of his feet like he’s considering the pros and cons of launching himself into the air. Remus hopes he does it just to see Dee catch him by the throat and send him hurling back to the ground hard enough to create a crater he can’t dig his mortal bones out of. 

“If you are trying to suggest something,” The Prince says, “your cryptic theatrics are getting in the way, villain.”

“You think you’re the first Hero she ever trained?” Dee asks. “Think your something special? Going to make all the difference in the world? She’s playing you like a fiddle!”

“You’re one to talk, Janus,” a voice says and Remus swears it comes from everywhere around him. His lungs seize so hard he chokes on the air, the shearing pain in his throat tearing at his vocal chords. The voice sounds like thunder, like a foghorn, like a car alarm at 3AM waking everyone who was previously enjoying their evening.

But Dee doesn’t shift like he heard it at all, and the The Prince doesn’t even look around. Remus’s heart hammers in his chest, stretching his skin, his muscles, his insides as far as they’ll go and the only thing he gets from it is the techie twisting glance at him with a semi raised eyebrow, before he turns back to the standoff in front of them.

Janus. Remus knows that name, doesn’t he? It’s on the tip of his tongue, the edges of his mind, the fog of futures he’s seen and hasn’t seen. He knows that name, he knows who that is, he knows--

--but he doesn’t have a chance to figure it out because Dee is lunging downwards at The Prince, so fast that Remus thinks if he had blinked he might have missed the movement entirely. One moment Dee is in the air, the next his heel is slamming into The Prince’s sword arm shoulder, and from the way that the superhero’s body crumples Remus can bet that his whole foot had shifted into something that was probably lethal. 

The Prince hits the ground with a satisfying smack, letting Dee bounce off him and land another five feet away with a self satisfied, deeply relieved smirk. The Prince cradles his arm, his white outfit soaking with red, his face gnarled with painangerfear as Dee turns around methodically. The hero fruitlessly claws the ground for his rapier but Dee snaps his tail and knocks it out of reach. 

“Give up, Prince,” Dee tells him. “Unlike you, I don’t want a fight. That shoulder needs medical attention and there are people other there that need you.”

“A hero never gives up!” The Prince says and Remus swears that he’s heard that voice before, that tone before, those words before in a way that’s beyond time. They ring in his head, hollow and cold and empty: ghosts made of memories that Remus hated and couldn’t get rid of and that taste like a brother whom Remus once killed.

“She is using you,” Dee says stepping forward until he’s towering over the hero. “Don’t you see that, my prince? You’re worth more than being her puppet.”

“She saved me when I was at my lowest,” The Prince spits back.

“She probably put you there, too,” Dee says, clinically. “Dragana Witchall is not your friend. She’s not a savoir. She’s not a good person, no matter what she’s told you. She doesn’t want what's best for anyone other than herself and the moment you realize that she will do everything in her power to silence you. I’ve seen it happen before.”

There’s a twisted look on The Prince’s face, and Remus’s heart thumps in his chest, near to bursting, his tongue tastes like blood, and his eyes burn with the need to close them and never open them again, but he doesn’t want to miss a second of this.

“She…” 

Dee shakes his head. “Come with us, my Prince,” Dee says oh-so-softly, offering a hand to the Prince. “Shake off her lies and let us save the world before anyone gets hurt anymore. We can do it… together.”

The Prince stares at the hand and Remus, for all that he wants to punch the guy in his teeth, wants to rip out his vocal chords, wants to bury him alive, exhales giddily with Dee when the superhero takes Dee’s hand.--

--but he doesn’t have a chance to figure it out because Dee is lunging downwards at The Prince, so fast that Remus thinks if he hadn’t known it would happen he might have missed the movement entirely. One moment Dee is in the air, the next there’s a flicker of green light and Dee’s fist is--

What the fuck.

Remus hits the side of the news van, choking on blood that’s pouring from his nose and puddling in his throat where oxygen should be. His vision dances with static, buzzing in and out of focus, but he knows what’s going on: Dee’s fist came down on The Prince swinging with a velocity that might have killed a lesser man, but there was a flash of green, a slight side step, and suddenly Dee was on the ground grunting through the pain of a broken hand.

The Prince raises his rapier to Dee’s neck, millimeters from his skin, and Remus’s breathing shallows so sharply it gets clotted up with the blood as well. The Techie inches forward, his hands shaking as he tries to catch every moment of this nightmare. 

“Surrender, villain,” He says. “You cannot continue to heal yourself at this rate.”

Remus feels the scream trapped in his lungs, crushing against his ribs until he’s certain it will shatter outwards. He doesn’t… this isn’t… He didn’t see this. Why didn’t he see this? Why did Dee attack with his fist? How did the Prince know to side step? 

He can’t… It doesn’t make any sense. His palms tingle with the memories of futures that didn’t happen four years ago: shoving a body down the stairs, shattering a snowglobe against a temple, wrapping around a neck and squeezing for so long that his hand print follows Roman to the afterlife. Futures that didn’t happen based on a conversation that had but shouldn’t have. 

Remus’s head pounds, shooting pain from right behind his eyes, that mixes in with the ache from the tear gas. What happened? Why did it… why didn’t it...

“She is using you,” Dee spits up at the hero. “Don’t you see that?”

“You are blinded by your hatred and jealousy--”

“Oh please,” Dee hisses out. “As if I would deign myself to a motivation so cliché.”

“Snake,” The Prince says, but whatever else is drowned out by a strangled yelp when Dee shoves his injured hand up and catches the blade of the sword with enough force to knock it away from his neck. There’s a clattering of scales against metal that Remus thinks he heard once in a movie about slaying a dragon and Dee hisses out in pain as he vaults away to put distance between the two of them again, getting rid of his wings in favor of sharper claws.

“Darling,” Dee says, and it takes Remus a moment to realize he’s the one being addressed. “Enjoying the show?”

“If you aren’t careful... MARVEL is going to be stealing rights for this action sequence from under us,” Remus says, bringing a hand up to clutch at his chest and wondering for a second if it would make sense to tear open his ribcage so that his lungs would have better access to oxygen.

“Disney is a greed based cooperation that’s next on my list to take down, right after the FBE,” Dee says.

The Prince inhales sharply, angrily, offendly. “You would destroy Disney, you monster? I was going to have mercy on you but that’s too far!”

Dee spreads a hand towards the streets around them. “There are people in trouble, possibly dying out there and the thing that makes you upset is Disney?”

The Prince, at least, looks uncomfortable about that. 

“Re,” Dee says, “Lead me.”

The Prince steadies his blade, “I don’t know who you’re talking to but--”

--Remus doesn’t wait for him to finish. “Rush him while he’s talking, go low, and strong arm his legs from under him.”

Dee is moving almost before the words are out of Remus’s mouth and, god, does Remus never get tired of that. Of Dee trusting him, of Dee not hesitating, of Dee believing in Remus. Dee soars across the road, taking The Prince in a razor sharp slice: Dee’s left arm laid out and sweeping under The Prince’s sword to take out his feet. 

The Prince slams forward and hits the ground so hard that Remus thinks his face imprints on the asphalt.

Dee picks up the rapier and lowers it at the hero’s neck just as he rolls over bleeding from every orifice on his face. “It’s over, my Prince. Give up.”--

--Remus doesn’t wait for him to finish. “Rush him while he’s talking, go low, and strong arm his legs from under him.”

Dee is moving almost before the words are out of Remus’s mouth and Remus is so caught up in the jubilee of being heard that he almost misses the flash of green that flickers around The Prince.

“WAIT--!” Remus yells, but The Prince is jumping in the air doing a perfect flip over Dee’s attack that he shouldn’t have ever seen coming and definitely shouldn’t have been able to dodge.

Dee lands with a roll that brings him back to his feet. “Re, what was that?”

“I don’t know,” Remus says, spitting blood from his mouth. “Shit.”

The techie swivels to look at him again, at the blood trailing down Remus’s chin, at the unsteadiness of Remus’s stance. If it weren’t for the headphones the guy would have been able to hear everything already, and Remus isn’t sure if he’d run away screaming, or drop into a dead faint. He wasn’t even thinking about what the guy’s recording was picking up.

That’s a problem for another day. Assuming they make it through this one.

Dee lunges backwards out of the way of The Prince’s next attack, avoiding it without Remus’s help, and part of Remus is grateful for that. He can’t tell which is the terror of Dee being in a fight with The Prince still or the panic of not being able to see what’s happening anymore but he knows he’s drowning in both in a way that’s unhelpful.

Dee rolls under--

--The Prince’s swipe, millimeters away from an unwanted haircut. Remus can hear the heavy huffing of his breath, of the ache of Dee’s bones, the shake in his limbs from exertion. He kicks a foot to force the hero back, but the reprieve is short. The Prince’s charismatic stupid smile is gone replaced with a determination that makes Remus’s teeth grind together.

The Prince lunges forward, blocking Dee from escaping with a motion that swings upwards and across and reminds Remus of how he drew 7’s before his kindergarten teacher verbally humiliated it out of him. Dee’s face snaps to the side glistening with a new cut that digs through his scales and leaves him hissing in pain.--

--The Prince’s swipe and Remus’s mouth is moving as fast as he can: “He’s leaving his right side wide open. If you duck you can get the back of his calf and decrease his range of motion.”

Dee makes a noise that Remus thinks is grateful, hopes is grateful, prays-to-gods-he-doesn’t-believe-in is grateful. Dee is slower than Remus would have wanted him to be, but when The Prince drags his rapier through the air, it sails over Dee’s head and Dee’s claws slice through his calf muscle as Dee slips away.

“Mother of Pearls!” The Prince shouts, stumbling. “How did you…?”

Dee heaves several breaths, flexing his claws dripping with patches of scarlet. “Finally.”

“Villain!” The Prince snarls.

“We’ve been over this, honey. It’s Basilisk,” Dee shows off his fangs. Remus thinks the relief is hysterical, a gulp of fresh air after he’s been underwater for so long. 

The Prince snarls, something animalistic and Remus wishes he could show the whole world it: this is your Prince, this is your fake hero, this is the idiot in charge of everything and look how angry he is over a little cut. Remus has had worse than him and he’s never complained about it!

“ZEAL!” The Prince yells to the open air, “A hand, please!”

“Just one?” A voice responds from across the area, and Remus feels his blood go cold, his knees go weak, his mind go silent in a way it’s definitely not supposed to.

Remus doesn’t know how the man in the blue cardigan who looks like no one at all got all the way over there, but there he is crouching next to a fallen police guard checking for a pulse. He stands up at the call, looking vastly out of place in the scenery.

“Well, if my prince requests it!” He says with his voice drifting like a dream in the chaos. “I’ll give you both of them!”

“Dee, move. Move, NOW!” Remus yells just as the character raises their hands and white lights begin to flicker on the fingertips. They look like stars, like spheres of sunlight, like little harmless rays that probably would feel nice, but Remus can still hear the sound of Dee’s body hitting the ground in a future that he stopped, a future he prevented, a future he does not ever want to see happen again. 

Dee throws himself into a back handspring and twists himself over the beams of light, and Remus can’t catch his breath anyway. 

“Do I want to know what those did, dearest?” Dee puffs out. 

“Bad,” Remus says.

“Delightful,” Dee says, taking another step back, except that he’s sandwiched between the Prince and that guy-- god the partner. Remus can’t believe they forgot about them, the mysterious person only alluded to, and never seen, except that now Remus is seeing him and can’t look away. Of course it would be someone who can take away powers. Of course it would. 

Remus is going to vomit.

 If Dee turns his back to the Prince he won’t see the sword, if he turns his back to the partner, he won’t see the angle of the rays; Remus has a sinking feeling in his… everything all of a sudden.

“I’m running out of patience, Dragon,” The Prince says.

“How hard is it to remember the term Basilisk?” Dee prods.

The Prince sets himself for another attack. “You’re trapped. There’s no way out. Come quietly and we can get you medical attention and discuss whatever it is that you deemed necessary to harm hundreds for.”

“Will that be before or after Dragana Witchall has my head removed from my body?” Dee asks. 

“If you just talk to her--”

“Heh.”

Remus feels the inside of his ears pop from pressure he didn’t know he was experiencing. That voice-- coming from everywhere and nowhere and why doesn’t anyone else hear it? 

“--most of my life actually,” Janus is… no that’s Dee. Remus knows that’s Dee talking. Who is Janus? The pain in his head is sharp, like a nail driving directly into his cranium, like brain surgery without putting him under, like dying but without the death part. He doesn’t know Janus.

Does he?

“She’s not who she says she is,” Dee finishes. “She’s--”

“I’m growing tired of your stubbornness,” The Prince says in an astounding moment of pure irony that twists Remus’s intestines into knots and loops them around his neck like a noose. “Surrender with dignity, snake.”

“We don’t want to hurt you,” the partner, Zeal, adds.

Dee doesn’t say anything to them. Remus focuses on the sound of his breaths, on the movement of his chest, on the phantom feel of Dee’s lips on his own from so long ago. Remus’s brain whispers about rain on a balcony, about fire in a mall, about gunshots in a casino, but he reaches past that, past everything, past the past itself.

His domain is the future. 

“Are you at your limit?” Dee asks him. “I can do this by myself if I must.”

“What’s a limit?” Remus says. “How much blood is a human supposed to have again?” 

“More than that, dumbass,” that voice says, and Remus blinks because Dee’s head tilts and he looks like he heard it too.

“Virgil,” Dee says in a tone Remus can’t describe. “Come to play?”

Remus is vaguely aware of the techie in purple shifting forward, leaning towards the fight, still shaking from every limb. For a moment, he thinks that maybe this mysterious voice is coming from him, but it’s too clear, too loud, too calm to be from someone wearing a face mask and shaking the way this guy is so far away from where Dee is having his standoff.

“You made a friend,” Virgil, whoever he is, from wherever he is, says. 

“I got lonely,” Dee says. “And bored.”

“Bored enough to become public enemy number one?”

“Enough, Basilisk!” The Prince yells, “Give yourself up! You’re surrounded and you have all of this carnage to take responsibility for! Your partner may continue to hide in the shadows, but you can tell him we will find him and bring him to justice as well!”

“Or her! Or them!” Zeal tacks on. “Or xem-- we’re all inclusive here.” 

“Right!” The Prince says, self righteously. He looks a lot like he does on TV and Remus’s fists itch to punch the screen all over again. “Surrender and end this.”

“You know what will happen if you do,” Virgil’s voice says.

“If the peanut gallery could please keep out of this,” Dee hisses. “That would be nice. I’m thinking.”

“Thinking just like you were when you leapt across that stage?” Remus asks. “Or actually thinking this time?”

Dee makes a face that’s vaguely affronted, a dusting of pink over his ears that Remus might have thought was from exertion if he didn’t know better.

“Do you want an apology?” He asks and Remus is only semi thinking about saying yes you motherfucker, when we get out of this I’m going to strangle you myself because somehow you don’t know what you mean to me at all and you just keep dying and cannot handle watching that again, how did I ever do it the first several billion times? 

“I think an apology is a good start,” The Prince says.

“I was not talking to you,” Dee snaps. 

“I’m giving you fifteen more seconds, snake,” The Prince says, anyway. “Put your hands up and get on the ground or I will put you on the ground myself.”--

-- Dee doesn’t answer, still mulling one of his brilliant plans, or maybe waiting for stage directions from Remus who still hates the theater and everything that comes with it. The hero shifts as the seconds tick, inaudible and yet unmissable. Then The Prince sighs in disappointment and levels his rapier. 

“You leave me no choice,” he says. “Zeal.”

The man in the blue polo grins again at the call and flicks his hands towards Dee, with balls of white light dancing on his fingertips. Dee launches into the air with his wings flicking out, but the Prince is behind him in the next instant jumping and plunging his blade through the thin skin layers between the bones. 

Dee lets out a scream as the blade tears down and out of the wing, like a knife through a sail, like scissors through fabric, like an earring being ripped out of an ear. He flings downwards and hits the ground again and before he can think of moving a soft beam of white light hits him. 

Dee convulses, he yelps, he tries to get up, but the Prince’s boot is on his chest pinning him down again and Dee’s out of tricks.--

--Dee doesn’t answer, still mulling one of his brilliant plans, or maybe waiting for stage directions from Remus who still hates the theater and everything that comes with it.

“Zeal is going to shoot a beam, if you take the sky the Prince gets your wing.” Remus says.

Dee nods, and then without giving anyone any warning he launches towards Zeal, who doesn’t loose his stupid smile at all. He raises a hand like he’s going to high five Dee, and those white lights come out and suck away Dee’s transformation immediately. He lands on the ground at Zeal’s feet, with the asphalt tearing through his human flesh like it’s butter. --

--Dee doesn’t answer, still mulling one of his brilliant plans, or maybe waiting for stage directions from Remus who still hates the theater and thinks he hates it even more now. If he ever has to see another theater he’s going to set it on fire.

“Zeal is going to shoot a beam, if you take the sky the Prince gets your wing. Don’t fucking get near Zeal, dumbass.”

Dee nods and then without any sort of warning he lunges at The Prince, who parries him with his blade. The scales meet metal again and Dee hisses like he might spit venom, but the superhero grunts and forces him back with brute strength and not even Remus screaming give him enough time to prevent The Prince from shifting them around so that Zeal’s white beams of light hit Dee’s back.--

-- Dee doesn’t answer the hero.

“Can’t you turn into a beetle or something? Fly out of this,” Remus says. “Please.”

“That hopeless?” Dee asks him. “Okay.” And then he takes a deep breath and his form ripples and waves and pulls in on himself, like the reverse magic trick of pulling a rabbit out of a hat. 

“ZEAL!” The Prince shouts, and the white lights are flying towards him, even as Dee turns into a beetle and takes to the air. Remus screams as Dee is hit, even in such a small form, even at such a far distance, even against those impossible odds.--

--Dee doesn’t answer and Remus feels like throwing up. They need to win this, they need to get out of this, they need to escape, but Dee can’t and Remus can’t make him and… and... 

And there’s a glint of metal in the corner of his vision.

“You leave me no choice,” The Prince says, and Remus barely hears him because he’s staring at a glock of some police guard long lost and long forgotten and long waiting with the safety off already. 

This is a bad idea. Remus knows this is a bad idea. Its a bad idea, bad idea, bad ide--

-- Dee doesn’t answer and Remus is twenty-one years old with nothing to lose if Dee dies.

“Take The Prince, he’ll parry, but you’re stronger.” Remus says lunging for the gun on the ground because he’s insane and courting Death as much as he’s courting Dee. He's never held a gun before. It feels bad in his hands, feels weird, and strange and not at all like what he thought it was going to feel like.

Dee nods and lunges towards The Prince and Remus points his new glock at Zeal. The trigger practically pulls itself. Isn't that crazy?

The kickback is a shockwave that flies through Remus’s arm making it numb and the sound explodes just like his heart does in his chest. The shot goes wide, but it’s close enough to Zeal that he lets out a scream and his little rays of white light sail over both Dee and the Prince. Remus slams back into the side of the van out of sight of the heroes while his body shakes and his face pulls into a grin for a reason he can't explain. The techie is on the ground, covering the muffs of his headphones to press them tighter to his head.

“PAT!” The Prince shouts. 

“Was that you?” Dee asks. “What the fuck, Re!”

Remus shoves his hands over his nose, stifling the blood flow as much as he can, teargas be damned. His head is thrumping with pain, and Remus wants to scream. His vision is blotchy and patchy like the world’s worst video game. He can barely breathe between the metallic taste in his mouth and the liquid flowing out his nostrils . It’s like throwing himself at a brick wall and expecting a different outcome; he’s at his limit, that limit that Dee told him not to cross, that limit that he’ll gladly ignore if it means that Dee will get out of this safe and sound and--

And he can see a flicker of green light and Dee gasps right before The Prince manages to get under his distracted guard and haul him up in the air. Then there’s green light flickering, dancing, flashing and fading and Dee’s body hits the ground so hard it forms a crater around him and--

-- The Prince steps forward gracefully, gallantly. He walks like he’s standing on the air, filled with an energy that Remus thought only came from drinking five Five Hour Energies and besting Death at hand to hand combat even with that torn up leg. His rapier sways through the air pointing down at Dee’s body.

“Tell your partner to surrender,” the hero commands. “Now.” 

“I didn’t... expect him to do it either!” Dee says and it’s funny, Remus almost thinks that Dee is mad at him. That can’t be right! 

“Give up, Basilisk.” The Prince says again, “Before someone gets hurt.” 

Dee spits a mouthful of blood on the hero’s shoes. “People are already hurt! You are leading them to be hurt more, Prince! The FBE won’t help anyone!”

The Prince hesitates, maybe even uses that rusty brain in his head. “I…You truly believe that? Why can't you just trust me at my word?”

“What is the worth of your word?” Dee shoots back, scales glittering on the side of his face. “Anyone can go back on their words!”

Remus clings to the side of the van with white knuckles, tasting blood on his tongue and in the back of his mouth and on his lips. The hero is thinking, he’s thinking, and Remus thinks that maybe he can cross the distance quick enough to tackle the hero away from Dee and he’ll have a chance to escape.

“That is true,” the hero says. “Perhaps a sign of trust is then in order, then.”

Remus freezes.

The Prince reaches up slowly, plucking at the mask.

He should look away. Remus can’t look away.

Because he knows…he knows that face. He recognizes it. He’s seen that face a hundred million times before. He knows those lips, those brown eyes, that crinkle between his eyebrows and those unruly curls. He knows those cheekbones, and that jawline and the way that head tilts back when he laughs, and curls forward when he cries. Remus knows that face because he’s seen it every time he’s looked in a mirror, he’s been haunted by it for years now, been terrorized in the nights by that face. He’d seen that face covered in blood, that face gasping for air, that face crying and begging and anything to get him to stop, that face staring at him with a hateful vengeful ugly expression and saying “You can’t see the fut--”--

Remus leaves a bloody handprint on the hood of the news van as he vaults it and the techie in purple. His lungs scream in agony, but Remus can’t hear it at all. His heartbeat is thunderous, yet even that is nothing compared to the bloodlust washing over his mind.

Dee’s head whips up, his mouth moving in some type of exclamation, but it doesn’t matter.

Nothing matters other than the rage in his head, in his body, in his veins that floods his limbs with the need to move.

The Prince hears him coming and his rapier comes up in an offensive attack, that Remus blocks with his left forearm. The blade sinks into his flesh and blood pours down Remus’s elbow and on the asphalt and the only thing he can think is that falling off the balcony, that getting run over on highways, that falling asleep in a motel bathtub with bloody keys in his hands, all hurt a hundred times worse than this itty, bitty little scratch.

He laughs.

"Hey Roman!" Remus says in a parody of a delighted tone, and The Prince stumbles back. "It’s been a while!"

[Chapter Eight]

[stillebesat]

Scales (4/7)

Sanders Sides: Logan, Deceit, Virgil, Roman, Patton Blurb: Deceit hadn’t expected his absence from the Mindscape to be noticed by the others…until Logic knocked on his door. Fic Type: General Warnings: Shedding (snake style), Minor Injuries, Minor Pain, Touch Starvation, Death Talk Taglist in Reblog.

To Catch Up: Prologue Chapter 1 Chapter 2

Reveal himself? To the others? Like this?! 

Oh no. No. No. NO! Deceit violently shook his head. There was no way! Not even for...family. He could handle this on his own! “You really need to stop using that word.” He muttered, pulling his legs up and away from Logic. 

Leave his room? Get carried around like a sack of potatoes? Let the others see him in his weakened state? It was crazy talk. He was safe here. He couldn’t get--well he could get hurt less here.

Logan raised an eyebrow. “Which word?” He asked, the barest of smiles on his lips. “Family?”

Deceit made a face. “No.” Stupid. Freaking. Shed. Making him all sentimental and--and…malleable. He was the one who should be pulling the strings and using manipulation, not Logic.

“Mhmmm. Well…” Logan smirked, his eyes glittering underneath his damp bangs. “If it’s working, I will keep using it.” He held out his hand, wiggling his fingers. “Your Family wants to help you, Lyal.”

“You want to help me.” Deceit said, his heart climbing into his throat. He never left his room during Shed. Never. “There’s a difference.” 

“I’m the only one who knows currently. That’s the difference. Give them a chance. You gave me one and it’s turned out alright, hasn’t it?”

But he was Logic! Logan wasn’t emotional like the others! “Yes, but--” Agh. Logic was using logic on him, and he was listening. Deceit looked down to his arm, his fingers twitching underneath the shed. “What could they give me out there, that I can’t get in here?” He whispered. 

Logan raised an eyebrow. “You’re the one still in shed. You tell me.”

His shoulders slumped. “Point.” Deceit conceded, reluctantly uncurling. Logic. Freaking Logic. He had done everything he normally would do in his room and it hadn’t worked. If he was to get his shed off before it did major damage he had to do something more...something...different. 

 Deceit exhaled, stamping down on the butterflies twisting in his stomach. Even...even if it meant going out...letting the others see him--could they actually help? Would they want to?

He ignored Logan’s hand as he stood, only to grab onto his arm to keep from collapsing to the floor as his knees buckled, his vision tunneling. 

Shoot! He was weak.

“I got you.”

Deceit barely had time to process the words before a band of warmth scooped up his legs while another steady arm supported his back as Logan lifted him bridal style. He inhaled sharply, flinching at the pressure on his left side from the other’s hand.

It was one thing for Logan to touch the shed. But holding him? It...he wasn’t used to so much contact. It was like a series of electrical pulses were dancing up and down his body reacting to the lesser heat that Logic gave off. It was an uncomfortable sensation, but also nice at the same time. Warm. And...okay it wasn’t bad. Especially when it wasn’t his left side pressed up against Logan. That contact would have been unbearable. The single band of the other Side’s arm across the shed was hard enough to tolerate.

“I--” Deceit cleared his throat, slowly resting his head against Logic’s chest, already knowing that arguing was useless. “I can walk.” He complained.

Logan hummed his disagreement, carefully adjusting his grip to put less pressure on Deceit’s scaled side. “You just told me your depth perception is off, which makes carrying you the safest option. Plus, you haven’t eaten in six days.” He reminded him as he turned for the door. “If. And I say If. You were able to walk, it would be better not to in order to conserve your remaining energy until you are able to ea---are you able to eat now?”

Deceit swallowed, closing his one eye as Logan shifted him a bit to get the door open. “I don’t know.” He whispered, shivering as they left his room, immediately regretting that he hadn’t grabbed his cape--not that he could wear it with the shed, but it was COLD out here. Drier. That couldn’t help him. He needed it to be warm and humid to get the shed off! 

Deceit pressed his head harder against Logan’s chest, seeking the heat he could feel there as he breathed in the familiar scent of paper and jam. “Normally food doesn’t sit well.” 

“But normally this lasts only--.”

“A couple of days.”

“Which fasting for that length is not unheard of.”

“Mmmm.”

“Six days though--”

“Is too long.” He knew that.

“You need to eat.”

“I….” Deceit exhaled, blearily opening his one eye, watching as Logan approached the stairs. His stomach twisted. He wasn’t quite sure if it was from hunger or nerves. The others were downstairs. He could hear their voices. They were going to see him like this. He swallowed, his heart rate picking up. “Yah…probably.”

“Can you?”

“I haven’t tried to yet, Genius. I don’t know.”

Logan huffed. “Point, but perhaps softer foods should be attempted first. Ice cream--”

Deceit winced, shuddering. “And freeze further? No thanks.”

“Soup then.” Logan said, pausing at the top of the stairs as Roman let out a particularly loud laugh below them followed by Patton’s quieter giggle.

Deceit gripped Logan’s tie, his fingers going white on the fabric, his vision blurring in his good eye. “Logic--” His breathing hitched as he moved his legs, shifting in Logan’s arms. This was a bad idea. He’d never shown the others this before. Never. They should go back to his room. It was safer. It was warmer. The others--  

“Breathe, Lyal.” Logan soothed, remaining still, his arms keeping a warm comforting pressure around him.

Ha. He peered over Logic’s shoulder to his bedroom at the end of the hall. Easier said than done. This was….this was--

“Logan?” 

Deceit tensed, ducking his head against Logic’s chest. Oh no. 

Anxiety’s voice came from the base of the stairs, taking away their last chance to retreat without being seen. 

Why did it have to be him next to see this?! Virgil would-- 

“Why are you--” Anxiety interrupted his own sentence with a loud curse as footsteps raced up the stairs. “Dee! What happened! Is he dead? He’s Dead!”

Dead? That reaction was a bit extre-- Deceit froze. Wait, was that worry he heard in Virgil’s voice?

“DEAD?!” Creativity’s voice rang through the common room.

Glass shattered. “Lyal? NO!”

“Guys! He’s not--” Logan tried to explain over Morality’s ear-piercing wail and Creativity’s loud swearing of vengeance as multiple feet pounded up the stairs. “Stop, it’s--”

Deceit hissed in displeasure as cool fingertips unexpectedly brushed his cheek. He jerked away from the touch, his left arm trembling as he half turned his head, his glossy snake eye staring at Anxiety’s vibrant heat signature.

“Dee?” Virgil whispered, eyes darting between the shed and the normal half of Deceit’s face.

“Annie.” He responded just as quietly, watching as Anxiety relaxed at the sound of his voice. Huh, usually he tensed up the Anxious Si--his nostrils flared, catching the swirling scent of cookies and pine needles just as the other two’s heat signatures joined Anxiety’s, surrounding Deceit like a wall of fire to his snake eye, their voices overwhelming his senses in a cacophony of noise as they jostled each other trying to see him.

“Guys-” Logan tried to interrupt.

“WHO DID THIS?!” Roman yelled over him, swinging his sword through the air, eyes dark with determination. “I Swear!---”

“Ohnononononohecantbehecantbedeadhecantbedead!” Patton cried, reaching out to Deceit only for Logan to deftly turn away so that he blocked the others from touching him.

“And I will SMITE them with MY SWORD--”

“Another Dark Side?” Virgil demanded. “Did they hurt--” 

“Ly! Ly! Ly! Come on, friendo. You’re okay. You’re okay! Pleasepleaseplease.” 

It was too much, far too much stimulation after six days of isolation, Deceit didn’t know how to react to so much...lov--concern. He tensed up, ducking his head against Logan’s tie in a useless attempt to hide from the others. If circumstances were different he would have already vanished, sunk out away from their attention. But considering that he wasn’t sure he could even stand...running away was out of the question.

It sucked being vulnerable. 

Logan tsked under his breath. “LYAL’S ALIVE.” He shouted. “He’s just weak.” He added in the resulting quiet, carefully turning back so the others could see him.

“He’s alive?!--what’s--what happened to him?” Roman demanded, his sword vanishing with a simple twist of his hand. 

“Alive? ALIVE! Oh, Lyal!” Patton blubbered. “You’re--” He reached out with both hands.

Deceit flinched back, reflexively baring his teeth, causing the father figure to freeze. 

“Careful.” Logan warned, taking a step back, holding him close.

Deceit hunched his shoulders before forcing himself to relax, taking some comfort from Logic’s steady warm presence. This wasn’t how he wanted things to go, but...they weren’t attacking him for being a monster. Not hating him on sight. He could sense genuine concern from everyone, even Anxi-Virgil, about his welfare. He cleared his throat. “It’s...I’m fine.”

Logan glanced down at that, fingers tightening on his legs, but thankfully he didn’t call Deceit out on the lie. 

“That doesn’t look fine dude.” Virgil retorted, fiddling with his hoodie sleeves. “Your skin--”    

 Deceit turned his head so the others could see his human side as well, carefully straightening a little in Logan’s hold, working to breathe normally. “It’s just...the scales shed. It’s normal for--for me.” 

“Normal?!” Roman demanded, frowning at the shed covering half of Deceit’s torso. “How come we’ve never--”

Virgil scoffed. “I’d think that obvious, Princey. Would you want to be seen if you looked like a walking mummy?”

“Well...no, but!--”

“Does it hurt?” Patton asked, bottom lip trembling, his eyes wide and shining with unshed tears. “Ly...are you...are--”

Concern from Morality. Deceit drew in a slow breath, ignoring how fast his heart was racing and without trying to think about it too much, held out his arm. “It’s just--sensitive to touch, otherwise it doesn’t-” He fought to not flinch as Patton tenderly took his hand, his fingers feeling like warm sunshine on the shed. “Hurt.”  

It usually didn’t hurt him...if it was under normal circumstances. This...was anything but that.

“I--” He looked away, trying to keep his voice from shaking, but it was hard...revealing your weaknesses like this after keeping them secret for his entire life. “I usually sleep through most of it.” 

“Which is why we haven’t seen Lyal this past week.” Logan added as Roman moved closer, his blazing heat like the flames from a forge as he gently rested his hand against Deceit’s cheek. 

“But?” Virgil crossed his arms. “Something’s wrong. Right? Otherwise I doubt that you would let us see you like this.”  

Despite himself, Deceit leaned into Roman’s touch, soaking in the heat even as his senses screamed that it was too much. Logan, Patton, Roman...all touching him. It...it was painful, yet he couldn’t find himself wanting to draw away. “Yes.” If he had his way the others would have never found out.

“This particular Shed is lasting far longer than it should.” Logan supplied as he edged his way through the others, moving them closer to the stairs. 

Deceit fought back the whimper that rose in his throat as Roman and Patton’s heat vanished from his shed, leaving his skin tingling. 

“Lyal tells me that his usual methods of using heat and humidity to help with the process are not working.” Logan said, his fingers tightening on Deceit as they descended. “So I suggested we come down and solicit solutions from the rest of the family to help him out.”

Deceit drew in a shaky breath, peering over Logan’s shoulder to the others as they followed them into the living room. There was that word again. Family.

“Humidity?” Creativi-Roman repeated, falling instep beside them, still peering at the shed, the regalness fading from his voice as his brow furrowed in contemplation. “But I thought--”

“How long is a good long for this?” Patton asked, hovering right behind.

“Th-three days.” Deceit managed, shifting in Logan’s arms as they reached the couch. He’d never expected the others to...to care like this. Sure, Logic had said that they would want to help--but--he hadn’t actually believed it possible. But even Annie was--- 

A growl reverberated from Anxiety’s chest as his hands clenched. “But it’s been--”

“Six.” Logan confirmed, carefully setting Deceit down, making sure he was stable before sitting next to Deceit on his human side, keeping an arm protectively around him. “I convinced Lyal to come out here to you all so that we could find a solution quickly.”

“Or?” Patton asked, taking a seat on the coffee table, looking into Deceit’s eyes.

Deceit shivered, leaning into Logan despite himself to keep close to the heat he was giving off. He pulled his left arm close to his chest, reluctantly keeping eye contact. “I---it can cause permanent damage to me.” His arm trembled. If it hadn’t already. 

Virgil frowned. “So why not just...you know.” He gestured to the shed. “Rip it off like a band-aid, Dee?”

Ri-Rip?! Deceit recoiled at the thought. “NO!” That was a very very bad idea! 

“That won’t work, Dr. Gloom” Roman retorted, crossing his arms as he continued to study Deceit. “If the scales aren’t ready, it would cause further harm. The skin has to loosen--” 

Deceit blinked, staring at Creativity in surprise. How--

Virgil raised an eyebrow. “How do you even know that, Princey?”  

Roman scoffed, gesturing to himself. “Please! Am I not the one always fighting the Dragon Wi--” He cut off, eyes sparking with fire as he plopped down on the couch next to Deceit. “That’s it!” He breathed jabbing a finger at him, barely missing poking the shed. “You’re doing it wrong!” 

He was WHAT? “Wrong?” Deceit repeated, jerking upright away from Logan’s heat. How could Roman say--WHAT?! “After thirty years of this.” He hissed, gesturing to his shed with a glare at Creativity, nearly nose to nose with him. “I hardly think I’m doing it wrong!” 

“But Dragons don’t need humidity to shed! I’ve helped the Dragon Witch often enough when she has to go through the same process to know!” Roman argued back, a stubborn glint in his eyes. “That’s where you’re going all wrong!” 

Off all the foolish things! Deceit scoffed, sitting back as he shook his head. “A Drag--I’m not some Fancy Creature of your Imagination Roman! They’re not dragon scales, they're snake scales you id--” He cut off, breath catching as he glanced uncertainly to Logic who raised an eyebrow at him, a slight frown on his face.

Hadn’t he caught the lie? He had to have.

Deceit drew in a shaky breath, pulling his scaled arm close to his chest. It wasn’t possible! And yet---“They’re snake scales.” He repeated, again hearing the lie in his words. A tremor ran through him. Impossible. “They--they…were snake scales.” 

Logan’s eyes flashed like a lightbulb turning on as he sat up straight, grabbing Deceit’s human hand, squeezing it. “Your scales changed.” He breathed. “That’s the difference.”

To Be Continued Chapter 4

[keelywolfe]

FIC: Just Swimmingly ch.8 (BAON)

Summary:   It’s been a long night for everyone and dawn might be on the way, but it isn't over yet.

Tags: Spicyhoney, Established Relationships, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping

Part of the ‘by any other name’ series.

~~*~~

Read it on AO3

or

Read it here!

~~*~~

If Jeff had had his way, they would have been out the door and on the way home before the second round of backup showed up, possibly with a pause for a drive thru run at taco bell for some ill-advised early morning burritos. Security would wave them out without so much as asking for a quick rundown of the evening. There would be no paperwork to fill out, no affidavits to sign, and after a lovely, long night of sleep as the little spoon in Antwan’s arms, they’d be treated to a gourmet breakfast in bed prepared by Gordon Ramsey himself.

Heck if he was gonna dream, might as well dream big.

As it turned out, he didn’t even get to step one. After the bad guys were in various stages of detained, Stretch wanted to sit down for a few minutes before heading downstairs and Jeff didn’t even consider throwing out a protest. He sat down next to his best friend who’d probably just saved his damned life again and waited, torn between trying not to think about everything that had happened or letting it loop around in his mind, so it’d be fresh when they gave their inevitable statements.

In the end, he went with a third, unexpected option: worrying about Stretch.

A minute of sitting here in this horrible building that was probably going to get a starring role in Jeff’s future nightmares, ‘to catch his breath’, he’d said, and yeah, that made some sense. After getting drugged, kidnapped, tied up, and then MacGyvering both an escape and a capture, anyone would need a breather.

Only, he and Stretch had been friends for a little while now and there was something…off. He couldn’t quite explain it. His tired smiles didn’t reach his eye lights, it didn’t make his eye sockets squinch in a skeleton Monster approximation of laugh lines. Maybe that could’ve been excused by him simply being exhausted and stressed; wasn’t like Jeff was his normal cheerful self either, plus Stretch used up a lot of magic teleporting them around, popping in and out to drop off traps while keeping a few steps ahead of the bad guys. Could’ve been, but he’d seen Stretch tired and besides, it was his understanding that if Stretch’s magic got low enough, he’d simply drop. That’s what happened way back when he’d saved all the kids when those Humans broke into New New Home. So why was it different now?

That wrong-smile was stiffly brittle, like it’d been borrowed from someone else and pasted onto Stretch’s face and Jeff didn’t like it, not one bit.

But now wasn’t exactly time for an interrogation, at least not from him. He was pretty damn sure they’d get one of those as a free bonus the minute they walked downstairs, whether they wanted it or not. So he kept quiet and sat with his friend in one of the rooms where the booby trap didn’t get set off. The tile floor was dirty but there was nothing inside but dust and some broken furniture, so they sat on the tiles anyway, leaning against the far wall where they had a good view of the door.

Honestly, as strange as it was that Stretch wanted to linger in this shithole, more surprising to him was that security was letting them instead of hustling them out the door as fast as they could.

That had been quite a moment. They’d still been in the hallway with one guy gagging and the other pinned to the floor in a cage of glowing blue bones that Stretch summoned up from nowhere when Red showed up, not shortcutting in, but hauling ass from the stairwell and that’d been a sight in and of itself. As far as he knew, Red never went above a pace of a casual mosey but there was no drag in his feet this time as he tore his way around the landing. He walked towards them like he’d been taking lessons from Arnold Schwarzenegger, boots heels clacking loudly on the tile floor.

“let go, honey bun, i got ‘im,” Red said. Stretch didn’t look at him, those bones not so much as wavering and he spoke again, a little louder, sharp and short, “brother, let him go. let me take him out.”

Stretch jerked as if he’d been pinched. He looked at Red, orange-tinted eyelights swinging towards him, but almost immediately he flinched, turning away. As the cage of bones faded, a crowd of guys in Embassy Security uniforms swarmed up the stairs behind them, all moving as Red barked out orders. The bad guys were gone in a flash, hauled out in cringing silence, and only when they were mostly alone did Red speak again.

“you two okay?” Red asked them bluntly. “do we need to get the medics up here? talk to me, no bullshit right now, i ain’t in no mood to interpret.”

“we’re not hurt,” Stretch said. He’d wrapped his arms around himself, gripping his elbows, and his gaze was on the floor. Jeff nodded in agreement, only to blink as Stretch added, tightly, “i need a few minutes before i can go downstairs, red.”

Red’s sockets narrowed and he nodded slowly. “take all the time you need, honey bun.” His gaze shifted to Jeff and he nearly flinched himself from that piercing stare. It felt as if Red were looking through him, staring right into his little green soul. “what about you, handy andy? stayin’ or goin’? i figure your honey should be here in about fifteen, but you can wait in one of the cars downstairs if you wanna.”

Jeff never hesitated, “I’ll wait here.”

One corner of Red’s mouth rose in a brief smirk. “figured. okay, come on, in here.” He ducked into an empty room, sidestepping the little pile of trash that concealed what Stretch had called a ‘ketchup and mustard gas trap’ in honor of his twin bros from another ‘verse. All Jeff knew was he’d been ordered not to breathe while Stretch mixed some red powder and a yellow liquid together into an old soda can as a special surprise for the asshole du jour of the evening.

“stay here,” Red ordered. “i’ll tell the rabble to keep out.” He hesitated, his tongue flicking over his teeth and if it were anyone else, Jeff would say he was almost nervous. “my bro is on his way. telling ya right now, i ain’t gonna be able to keep him downstairs without collateral damage.”

“no, don’t stop him.” Stretch sank down to the floor in a noodly way that was impressive for a guy made entirely of bones, leaning against the wall. “it won’t hurt. send him up, i’ve already seen it all, a long time ago.”

Red’s expression twisted in a complex grimace. “sorry to hear that.”

Stretch made a sound that was almost amused. “don’t be. i still fell in love with him, didn’t i.” He let his skull fall back against the wall with a light thunk, closing his sockets. Red paused at the trap, dismantling it with expertise that shouldn’t have been a surprise. He paused, the rigged soda can in hand, when Stretch said, softly, “red? thanks.”

“not a problem, honey bun.” There was a certain unexpected gentleness in those words. “take a breather, yeah?”

Stretch nodded tiredly and that was it. Red left and they’d been sitting for close to fifteen minutes now without speaking. Take a breather, right, and Jeff didn’t pretend to be some kind of espionage genius, but he knew doublespeak when he heard it. There was some kind of understanding between Red and Stretch that they didn’t want to say aloud.

And honestly? Jeff didn’t care. Let them keep their secrets, he had an inkling of what his friends had been through in the past, his morbid curiosity wasn’t worth making them relive it. All he wanted was to make sure Stretch was okay now. He shifted a little closer and Stretch didn’t move, didn’t even seem like he’d noticed.

“Stretch,” he asked cautiously, hesitating. Stretch could be awfully prickly when it came to his health and surely Red wouldn’t have left if he’d thought Stretch was in any danger, but still. He had to ask. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“yep,” Stretch said immediately. “just need to catch my breath.” It should have been true, it probably was, but still. Something rang a little false there and Jeff wasn’t sure what.

He didn’t have time to think about it for much longer. This whole building echoed like an empty airplane hanger and he could hear someone coming up the stairs very fast. It was only seconds later that Blue came flying in through the door. As far as Jeff knew, he couldn’t teleport, but he sure didn’t seem like his feet ever touched the ground as he sailed over right into Stretch’s lap. Buried his rounded face into the thin t-shirt they’d been forced to wear, and his shoulders were shaking before Stretch could even get an arm around him.

“hey, shh, it’s okay.” A brother in the lap was finally enough to get Stretch moving. He pulled his brother in close, resting his cheekbone on top of his skull as he murmured a soft litany of comforting words. Whatever Blue was saying was muffled into Stretch’s ribcage. Not that it mattered, his brother seemed to understand, sibling-speak a power all its own, and held him tighter, still whispering that it was all right, he was fine, he really was.

Jeff was so focused on that first happy reunion that he didn’t notice someone new in the doorway. Until he glanced up and his eyes snagged on a face he’d wanted to see for hours and feared he never would again. Antwan stood there, more rumpled and haggard than Jeff had ever seen him, and he was the most wonderful thing Jeff had ever seen.

He didn’t say anything, didn’t move, he only stood there staring with dark, unreadable eyes.

“Hi, honey, I’m home,” Jeff said. His first impulse of delight wavered, and he laughed nervously, wetting his lips, “Okay, not exactly home, but it’s still pretty damn good to see you.”

Antwan still didn’t say anything. He only stood there, staring, and Jeff’s grin was starting to falter when he abruptly walked into the room. Not so much as glancing around, his eyes entirely for Jeff as he all but fell to his knees and pulled Jeff into a tight hug. Blunt fingertips dug into Jeff’s back as if sink directly into him. His shoulders were shaking, his breath hitching, and he made a faint, shuddery sound, almost a broken sob.

“Oh, don’t,” Jeff said softly, close to tears of his own. He settled a hand on Antwan’s head, petting his short hair and painful as this was, he couldn’t remember any time he’d ever felt as loved as he did right now. Not his own family, not any lover he’d had before. There was only Antwan holding him so tightly his ribs ached, warm dampness starting to flow where his face was buried against Jeff’s neck.

More than any comfort for himself, he wanted to hold Antwan close and offer what he could to him. Under his tentative hands, Antwan felt chilly even though it wasn’t a cold night and Jeff spread his fingers wide as if he could warm him that way. Maybe he did, Antwan slowly stopped shivering as he petted and soothed. He leaned heavily against Jeff and they would have sprawled on the floor if the wall weren’t propping them up.

Jeff absently noticed Edge coming in, couldn’t spare a hand to wave at him, but he figured it didn’t matter. Edge only had eye lights for Stretch and that was just fine.

Long moments passed before Antwan finally lifted his head. His eyes were reddened, his lashes matted and damp. “You’re all right?” Antwan asked hoarsely. “They didn’t hurt you?”

All right was a little subjective right now, so Jeff went with as much truth as he could. “I’m not hurt, they barely pushed us around. Not a scratch or a bruise on me.”

That answer didn’t seem to satisfy. Antwan scowled and plucked at the crappy shirt Jeff was wearing, the one those assholes forced him to put on. He started to speak, broke off, ducked his head and tried again, but whatever words he was trying for didn’t seem to be coming.

It was so bizarre to see him this way. Antwan, who was never hesitant. He was always decisive, whether it was in a courtroom or what restaurant they were going to that night. It was one of the things Jeff loved most about Antwan; left to his own devices, he’d end up spending an hour trying to choose between Italian and Chinese takeout and still end flipping a coin.

Not Antwan. He came in and took control, knew what he wanted and how to make it happen, and he damn well did it. He was a little like Edge in that, the two of them were pretty damn formidable when they did couple’s nights.

Today his tight control seemed to have abandoned him. He’d given up on speaking and now his lips were pressed tightly together, his whole face scrunching up as if trying to keep something from exploding out.

That was worrisome and not only because he was afraid Antwan might be a little nauseous, who knew what shortcuts he’d been dragged on tonight. As much as he loved him, having his boyfriend puke in his lap would be the worst way to end this night and, cautiously, Jeff asked. “Are you okay?”

What finally burst out was about the last thing he’d ever expected, a blurt of words crammed together into not a question, but a demand. “Marry me!”

“Uh…” That wasn’t anywhere on the list of his expectations. In his arms, Antwan shifted restlessly, like he wanted to stand and pace, but didn’t want to let Jeff go.

“This was supposed to be romantic,” Antwan said and his voice sounded like every word pained him, the entire glut escaping him without so much as a breath or a pause. “I had a plan, I have a ring. I was going to take you to dinner at the most expensive place in town and propose by the fountains. We can still do that, I want to do that, but I can’t wait, I can’t.” He shifted his grip to Jeff’s shoulders, giving him a little shake like a punctuation, his face inches away. He was beautiful this close, his dark eyes all but glowing as if he’d picked up the trick from one of the local skeletons. “Edge tried to warn me, he told me time passes too fast, he told me to step up and I didn’t.”

“Yes.”

Antwan didn’t seem to hear, still talking in an endless rush, “When Red came and got me, I died inside, all I could think was that I’d waited too long and lost you because I was a coward, I was an asshole, and I need you—”

“Yes.”

He plowed on like a semi without brakes, rolling over everything in its path. “We don’t have to get married right away if you don’t want, but you should move into my place completely. No more stuff at Blue’s, we’ll get the rest of it tomorrow. No, wait, you should rest tomorrow, you’ve been through a traumatic experience, we can do it the day after. We can do it whenever I can stand to let you go, I can’t, I—"

The rest of the words were stifled under Jeff’s mouth, a firm kiss ending that outpour. His mouth froze, meeting that kiss hesitantly at first then with increasing fervency, and it was warm and wet and wonderful, perfect, so perfect, every word Jeff could manage to shake out of his mental thesaurus.

Antwan groaned into his mouth, shuddering when Jeff broke it and drew away, but he didn’t go far. He leaned back enough to look Antwan directly into those beautiful eyes as he said clearly, “Yes, I will marry you.”

“You will?” Antwan parroted dumbly, then again, louder, “You will. You will!”

He sounded, Jeff thought fondly, as if he were he were trying to convince Jeff as much as himself. Not exactly the way he’d dreamed of getting a proposal and, yeah, there was something to be said for romance, but sitting here on this dirty floor in his ugly-ass kidnapping outfit, he sure didn’t doubt Antwan’s sincerity. His chest ached with love for this wonderful, crazy man and it was only when he heard a heartfelt sigh behind him that he remembered they weren’t alone.

He turned to see the three skeletons in the room were watching with varying degrees of interest. It looked as if Edge pulled Stretch into his own lap and brought Blue along for the ride, making the skeleton stack three deep. It did not escape his notice that Edge holding onto Stretch like he was never going to let go. As fastidious as Edge could be, he only sat there on the dirty floor with him, holding Stretch like he was the most precious thing in the world which, yeah, okay, he was, to Edge.

And it sure as hell didn’t escape his notice Stretch and Blue’s eyes lights were morphed into bright little hearts, both of them watching as if their favorite daytime soap opera couple finally got together in the season finale.

Jeff only grinned, barely embarrassed. He couldn’t think of anyone else he’d rather have as an audience.

That impulse lasted about as long as it took Stretch to open his mouth. “’bout time, antwan, i was starting to think you’d never cowboy up and ask.”

“Shut up,” Antwan said automatically. Some of his normal sass must be rebooting. “I heard how you proposed, it was more like a train wreck than a question. Red bitched for a week about how much cash you lost him.”

“gonna bitch some more this time,” Stretch said, cheerily unoffended. “i got a twenty coming my way.”

“I have fifty,” Blue piped up. He clapped his hands together. “This is so wonderful! We need to have a party, we need to make plans—”

“We need to do a great deal,” Edge interrupted, not unkindly. “To begin with, let’s go home, shall we?”

Stretch must’ve finally breathed enough. He nodded and said, “yeah, let’s get the fuck out of here—whoa!"

Edge barely paused to nudge Blue to his feet before he stood, Stretch in his arms as he strode briskly to the door, “babe, no, your leg!”

His voice dwindled before Jeff could hear the rest of his protest. Blue followed them out, not without a last fond backwards glance, and left them alone.

Jeff smiled at his boyfriend, no, his fiancé and he’d never expected to be able to say that, never dared dream, and now it was his, no take backises from the universe, not this time. Politely, he asked, “you wanna get the fuck out of here?”

“Yes,” Antwan said firmly and Jeff let out a squeak of his own as he was suddenly lifted into Antwan’s arms, held close as he was carried out the door. Unlike Stretch, Jeff wasn’t about to offer a single protest. He only slipped his arms around Antwan’s neck and held on.

He’d let Antwan carry him to hell and back if needs be, but for right now, all he wanted was for his love to take him home.

tbc

[sweetestlamb]

Hands On

Summary: Dalmi appreciates the majestic wonders that are Nam Dosan’s hands. 

Author's note: I’ve never seen a ship war before in kdrama land so I was completely unprepared for some of the things I saw in this tag lol but I mean I guess it’s cool that this show is making everyone feel so much. I think Dodal is absolutely adorable as a couple and every time they hug or do anything domestic I swoon like a maiden in an erotica novel. Enjoy whatever pairing you want but I will be writing Dodal strictly as I don’t see any romance between the other pairing. I am many thoughts but not time sadly, I wrote this during my daily commute so excuse any typos and the brevity. 

Those wide palms wrap around her simultaneously comforting and overwhelming her, there are moments when those hands are mesmerizing; clicking at keys and making miracles become a reality. His brilliant mind is the catalyst but those fingers are the agents and she longs to cling to them, thank them and worship them.

Then, there other moments when they grip her face and dismantle her calm systemically taking her apart like a machine, then putting her back together effortlessly with a disarming nervous smile. His eyes squinting the way they always do when his heart is fluttering.

The first time she kisses his hand the blush that blazes across his high cheekbones is adorable, too pure. She feels dirty for imagining wrapping her lips around them and seeing how they taste.

Until she finally swallows them and he looks absolutely dazed and destroyed by the simple act, she knows in that moment she wants to be the one to do everything with him.

She wants him, Nam Dosan.

But she's never had this with anyone before, never had a shoulder to lay her head on or someone to lift her off the ground when she was so happy she thought her cheeks might crack. As much as she puts up a strong front and pushes into any space that he occupies, in the deep crevice of her mind she's just as terrified as he visibly is.

So she takes small steps, takes Dosan's advice and tests her hypothesis that he wants her as much as she wants him.

It starts with a brush of fingers, his sizeable hand is merely inches from her own and stagnant for once. He'd paused into the middle of a fit of genius, worrying his cuticle between sharp teeth. And her response is instantaneous, she snatches his hand away before peering at the skin to ensure it's not bleeding. His hands are beautiful. Strong and capable of making the impossible plausible, they should be protected at all cost.

"Don't do that, you'll make yourself bleed." She lightly chastises, twisting the digit left and right and sighing when she sees there is no permanent damage.

His eyes are bright and frantic, ping ponging between her face and her firm grasp on his hand. Soon his cheeks turn rosy and she almost laughs, even without the E.T she's able to read him like a book; they've kissed until their lips were sore but this is still enough to get his heart racing.

"I'm sorry." He softly replies, making no move to escape from her hold and looking reprimanded as if he's actually done something to her.

She wraps her empty hand around the hand she confiscated, sandwiching his hands between hers.

"Don't abuse these. I like them. A lot." She squeezes his hands tightly, stroking at the smooth skin before bringing them up to her lips and placing two smacking kisses on his wrist.

His silence is deafening but his face provides all the answers she needs, pupils dilated and his teeth now leaving indents in his bottom lip.

She vaguely wonders if he knows the indecent picture he makes, but he frequently does this unknowingly seduces her with this actions.

"You do realize that the rest of us are also in this room right? " Saha's voice cuts through the haze sounding affronted, sneering at them over her phone.

It's only then that she shifts her eyes from Dosan's pretty blush and gazes around the room, the other two members of Samsan tech are pointedly looking at the ground, Chul-san even going as far as whistling and pointing out patterns in the floor regaling about how wonderful the office is as if they haven't been here for weeks now.

She supposes she should feel embarrassed but she can't muster up any shame.

She opts to tease instead. 

Smirking at the other girl she grabs at her perfectly manicured hand across the table, "Are you jealous? Do you want some attention too hmm?"

The prissy designer squawks loudly as Dalmi puckers up and then Chul-san leaps up pushing his chair in a haste to defend the designer, bodily blocking her from Dalmi's gaze and she can't contain that giggle that bubbles up in her chest.

"I'll protect you!"

A glance over reveals that Chul-san is the one who needs protection with the glacial glare being sent his way, Saha stands in a huff leaving without any explanation. No one reacts except the goofy coder who watches her departure with forlorn eyes.

Throughout the commotion, Dalmi never releases the hand in her possession. Stroking him in light brushes that drag from wrist to knuckle.

She knows she should give him back his hand, he's trying his best to type with one hand and honestly still moving quicker than most but still she prepares to free him.

But suddenly the hand is yanked from her capture and she jolts at the sudden movement, turning to him with wide eyes.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry!" He hastily apologizes, even going as far pressing his previously snatched hand back into hers, wriggling his long fingers into her much smaller hand.

Once again his ridiculous antics disarm her and she can't help but smile at him, shaking her head before squeezing his hand and returning to her own abandoned keyboard.

"It's okay you can have your hand back, that's what makes all the magic happen." She teases him internally delighted at the more carnal thoughts that come to mind at her own words.

He's wearing his patented squinty blush™️ face now version 2.0 which includes flushed cheeks and lip biting, but he stutters out a reply after a few minutes of avoiding her eyes.

"Sorry, it's just...I was stuck on something. I couldn't make the right connection but after you....." He trails off but his eyes are fixed on her hands now, still on the table as she listens to him.

After she what? She peers back at him waiting the rest of the sentence that doesn't appear to be coming.

"After I?" She eggs him on staring up at him expectantly, even sitting he looms over her.

"Ummm...your hand. And my hand. It helped me put the pieces together."

Fondness rolls over her like a blanket as she watches this brilliant coder stutter his way through a simple explanation.

After she held his hand.

He starts to spin his chair in little half circles now, before turning back completely to his work space. Then his fingers are moving at a rapid pace, tap tap tap echoing in the room as he solves another issue as easily as he blinks.

"Thank you."

She almost misses the whispered words but she's always listening to him. She begins to shake her head, not doing anything that warrants gratitude but the smile he shoots her way leaves no room for argument.

She can do nothing but beam back at him, heart hitching when he reaches out to squeeze her hand before his friends start grumbling, she sticks her tongue out at them before skipping off to get them all coffee already memorizing all of their orders. If she stays the temptation to touch Dosan will be too much.

Her fingers are still tingling, his magic rubbing off on her.

When she makes her way back to the room Saha is back and as prickly as they're all used to. With a sigh they all throw themselves back into work.

It's been a long day, their app has crashed and no amount of tapping away at the computers is enough to fix it, she can see the way it weighs on Dosan's shoulders as if ever failure is all his fault.

After a prolonged minute he stills, his head falling onto his hands in defeat. Those broad shoulders collapsing like pillars constructed from sand. His fellow coders try to cheer him up, telling him that they will stay late with him but they all know that he doesn't need help. He so often is their lone hero.

"I'm going for walk." His voice is barely above a whisper, as he heaves himself from his chair and lifelessly stalks out the door.

Dalmi feels all eyes turn to her as she watches his exit, she wars with herself wondering if it would be better to give him space. But a voice pushes her to follow him, knowing how hard Dosan can be on himself. He's incapable of cruelty unless the one being stabbed is himself.

"I'm going to the bathroom." She lies, meaninglessly as no one believes her and Chul-san even calls out that Dosan probably went to the roof. She rolls her eyes, she already knew that. Roofs held a very special place in their relationship.

She sprints up the stairs, loose hair swinging wildly behind as she pushes the door open.

Immediately she finds her Dosan, trying to make his large body smaller sitting hunched on a metal bench, taking a minute to smooth down her flyaways she marches over to him. Pep talk on the tip of her tongue.

But she's intercepted as a new figure enters her field of vision, long amber brown hair blowing in the wind. The unknown woman stalks over to Dosan, Dalmi bristles as she watches the woman reapply lipstick before closing the gap.

She can't hear the words but she instantly knows that Dosan is being flirted with and has no idea of the occurrence, he had jumped when first approached and then after a puppy-esque head tilt started to explain something, hands in motion.

Fire simmers in her veins the longer the conversation drags on, soon the woman has taken a seat and she is all easy smiles and constant hair tucks. Then she starts to lean into his space and Dalmi brightens when he scoots away, maintaining the distance between them.

Dalmi reaches for her scrunchie, slipping it from her wrist and catching her hair up in a loose ponytail.

Marching over she walks until she's right in front of the coder, for once looking down at him before reaching out and taking his hand. Using all her strength she pulls him, at first he's rigid and immoveable and then he's standing and allowing himself to be yanked into her orbit.

The woman glares at her before raising an eyebrow, "Who are you? We were having a conversation." Annoyance drips off every word that falls from her lips.

Dalmi steps forward, as Dosan steps behind her dwarfed by her despite their laughable difference in height.

"I'm his CEO."

She glares harder at Dalmi. Now standing as well, arms crossed petulantly.

"You're just his CEO. Why are you interrupting?"

Dosan's breath hitches in the background and Dalmi wonders if he finally realized what was happening just now.

"He can't fraternize with the enemy. We're going now."

A part of her wonders if she's overstepping her boundaries but when she turns to face Dosan he's squinting into the distance and she knows that her jealousy is not unwelcomed.

When she has Dosan safely away from the poacher, she peers up at him his hand still curled around her own.

"I'm sorry."

His unwarranted apology snaps her back to reality, she almost groans at herself. She wasn't normally a possessive person but Dosan made her act stupid sometimes.

Instead of acknowledging his apology she replies, "Do you know why she was talking to you?"

He stares at her blankly before it morphs to confusion and then realization.

His eyes widen.

He nods solemnly.

"Yeah I know why."

She watches his face avidly as he opens his lips to speak once more.

"She wanted...my coding secrets. That's why she was asking me about myself and for my number. She was probably trying to become my friend to sabotage us. I promise I didn't tell her anything."

Her brain careens as she processes the new information, teeth clenching at the thought of Dosan giving another woman his number.

Then his words sink in and her stomach unclenches minutely, she believes him. But a little voice in the back of her head offers some doubt and she braces herself.

"What if she wasn't trying to use you? Would you give her your number?"

She barely as to wait a full second for a response.

"No. Why would I do that?"

"Maybe you need someone to talk to."

He looks at her as if she's grown another head, "I have Chul-san and Yong-san."

Her hold loosens.

"And I have you." He grabs the point of her chin, drawing her head up until their eyes lock once more. The warmth from his hand sinks into her skin and she nuzzles into his palm before drawing him into a hug, standing on her tip toes to wrap her arms around his neck.

After a pregnant pause he melts into her embrace, deep breaths landing on her shoulder.

"You'll figure it out. I know you will."

He nods slowly, buckled over as he tightens his hold on her waist.

"Thanks for coming for me."

She mentally makes a note to pray the next time she's in church, thank the Lord for putting him in her life perhaps he was her guardian angel sent to make heathens like her believers.

She's drunk. She can feel the alcohol singing her in blood as she sways on the sidewalk. They'd all agreed to go out for drinks to celebrate, they were in the final two for Sandbox. It was surreal and before she knew it she had stumbled from giggly and tipsy into sloshed and incoherent.

Dosan looms beside her, her shoulder bag strung across his wide chest as he watches her in the corner of his eye. The others had bulldozed into Saha's car despite the designer threatening to dump their bodies on the highway.

So here they were alone.

When the bus finally arrived, strong arms lift her taking all her weight before caroling her into a back seat of the bus. She hums happily, fuzzy memory resurfacing of them holding hands on the bus. Without thought she reaches out and catches his hand, needing to feel his skin.

His hands are slightly damp but she doesn't care, she wants all of him sweat included.

She blinks awake at his whispers of her name and soft shoves, groggy she stands up letting him guide her like she's a young child. Her nap has sobered her up some and she's thankful she decided to forgo heels today, instead donning simple flats with a gold buckle.

"Do you need a piggyback?"

She turns at his offer, considering it but that means she would have to let go of his hands and that's simply not an option. She wants to enjoy every second she has remaining with those hands.

She shakes her head in decline, squeezing his hand as they trek up the incline to her house. The moon shines big and bright in the sky, washing them with its rays.

"You're home." He announces, looking down at her fondly before she starts to swing their arms between them.

He starts to pull her bag over his head, and the words tumble out of her mouth, her tongue loosened by all the alcohol she's consumed.

"What do you like about me?"

He stills at her question, eyes widening before his lips shift open. He looks lost for a minute and her patience wears thin as she awaits his response, when none arrives she huffs stomping her feet and repeating louder, "What do you like about me?"

Still he stares wordlessly and she drags her hand away, snatching her bag and turning to enter her house. She takes three and a half steps before he catches her wrist, she doesn't turn around but she pauses her escape.

A deep winded breaths swooshes past her ear and then he replies, "I...I like a lot."

She glares over her shoulder, and he withers under her stare. Large hands reaching out to caress her jaw as he looks at her with liquid eyes.

"Umm your smile, you have a great smile."

Said smile makes a guest appearance and she hums, "What else?" He smiles at her, the juxtaposition not lost on him.

"Your confidence, you believe in yourself." The and me is silent but still there. That brings a sad smile to her face, his own confidence is a work in progress. Suddenly dehydrated she swipes her tongue across the surface of her upper lip, pulling the bottom in and releasing it with a wet smack.

The act lasts all of three seconds but Dosan freezes, eyes fixated on her mouth although nothing is happening now.

His fingers inch towards her mouth until she can feel the heat and she waits for his next move.

When he makes none, she steps closer tugging him to meet her halfway.

Then finally as if that were his cue, he presses his thumb into her bottom lip, running across the plump moist flesh utterly entranced and red faced.

"I like your lips."

His actions are speaking loud enough but his words scorch her up and before she can consider the fact that they are outside her house, she swivels her head and pops his thumb into her mouth, his salty flavor exploding on her tongue. His hand feels even larger inside of her and she moans at the sensation.

His eyes are blown out and he's so still she doubts he's breathing, he looks helpless as he watches her sink further down the wide digit.

She swirls her tongue around the pad of this thumb and she swears Dosan melts into her. All of his bones seeming to liquefy.

When she slides off his thumb he's still dazed and dumbfounded, lips opening and closing like a fish sputtering on land.

She's nothing if not an opportunist and she crashes into him, tugging him down to meet her as she sucks the soju off his tongue. He groans into the kiss but lets her lead, bending when she grapples with his shoulder.

They kiss like that for a few seconds, twisting and turning to devour each other before she feels him drifting away and before she can whine at the loss of his lips, her feet leave the ground and they are eye level.

His hands are vices on her lower back, pressing her immeasurably close to his solid torso.

She wraps her legs around him like a koala and before he can combust from their provocative position she's already licking into his mouth, gripping his hair tightly as she moves him as she pleases.

One of his hands creep up and cup the back of her head, and then she's being moved backwards until her back slams into something solid. He tries to pull away, concern contorting his features but she dives into his neck nipping at the hot skin there. She suckles roughly, knowing that she'll leave a mark and anticipating the pretty mark on his blemish free skin.

Then as quickly as his fingers typically move on his keyboard he backs away from her.

She's unprepared for her legs to crash back onto the ground and she looks up at him disgruntled, question forming before her door bursts open.

Then the sweet familiar voice of her grandmother cuts through the tension that has settled between them.

"Dalmi is that you?"

Dosan grabs her bag swinging it back  over his shoulder again, standing ramrod straight like he’s rehearsing for a role in the army. 

Tipsy now from his kiss, she turns around meeting her grandmother's eyes. Trying her damnest not to look as ravished as she feels, her lips are tender in a the right ways.

"Oh goodness look at you. You look a mess, you stuck your head out the window again didn't you? Look at how red and sore your lips are!"

She pointedly doesn't react to the exclamation but Dosan shuffles in her peripheral. Guilty and nervous. 

Thankfully grandmother hasn't yet learned his many tells.

"Thank you for bringing her home." She thanks Dosan sending an indulgent smile his way, before guiding Dalmi into the house. She twists around to wave good bye to Dosan and notices her bag still over his shoulder. She opens her mouth to call out and get it back before she notices how red Dosan is, his cheeks look painfully tinged but that's nothing compared to his white knuckled grip on her bag which is strategically placed in front of his groin.

Oh.

She's makes a show of looking him up and down before licking her mouth, ever so slowly and puckering at him. The last thing she sees before her door closes is Dosan wringing his hand, looking devastated.

She can't wait to get her hands on him.

[rhosyn-du]

Never make a mess when a total catastrophe will do - Chapter Eight

Pairings: Jimon, past Clace, background Clizzy, a bunch of other minor background pairings Rating: Explicit Art: @cor321​ Beta: @all-thestories-aretrue​ Tags:  Alternate Universe - College/University, fake dating, oh my god they were roommates, friends with benefits, idiots to lovers, pining, miscommunication, holidays, drinking games, mistletoe, symbolically significant Oreos, domestic fluff, brief mention of past character death, Jace’s self-worth issues deserve their own tag Summary: What do you do when you find out your sister is not only dating your ex and love-of-your-high-school-life but is also bringing her home for Christmas? Bring your annoying, hot, annoyingly-hot roommate as your fake boyfriend to show them you're totally fine with it, obviously! There's no possible way this could backfire. Link: AO3 , Tumblr Master Post

Chapter Eight

“If you’re taking me to a strip club, I’m walking out and crashing Magnus’s bachelor party.”

“Dude, have a little faith.” Jace grabbed Alec’s elbow and helped him out of the car.

“And stop scrunching your nose to try to see through the blindfold,” Izzy said from Alec’s other side. “We can see you doing it. Besides, do you really think there aren’t going to be strippers at Magnus’s party? Have you met Catarina and Ragnor?”

“Yes, and I trust their taste in strippers more than I trust yours.”

“I think I’m supposed to be insulted,” Izzy said, opening a door so Jace could usher Alec through, “but honestly, I kind of just want to ask Cat if she knows any good strip clubs I can take Clary to for our next date night.”

Alec made a pained sound. “Can I request a moratorium on anything that involves strippers and any of my siblings?”

“You can request it,” Jace said, “but it doesn’t mean we’ll listen. Mind the gap; you’re about to step into an elevator.”

“Isn’t my bachelor party supposed to be about things I like?”

Izzy pushed the button for their floor. “No, it’s supposed to be about doing things with your friends and siblings before you get married and forget all about us.”

“Iz, I meet you for drinks literally every week. I’m not going to stop just because Magnus and I are married instead of engaged.” A slow smile spread across Alec’s face. “I’m marrying Magnus tomorrow.”

“Yeah, you are.” Jace patted Alec’s shoulder as the elevator doors slid open. “Almost there, buddy.”

They led Alec out of the elevator and down the hall.

“Okay stop,” Izzy said when they reached their destination. “You can take the blindfold off now.”

Alec made a show of keeping his eyes squeezed shut as he pulled off the blindfold, opening one eye slowly as though bracing for something horrible. Jace saw the moment Alec recognized where he was, his shoulders relaxing all at once.

Alec glanced between his siblings, unimpressed. “This is the door to our loft. I live here.”

“I told you I was going to plan you the perfect bachelor party,” Jace said. “Did you really want to spend your last night as a single man somewhere else?”

“Your party awaits, big brother,” Izzy said, swinging the door open.

“Alexander!” Magnus met them at the door, smiling broadly. “I was beginning to wonder if you were ever going to show up.”

“We had to drive around enough that he wouldn’t know where we were going,” Jace explained. “You know what his crazy sense of direction is like.”

Alec gave his fiancé a questioning look. “What happened to separate bachelor parties being an important part of the tradition?”

“Ragnor and Catarina reminded me that some traditions really aren’t that important,” Magnus said airily. “Especially when breaking them would make you happy.”

“He means he sulked and whined about having to spend all night away from you until we suggested a joint party,” Catarina said, handing Alec a martini and Izzy something dark and fruity with far too many cherries. “And then he pretended like it was all our idea.”

“It was pitiful, really,” Ragnor added. “At one point, he actually languished on my couch to moan about it like some discount gothic heroine.”

“And on that note,” Magnus said, taking Alec’s arm, “my fiancé and I will be going to join our friends who don’t intend to spend all evening mocking me.”

“That’s really sweet, you know,” Alec said as he let Magnus lead him away.

“Well,” Ragnor said, “it’s my duty as Magnus’s co-best-man to make sure he is sufficiently mocked this evening, so I suppose I must follow.” He looked at Jace and Izzy. “I believe Clary and Simon are in the kitchen putting the finishing touches on the cupcakes.”

Jace threw Izzy a questioning look. “Cupcakes?”

Izzy shook her head. “Must have been something Ragnor and Catarina planned. Let’s go see.”

The cupcakes, it turned out, were dick-shaped. And because it was Clary decorating them, they were very accurately dick-shaped.

“Oh yeah,” Izzy laughed, “this was definitely Cat’s doing.”

“Cat was in charge of baking, I’m in charge of decorating,” Clary confirmed, eyeing the cupcake she was working on critically. “Devil’s food cake with a chocolate-and-whiskey ganache filling and a variety of different icings. We’re calling them cock-cakes. Simon, pass me the lemon buttercream?”

“You got it, boss,” Simon said, grabbing one of the many pastry bags lined out on the counter and handing it to Clary before stepping over to Jace and greeting him with a warm smile that made Jace’s insides melt. “Hi.”

“Hi, yourself.” Jace couldn’t help his answering smile, couldn’t help drawing Simon into a soft kiss that felt easier than it probably should. “If I knew you were going to be creating culinary dick art without me, I would have made Iz drive Alec around on her own.”

“I’m mostly just assisting.” Simon leaned into him, stealing another quick kiss. “Clary’s the real artistic genius behind this masterpiece.”

“It’s true, my girlfriend is a genius,” Izzy agreed happily, walking over to wrap her arms around Clary’s waist from behind.

“Right now, this artistic genius is being distracted from finishing her cupcakes by too many people in the kitchen. You two,” she gestured at Simon and Jace, “take that finished tray out to the table.”

“Wait, how come we have to be the ones to leave?” Simon wondered. “Izzy’s being way more distracting than we are.”

“Because she’s cuter than you are,” Clary said without looking up from her cupcakes. “Go.”

Jace looked at Simon. “The lady has spoken, I guess. Come on, let’s go watch Alec pretend he doesn’t think these cupcakes are hilarious.”

~~~

Jace couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this happy. He wasn’t sure he ever had been this happy. The joint bachelor party had been a rousing success—cock-cakes, a stripper who was definitely not better than he would have hired, and all—and Jace was so glad he and Izzy had been able to help do this for Alec. And it had been amazing to see Alec so joyful and so obviously in love, to see Izzy and Clary and how happy they made each other. To feel the possibility of a love like that for himself every time Simon took his hand, to see it every time Simon smiled at him, to hear it every time Simon said his name.

It was enough to make him want to be a little reckless. Maybe even reckless enough to tell Simon that he was more to Jace than a fake-boyfriend-with-benefits, that Jace wanted them to be more. It was hardly a new thought, but Jace thought that maybe he was finally ready to say the words out loud.

“Hey, there’s something I want to talk to you about,” Simon said, as if reading his thoughts. “When we get back to the hotel,” he added, throwing a pointed glance at their Uber driver.

Jace smiled at him. “Sure. I actually wanted to talk to you, too.”

“Cool.” Simon sounded nervous. Jace could relate. Now that this was actually happening, he felt like he had an entire kaleidoscope of butterflies in his chest.

Jace’s butterflies hadn’t calmed down any by the time they made it back to their room, and he could practically feel the nervous energy radiating off Simon as he kicked his shoes off and started pulling out his clothes for morning.

“So,” Jace said, leaning against the wall with an affected casualness, “what did you want to talk about?”

Simon squared his shoulders, turned to face him. “I can’t do this anymore.”

Jace’s whole world rocked sideways. “What?”

This was not how this conversation was supposed to go.

“This whole fake dating thing. It was a mistake. I probably shouldn’t even have suggested it in the first place, but I thought—” He shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. I was wrong, and I can’t keep pretending with you, so.” He took a deep breath, obviously steeling himself. “So, this is has to be it. After the wedding tomorrow, no more pretending.”

“Oh.” It was all Jace could find it in himself to say. He reached for the bravado he would normally wrap around himself in a situation like this, but it had deserted him entirely. “I can’t keep pretending with you.” It had all been pretend for Simon. And Jace didn’t even have any right to be hurt by it, because it was what he’d agreed to.

“It’s just,” Simon continued, “seeing Alec and Magnus so happy tonight, and seeing the way Clary and Izzy are together, and even the dumb text Becky sent me earlier about how excited she is to see Maia tomorrow, it all made me realize just how much I want that. I want it with someone I love who loves me back, and you—”

“And I’m not a relationship kind of guy,” Jace finished for him. He didn’t actually need to hear all the reasons that would never be him. He was aware of his own failings.

“Right.” Simon’s voice was barely above a whisper, all his nervous energy having drained away.

“I get it.” Jace forced a smile. Maybe he couldn’t be someone Simon wanted to really be with, but he could at least pretend he wasn’t devastated by that fact. “You deserve that kind of happiness, maybe more than anyone I know. I hope—” He drew in a sharp breath. He would not let his voice tremble. “I hope you find someone who can give it to you.”

He turned away, unable to maintain the facade any longer. “I’m going to hit the shower before bed.” He wasn’t proud of having to hide the bathroom with his feelings, but he couldn’t stay here with Simon, not now.

Jace spent a long time under the shower’s spray. Until he was sure Simon must have fallen asleep. Until he was sure all his tears had washed away.

~~~

Best man duties were almost enough to distract Jace from his own problems for most of the next morning, and he threw himself into making sure everyone in the wedding party was where they were supposed to be when they were supposed to be, keeping Max away from anything flammable, and keeping Maryse and Robert away from each other. In the thankfully rare moments of downtime, he forced himself to put on a lighthearted demeanor. He wasn’t going to let anything get in the way of Alec having a perfect wedding, especially not his own stupid feelings.

He should have known that Alec would see right through him.

“You okay?”

Jace glanced up from the mirror he was using to fix his bowtie. Everything was set, everyone was in their proper places, and Jace had nothing left to do but keep Alec company and wait for the ceremony to start.

“I’m fine. I’m not the one getting married in,” Jace checked his watch, “twenty-three minutes.”

“Don’t deflect. You’re doing that thing you do with your eyebrows when something’s really bothering you, and I’m not doing anything for the next twenty-three minutes if you want to talk about it.”

“What I want,” Jace told him, “is for you to stop worrying about other people and get your ass married.”

“Fair enough,” Alec agreed. “But I’m here when you do want to talk about it. I know I’ve been completely wrapped up in wedding stuff for a while, but you’re still my brother and my best friend, and I don’t want you to think you’re any less important to me now than you always have been.”

Jace walked over and put a hand on Alec’s shoulder. “The only complaint I have about you being wrapped up in wedding stuff is how sappy it’s apparently made you.”

Alec chuckled. “Oh god, that was really sappy, wasn’t it? Shit.” He wiped at his eyes. “I think I might actually cry out there. You’re not allowed to make fun of me if I do.”

“Buddy,” Jace said gravely, “as your brother and best man, it is my solemn duty to make fun of you for it for the rest of our lives. But I’ll wait until you’re back from your honeymoon.”

Alec didn’t cry during the ceremony. Jace noticed a few moments when he had distinctly watery eyes, though, and filed those away for future teasing. Then Alec and Magnus were kissing and the ceremony was over and Jace had absolutely nothing left to distract him from his thoughts.

Especially when the subject of those thoughts was waiting for him in the reception hall, looking as hot as Jace had ever seen him in a perfectly tailored black suit. Jace had managed to avoid looking for Simon during the wedding, and seeing him now hit like a punch to the gut. His emotions were still too raw to deal with what had happened the night before, and there was only one way he was going to make it through this. Luckily, it was the thing he was supposed to be doing. Namely, pretending his ass off.

So he greeted Simon with a warm smile and a kiss to the cheek before settling into his seat. They were at a table with the rest of the wedding party, along with Clary, and it was all so familiar that Jace had no trouble falling back into his role, teasing the hell out of Alec and congratulating the happy couple. Simon made it easy, not acting any different than he had before their conversation, never hesitating to offer small touches and gestures of physical affection, even moving his chair closer so they could lean into each other once they were done eating. It would have made Jace a little sick if he let himself think about it, which he pointedly did not.

Jace let himself get lost in it. It was stupid, and probably a little selfish, but if this was the last time he would ever get to be with Simon like this, he was going to enjoy it.

“Dance with me.” He didn’t mean to say it, but apparently he’d had enough champagne that he wasn’t quite thinking before speaking anymore. He knew as soon as he said it that he’d overstepped. After all, look what had happened the last time they’d danced together.

“Oh.” Simon looked genuinely shocked by the suggestion. “I, uh...”

“I mean,” Jace backpedaled, “if you want to.”

“I believe I might fancy a dance, myself,” Ragnor said. He extended his hand to Madzie, the flower girl and Catarina’s daughter. “Might I have this dance, young lady?”

“Can we do the twirls?” Madzie asked, jumping up from her chair and spinning around to demonstrate.

“Obviously,” Ragnor told her seriously. “After all, what’s the point of dancing without twirls?”

Madzie didn’t bother to give a verbal answer, just grabbed Ragnor’s hand and skipped off toward the dance floor.

“With any luck, that will help her work off some of the sugar buzz from all that cake.” Catarina gave Magnus a long look. “I can’t believe you gave her a second slice.”

“My dearest Catarina, it’s my wedding day, and I will spoil my goddaughter if I want to.”

Catarina scoffed. “You say that like you don’t spoil her every day.”

“It’s true,” Alec agreed. “We might need to give her a third slice if we want to spoil her extra today.” He managed to keep a straight face right up until Cat’s napkin hit him in the face.

“I think I might need to dance off my own sugar buzz,” Izzy announced, grabbing Clary’s hand. “Come on, hot stuff. Let’s go shake our booties.”

Clary laughed. “I can’t exactly say no when you’re offering to shake your booty for me.”

“You know what?” Simon said suddenly. The look he gave Jace was challenging. “I do want to dance.”

It was Jace’s turn to be shocked, but he recovered quickly. “Okay.” He met Simon’s challenge with a smirk. “Let’s dance.”

Jace’s bravado was shaken slightly when the music transitioned to a slow love song right as they made it to the dance floor. But Simon didn’t hesitate, stepping onto the dance floor and drawing him close.

For several seconds, neither of them spoke, rocking gently to the music. They danced close enough that Jace could hear Simon’s breaths, feel them against his cheek. It was too much and not enough all at once, and Jace had to say something or he was going to go crazy.

“Thanks, by the way. For, you know, all of this. I don’t think I ever said that.”

“There’s nothing to thank me for.” Simon’s voice was low and intimate. “This was as much for me as it was for you.”

Jace wanted to say that it couldn’t possibly be, that if any of this meant half what it did to him for Simon, then he wouldn’t be able to give it up so easily. But that would have been deeply unfair, no matter how true, so instead he just said, “Well, thank you, anyway.”

Simon pulled back just enough to look him in the eye, and Jace didn’t understand why he looked so sad. “Thank you.”

And then they were kissing, slow and gentle, and Jace didn’t even remember moving, but he must have or how else could they have gotten here? All the longing and heartbreak he’d been pushing down all day rose up, threatening to break him open and spill out all over the dance floor. The only things holding him together were Simon’s arms around him, Simon’s body pressed against his as they swayed to near-forgotten music, Simon’s mouth on his.

When the song ended and Simon pulled away from him, Jace stumbled and had to force himself upright.

“Come back to the hotel with me,” he said urgently. He couldn’t just let Simon go, he realized, not without at least trying. They could go back to their room, and they could talk, and Jace would somehow find the words to convince Simon to stay. “Please.”

Simon closed his eyes and visibly steeled himself. When he opened them again, Jace knew he’d lost before he even had the chance to put up a fight.

“I already made plans to hang out with Becky and Maia tonight. You know, sibling and sibling’s-maybe-girlfriend bonding. Maia’s going to give me a ride back to Boston in the morning.” He took Jace’s hand and lifted it to his mouth to place a gentle kiss on his knuckles, then pressed something small and metal into his palm before letting go.

Jace couldn’t do anything but watch him walk away, the weight of his father’s ring heavier than it had any right to be in his hand.

~~~

The apartment was quiet when Jace got home, and he was both relieved that he wouldn’t have to face Simon yet and disappointed because, as much as he hated that he would have to box his feelings away, he missed Simon, even though it had only been two days since they’d last seen each other.

He found the note pinned to the refrigerator, held in place by the Spider-Man magnet that he’d gotten Simon as a “congrats on surviving a horrible lab partner and not failing chemistry” gift last year.

Staying at Bat’s for a while. -S

That was all. Nothing about why Simon had left or when he was coming back. If he was coming back. Jace’s fingers almost itched with the need to text Simon to find out exactly what the hell was going on, but the fact that Simon had left a note instead of texting suggested he didn’t mean for this to be a discussion.

Not that Jace actually needed a discussion. Simon had made it very clear that things were over between the two of them, that he didn’t feel the same way about Jace that Jace did about him, and instead of accepting it and moving on like a good friend would have, he’d kissed Simon at the wedding. He’d been on the verge of begging Simon to give him a chance. Of course Simon didn’t want to see him right now. He wouldn’t want to see him, either.

For half a second, Jace considered taking Alec up on his offer to call if he needed to talk, but Alec was on his honeymoon, and Jace might on occasion be a self-centered asshole, but he didn’t want to be that much of a self-centered asshole. Instead, he grabbed his half-empty package of Double Stuf Oreos and took them to the couch, where he turned on Return of the Jedi and bundled himself up in the fleece blanket Simon always used when his feet got too cold in winter.

When the movie was over and the Oreos were long gone, he dragged the blanket into Simon’s room and curled up on his bed, on top of the covers. Sleeping on top of Simon’s bed wasn’t as pathetic as sleeping in Simon’s bed, he reasoned. Especially if no one was there to see it. And if the fleece blanket kept any tears from getting on Simon’s comforter, then he wasn’t really crying.

[skinks]

Food for thot.....Richie getting rug burn on his face from getting pounded into the carpet. Yes its before an interview and yes its is from a tiktok but I don't know anyone that would appreciate this like u would. Thank u 😔

no, thank YOU!!! WOW!!! I know @pineapplecrushface wrote about Eddie having face rug burn in this post here and it’s such a funny concept I want it for Richie too.

Like, the heat comes from the fact that they couldn’t even wait to move to the bed. They’re cuddling on the couch, sweet kissing turns hotter, heavier, they’re rolling off the couch and knocking shit over on the coffee table, wrestling like they always used to. But now Eddie’s shoving himself up and noisily ripping his belt through the loops like grabbing a snake by its head behind the metal fangs. Both of them panting and swearing and laughing, Richie goading him on like c’mon slugger, c’mon baby, let’s see you go the fuck to town, except he gets more than he bargained for because Eddie’s going NUTS like I wanna, Rich I really fucking wanna, on your front, your knees, let me, and Richie’s already trying to turn over, kicking his pants down his sweating thighs and grinning so hard he can hardly reply back yeah yeah yeah fuck me through the floor, Eddie, ‘course I’ll let you, you can do anything you put that batshit little mind to.

And y’know, Richie grabs a leg of the coffee table for purchase but that’s getting shoved across the floor with the force of it too. Movie’s still playing. Feels briefly surreal, the sound of a chic Soderbergh heist chopped up roughly between the louder sounds of fucking, and of getting fucked. His other hand’s ripping scores against the pile of the carpet, knees are burnt, glasses are nearly bent against his face until he pushes them up and off and Eddie takes them away because his hand is there, suddenly, grabbing Richie’s fucked up hair like he can’t bear not to be touching him everywhere for reassurance now that Richie can hardly see.

Eddie’s everywhere, the glide of his thighs and the scrape of his shoved-down jeans burning open the insides of Richie’s spread legs, the stretch and pressure angling down tight into his stomach as Eddie presses his cock balls-deep and yanks hard on Richie’s hips at the same time. Pulls up, buries himself hard in Richie’s body and holds him there for a moment to grind the ridges of his abs right against Richie’s lower back, mossy with dark hair flattened to his tailbone. Eddie moans between his shoulderblades and Richie chokes into the carpet, Eddie holding him fast and pushing, pushing, socks rasping against the carpet to brace themselves.

It’s one of those fucks of a lifetime, every time he swings his feet up next to Eddie’s on the coffee table he’s gonna remember how he was so glad Eddie kept him face down and ass up, cause otherwise his entire dick and balls would be chafing a slick band of precum into the carpet too, burnt and red as their skinny little forearms got as kids, when they’d attack and grab at each other with both hands, twisting opposite directions til it hurt, because violence was the only way to touch each other with an audience back then and apparently the habit takes some breaking.

Now they’re good at breaking all their worst habits together. They can touch each other gently, even in public. After Eddie’s rubbed him raw against the floor and come so hard in short, sharp, knocking thrusts that left him shaken and incoherent against Richie’s aching shoulders, after he grabbed his own discarded shirt and, still hard and throbbing, coaxed Richie to buck his cum into it instead of the carpet—he smooths some aloe vera into Richie’s stinging cheek. They were still both naked and dripping, but he insisted.

Eddie’s always achingly sweet when he feels he’s gone too far, still sometimes forgetting there are ways to love each other rough that aren’t cruelty, and ways to care for each other soft that aren’t coddling.

It’s nice though, nostalgic for the times spent just the two of them, when the need to compete against and for each other’s attention waned and Richie could make a production of kissing Eddie’s twisted forearm better. Big smacking kiss between the red imprints of his own fingers, to match the burn in Eddie’s face as he grabbed at Richie’s noodly arm to give one back, never to be outdone.

“Hold still,” Eddie murmurs now. “I’m kissing it better.” He cups Richie’s other cheek and draws him down to kiss long and slow where the arch of his dark stubble turns an angry pink underneath. Puts his other arm around Richie’s shoulders and kneels there next to him on the bed, held right back around his waist. Gentling his lips all over Richie’s face.

“You kissing me better, baby? You little sex demon.”

“Yeah. You feel better?”

“I always feel better now. You kissed me all better.”

“Loved you all better.” Eddie turns him so he’s kissing at Richie’s broad, smiling mouth. “God. Gross. I love you so fucking much.”

“Ghh-huh. Ah. I love you, Eds.” For a moment Richie stares at him, helpless. One of his eyes always squints up harder when he grins, but Eddie likes being able to see the crinkly corners when Richie’s not wearing his glasses. He strokes them. Richie makes a tiny noise. “And they say I’m the sap.”

“You’re a fuckin’ pine tree.”

“Yep!” Richie sticks his tongue out gleefully, straight into Eddie’s mouth.

“Don’t say it—!”

“You climb me, and I get you all sticky!”

Eddie wheezes as Richie nuzzles into his shoulder, tightening his arms around Eddie’s waist. His sore cheekbone is hard and hot against Eddie’s cooling skin. “What are you—giggling about?!”

Richie falls back to the mattress, tugging Eddie down with him. The breath shudders through Eddie’s punctured, healed chest like there’s still a hole there and he squeezes his eyes shut against Richie’s collarbones. He shakes with it sometimes, how much of this he gets to feel and have and keep to himself, overwhelmed giddiness lurching his stomach out miles above his body. That’d be bad. He’s already lost a couple organs just for loving Richie Tozier, but the difference is—he can live without the organs.

Eddie squeezes Richie’s thigh between his own and hides his crumpling face in the fuzzy ditch of his broad chest, in case Richie thinks he’s upset and stops laughing.

He pinches the soft give of Richie’s tricep. He’s hugging Eddie so tight, his little yelp buzzes Eddie’s ear. “What are you fucking giggling about!”

“I have—I have that promo thing tomorrow, I’m gonna look like I made out with a brick wall!”

Eddie’s jostled with the gusts of Richie’s laughter. He keeps his eyes closed. He supports Richie’s career, he really does, but no matter how hard he tries Eddie can’t seem to stop providing juicy fodder for talk-show stories. “Fuck. Fuck, fuck, it’s okay, you can get them to cover it up before—”

“No! No way, and pass up walking out there like Harvey fuckin’ Dent because my hot as hell boyfriend railed me across the floor like a lawnmower?”

“That doesn’t—you don’t fuck lawnmowers, how do you fuck a lawnmower!”

“Very carefully! You sound like one sometimes, though, Jesus, how you get all revved up. Okay, something about carpets matching drapes, or—wait, wait, Dented? Harvey Dented? Dented my ass, or something, there’s a joke there, I promise—”

Eddie gives in to the snort building up in his sinuses. Richie’s whole face is pink with happiness when Eddie levers himself up onto an elbow for a look at him, not just the rug burn like a strawberry birthmark blooming from his temple to his jaw.

“That’s weak shit,” Eddie says. Richie’s grin only gets wider when he sees Eddie’s laughing too, so Eddie nudges a kiss against his endearingly goofy-ass overbite. “Two-Face is obvious. You wanna do a Batman joke, it’s gotta be like—you wanna know how I got these scars?”

Richie shrieks with laughter at Eddie’s nasally Joker (really just an imitation of Richie’s, and thank fuck it’s improved from sounding vaguely Pennywise-ish, that’s a real mood-killer) and piledrives him over into the bedspread. “Genius! Genius, holy shit, you know it gives me such a boner when you do Voices! You wanna know how I got these scars? Well, one day, Daddy Kaspbrak came home all riled up and wanting to play—”

Eddie pretends to gag though his laughter, rubbing at the backs of Richie’s squirming thighs with his heels like a cricket. “Do not call me Daddy Kaspbrak when we’re naked—or ever, what the fuck—”

“Whipped his belt off—”

“No!”

“Hey Eddie, you wanna know how I got this jawline?” Eddie’s careful with Richie’s sore cheek, even as Richie’s gnawing at his throat. Cups his hand to it for protection against Eddie’s own stubbly jaw. Then Richie’s groping at one of Eddie’s asscheeks, lifting his thigh, and, shit, looks like this afternoon might be a twofer. “Do ya, Eddie?”

“Fine, how?”

Richie waggles his stupid eyebrows. “Lemme show you the workout!”

“Oh, Christ—don’t hurt your face,” Eddie gasps, but Richie’s already moving south.

-

The host asks about Richie’s face—obviously. It had faded a little from that vicious red, but not enough to escape attention, especially since his entire shit-eating demeanour was clearly begging for enquiry.

“What happened, man, you get in a fight?”

“No—no! Look at me, dude, I can’t even get heckled without being like yeah, you’re right. Y’know, you’ve got a point. If someone tried to fight me I’d probably join in.” Richie grins and glances at the camera. “Nah, I’m more of a lover.”

[olivarryprompts]

Fanfic Friday #7

Welcome to Fanfic Friday! Each Friday I will post a new fanfic here and on A03. Enjoy x

Read and save it on A03 here https://archiveofourown.org/works/32577124

{the anatomy of caring}

Ships: minor stevetony, focused on Tony & Peter

Warnings: none, it’s just fluff :)

Wc: 2355

It was obvious to anyone who knew the two well. It was Steve and Tony, Iron Man and the Captain. It simply made sense. If the logic wasn’t enough, the two looked at home with one and another. They slipped together like puzzle pieces. Tony always helped Steve through the confusion of a new world, and Steve always knew just how to help Tony deal with the anxiety of their reality. They were the perfect couple, and they both knew that.

Then, the spiderling came along. Tony saw a mirror image of himself in Spiderman. A young, ambitious boy who had the curse and gift of superhuman powers. He defied death each day he swung between buildings, and Tony couldn’t help but be enthralled. He couldn’t help but figure out who the kid was (It was pretty easy to figure out it was a kid, considering he only showed up outside of school hours). Steve, knowing his lover so well, knew instantly how protective Tony felt over the kid he’d merely stalked on the internet.

So when Tony explained the plan to show up at Peter’s with the “Stark Internship” it was no surprise to the captain. To the rest of the team, who’d all moved into the tower, it was a complete shock. The fact that Tony Stark, genius, billionaire, playboy, wanted to help this kid hone his powers and skills.

“You,” Bruce said, “Want to help this kid..what? Be a superhero?” “Well, someone’s gotta,” Tony explained like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Someone has to?” Nat questioned. “He can’t go around swinging off rooftops and beating up bad guys without any training. Or backup.” “Correct me if I am wrong, but didn’t your idiot ass do that?” Sam questioned. “I was not a kid. And I had money, friends, people,” Tony wildly gesticulated. “I am beyond confused,” Nat laughed. “Same train as Romanoff,” Clint agreed. “Guys, this is not that hard. Come on. Let’s take this scenario. He ends up meeting some guys, and, instead of, say, winning, he loses. And either he dies, or gets badly injured. Who does he have? No one? He bleeds out. He’s a kid for fuck sake.” “Cap’s been awfully quiet,” Clint pointed out. “What? I knew this was coming days ago,” Steve explained with a smile, “I know my man. He wasn't just gonna let this kid get himself into trouble if he could do anything about it. Plus, Tony doesn’t keep tabs, he violently invades lives.” Tony shot him a look. “With love, invades with lots and lots of love,” he quickly fixes, flashing his million dollar smile at his boy. Tony just rolled his eyes and focused on addressing the group, “Look, I know it’s a lot, but I think it’s just what I have to do. And I own the tower, so, my choice,” he said with a hint of banter in his voice. Tony headed towards the elevator. “Where the hell are you going?” Sam asked. “The spiderling’s.”

Tony left before he could hear any of the exasperated responses. It was a fair drive down to Queen’s where the boy lived. He parked outside the small building, and he then climbed the seven flights of stairs to the apartment. He knocked on the door and greeted, “Hello, I’m Tony, Tony Stark.” He smiled his media smile, extending a hand towards May. “I-I know. Mr. Stark, hello, w-what are you doing here?” “Well, your nephew Peter applied for the Steptember Grant, and well, he got it,” Tony said, thrusting all the enthusiasm he could muster. He maintained his fabricated nonchalant, disregarding manner in most places. “Wow this is, this is incredible! Peter will be home any minute now. Come in, come in. Can I get you a drink?”

He was back at the tower, recapping his meeting with Peter to Cap. “-can you believe no one knows? Well, now it's knew. No one knew this kid was swinging around. And he got these powers with no one to help him through it, and god, it must have been awful. But, he’s good, Cap, he’s so good. He feels the need to help people, beyond just guilt. He’s, he’s-” “Tones,” Steve said, kissing his cheek, “Take a deep breath.” To be fair to the man, he hadn’t slept for at least 36 hours. With all that coffee in his system he had the right to be a bit uncomposed. The two were sitting at the breakfast bar, well Tony was sitting and Steve was behind it, cooking some eggs for the younger man. “I’m just glad I found him before he killed himself trying to save the world.” “Me too. How long has it been since you’ve slept?” “J?” “Sir, it has been 36 hours.“ “Tonyyyy,” Steve said, clearly disappointed. “Steveeee.” “I’m forcing you to bed.” “I have work to do. Plus it’s only eight o’clock.” “Eat then sleep, honey,” Steve said in that voice that you just didn’t ignore.

C2

At first the “Stark Internship” started as Tony upgrading Peter’s suit, monitoring his patrols, and teaching how to fight. Well, Natasha taught him how to fight. After she offered, Tony was in no place to deny. It was overwhelming to Peter. He was being taught about tech with Tony Stark and being taught how to fight from the black widow.

For the first couple weeks, he was a nervous wreck in the tower. He’d hardly speak to anyone and only do and touch what he was told to. He’d change, head straight to the gym, and then Natasha would train him. At first, the training was silent, other than Nat’s coaching. Then, slowly, the two began talking. It started with Nat asking how he first got his power, then it moved to her first missions, and then suddenly Nat knew a lot about Peter. And Peter was one of the few people in the world who knew a lot about Natasha. “-so what, you fought alien robots sent by Thor’s brother?” “Yeah, that's about right. I had to get up to one of the buildings, so, with Cap’s shield as my trampoline, I launched myself onto one of their flying machines. Pretty fun time up there.” “Holy shit, that’s incredible. How’d you stop them?” Peter knew how the battle had gone down, afterall he’d been in New York during the attack, but it was something else hearing it from an actual Avenger. “Well, it was quite complicated. The scientist-” Nat reminded him to keep his wrist straight. He made the fix, and went back to punching the bag. She launched back into the tale,”The scientist, remember him, who Loki’d controlled woke up mid battle. He’d installed a death switch for the portal, but to access it we needed the scepter. But, the thing is, the government basically sent a nuke toward New York in an effort to contain the aliens, so Tony grabbed the nuke and aimed from inside of the portal and threw it at their main spacecraft. This turned off all of the alien tech. He was a he-” “Hey Kid, Nat. Please don’t tell me you're telling the New York story,” Tony said from the entrance. “Hi Mr. Stark.” Nat rolled her eyes, “I am telling the New York story. You were a he-” “Don’t say it. You almost done?” “I’ll call it. Good job today kid.” “Thanks.”

Similar to the gym, he’d become far more comfortable around Tony and in his lab. At first he’d sit silently, doing his work. Then he got used to Tony’s eccentric tendencies, he memorized the layout and where everything was, and he’d also been unofficially given a workspace. It became easier and easier to feel comfortable. The late night coffee and deep chats were simply a bonus. As much as he didn’t want to admit it, it felt like he had a father figure. It was nice.

One day, Tony was vibin’ to ACDC and chatting with Steve whilst working on Mock 50 of his new suit design when Peter showed up. Steve being in the lab was something Peter had also become accustomed to. “Jarvis, please get some good music on in here. Queen perhaps?” Peter requested. He did it to annoy Mr. Stark, and it did just that. “Hey kid,” Cap said. “Don’t “hey kid” him,” Mr. Stark said, faking anger, “Did you just insult my music? How dare you? I am revoking all Jarvis privileges.” Peter laughed alongside Cap. “Sir, you can’t do that. I quite like the kid, and the innovations he is creating require my attention.” “Why did I program you to have a goddamn personality?” Tony said, focusing back to his work, “And Jarvis, put the quality music back now.” “Anway, how was school?” Steve asked. “Good, yeah. The same really. We had another one of your “fitness” videos for class today. Real good,” Peter joked. “Oh god, please don’t tell me they really use those.” “They really use those,” Peter smiled, “I’m going for a shower. See you in a flash.” “Wrong superhero, kid,” Mr. Stark called. “Idiot,” Peter heard Cap mutter into the top of Mr. Stark’s head.

Upon returning, he noticed the absence of the team leader. “Where did Cap go?” “Actual work or something stupid like that.” Peter just smiled as he settled down at his workstation. He wanted to try out some new formulas for his web fluid. He’d had an idea in spanish class, and scribbled it down in his notebook. He fished for it in his backpack.

It was so easy. Too easy. And so so comfortable.

C3

“Come on, I’ve got something to show you.”

Peter had just finished sparring with Nat, and Tony, unusually, came up to the gym to “collect” him. He hadn’t done that for months. Mainly because Peter stopped coming straight down to Tony’s lab. Instead, he went to the kitchen and, mainly because Steve forced him, ate some food. He usually ended up in a random chat with Sam or Bucky. Occasionally he would catch Banner, and he’d end up in a different laboratory. He was always happy to learn about what the incredible doctor was up to. Sometimes, he was even able to provide a suggestion or two. Bruce always looked impressed by the boy. It made Peter smile.

Then he would actually make his way down to the lab, but not before trying to find Hawkeye. He'd wanted to learn some tricks with the bow and arrow. Somehow, Clint would be dragged into teaching Peter how to fire a bow once a week. At least. Clint pretended he minded through teasing and jokes, but realistically he loved hearing about the kid’s week. He’d always been good with kids. It became a running joke that Clint would let Peter know about all the tech upgrades he wanted, and then Peter’d report them to Tony. Most of the time Tony replied with something snarky like, “Tell the idiot he shouldn’t have picked a dumbass weapon like a bow and arrow,” or “do it yourself if you care that much.”

The Avengers Tower had become home just as much as his apartment in Queens was, and it was clear that Tony knew that. Hence the, “Come on, I’ve got something to show you.” He took the little Avenger to the elevator, hitting floor 80. He was a little confused given that floors 75-90 were all bedroom floors for the avengers or just spare bedrooms. “Mr. Stark-” “You’ll see, kid.” In reality, Tony was nervous. He and Steve decided a while back that Peter deserved his own space in the tower, but he had been scared that Peter wouldn’t like it. That he picked the wrong colours, or mattress, or well, anything.

The doors opened and there were two doors facing one another. Tony opened one of them with a key he pulled out of his black suit. The door opened and he was met by a beautiful and modern room. It had a huge bed and tv. There was a desk equipped with the latest stark Holographic technology. In the corner was a suit, specifically a spider suit. That is when it clicked. “Mr. Stark, is, is this all mine?” “Yeah kid, sorry if you don’t like anything. Cap and I did the best we could knowing what you like. And ye-” Peter cut him off with a hug, “thank you.” “Anything for you, kid. Just say the word. Want a tour?” Peter eagerly nodded. “Alright so that’s the bed, obviously. No more sleeping in the guest rooms or that couch in the worksho-” “You sleep ther-” “Don’t say that I sleep there, I am no role model for sleep schedules.” Peter just smiled. “This is a little workshop area I mocked up. You can’t really tinker up here, but do all the designing you want,” he pulled up the most recent project Peter was working on, “Then, just through there is the bathroom, a little lounge area over there and yeah, that’s all. Oh, there’s two mini fridges by the lounge area.” Just as Tony finished his explanation, Steve showed up. “Tones, you showed it to him without me,” Cap complained. “Sorry, babes, you took too long.” he turned around and placed a little kiss on his lips. “It’s fine. How do you like it Pete?” “It’s, it’s-” Peter couldn’t think of any words to describe how incredible it was to have a room at the Avengers Tower, but more importantly how incredible it was to have so many people looking out for him. Before he had just one, Aunt May. She is amazing, but he’d always longed for just a little more. Then, with the Avengers, he’d been given a lot more. They became his family. And now his home. “Thank you,” was all Peter could muster before falling onto the floor.

The two of them, now in each other's arms, just looked down fondly at the boy. “We did good,” Cap whispered. “We did good,” Tony agreed. They did good with more than just the room.

[writtenbyrain]

I’m Proud of You

Read it on AO3 Summary: For months now Marinette and Luka have danced around each other, their feelings only growing stronger and more apparent. So when Ladybug calls upon Viperion to return to the field against an unusually powerful akuma, how will Luka react when a battle gone awry exposes Ladybug’s identity and threatens her life? Notes: Written for the @lovebugs-and-snakecharmers Sprint Fic Challenge! Wildcard Prompt (courtesy of @mlweeklyprompts): “You see, this is the part where you tell me you’re proud of me.” Thank you so much @nerdypanda3126 and @quickspinner for being wonderful betas!

“I’m so proud of you, Marinette!” Luka turned to beam at the girl who stood over his desk. Keeping his eyes on her, he began to gently fold the newest Kitty Section jackets she had come over to present him with. “You’ve done such a wonderful job on the whole band’s new costumes. I know they’re going to love your designs.”

Marinette continued to smile fervently in spite of her blush — another small detail Luka was learning to cherish during his fleeting but meaningful afternoons with her.

“You’re always telling me you’re proud of me,” she chuckled. “At this point, I could bake you the world’s worst batch of macarons and you’d still find something to be proud of.”

“Well that’s because you’re deserving of every bit of praise,” he countered, enjoying the way her blush deepened as he edged closer. “You’re a wonderful girl, Marinette. The kind whose heartsong always closes on the most hopeful of cadences.”

Marinette giggled, running her hand distractedly over the strings of his nearby guitar. She often did that when she was nervous, and Luka was learning to love the vibration of open chords a little more with each shy stroke of her fingers.

“Do you really think that, Luka?”

“Of course. You know I do.”

For months now they had danced around each other — Marinette finding exceedingly obscure design flaws and edits to merit her next visitation, and Luka taking every possible opportunity to remind her that he was proud of all she had to offer.

That he was proud of all of her.

Now, his fingers itched to brush her bangs away so he had an excuse to feel the warmth of her skin. Her eyes were bashfully turned down toward the planks of his room on the Liberty, leaving her hair to hang in front of her brow in just the perfect angle for the occasion.

But before Luka could move, Marinette’s hand came up to pick at the hem of her blouse, her teeth momentarily pressing into her lower lip as her eyes flicked up. She turned to face him fully, setting her shoulders back and tipping her face up to meet his gaze head-on.

She was close — closer than he had initially realized. But when Marinette looked up, she didn’t look bothered or uncomfortable by their proximity. She only held her breath, leaning into the small space compressed between their two bodies.

It felt like an invitation of sorts, if not a challenge.

Luka bent his head down as Marinette’s lips parted in anticipation, the moment as fragile as glass.

Perhaps she was waiting only for—

The dissident ringing of Marinette’s phone broke the moment, causing her to pull back suddenly. A startled silence rested between the two of them, their gazes still wide and locked until Marinette looked back down.

“I should… probably get that,” she mumbled self-consciously before crossing over to where her purse sat.

“Right.” Luka was disappointed but knew it was best not to show as much. After all, he wanted to move at Marinette’s pace; to keep her comfortable and with the opportunity to say “no” if she so chose.

And so, without knowing where, exactly, her boundaries were right now, he decided it would be more respectful to distract his hands with the strings of his guitar.

Meanwhile, the phone notification appeared to have elicited an immediate frown from Marinette. Luka didn’t miss the way her brows furrowed in familiar concern and hesitation.

“Anyway, didn’t you tell me you had a new client to meet this evening about a commission?” Luka leaned back against the wall in an effort to belie his nervousness. His hands flew deftly over strings and frets as he fought the urge to ask her to stay, knowing she was likely about to offer some manner of strange excuse for her departure. “I wouldn’t want to make you late for your meeting.”

“Oh, r-right!” Marinette turned back stiffly with a forced smile. “My, uh, meeting! Of course. I better get going. Thank you so much for keeping an eye on the clock!”

She began to hastily assemble the rest of the Kitty Section garments into their respective travel bags, her eyes straying back to the screen of her phone before resting on Luka in silent apology.

He merely pressed his lips into a subtle smile, inclining his head forward to let his hair fall into his face.

“I’m always happy to help in any way I can, Marinette. You know how proud of you I am.”

________

Following Marinette’s hasty exit, Luka stretched himself out across the foot of his bed, leaning against the wall with one knee bent for support. Guitar still in hand, he began to distractedly pick out the melody of the heartsong he had begun writing for her nearly a year ago.

Meno mosso , he thought. She moves at her own tempo. And I’d be happy to match her rhythm.

In a conscious effort to slow his own heart rate following their final exchange, Luka’s fingers began to pick slower, the pace of the notes gradually loosening and broadening with his breath.

We have all the time we need.

________

“There’s no time,” Ladybug huffed as she swung through the porthole and into Luka’s room not twenty minutes later. “I can’t reach Chat Noir, and I can’t stop this akuma alone. I need help.”

She recalled her yo-yo, stepping into the center of the room with an urgency that jolted Luka from his reverie, causing him to jerk his head back up hard enough that it hit the wall with a heavy thump .

“Wait, what’s going on?” Luka scrambled up from his current seated position on his bed, attempting to rest his instrument as gingerly as possible on its nearby stand. One hand was still rubbing at the back of his head. “What are we up against?”

Ladybug was breathing hard — whatever happened must be especially terrible for her to not only seek out a partner that wasn’t Chat, but to rush all the way to the Liberty for help in lieu of saving the citizens that were in the most direct line of fire.

She had fabric wrapped around her shoulder in an effort to staunch the bleeding of what appeared to be a deep slice.

Since when did either Ladybug or Chat Noir actually bleed through their suits?

“Like I said, there’s no time to explain.” She grabbed Luka’s hand, turning it over and pressing a box firmly into his palm. “Luka Couffaine, as you know, this is the Miraculous of the Snake. Can I trust you to once again wield Sass and the power of time for the greater good?”

________

Viperion staggered onto the next rooftop, narrowly missing the shards of glass being shot rapid-fire by Hawkmoth’s latest akuma victim. Not only had this one managed to keep him in on the defensive for the last fifteen minutes’ worth of battle (which was exhausting in and of itself), but the worst part was that this one was designed to penetrate the otherwise indestructible suits donned by miraculous wielders.

“Viperion, to your left!”

He flinched out of the way more than he dodged, but at least he managed to avoid taking any shards straight to the face. Ladybug, meanwhile, was bobbing and weaving, attempting to simultaneously evade the barrage while pushing close enough to get into more of an offensive position against their latest adversary.

And as far as Viperion could tell, it wasn’t working. They needed a new plan.

He hastily ducked behind the chimney of the rooftop he had landed on, fingers brushing over the strings of his lyre in thought. Once again, the familiar vibrations of an instrument helped to cool his nerves, serving as the bridge point between his thoughts and emotions in the midst of high tension.

He distractedly fingered a few more notes in quick chromatic succession, the music serving to somewhat dampen the audible sounds of Ladybug struggling several feet beyond. If only these vibrations could…

Wait, vibrations.

“That’s it!” Viperion swung back around to expose himself. “Ladybug! We need stronger vibrations!”

Ladybug dodged the next onset of glass, using her yo-yo as a shield before swinging herself haphazardly back in his direction. As she flew by, she wrapped an arm around his waist, pulling them both out of the fray and into an alley for a moment of respite.

“You have a plan?” she demanded through uneven breaths. Small nicks and cuts littered one cheek, and a line of jagged fabric was torn all the way up the opposite arm.

“I do,” Viperion confirmed. “If we can find the frequency at which the akuma’s glass vibrates, we can shatter his attacks before they reach us.”

Ladybug’s eyes lit up. “Like singing at the right pitch to shatter a wine glass.”

“Exactly.”

“We may even be able to use that frequency to destroy whatever item is hiding the akuma,” she thought aloud. “The only questions, then, are how we make the vibrations and how we find out where the akuma is hiding.”

Viperion began to thumb his lyre in contemplation again, momentarily closing his eyes before offering whatever brief answers he could in their limited time.

“Well, if we manage to find the frequency, the akuma would likely be in whatever item he tries to protect from us. He’ll become vulnerable, so he might give himself away if we look closely enough,” he explained. “As for creating the vibration… if we stretched your yo-yo out long enough, we could probably tune it like a single string. We would just need to amplify it."

Ladybug beamed, a modicum of hope restored to her facial expression.

“Luka, you’re—I mean, Viperion , you’re a genius!” she exclaimed. “And luckily, it just got dark for the evening. If we play this right, the akuma may not even see where I lay out the yo-yo string. I just need you to distract him long enough for me to tune it, and we can take it from there.”

Viperion placed a hand on her uninjured shoulder. “I’m always happy to help in any way I can.”

She nodded back with a determined smile before raising her eyes to scan the sliver of sky above the alley.

“You go out first and try to get his attention, then I’ll head out in the opposite direction toward the Eiffel Tower. There’s supposed to be a big concert there tomorrow and they’ve already begun to lay out equipment — I’ll bet I can find something to use as an amplifier.”

Viperion nodded, raising his left wrist to ready his power.

“Seems like the perfect time to prepare my Second Chance.”

They nodded in silent agreement, both bracing themselves for the next onslaught as Viperion launched back out onto the rooftops.

“Second Chance!” He flicked the Miraculous resting upon his wrist before turning back toward the frenzied akuma, making an attempt to vie for his attention.

“Hey! Over here!” Viperion waved his arms in frantic motions before strumming his lyre as loudly as possible. It didn’t take long for the akuma’s eyes to zero in on his form. “Come over here and face me!”

With a snarl, the villain lurched forward to pursue his would-be prey — but not before a flash of red and black unwittingly detracted from Viperion’s efforts.

No, no, it’s too soon. I need to keep his attention for this to work.

Much to his horror, the akuma had already whipped back around, readying its next attack.

“Ladybug, watch out!”

Too late.

Her back was turned, her yo-yo already wrapped around a nearby streetlamp so as to support her weight as she swung away. And as she was startled into turning back around midair, the glass shards found their target, burying themselves deep throughout her torso.

She lost hold, falling inelegantly. Her hand was still outstretched, reaching toward the yo-yo that now hung limply from the streetlamp as her mouth opened in a gasp of pain.

“No!” Viperion dropped his lyre and shot forward.

Tucking and rolling onto the pavement, he caught her mere seconds before she hit the unforgiving pavement. He hoisted her more securely into his arms ducked into another alleyway, kneeling to shield her body with his own.

Use your second chance, he thought haplessly. You still have two minutes left. You can still fix this.

But as much as logic beseeched him to reset this moment, to return to a mere few moments prior, his horror kept him rooted in the here and now; in the impossible future wherein he, Luka Couffaine, had failed Ladybug.

Chat Noir should have been here, not me. Chat Noir wouldn’t have failed.

“Ladybug?” He gently propped her head up with one hand. “Ladybug, please. Please, can you hear me?”

As she turned and looked up at him in the dim light, the splotches of blood appeared dark enough that they could have blended into her costume, dotting her chest and abdomen in all the wrong places. The new spots were too uneven, growing too fast.

But that was nothing compared to the bloodied and broken tragedy that awaited him when she dropped her transformation.

“Marinette?” Luka’s words were cut off by a choke. His chest heaved, his panic overtaking him as he cradled the heroine — as he cradled Marinette — in his arms. Her placid gaze, deathly calm, stood in stark contrast to that of Luka’s. “I thought you might be… but, but I—”

One minute, three seconds left.

She reached a shaky hand up to his cheek. It was still warm despite the wintry air that pressed in and continued leeching the heat from her weakened body.

All Luka could do was bite back the sobs that threatened to wrack his ribs, deciding instead to place his free hand on top of hers. He turned his head to plant a gentle kiss on her palm.

“You see, this is the part where you tell me you’re proud of me,” Marinette whispered. “Just like you always do.”

Forty-six seconds left.

“I love you, Luka.”

I can’t let it end like this.

“I-I love you too, Marinette.” Luka’s voice broke. “And I’m proud of you. So completely and utterly proud of the melody you’ve brought to Paris — to this world .”

Words, words, why did his words always seem to fail him?

Thirty-one seconds left.

“Truly, Marinette, your heartsong—”

Please, I need more time. More time.

“—How did I not realize sooner?” he lamented. “Your heartsong isn’t just your shared kindness, or your sweet sincerity. But it’s your drive for justice. Your passion for others.”

Marinette smiled softly, her eyes beginning to flutter shut.

“No, no, listen to me, Marinette. Please. You’re the kind whose heartsong always closes on the most hopeful of cadences . And I am so proud of you .”

Eighteen seconds left.

Slowly, as though brushing her fingers lazily over Luka’s guitar one last time, Marinette’s hand fell from his cheek. Her fingertips were icy.

Luka wrapped his arms tighter in as much an effort to hold her closer as it was to keep himself from crying out in distress. The akuma was still nearby.

Ten seconds left.

He couldn’t break.

Not here. Not like this.

Not yet.

Luka bent forward, keeping his right hand propped beneath her head as his left fingers brushed the bangs from her cool and bloodied face. Tenderly, he pressed a kiss to her forehead.

“I couldn’t be more proud of you if I tried,” he whispered. “Which is why I refuse to let you die without a second chance.”

He set her down as gently as possible and slid his right thumb over the bracelet of his left wrist.