#his ears and nose are basically all scar tissue

[introvert-celeste]

My cat Sirius isn't eating and I'm worried 😟 He's elderly (11, almost 12, years old) and not eating is a bad sign at his age. I'm hoping he's just not feeling good and that he'll get better, but at his age, I'm not sure.

[zardasolamar]

Alright let's do this!

My main oc is Zarda! His proper name in his native tongue is Zandragora Gurrolf Sulmakir, but in common he's Zarda Solamar.

He's a small man, barely reaching four feet tall and maybe a bit over a hundred pounds undressed. He has a very petite build, but because of his work, is solidly built. His face is incredibly soft and effeminate.

He has several small pale freckles, they are relatively spaced out though they condense across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose. His skin is pale, which fits his snow white hair very well.

He keeps his hair shoulder length, though because of his fluffy it is and because he prefers to keep it in a fluffy mop on top of his head, it rarely touches his shoulders, though it covers his eyes if he doesn't move it out of the way.

His eyes, when they're seen from behind his hair, are an incredibly deep shade of bright blue, like sapphires, they start dark around his iris and grow lighter as they near the edge of his sclera.

Zarda prefers to wear rather form fitting clothes, tight shirts and tight pants or leggings, but over the top he is always seen in large hand knit sweaters, and frequently in scarves. He typically dresses in dark colors, and reds. However, he always hides a pop of color somewhere on him, typically bright blue or lilac purple. Normally he uses pins or feathers for the colorful accessory.

He rarely wears jewelery, though he does have a small nose ring, a pair of gold stud earrings, and a set of nipple piercings which he hides with the sweaters.

He has two sets if noticeable scars on his body, deep ugly scars on his hips that look like he was grabbed by something with extreme force. They are noticeably indented, and the scar tissue is soft and pink, as if the wounds had been inflicted a very short time ago. On each side of his hips, there are four of these scars, and if someone looks at the inside of his thighs, up in the joint there is a fifth scar on each side, smaller, but no less disturbing to look at.

Zarda is a very shy and quiet person, though if you talk to him he will eagerly listen, he loves being the fly on the wall, finding it easier to enjoy a conversation between others, instead of joining in himself.

However, despite that, he is an overwhelmingly kind person, and if you get him to open up he will quickly show that he blossoms into a social butterfly around the right people. A great sense of humor, a wide contagious smile, and a heart filled to bursting with love to share.

He doesn't enjoy loud noises or angry tones, easily shutting down verbally when anyone raises their voice. It's easy to cause him to cry, and when he does begin to cry it's hard to stop him, as he spirals easily.

In medieval settings, Zarda is a young blacksmith, incredibly well skilled. He's an expert in basic smithing, nails, horseshoes and the like, though his weapons and armor are easily on par with almost any competition. His true mastery is jewelry making. He can often be seen in his open air smithy gently hammering gold or silver into intricate works of wearable art. He seems to have an unnatural resistance to heat, barely sweating infront of a raging forge, and easily able to hold metal most would leave to sit for several more minutes. His arms are commonly coated in soot up to his elbows.

In modern settings, he is an aspiring historian, following in the footsteps laid by his mother and sister. He has a fascination for all things medieval, though unfortunately he commonly gets lost in his own head, daydreaming so frequently that he doesn't tend to truly enjoy himself. He is an engine head as well, loving all things piston and rod. His prize possession is a hand customized 1957 Chevy Bel Air, plum purple with gold chrome and black soft top. The interior is the same color scheme. He has fine tuned the engine for years, and made several dramatic alterations, such as a fluid suspension system, intricate sound system, and magnetic brakes.

In Sci-fi settings, I don't really know! I've only used him in a couple of Sci-fi settings, and each time the rp ended before I was able to truly flesh him out sadly... I do know however that he would be a psyker in a 40k setting!

Zarda can be either a normal human, as detailed above, a nekomimi style person with the ears and tail or an arctic fox, or a full anthro arctic fox!

As a fox (or for the neko style his fox traits) are relatively simple, but I adore them anyways.

His fur is snow white, with small black dots covering his whole body like freckles (they also follow his rules for freckles! So they get more dense across his cheeks and the bridge of his muzzle!) He has black socks, up to his knees and elbows, however in truth it's simply years and years of soot or black dye, as he adores how it looks on his fur. The tip of his muzzle, ears and tail are also stained in the same way!

He does have some unique traits in settings with magic, such as small patches of incredibly fine slightly iridescent white scales with a silvered edge around his neck under his fur, and in his joints the scales are a deeper wine red shade. He doesn't talk about these, and only allows very close people to know that they exist. This is because he's actually a half dragon!

His father, Galdrak (#worstdad) abandoned his mother before Zarda was born, and in most settings he doesn't even know, which explains why frequently he has no idea that his heat resistance is because of his father, and why he doesn't know that if he gets angry enough, there's a chance that he could black out and his body would act on instinct, attacking whatever angered him, and even managing to emit small bursts of fire breath. Unlike an actual dragon, his flames come out much closer to a blowtorch. A short but insanely intense burst of focused flame that could melt straight through steel with no worries.

Unfortunately, if this happens it does burn him quite badly, singeing off his whiskers, curling and burning the fur of his muzzle, and giving him severe burns in his mouth which make speech incredibly painful, and eating or drinking next to impossible for several days.

As for general storylines, no matter the setting Zarda is always trying to make as many friends as possible while trying to help as many people as possible! He does have a short story I've been trying to write for several years now about him starting his organization called The House of The Yellow Sun, a place where all people are welcome and any help can be provided

[macbeth-n-cheese]

A Brief Commentary on Ghouls

By (not yet) Professor (almost) Doctor Mac (that's me)

But in all seriousness, the effects of radiation are something I find extremely interesting (as seen by my obsession with all things rad), and while I'm glad this isn't something you deal with everyday in a hospital, it would be a cool field to focus a career on. But I digress.

Ghouls, the radioactive zombies of the wasteland.

For once the vagueness of the lore was a positive thing! It left enough space for hyperfocusing nerds like yours truly to hypothesize about them. After screaming about how absurd wrong mostly everything on the wiki is, of course. Onwards!

Gorgeous Looks

Our friends the ghouls were strongly based on real-life victims of nuclear disasters (don't look it up, it's worse than what we see in the games), on the later stages of radiation sickness.

There are different types of waves emitted by nuclear material, but our focus will be on the ionising radiation, the variety capable of altering or even destroying DNA molecules, and possibly killing the cells. Think of it as a fire: the closer you get to it, the warmer you'll feel, but in this case 'fire' is 'nuclear material' and 'warmth' is 'your superficial cells slowly dying from the outside and in as radiation penetrates the layers of you.'

(I will not get into much detail on the ghoulification process now, because I believe it deserves its own, more elaborate post. But hey, Chernobyl from HBO did a fantastic job in portraying radiation sickness. It's definitely not for the faint of heart, but a must watch if you're interested in this type of stuff.)

As the outer skin (epidermis) dies out, it begins to necrose, and slides away like it would in a severe burn case, with excruciating amounts of pain and enough suffering to drive someone insane (more on it later). Hair, nose, ears, most of the lips, they eventually peel off of the body in the more extreme cases, and the survival rates aren't good if you reach this stage.

This would be a decisive point in a pre-ghoul's life, where he will either die of the many ailments that could afflict someone who's lost their outer layer of skin (infections, dehydration, hypothermia, shock, etc etc), or live to see Courier 6 put a bullet through Benny's head, with the help of his newly developed Mutation™.

If he survives, gets away from the direct source of ionising radiation, and develops the mutation I'll talk about in a while, the skin will slowly begin to regenerate, forming a thick, sturdy and leathery scar tissue over most of his body. Hair and lost cartilage will not grow back, and previous injuries like chronic conditions or bone deformation from fractures will not be fixed as well, but hey, immortality.

So, ghouls aren't walking corpses, they're literally living, breathing people, who "just" suffered severe rad burns and mutations on their DNA. Nothing at all like zombies.

Immortality?!

From the wiki: "The unnaturally long lifespan of a ghoul is also due to a mutation within the autonomic nervous system (...) The mutation in response to gamma radiation that produces ghouls disrupts the normal process of decay in the neurotransmitters along the spinal cord," and while the effort was great on their part, this is still a big genetic nope. Allow me a drop of pedantism (a very small one because human genetics is a seven-headed beast):

The process of ageing in humans is essentially due to the natural degradation of the extremities of our chromosomes (bundles of genetic material inside the cells' nucleus), parts known as telomers, that basically don't express DNA and act as a protective layer for the segments that do. A good analogy for them is when you burn the tip of a nylon rope to keep it from fraying. Every time a cell replicates itself, be it for growth, tissue repair or etc, the chromosomes can get a tiny bit shorter, sacrificing part of the telomer to preserve the rest of the DNA, even though some of it is rebuilt by the enzyme telomerase. However, seeing as the only two infinite things in life are the universe and human stupidity (and cancer, keep tuned), the telomer will eventually get smaller and smaller until the cell's capacity of replication is significantly crippled, and it eventually gets destroyed by the organism (apoptosis). The first obvious sign of this is wrinkles on the skin, because the renewal of its cells is diminished, and what follows is the typical old-personhood.

In most cancer cells, there's a ridiculously high expression of telomerase, rendering the tumor immortal, both for the quick reconstruction of the telomer, and for tricking the body into seeing its cells as brand new ones. Now, what causes cancer? Among other things, exposure to extreme levels of radiation, because ionising radiation (the dangerous kind of radiation) can damage the DNA structure.

There's a lot of deep genetics in between this and the apparent immortality of a ghoul, but I can say for sure that it was a massive lucky strike for them to develop a mutation like this. Most of their cells must've had technically become cancerous to reach results like those, but they don't replicate wildly like a regular malignant tumor. They behave almost normally, and just don't die! So I assume the mutation affected something in the telomer/telomerase activity and/or in the process of apoptosis (natural destruction of cells due to old age/factory damage). It would've had to be a very, very specific kind of mutation, and if we were to throw some realism into fallout, the incidence of ghouls would be drastically smaller.

Summing it up, the mutation they suffered affected the individuals on a cellular level, from the outside in, seeing as the deeper layers are the last to be penetrated by radiation.

Regular Ferals

The behaviour of a feral ghoul is... very strange. They're extremely aggressive and canibalistic, but not to one another. They pay little mind to physical injuries and are incapable of rational thoughts. They growl, drool, and overall behave like rabid animals, which could mean that the "outer" layers of their brains (like the frontal lobe, which is responsible for most of what makes us rational) have suffered significant, irreparable damage. Ground zero ghouls, who survived being subjected to higher doses of radiation, would most definitely become Ferals.

Regarding pain, it's important to mention that the brain itself naturally feels no pain, it only interprets and processes pain signals coming from the rest of the body, and the center of distribution for those signals is the thalamus (but I could be wrong), a very inner part of the encephalus. If something between the thalamus and the spinal chord or the rest of the brain is damaged, the notion of pain would be lost on the individual. Mutations could also have something to do with their perception of pain and tolerance towards it, but I couldn't say.

On our next episode, I'll try to focus on the physiology of a ghoul and the health challenges they may face, and if I have enough sanity left, speculate on glowing ones and other special types of ghoulies. (Also shout-out to Raoul, Kent, Arlen, Edward, John, Billy and Charon for being my fav irradiated babies)

P.S.: If you guys want to hear me babble about something specific, hmu! Those things really help me study lol

[the-slasher-files]

DEEP

Had a shitty day so I let out all the anger and desire, that's it. Just Andrei being Andrei Also this is pretty gross lol, sex, forced, blood, gore and death included... Hope you enjoy🔪💕

MASTERLIST

He was so deep inside you.

Your body writhed on the bloody mattress below. So deep that the tip of cock hit slammed against your cervix, letting out a low and vicious growl, coming inside you for the third time; It was so hot inside, so deep. It became uncomfortable to fill your abused hole and almost torture to thrust into your chained-down body.

Barely breathing, you gave a whimpering moan as the wolf's dark, cruel and yet shameless eyes glared down into yours. He wasn't human, at least anymore. By any standard of a man, he was the opposite, changing before you as he took you to his territory to chain you up and feast whenever the insatiable hunger twisted in the wolf's belly.

Weak and slow, you curled your fingers around his strong scarred forearm. He held you down, claws gripping tight around your neck to feel the tendons, muscles and vocal cords flexing in a fervid way trying to save themselves from the monster above you; You were just a lamb on the golden plate he stole away from the world and into his frozen hell where he was king.

The wolf's panting breath laid hot upon your face, almost mocking you with the air you couldn't savour and letting you taste his vile flavour in your burning lungs.

"Andr-" There was a dull whisper but he snarled in your face. Running from his own name; It wasn't who he was when he was fucking and mutilating your body raw. It just wasn't human for a man to do, at least it's not what society would let you believe; The same society that created the feral creature then cast him out of it.

His hips rolled into yours again, and again, making you try to coil away but the wolf held you down like the frozen chains that seared and pinched your delicate flesh. Hunched over, his powerful body basically consumed yours, pounding into you and hearing the wet sounds coming from the most intimate areas of a human body but it wasn't just from the fluids of intense sex, no, it was the hot crimson that flowed out of the cuts- Ones he made as if he was readied a juicy steak- some shallow on the surface and others the wolf dug to see the precious muscles that jerked with each movement.

The wolf's fur was sticky, raised and spiked with blood, the ashy brown now turned a dark almost black tone as it fell into his devouring eyes. Watching you struggle to breathe, slowly fading into a pit of darkness made him lick his pale pink lips like he could taste your fear of dying and slowly a bead of drool rolling along his bottom lip and down the scar of the wolf's jaw. A temptation he craved, he was taught to crave it and it ripped him apart from the inside out.

Once again he pulled out the Russian sharp steel blade as he could feel your few last breaths, the wolf released your throat and let the sweet oxygen fill your body that was clinging to life as he played god. Deadly eyes watched your body come back to him as his chest raised with an urge that twisted in his core; One he could no longer hold back.

"Easy, myshka, I know" He whispered, cradling the side of your flushed cheek and luring you into a false sense of security.

Maybe he will let me live another night.

Leaning down to you, struggling to intake the large amounts of air that you could now consume. The wolf nosed the length of your bruised and scarred neck, he felt his heartbeat rise steadily and pound hard within in his ears. The pleasure was rising. The desire. The need to find home within one's body under all the soft tissues and slip between the bones.

Along your rapid pulse, his lips gave a soft and bittersweet kiss before twisting back, splitting the flesh to reveal the wolf's pearly white and sharp teeth. There was only one raw growl before his teeth sunk deep within your throat to feel the flesh, muscles and tendons of your delicate body. Sparks lit up the wolf's spine like lightning and his dark eyes were filled with animalistic lust as you screamed before the river of blood flowed into your airway. He felt you claw at his fur drawing his own crimson as he gurgled yours, hot and sticky on his lips, seeping between his teeth and down the wolf's gullet.

Bits of flesh were ripped and torn with greed and the creature was filled with a wild rapture not known to man. Your body thrashed, grasping, clawing, pushing and choking as he pulled back above you, bloody steaming streams dripped from his muzzle and down every muscle that was flexed on his torso.

He took another thing from this world he thought he deserved and watched as the life drained slowly with a sick entertainment, filling you with another burning spurt of his seed.

"ты так красива (you are so beautiful)... и ты мой (and you are mine)" He whispered. It would be the last thing you would ever hear when he rubbed his lips against yours for a final time and let your body fade away. "хорошая девочка (good girl)"

[uwuwriting]

Midoriya, Todoroki and Mirio waking up with kisses

Request: May I request best boys Todo, Mirio and Deku waking up with kithes. They’re all grown up and maybe the kithes aren’t coming only from the reader......okay I may want them to have kids and be all cute. - anonymous

Um excuse me who gave you the right to make this cute request? I have weak resolve and um ->this<- close to writing another dad fic. I LOVE TODOROKI SO MUCH I SWEAR I COULD DIE! Sorry for the small break I took yall but I’m back and better than ever *that's an overstatement bc my allergies decided to ruin my summer*. Hope you like it. Love ya. 💖💖💖

rules

warnings: characters are aged up, todoroki and mirio are dads, deku is a dad to be, fluff till your very soul

Midoriya Izuku

-Izuku is a very busy hero. 

-Being the number one in Japan and running his own hero agency is very tiring. 

-He loves spending time with you and really tries to make it up to you whenever he is called into an emergency. 

-Now, Izuku as an expecting dad is a whole other issue. 

-He doesn’t spend as much time at his agency, deciding to take his paperwork home and do it while you’re in his line of vision. 

-Being such an important and strong hero puts both you and your child in danger so he prefers being in a one mile radius. 

-Helicopter dad 99% of the time. 

-There are however, times when he has to go to the agency or on patrols. 

-And there are times when he has to answer to an emergency. 

-This was one of those times.

-He was chilling on the couch while you basically slept on him, on hand massaging your lower back and one rubbing soft circles on your belly feeling the baby kick once in a while. 

-He loves feeling them kick.

-They always do when he touches your belly. 

-You told him that they already love him, “reacting to their daddy’s touch is a sign of pure affection”.

-Now many things happened at once. 

-They gave a rather powerful kick, waking you up with a whine while his phone started ringing on the coffee table. 

-He had to leave and you almost had to kick him out the door since he didn’t want to leave. 

- “But why do I have to go???? I wanna stay with my babies!”

- “MIDORIYA IZUKU!”

-He came home really late that night and collapsed on the bed, wrapping you in his arms nuzzling into your hair before drifting off to sleep. 

-It was one of those rare mornings when you woke up first, from a kick...again.

 -You expected Izuku to be already awake but nope, he was snoozing. 

-You really cherished these moments. 

-You never truly got to see him really relax anymore, both with hero work and his constant worry for the baby he always had that wrinkle in between his brows.

-Even asleep. 

-Last night’s fight must have taken a lot out of him.

-Getting restless you decided to nuzzle into his neck, leaving feather light on his shoulder, neck and jaw. 

-He didn’t even stir. 

-Trailing up his jaw you left a kiss on each cheek and two on his nose before cupping his face and peppering his forehead. 

-The last kiss was on his lips, feeling him kiss back as he finally woke up. 

- “Mmm good morning.” 

-You just kissed his nose again making him scrunch it up.

-Placing his hands on your sides, his thumbs rubbed your belly as his lips followed their own trail along your face.

-You giggled as he explored your face letting out small whines every time he kissed a rather ticklish spot. 

-He finally reached your lips giving you a long kiss and bringing you flush to his chest. 

- “I wish I could wake up like this every morning.”

-Just then your kid decided it was a good time to sucker punch you in the liver, giving their father their own little good morning.  

-Izuku chuckled at your groan and leaned down pecking your stomach. 

- “Good morning to you too little one.”

Bonus

- “I think I might be having a kidney failure.”

- “Y/N come on don’t be dramatic.” 

- “You want me to kick you in the balls?”

- “No.....”

- “Good now less talking more kisses.”

Todoroki Shouto

-Shouto having a day off is a blessing. 

-Your daughters are angels whenever their dad is home wanting to let him relax.

-When I say that the twins are daddy’s girls I mean it. 

-It’s not only about them getting what they want it’s also about loving their dad unconditionally. 

-They don’t see him as the easy parent who will let them go on with their shenanigans unbothered. 

-They just see him less and really miss him so they usually do their best to give him a relaxed and happy afternoon or day off. 

-So when he told you that he was taking the week off you guys were so excited. 

-Your girls even though they were like three stayed calm and collected, dawning their dad’s infamous poker face when he came home that night, playing quietly on the living room floor. 

-The night was really quiet. 

-You knew that the girls were excited and were bubbling with energy, they talked your ear off when you broke the news to them but they also wanted their dad to relax. 

-Really you could never truly understand them.

-They were the most considerate toddlers you have ever met.

 -Since they know that their parent’s jobs are hard, since you are both in the hero business, they always restrained themselves. 

-The toddlers Fuyumi or Natsuo described while the babysat, the constantly arguing and bickering twins, were a far cry from what you saw at home. 

-Sure they had their slip ups but they were generally well behaved. 

-The did crawl onto their dad’s lap though at the end of the night, snuggling into his relative sides and snoozing off almost immediately. 

-The next morning you woke up first.

-Todoroki was sleeping almost on you, his arms around your waist as his head was buried into your neck. 

-He looked really tired last night, poor baby must have been exhausted. 

-You moved some of his hair from his eye tracing the red skin of his scar with your fingertip. 

-Long into your relationship he had told you that he felt self conscious about his scar. 

- “Not many people will find this attractive, I-I think you could do much better than this.” 

-From that day on you had made it your mission to make sure he knew you loved him, scar and all. 

-Leaving a few kisses on his forehead you raised his head slightly bringing your lips to the scarred tissue of his eye as you left feather light kisses on the red skin. 

-When his grip on your waist tightened you let his head rest back on your chest and whispered a soft I love you. 

-That’s when you heard the pitter patter of little feet on the marble floor of your home. 

-Whispers could be heard from outside your door and only caught the words ‘breakfast’ and ‘you’re stupid’, before your bedroom door opened ever so slightly.

-Two heads of fluffy hair, one snow white and one fiery red, walked in and made their way to your bed. 

-You stifled your laughter as one of your three year olds tripped over one of Shouto’s shoes grabbing onto her sister for support.

-You could feel the glare the white haired girl gave to her twin without having to see it. 

-They made their way to your side of the bed, locking eyes with you and waddling to you as quietly as possible. 

-They both gave you a few kisses before looking at their dad who was completely oblivious to all this. 

-You motioned to them to go around the bed and climb on from his side.

-The twins nodded and before you knew it the two of them were looming over Shouto.

-You kinda expected them to plop down on him and give him a heart attack but you melted when your girls just laid their heads on their dad’s back. 

-Shouto stirred at the extra weight but he didn’t wake up. 

-After like ten minutes of your snuggling, the twins got restless and started their master plan of waking their father up. 

-One of them settled fully on his back while the other moved some of his hair from his eyes, like you had done previously.

-Then the assault began. 

-Soft kisses on his forehead, cheeks, under his eye, on his nose. 

-Really anywhere they could reach.

-Soon enough Shouto woke up a smile adorning his features as he slowly wiggled out of your arms, placing the twins between the two of you. 

-He rested his chin on your white haired daughter and brought an arm over both of them reaching for your hand on the other side. 

- “Good morning snowflakes.” 

- “Good morning daddy.” 

-He made all of you snuggle with him for half an hour before scooping his girls into his arms and walking out the door to make breakfast. 

-One of his top mornings no doubt. 

Bonus

- “We tried to make breakfast.”

- “But Ren burned the toast.”

- “And you froze the juice.”

- “My little girls are not the best cooks huh?”

-*incoherent mumbling*

Mirio Togota

-To say that Mirio is busy is an understatement. 

-Being the owner of a large hero agency and doing his own hero work on the side even though he no longer has his quirk really takes a toll on him. 

-Having a four year old son didn’t make things easier. 

-He wanted to be there for his child like his father was there for him.

-He hits him really hard when he comes home one night and he finds his son sleeping on the living room couch clearing waiting for him to come home. 

-Until recently the two of them had a ritual before they went to bed. 

-Your son said that it scared the nightmares away. 

-But a handful of paperwork had fallen into Mirio’s hands forcing him to stay longer at the agency, missing his son’s bedtime by two hours. 

-It was the first night that you ad let him wait for Mirio knowing how ever since their small ritual stopped happening , nightmares had been keeping the little boy awake. 

-But alas sleep had won him over and now he was being carried to bed by his dad. 

-Mirio almost had a breakdown later saying that he was a horrible father. 

-You had to calm him down by giving him some examples of him being an amazing dad before luring him to bed. 

-Later that night your son woke up from a nightmare, trembling and crying out for his parents. 

-He spent the night in your bed, Mirio placing him in the middle bringing him flush to his chest. 

-He calmed down rather quickly and was asleep in no time, you two following suit soon after. 

-The next morning you woke up to small kisses on your  forehead as chubby hands held your cheeks. 

-It was the cutest thing you had ever seen. 

-Big blue eyes looked back at you as you opened your eyes, a small twinkle in them. 

-You brought him into a hug, rubbing his back softly as your other hand reached out to grab Mirio’s under the sheets. 

-After a mini cuddle session with mini Mirio you motioned to big Mirio and winked at your son. 

-Slowly getting up you straddled his hips as you placed your son gently on his chest. 

-He let out a low grunt but only placed a hand on your hip turning his head to the side. 

-Then you dove in.

-You left small kisses on his jaw, cheeks and lips while your son hugged him really really tightly. 

-Your kiss attack continued until Mirio’s giggles bounced off the walls, his arms shooting up to wrap around your back, trapping both of you in his embrace. 

-It was his turn to attack you both with kisses, not holding back at all.

-Really your plan kinda back fired. 

-When you finally got up almost an hour later, Mirio had that proud smile on his face. 

- “Maybe I’m not that bad of a dad after all.”

-You just kissed him again a little more passionate now that you were out of your son’s sight. 

Bonus

- “W-when did you come down? I didn’t hear you coming down the stairs.”

- “He has your quirk you dummy!”

- “Don’t call dad a dummy!”

- “Go put some pants on you shrimp!”

TAG TEAM AY:

@iwaqchan​ @the-arcana-fan-fic​ @angelwritings​ @axerrri​ @reinyrei​

[not-me-simping-for-blasty]

I Melt With You - Bakugou Katsuki

All Parts

Part 5:

When you wake up the next morning, your blankets are folded. They’re folded and piled neatly next to rearranged pillows, not even a crease left in your couch cushions from where he’d slept. It’s like he was never even there in the first place, but then you walk into your kitchen. There’s a muffin sitting on your counter, a note attached on top of it’s plastic container. 

Your couch is fucking shitty, but thanks I guess. I only bought you this so you don’t complain. I don’t owe you shit, leech.

It’s a strange sort of fondness that eclispes you then, so faint that you almost don’t even catch it. You never thought you’d have a soft spot for anything Bakugou did- but you figure leech isn’t so bad. Way better than witch or any of the other names he’d called you anyway.

You remove the note, popping open the plastic lid. The muffin’s long gone cold, but you figured that was about right; Bakugou did seem the type to be fussy about rising early. Still, you tear away the paper, smiling while you take a bite, chewing and-

Bran.

Bakugou bought you a bran muffin.

Suddenly, and you’re sure it must be brain damage, but you feel a little warmer than before. You spit out the disgusting muffin with an exasperated laugh, wondering just where the hell he even managed to buy such an abomination.

—//—

A few weeks later, you’re locking the back door behind you, once again stepping into the street. You see him the second you turn around, clad in costume and leaning against the wall. You can’t really see his face well in the low light, but no shadows could hide those red eyes you’d come to know.

There’s that weird sensation again, a subtle warmth settling in your chest at the sight of him. You’d been feeling it for weeks now, this strange pride overcoming you every time you’d seen him succeed. Whether it was on the news or on magazines, or even in commericials, you felt a strange peace at seeing his face. You try to convince yourself that it’s just the same happiness you feel at seeing anybody you healed- but it’s more than that.

You’d come to realize you thought of Bakugou as more than just a patient. He was nearing more of a strange sort of friend. Albeit one that frequently made you want to tear your hair out.

He shifts, standing straighter while you look at him, and you’re not sure what you were expecting, but his costume looks intimidating. The only time you’d seen it before, that very first night you’d met him, he hadn’t had his gauntlets or his headpiece. Now he’s standing in front of you, arms entrapped by giants grenades and sharp spikes behind his ears. He looks larger than life- so loud and proud that you almost can’t match the tired and injured Bakugou you knew to the seemingly invincible Dynamite he was now.

“I got your gift.” You break the ice with a small smile, stepping away from the door.

“You did, huh? You like it?”

“Oh my god, wipe the smirk off your face. I can hear it, you asshole.” You roll your eyes at his tone. “I didn’t like it. It was disgusting! Where the hell did you even get it?”

“Bakery down the street. Not that it matters since you’re fuckin’ ungrateful. Apparently.”

“Bakugou- you invited yourself into my house, and then left me a war-crime for breakfast! You try being grateful when that happens- trust me, it’s hard.”

He just shrugs, falling into step with you as you continue down the alley.

“Oh, okay, so is this just, like, a thing you’re doing now? Stalking me home-“

“Walking.” He interrupts sternly, clearly not finding humor in your joke. “Stupid shit like this is my fuckin’ job, okay- so don’t go thinking you’re special.”

“Oh I don’t. Believe me, you’ve made it very clear that you don’t even like- oh my god, are you bleeding?”

When he finally steps into the light of the street lamps, you can see blood glisten something sickly as it drips from his nose. It hardly reaches his lip before Bakugou is grunting, smearing it away on the back of his hand. There’s a strange torpidity to his  movements, and it’s not until you meet his eyes that you realize it- he’s tired again, sleepless and ghostly just like every other time you’d ever seen him.

“What’s with the nose? I thought you said you didn’t get hurt often. What happened to that, huh?”

“You try fighting on less than 3 hours of sleep a night. Shit fuckin’ adds up. Makes you sloppy.” He defends, grumbling under his breath as he wipes away more blood. “I doubt you’d do any fuckin’ better.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t. I’m sure I wouldn’t.” You stop, staring him down until he spins to face you. “Can I see it? I think it’s broken.”

“No fuckin’ shit.”

“Bakugou, c’mon. I’m trying to help.” You roll your eyes at him. “Drop the attitude please.”

“Why the hell do you even care? Hah?”

“Because, contrary to your very disrespectful insults, I’m actually a pretty good nurse, alright? And that means I try my best to help injured people when I see them. Even when they’re rude to me.”

“Who the fuck said I’m rude?”

“Me. I’m saying it.” You insist, stepping closer to him. He smells like blood and smoke, still clad in his hero costume, but you approach anyway. “But, really, can I see? If it’s broken then it’s just going to keep bleeding unless you do something about it.”

Bakugou rolls his eyes, but seems to relent without much fight. He removes his mask, revealing the now familiar purpling under his eyes. You briefly wonder if he has a make-up artist- he never looked nearly that tired when he was doing interviews for the media. 

You shake off the musing, reaching for his face and gently running your thumbs along his nose. Bakugou sucks a breath, and when you meet his eyes they’re guarded. He looks nervous, almost unsure under your touch, but you try your best to reassure him with a confident smile. Over the bridge of his nose you can feel swelling and aged scarring, but there cartilage feels intact. You breathe a sigh of relief. 

“I think you might just be stuck with the swelling, but otherwise you’re good. Nothing’s broken.” You say easily, dropping your hands from his face as you take a step back. “Although, must’ve been some hit- you’ve already got a bit of bruising under your eyes.” 

“Wow, thanks for the report- of all the baseline shit I already fuckin’ knew.” 

“Don’t you ever get tired? You know, of being so mean all the time?” You level him with an unimpressed look, before digging in your purse for your pack of tissues. You fish a few out, pressing them into his hand. “Listen, you don’t deserve these, especially after that last remark, but take them anyways. And do me a favor and chill out, alright? I wasn’t trying to waste your time. I was just checking to see that the bleeding was from the impact and not anything else.”

“Yeah. Whatever, leech. I just don’t understand why you had to fuckin’ manhandle me to do it.”

“Please, I touched your nose, drama queen. And, even if I actually wanted to, I’m pretty sure you’d blow me up way before I even got that far.”

“Damn right.”

“Yep, and there he is.” You tease, turning down a side street. “Was hoping I’d get to experience another blatant display of your egotism sometime soon. Totally glad I don’t have to wait any longer.”

Bakugou scoffs, turning away, but you don’t miss it: his lip twitches. Just a bit, it hardly even counts, but you see it.

“You know, we really have to stop meeting like this.” You smile.

“Hell does that mean? Hah?”

“I mean, you need to stop running yourself ragged. You look terrible, and you’re getting yourself hurt. It’s not healthy.”

“I don’t need you to tell me what’s fuckin’ healthy.”

“Well if thought you knew, I wouldn’t have to tell you.”

“Don’t act like you’re so fuckin’ smart. You’re not.”

“Hey- no insults. You agreed, remember?”

“Because you fuckin’ made me, you bitch.” He grumbles, pressing another tissue into his nose. “And it’s not an insult if it’s a fact.”

“Hey, genuine question- have you ever tried just, like, I don’t know, being nice to people? Just asking out of curiosity.”

“You’re not funny.”

“Oh, that wasn’t a joke. I’m genuinely curious.” You say, your grin only growing wider at the sight of his grimace. “Like, if it was a life or death situation, and someone told you that you had to give a genuine compliment or be burned to death, you’d be an absolute crisp, right? Right?”

“Wrong. Fuckin’ idiot.”

“Oh. Okay. I mean I don’t believe you at all, but that’s okay.”

“Hell does that mean?”

“It means I don’t think you could do it.”

“I could.”

“You absolutely couldn’t.” 

“I fuckin’ could, you leech.”

“See now that just proves my point.” You smile easily. “Feel free to prove me wrong though.” 

Bakugou doesn’t say anything, but you see his pinched expression and that says enough. He knows he couldn’t do it just as much as you did.

From then on you walk in relative silence, and after a few more tissues from your purse, he finally stops bleeding all over the pavement. It’s a weird sort of stillness that ensuses but you find you don’t mind much.

“Aren’t you on patrol?” You ask.

“Obviously. What, the costume wasn’t enough to tell ya that? You seriously telling me your dumbass couldn’t figure that out?”

“You’re so difficult, I swear.” You roll your eyes. “What I meant, is don’t you have a job to get to? Instead of just walking me home.”

“What the hell do you think patrol is?”

“I don’t know, you tell me, hero.”

“It’s walking the streets. For fuckin’ hours and being bored as shit. That’s what it is.”

“Oh. Okay, so basically this, huh.” You sigh. “How do you always end up so hurt then?”

“I fuckin’ don’t. Or didn’t used to.” He grits, kicking at a rock in the road with his boot. “But there’s lots of fuckin’ idiots with surprise quirks. It’s absolute bullshit some of the powers people end up with.” 

“So you’re telling me even the great Dynamite loses sometimes?”

“No. Never.” 

“What about that first night then? When you landed on my balcony?” You ask quietly, pulling your keycard out as you begin to near your apartment complex. “You were unconscious.”

“It wasn’t- I didn’t lose, you fuckin’ idiot. That was different.”

There’s something in his voice- an unusual tension that’s only amplified by the way he clenches his jaw and shakes his head. Bakugou looks strange, his forehead split by a crease you’d never seen on him before. It hardly lasts a second though, and then he’s blinking it away, eyes hardening like it was never even there in the first place.

“Yeah?” You’re swiping your keycard, turning back to face him with your hand on the door handle. You try to keep your tone light. “Tell me how.”

“It’s none of your fuckin’ business.” 

“Is that your default answer for everything? C’mon, I’ve always been curious about it.”

“You shouldn’t be. It’s not your problem.”

“Yeah, maybe not, but I’m sure if I wound up half-dead on your doorstep you’d be curious too. So, c’mon, indulge me.” 

“No.” He grits.

“Seriously?” You huff, trying to keep the slight frustration out of your voice. You just didn’t understand him. “Why not?”

“Because.”

“Bakugou, seriously, it’s just a question and I don’t understand why-” 

“Stop fuckin’ pushing!” He suddenly roars, spitting as he seethes. His palms are crackling, gauntlets glinting dangerously under the street lamps. “Jesus fucking christ, you never shut the hell up! Don’t you get it? We’re not fucking friends! Stop asking me shit and digging in my fuckin’ business like you’re special!”

You shrink back, a little taken aback by his tone. You hadn’t realized just how used to his normal grumbling you’d become, but the outright venom in his voice shocked you. His eyes were blazing, red and fiery and harsh against the black of his mask. It wasn’t like before. He wasn’t joking and it wasn’t an empty threat, he wanted to scare you off this time. 

You quickly realized you’d become way too comfortable. Somehow you’d forgotten just how much he truly didn’t like you. And how short his fuse was.

“Yeah. I- uh, I’m sorry.” You fumble over your words, unable to hold his gaze. “It’s not my business. Sorry.” 

Bakugou doesn’t say anything, just sneering before turning his back and stomping off. You think there’s blood rushing in your ears, but his heavy boots are louder, striking against the pavement like thunder. He’s off in a cacophony of metallic clanking and heavy breathing, leaving a strange vacuum of silence behind him. You shake your head, trying to rid yourself of your uneasiness. He’d blown up and left so quickly you’d hardly even processed it. Left you standing in the street, blinking away the whiplash, and scrunching your nose at the smell of gunpowder and nitroglycerin.

With shaking hands, you pull open the door, head reeling as you step into the elevator. There’s guilt settling in your stomach by the time you reach your floor, practically suffocating you when you step into your apartment.

You shouldn’t have pried. You shouldn’t have, because he didn’t technically owe you anything, especially not if it was a bad memory for him- and you didn’t need your quirk to tell you that’s what it was for him. 

Bakugou was right. You weren’t friends. You hardly knew him; even if sometimes it felt like you saw vulnerable parts of him nobody else did.

Ridding yourself of the thought, you decide to settle in for a calm night. You’d originally planned to make a trip to the store for some food, but now you just weren’t feeling up to it. What you were feeling up to was some take-out, so you pulled out a menu and ordered your usual.

You showered, changing into pajamas and throwing your hair up before your food arrived, trying not to stew over your latest disastrous interaction with Bakugou. 

A part of you wondered what was up with him, especially because the longer you thought about it, the more his voice seemed to sound vulnerable. When he’d yelled it was like the sound was eating away at his throat, like it had been sitting there for a while and building. There was no emphasis to any of his words, all of them tumbling out with the same rage. Like the words were less important than the expression itself. You’d love to just throw the interaction away as nothing more than anger at your prying, but it didn’t read like that to you. You’d been reading secondhand emotions your entire life, you knew them like an entirely separate language, and something about Bakugou’s outburst felt layered to you- like his rage was something opportunistic that had just been searching for an outlet.

You wonder again about what happened all those months ago, wonder just what must happen in his day-to-day life to make him that angry. You’ve learned your lesson though- you won’t let yourself mistakenly feel comfortable enough to ask him again. 

Something about that thought makes you a little sad, as this wasn’t the first time you’d ran into this problem. You weren’t sure if it was a byproduct of your quirk or if it was just you, but you’d sort of always cared about people disproportionately. Somehow always came on too strong. Your heart was big enough to bleed for just about anybody. 

There’s a knock on your door, and you rise to get your food. It’s hot in your hands, the smell wafting deliciously, but you hardly even recognize it, caught off-guard by another knock. This one’s at your back door, and it’s softer. Tentative and light against the glass. You set your food down, spinning to face the noise. 

You can hardly hide your surprise, and he must see it too. He’s rolling his eyes then, knuckles rapping against the glass once more. He’s clad in sweats, devoid of his hero costume from earlier, and there’s a bag in his hands. He’s shuffling it impatiently as you near the door.

“Bakugou? I-” You start, sliding the door open for him to step in. 

“Save it. Apologies are wimp shit.” He growls, stepping past you with large strides. “We both know why I’m here so just shut the fuck up and get on with it already.” 

There’s a lot of things you want to ask him in that moment- why he’s showing up so late, how he even knew which balcony was yours, why there’s a bruise on his jaw that you’re sure wasn’t there before, but mostly, why he even came back at all. With how angry he was, you were sure you’d run him off for a while. 

“It’s- no. I have to apologize, I do.” You tell him, trying to catch his gaze. Bakugou doesn’t let you, but you continue trying anyway. “Really. Your business is your business and I shouldn’t have pried. I wasn’t trying to be rude, I really was just curious. Still though, if you don’t want to say you absolutely don’t have to, and I shouldn’t have pushed it.” 

“Why do you even care?”

“You asked me that earlier.” You note softly, taking a deep breath before talking again. “And I meant it, what I said, about being a nurse. But I’m also just me, and that means I care about everyone. Everyone and everything. All the time.” 

“That’s fuckin’ stupid.”

“I mean, for my mental health? Yeah. Absolutely.” You laugh sardonically, fiddling with a piece of your hair as you continue. “But I don’t regret it, and there’s pretty much nothing I can do to stop it. Caring about everyone is like, my biggest character trait-”

“Character flaw.”

“No. I think it’s a good thing. But I get how it could be uncomfortable to be on the receiving end of it. And that maybe, I sometimes come off as invasive when really I’m just concerned. Sorry if I got too comfortable with you. I’ll try not to let it happen again. “

“That’s not-” Bakugou curses under his breath, before whipping around to face you. He’s blushing slightly, fist clenching the paper bag he’s holding. “I was just mad. Not every goddamn thing is about you. So don’t be a fuckin’ idiot and go reading into it like that.” 

Truly, you’re not sure how to take his comment. You felt like you were definitely in the wrong, but Bakugou seemed serious. His eyes were full of a new sincerity you’d hardly seen in him before. 

“Yeah. Okay. I can do that.” You smile unsurely. Then you’re walking past him, returning back to your food in the kitchen. “So, you planning to sleep on my couch again?” 

“Fuckin’ obviously. Gonna eat first though.”

“Oh I’m sure. That’s what’s in the bag, right?” You ask, beginning to unpack your own food. At his nod, you begin speaking once more. “Makes sense. I’m sure you’ve gotta be hungry after lugging those gauntlets around. Those are massive, you know?” 

“Yep. I know.”

When you look up at him, he’s got that signature smirk pulled across his face. You let the sarcasm seep thickly into your words. “If I didn’t know any better, that’d sound a lot like pride.”

“It might be.”

“Oh, so you’re proud of dragging those huge weapons around? You know, why doesn’t that surprise me? Of course you are.” 

Bakugou just shrugs, making himself a home of your kitchen table, grunting slightly as he tears the plastic lid off his container of food. Almost immediately something spicy and nearly choking permeates the air. You scrunch your nose up with a shiver.

“What the hell is that?” You ask him incredulously, picking at your food while standing at the counter. You’d briefly thought about joining him at the table, but the option looks absolutely unappealing now. “That smells lethal, Bakugou! Who needs something that spicy? Are you trying to kill yourself?” 

“Oi, chill the hell out, it’s not even bad. You’re just a fuckin’ wimp.”

“Hey, no insults, remember?” 

“God, you’re gonna kill me with that shit.” He grumbles, but he’s stabbing at his noodles with a tiny, barely-there tilt to his lips. “You should abandon that.”

“Yeah, I’m not gonna do that.” 

“Why the hell not?”

“Because you’d have way too much fun with it.” You smile, taking another bite. “And because it’d be like when I stitched you up all over again. You were so mean.”

“I was not. Fuckin’ baby.”

“You were. Do you not remember telling me to shut the fuck up? To my face? Like, minutes after I started fixing you up!” 

“Because you were being fucking annoying!” He challenges, that same hint of amusement in his eyes. “How in the hell is that my fault?”

“It’s your fault because everything seems to annoy you.”

“Yeah, well everything is fucking bullshit. Again, how is that my fault.” 

“God, you’re impossible.” You groan, setting your fork down. You open your fridge, hand grasping at a water bottle before you turn back to him. “You want a drink? Pretty much all I have is water, but you’re welcome to that.”

Bakugou nods, but then he’s tilting his head slightly, a smirk tugging at the edge of his lips. “You’re a shitty host. Only offering me a drink when I’m already half-way through my meal. That shit’s embarrassing as hell.” 

“Bakugou. Open your mouth again and I swear I’ll chuck this at you.” 

“Do it, leech.” 

“Is that a challenge?”

“Are you fucking braindead? Of course it is.” 

Then Bakugou’s leaning forward in his seat, eyes tracking you intensely. There’s that same life in them from the last time you saw him- that same look that’s all softly-licking flames and absolutely no inferno. It makes you smile.

“Actually, no, you know what? I absolutely will not be stooping to your aggressive level.” You near him, making a point to press the water bottle gently into his waiting hand. “Not tonight, you absolute madman.” 

“Boring.”

“No. Not boring. It’s responsible.”

“Those are fuckin’ synonyms, leech.” 

“Wow, I didn’t think you even knew what synonyms were.” 

“You think I’m stupid? Fat fuckin’ chance.” He sneers, shoveling another forkful of noodles into his mouth. “Or did you just forget when I figured out how your shitty quirk worked before you did?” 

"No. I didn’t forget. And I’m still mad at you for that so let’s not bring it up, please.”

“Hell are you mad for, woman? Did you a fuckin’ favor.” 

“Hm, maybe because you figured it out within like, basically moments of meeting me?” You glare at him, but it’s half-hearted and the look on his face tells you Bakugou knows it is too. “Oh, and how, maybe I’ve always kind of had these weird symptoms my entire life, and you figured them out before I did?”

“Who cares who figured it out? Just fix your shit now and stop fuckin’ complaining.” 

“Fix my shit? Fix my shit? Bakugou!” You throw your fork down, sighing in frustration. “My shit is literally not being able to touch anybody without getting drained! My shit is basically not being able to function properly in every day life!”

“Yeah? So? Just quit being a bitch and figure out how to build up your stamina then.” He shrugs, sliding his empty container away as he sips at his water. “Easy fuckin’ solution.” 

“It’s not that easy. I can’t control it, it just happens.” 

“Really? You sure you’re not trying anything with it?”

“No?”

Bakugou just squints at you funny, something confused flitting across his features for a moment. “Really? Fuckin’ sure? Nothing at all?”

“No? Why’re you- what are you asking?” 

“When you brought me back, the first time, you were like, in my fuckin’ brain or something.” He grumbles, looking away. “It’s not gonna make sense, but I didn’t know it was you until you said shit. But then you opened your mouth and I could tell it was you pushing all the bad shit away.”

“Was it green?”

“Hah?”

“Green.” You worry at your hands, trying to gather your thoughts in a way that made sense. “My whole life, people have told me that it’s green when I help them. Not like, a color they can see, but that it’s just something they know. That somehow I’m green. In their head, I mean.”

“Yeah. Actually.” He mumbles, clearing his throat. “Freaked me the hell out.”

“Sorry. It’s- I normally try to warn people about that before I do it, you know? But obviously that wasn’t an option for you.”

“Yeah.” He agrees, then Bakugou is zoning out, leg bouncing under the table. He blinks, suddenly whipping his head around to you. “You ever try doing it till you pass out?”

“No? Well- I mean, no, not like, formally. Sometimes it just happens though. Why?”

“Because you need a fuckin’ threshold, idiot. A limit. How the hell else are you supposed to know if you’re getting stronger?” 

“I don’t- I don’t think my quirk is really a thing you can strengthen. Not like that at least.”

Bakugou rolls his eyes. “Not your quirk, dumbass. You. You need to get stronger. Learn to work around your quirk.”

“How the hell am I supposed to do that?” 

He turns away another moment, and the silence he leaves behind him baffles you. Bakugou’s got his eyebrows drawn inward, hand in his palm as he idly rubs at the bruise on his chin. You gather up his empty container from him, throwing it in the garbage with your own, but he doesn’t spare you a glance. Whatever he was thinking about, almost seemed to hold him captive. 

“Oi- Leech.” He says calmly, red eyes sliding over to yours lazily. “Touch a shit-load of people and fight though it. That’s how you do it.” 

“You’re kidding.”

“I’m not.” 

When you look at him, Bakugou’s mouth is set in a straight line, determined and steady as he crosses his arms over his chest. He really isn’t kidding.

“That’s not gonna work, I’ve been doing that practically my whole life and look where I am.”

“No, you’re not fucking listening, you moron.” He grumbles, rolling his eyes again. “I said just touch them. Not use your fuckin’ quirk. That’ll wipe you way too quick. You just have to touch a bunch of people all in a row, and suck it the hell up. Keep pushing. Eventually you’ll be able to touch way more people in the test setting than you’ll ever have to in a normal day. Problem fuckin’ solved.” 

“That’s-” You breathe out, beginning to wrap your head around it. “I’ve never done that. On purpose I mean. I wonder- I mean, I think that could work. Maybe.” 

“Of course it’ll fuckin’ work.” 

“Yeah, hypothetically, maybe. But where am I gonna get that many people? And for days in a row?” 

“Fuck should I know? That’s not my problem.”

“Seriously?” 

“Seriously.” He shrugs, standing up as he stretches his arms over his head. He yawns widely into his hand, regarding you with tired eyes. “You figure that one out. I already did all the other fuckin’ work.” 

“You thought of one solution.”

“One solution your dumbass didn’t fuckin’ think up.” 

“Yeah, yeah, I get it. Thank you very much.” You mutter in mock-offense, following behind him as he walks out into your living room. “You ready to sleep?”

“Yeah. Fuckin’ hate listening to you run your mouth.”

You feel something hot and irritated rise in your throat. Then you’re looking over at him, at his smile and the way it crinkles his eyes. There’s no malice to his insult, and if anything he only seems thrilled when you rise to the challenge.

“And I hate having to clean up your blood pretty much every time I see you. Guess we’re both miserable.” You joke, curling your lips into a sneer to match his own. “And I won’t forget, asshole, you owe me a new packet of tissues.” 

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. Just put me to sleep already.” 

Then he’s collapsing onto your couch, settling into the pillows and grabbing the blanket off the back in one fell-swoop. There’s a fluidness to his movements that has you rolling your eyes, hardly even able to believe it was only the second time he’d been there.

“Yeah. Yeah, sure, do whatever you want. Make yourself totally at home, Bakugou! My living room is obviously for you and you only.”

“Fuckin’ knew it.”

“I was being sarcastic.”

“And? I’ll decide to take it however the hell I want.”

“You’re really irritating, you know that?” You half-laugh, pulling one of your gloves from your fingers. “Now, c’mon gimme your hand- wait, actually, I’ve got something else to say first.” 

“Jesus christ, what?” 

“I want you to come around more often.” 

He just shrinks back into the cushions, mouth twisting up comically. “What the hell? That a joke or some shit?”

“No. I’m serious. If you being tired is why you’re always getting hurt, then you need to come around more often. I promise I won’t give you shit for it.” You reassure him. “I’d just- I’d much rather see you here than in the hospital, you know?” 

He seems to just balk even more at your words, tilting his head to the side. “Why the fuck would ya go and volunteer for that?”

“Because, I care about everybody and everything. All the time, remember?”

Something must click for him then, because then he’s nodding, extending a hand towards yours. He won’t meet your eyes, but there’s something a little different about his expression. It’s softer, the tension in his eyebrows almost seeming to melt away entirely.

You grasp his hand, veins once again filling with subtle fire. You wonder suddenly, if using your quirk would afford him sleep for longer, but when you look down at him, you decide against asking. Bakugou’s already got his eyes closed, hand slipping out of yours as he goes completely lax against the cushions. It takes hardly minutes, but then his breath is slowing, and his eyelids are fluttering, but suddenly he jolts. His eyes are half-lidded and his voice sleep-drunk when he speaks.

“Your shitty quirk’s good at fuckin’ puttin’ people to sleep.” He grumbles suddenly, pressing his face further into the pillow. “There. ‘s a compliment. ‘m not burnin’ today. Eat shit, leech.” 

You can hardly hold in your giggle, but it doesn’t matter. Bakugou is snoring almost the second he finishes his thought, limbs stilling almost entirely except for subtle twitches. 

When you turn the lights out, walking back to your room, you feel it again. 

A faint fondness. A slow-burning warmth just barely settling in your chest. 

-//-

pls bc i havent edited this at all i was just excited to post lmaooo

taglist:  @fluffyviciousbunny @definitelynottrin @imsuperawkward @i-need-air @ahbeautifulexistence @brennabooz @jazzylove @flattykawadoorusmilkbread @katsuki-bakubabe @sorrythatspussynal @bakugouswh0r3 @cloudsgathering @un-limit-edd @thekatsukisimp @pollayra21 @the2ndl @officialtrashbusiness @waffleareniceandfluffy @monempathieetmoi @koiwoshinai @christianagrace9

[destiniesfic]

132 Hours, Chapter 13

“Don’t you trust me?”

“Absolutely not.”

Previous

Note: This chapter, like the last one, contains explicit content. Proceed with caution!

Read chapter 13 on AO3, or read below:

I wake up to Cardan nosing the back of my neck, murmuring my name.

My head is fuzzy. I blink my eyes open and, before I am totally aware of what I’m doing, I turn over onto my back so I can look at him. The echo ripples through me from years ago: on your back, like a good little omega. I swat it away. Not now. Plenty of time for shame later.

The light from outside is still so low that I can barely see Cardan’s face, but I know he’s close from the way his breath tickles my ear. And that’s not all I can feel. He’s hard against my thigh. I try to run through the sequence of events that probably happened while I was dozing. Round one had ended; round two is just starting. I wonder how long it had taken for his first erection to subside, or for him to get hard again. I guess I have another shot at finding out.

The insistent pang in my low belly, my constant companion these last two and a half days, throbs with urgency. I can feel the heat rising in my cheeks, my skin prickling. We’re not out of it yet. It’s not done.

Cardan brushes my hair back from my face. “Jude?”

A question this time. Something flutters in my chest. Those words still lurk in my subconscious. Maybe I should feel ashamed now. Maybe this is all I’m good for.

But against all that, I say, “Okay.”

“Okay?”

I nod. “Okay.”

“Okay.” Cardan pauses. “One second.”

“What—” One of his hands brushes my thigh, and I give a full-body shudder. He starts tugging my shorts the rest of the way down my legs. We were in such a hurry that they hadn’t really come off. I prop myself up on my elbows and look down at him. “What do you mean one second?”

“Don’t you trust me?”

“Absolutely not.”

He flashes me a grin. His teeth are so white. Without quite realizing what I’m doing, I touch the place where he bit me, wondering if I can still feel their indentations. “Trust me for the next few minutes.”

“Why—” I begin, but then he gently pushes my hand aside and presses his lips to my neck. I feel weirdly heady, but cover it up by rolling my eyes. “Fine. But you’re on thin ice.”

“Yes, Alpha,” he says dryly, and my heart gives a thud so hard I feel it in my teeth.

I am so distracted I don’t realize his hand is stealing between my legs again. This time, instead of going straight to fingering me, he just touches me, almost leisurely. It takes him no time to find my clit, which is deeply unfair. I groan as he circles his fingers, taking his goddamn time. Not fair. I wonder if he can unhook a bra on the first try, too. His mouth is on my neck, and now my shoulder, and now my collarbone. I am heating up so fast, I think I am going to spontaneously combust before we can even have sex again.

“You know,” he says, sounding infuriatingly self-satisfied as he moves himself a little lower down, “this is way better.”

The sound that comes out of my mouth is somewhere between a whimper and a moan. I don’t know what to call it and am deeply embarrassed that I made it.

At first I think he might go down on me and feel something between anticipation and panic—panic because it’s basically been a swamp down there for days and I really wouldn’t want anyone putting their mouth on me, and also because, as dumb as it might sound, I haven’t gotten to shave. But he stops with his head about level with my chest, and cups my breast in his free hand, which makes me draw a breath in anticipation, but is nothing compared to the sensation that zings through me when he puts his mouth to my nipple.

“Oh,” I whine, and slide my hand around the back of his head to root in his thick, dark curls. “Oh, god.”

And of course it’s when he has me off-balance that he slides his fingers inside of me, two of them, slowly at first. I feel them curl and look up at the ceiling, clutching his hair for dear life, and think, Huh, he does know what he’s doing. He makes a sound but doesn’t falter, not with his mouth or with his fingers, his thumb now circling my clit, the pressure in my body building—

It’s too much. It’s too much.

“Stop,” I cry. “Cardan, stop, stop.”

Right away, he stops. His hand withdraws and he picks up his head, his dark eyes wide. “What? What’s wrong?”

What is wrong? I blink and my eyelashes feel wet. “I don’t,” I begin. Oh, I’m panting. “I’m going to—”

He gives me a sideways look, confused. “Yeah, that’s the point.”

I am equally confused and, more than that, overstimulated. Short-circuiting. Why isn’t he being selfish? Alphas are selfish. “But you haven’t.”

“Oh, god.” Cardan leans forward and presses his forehead against my shoulder. “Don’t worry about me. You’ll make it up to me. Do you want to come?”

My feelings are scattershot, frayed wires sparking, but I nod, because I do. I really do.

“So let me take care of you,” he says. He pushes me back so I’m lying down, my head on the pillow, and goes back to work, paying attention to my other breast and rebuilding the rhythm he’d established with his fingers. It isn’t automatic, but eventually I let myself be overwhelmed. I let him overwhelm me. And when I clench around his fingers, when everything seems a little too much, I don’t fight it.

You know how in old movies when people are about to go to bed together they pan away to fireworks in the sky? It’s like that behind my eyelids, resonating through my whole body.

Cardan is there when I come back to myself, of course. He rests his chin on my sternum and smirks up at me. In that moment, seeing how pleased he is, I want to make him feel as vulnerable as I do. I want to take him apart. I want him.

I growl and drag him up by the shoulders, and that smirk becomes a gasp when I reach down to wrap my hand around his cock. I nearly gasp, too; his skin is hot under my fingers, and he’s so hard that it must hurt. Good, I think deliriously—I was in agony for days, after all. But my heart probably isn’t in it because I’m trying to wrap my legs around his waist and get him in me.

“Wait—here—” he says, through gritted teeth, and he lines our hips up a little better. My hand falls away so he can enter me unimpeded. It’s easier than the first time because I am warmed up, because of all of the fluid, but there is still that beautifully unbearable friction. This time, I moan openly before pressing my face to his shoulder to muffle it, and he responds in kind, quieter but clearly less self-conscious.

He seems a little more in control of himself this time, working up to a demanding pace with surety. My hands roam up and down the skin of his back, which I’m surprised to find is not smooth, like I thought it would be. Instead, my fingers run over ridges of scar tissue, raised lines striping his back, a few of them. I would ask, but it is very much not the time. I tuck the knowledge away for later and concentrate on matching the rhythm of his hips. Not that I have to work very hard. With him, it’s easy. Our bodies seem to just know what to do.

I feel his breath on my cheek and realize his face is right there. What would happen if I tried to kiss him? There’s a chance he’d turn away. Omegas are for mating, not kissing—that’s what locker room talk would have you believe, no matter what the Ghost thinks or how he says the world works outside of what I’ve seen of it. Omegas are disposable, and when they aren’t… well, my mom did run from Madoc. But Cardan likes me. He said he likes me.

Worst case, would it really be such a bad thing if I kissed him and he hated it? I definitely don’t mind making him uncomfortable. We’ve done more than kiss—we’re doing more right now—plus, kissing him is an easy way to confirm whether or not he does like me.

And if he does, I’ll know. And if I know, I can use it somehow. Because if the real power is in being wanted, then…

I tilt my head up and brush my lips against where I think his must be, and end up finding half-mouth, half-cheek. Cardan freezes, and I feel a little thrill of satisfaction at being—right? wrong?—before he turns his head and finds my mouth with his again.

It’s like I’ve stuck my finger into a wall socket after being told explicitly not to. That is, it’s electric, and also like I might die from it. For a second we’re both holding our breath, closed lips pressed together, then I open my mouth and Cardan groans, clutching my face in his hands and kissing me hard. Now we’re truly right up against each other, my mouth to his, my chest against his chest, as though we could match heartbeat if we just got a little closer. His thrusts slow, but not in a bad way; they become deeper, more deliberate, like he’s trying to draw this out.

It feels surreal. It feels the way sex looks in movies. There’s nothing embarrassing about it. I am always watching, always analyzing, always anticipating, but now I am thinking of nothing but his skin against mine.

The end of this round is much less dramatic than my first panicky orgasm in the middle. I just hold onto Cardan, my arms around his shoulders, my legs wrapped around his waist, and let go, just as he does, his face now in the unruly cloud of my hair, the rest of him taut and shaking. When it passes, I lie there under him, breathless and slightly stunned. He doesn’t seem much better off. His entire body goes slack against mine.

“Oh,” he says in my ear. “Oh.”

I turn my face toward his in the dark. “What is it?”

He picks up his head a little, enough that I feel his mouth brush my cheek in passing. His arm reaches across me to brace itself against the mattress, and then his face is above mine again, black eyes shining. “That’s what that’s supposed to feel like.”

“Haven’t you had sex before?” I am incredulous. “Haven’t you had sex before a lot?”

He huffs a laugh. “Yeah. But not like that.”

I try to puzzle out what he means. I mean, in rut, with knotting, sure, and this time had gone a little smoother than the last, so that could be all. I’m pretty sure he’s been with omegas before. And I know he’s had a least one serious relationship, although that was with Nicasia, an alpha. Not that Cardan and I have a relationship of any kind, so that’s not comparable at all.

We’re stuck face to face this time, but at least he’s given me a model of what to do. To make it a little comfortable, I roll us onto our sides again, and he lets me. Then he kisses me again. We stay like that for a while, just kissing, riding out the residual tremors of climax.

I’m a little disappointed when he stops kissing me, but his wild grin more than makes up for it. He shakes his head. “I can’t believe you asked me to stop.”

“I was overwhelmed!” I exclaim, blushing fiercely. I am very glad it’s still dark. “Scrambled eggs, remember?”

“Huh?”

“My brain.”

“Oh, yeah,” he chuckles. “For real. And you’ve really never…” He trails off, trying to figure out how to phrase his question. “Like, what’s the furthest you’ve gotten?”

I raise my eyebrows. “What do you think?”

Cardan shrugs. “I don’t know. Locke implied some things.”

“Ugh, Locke.” I pull a face. “Locke barely got a hand up my shirt.”

He raises his eyebrows back at me. “Did you slap him for it?”

I shake my head. I can’t bear to tell Cardan that Locke, to his minimal credit, scaled back his advances when I seemed skittish. “I punched Valerian, though, and he technically didn’t even get that far.”

Cardan frowns. “Whatever he did, it wouldn’t have counted,” he says, surprising me. “You know that, right?”

“I’m pretty sure it would have.”

“I mean, not in the way I’m talking about. In the way that matters.”

I don’t know what to make of this at all. I have always thought of sex as something tthat would someday be done to me and not with me; it never occurred to me to differentiate between what I do or don’t want. That it makes a difference. I draw a line up and down his bicep, and before I can stop myself, I am asking, “How many of your times haven’t counted?”

“Oof.” Cardan is quiet for a second, then says, “I’d like to think they all have, but… I have done some things, shall we say, under the influence that I probably shouldn’t have. Wouldn’t have, if I had been sober. So, there’s that.”

“Yeah,” I say. It’s about what I expected him to say. I don’t want to ask him the horrible question of whether this counts, right now. Because, despite the horrible circumstances, I think it counts for me. I feel oddly brittle when I think about how it might not for him. So I ask a different question. “What about the scars on your back?”

“Aha.” Cardan puts his head down on the pillow. He was waiting for me to ask, I realize. “I fought a bear.”

“It feels like you lost.”

“Hmm.” He leans forward to tuck himself against me. My head fits perfectly under his chin. “You should see the bear.”

“I’d like to. Does he have a name?”

There is a long pause, then Cardan says, so softly I almost don’t hear him, “Yes.”

I reach around me to run my finger over one of the lines. I vaguely recognize the pattern and what might have made it, but people aren’t supposed to get flogged anymore. Instead of my angry fire, I feel fathomless sadness. The list of suspects is small, and none are good news.

I ask slowly, “Do you want me to kill him for you?”

Cardan lets out a little disbelieving laugh. “No. Thank you, but no.”

“I mean it,” I say, and am sort of surprised that I do. I had made a similar promise to the Bomb while I was delirious. Now I am much more clear-headed, although possibly a little dickmatized.

“I know. It’s complicated.”

“What’s complicated about it?” I demand, picking up my head. “He hurts you. What else is there?”

He lifts his hand and runs it through my messy hair. “Let me put it another way,” he says, curling a lock around his finger. “If it turned out Madoc actually did plan your parents’ deaths like Vivi thinks, would you still love him?”

I open my mouth, and then I close it.

“See.” I can hear his rueful smile. “It’s complicated.”

I put my head back down. I want to call on my fire and say, Of course I wouldn’t love him. Of course I would swear to enact revenge on him for all my days. But even as I think it, I remember how he rested his hand on my shoulder when he came to retrieve us from the hospital that terrible night, how he taught me to protect myself, the pride in his eyes when he watched me graduate. And I know it is not that easy.

“I was born when my father was in his sixties,” Cardan says, resting his chin on top of my head again. “I was an alpha, at least, but I was premature, and small. Dain tried to convince my father that I was defective, that I shouldn’t inherit anything. I overheard him talking about it on the phone. He didn’t care if I knew. And that part didn’t work, of course, but some of that idea stuck with dear old dad, or maybe he was just too old to have a child underfoot. He didn’t really raise me. No one did, until I started acting out in school. Then they sent me to Balekin.”

“To make you behave?” I guess. “Or, no… to make you more alpha. To toughen you up.”

“Yeah.”

I can connect the dots from there. Cardan got bumped down to my year, and he got worse. Maybe not when teachers were looking, but worse all the same. His home being hell didn’t excuse that, but it did explain a lot. “From where I’m sitting it just made you a terror.”

“Well, you’re not wrong. And by certain philosophies, that is how to be an alpha.” He pauses, stroking my hair. “But I’m beginning to think there are other ways, too.”

---

I am on the cold floor of my own basement, the one in Madoc’s mansion, wrapped in the scratchy blanket that used to be one of the layers on the king bed in my parents’ house. I’m not naked anymore, but fully dressed in my school uniform: white, collared shirt; blue and green tartan skirt and the bicycle shorts I always wore under it; too-long socks.

Valerian is here. I know before I even see him and dread looking up. But I do, like my eyes are the camera lens in a movie, drawn unfailingly toward the source of motion and conflict. His nose is bloody, his eye blackened, and he is sneering.

I try to roll away from him, but I’m caught in the blankets, and I panic. He plants his foot on my hip. “No, you don’t,” he says. “You should have just let me do it then if you were going to let Cardan do it now.”

“Shut up!” The more I try to struggle away from him, the more tangled up I become. The thudding of my heart is so loud in my ears.

Valerian snorts derisively and wipes the blood away with his hand, smearing it over his face. “You’re a filthy animal,” he snarls. “That’s all you are. That’s all you’ll ever be.”

My eyes snap open.

I am back in our cell. Cardan is stretched out next to me on his stomach; we must have both been asleep when we came undone. He is completely naked, because I have stolen all of the blankets. Dawn is beginning to shine through our one tiny window. I am on my back, staring up at the ceiling, trying to make my heartbeat settle, the shapes resolve themselves.

“Jude?” Cardan asks, feeling for me blindly with an outstretched hand. “Whatsit?”

“Nothing.”

He opens one dark, sleepy eye. “That’s a lie. Bad dream?”

“No.” I roll onto my side to face him, pulling the blankets over my chest. “I’m really okay.”

Cardan’s hand settles on top of the blankets, pressing gently against them, which just makes my heart race again and undoes all my hard breathing work. “Your heart’s going crazy.”

“Are you a doctor now?”

“And you smell freaked out.”

My brow furrows. “You can’t smell when I’m freaked out.”

“I can. And when you’re angry. Your scent gets all… spiky. Spicy.”

“That’s racist,” I deadpan.

“No, it’s not,” he scoffs, but then he looks mildly concerned and sits up halfway, propping himself up on his side. “Wait, is it?”

I sigh. “Fine, you’re right. It was a nightmare.” I hold up my hand, tracing the outline of it against the ceiling. “But I’m fine. Dreams can’t hurt me. They’re just dreams.”

“Yeah,” says Cardan, but he sounds unconvinced.

“Aren’t you too horny for serious talk?” I ask. I can feel from the urgency of my pulse and the faint tingling in my fingers and toes that we’re not out of the woods yet. Admittedly, the nightmare did kind of dampen any urge I had to touch anyone ever again, but that’s not a problem he should be having.

“Um.” He glances down at himself. I also glance down. At that moment I am so glad I’m not a man; they can’t hide anything. His voice is strained when he says, “I mean, kind of horny, but obviously if you need to talk—”

I shove his shoulder to turn him onto his back, then crawl over to him. I’ve watched some porn, and also, you know, television, so even though I’ve never done this, I know how it’s done. I push myself up and swing my leg over him to straddle his hips. I have never gotten to be taller than Cardan before, but it’s not just the angle that changes him. He looks up at me like I am a beautiful stranger, someone he’s never seen before and might never see again, and then he tries to blink it away, but he’s too slow. I feel the breath woosh out of my chest.

“You’re trying to distract me with sex,” he accuses.

That was what I was trying to do—distract him and myself—but now I’m not so sure. Maybe I just want to have sex with him. Maybe I am choosing him just to choose him. Is that better or worse? I push my hair back over my shoulder, shaking it out. “Is it working?”

“Uh-huh, it’s—working great.” He runs a hand down my thigh. “But do you have it in you?”

“Yeah.” I nod, too, to drive the point home. The warm flush is starting to return to my body, but not as strong as before. My heat is finally, finally coming to an end. “One more time.”

“Okay.” He places his hands on my hips. “I should probably—”

Before he can tell me what he should probably do, I sink down onto him—and then gasp, because gravity is working with me this time so it happens way quicker than I thought it would. It doesn’t hurt, but it’s startling.

“Jude,” he groans. “I was going to say I should probably warm you up.”

“I’m plenty warm,” I say, moving my hips experimentally. As long as the heat lasts, I shouldn’t need too much stimulation to get going. I feel so full of him that it’s intoxicating.

I thought being on top would be more of an up-and-down motion, but it turns out grinding down on him or rocking back and forth feels just as good. I am surprised to find that I am not at all self-conscious, maybe because I have the best view of Cardan yet, and he is watching me like I’m a miracle, like he’s afraid I’ll disappear if he takes his eyes off me for a second. I run my hands over his shoulders, scratch my nails a little against his chest, just to see him bite his lip. Not the fake lip-bite he’d do in front of a camera, either. One he can’t help.

“Jude,” he says again, moving up into me as I grind down on him. His hands stroke up and down my thighs. His eyelashes flutter. “God, you’re so fucking pretty.”

I pause. “What?”

“Oh.” Now he looks startled. “Uh, I meant you’re—”

“You’re pretty, too,” I say, before he can take it back. A smirk is curling the edge of my lips. He is pretty, underneath me, his hair spread out on the pillow like that, his face flushed. Even the tips of his ears are red, although that’s probably from embarrassment.

Cardan blinks at me, then recovers his dopey grin. “Damn right I am,” he says, and then he shifts, coming to sit up with me in his lap. He cards his fingers through my hair again. “But you’re something else.”

I look at him, at his perfect, stupid, handsome face now nearly level with mine, and my heart aches in my chest. Soon my heat is going to break. We’ll have no reason to do this ever again. And when we’re let out of our cell, one way or another, we won’t even have a good excuse to keep in touch.

All at once, I realize how much I don’t want that. I don’t want it to be over.

I reach out to touch his cheek, and he presses his hand against mine, holding it there. “Do you trust me?” I whisper.

He watches me with those fathomless, dark eyes, and says, “Yeah, I do.”

Maybe that’s the wrong answer. Maybe he shouldn’t. But I guess he’ll find that out for himself.

I lean forward and sink my teeth into his neck.

Next

[kaminobiwan]

rest & relaxation

pairing: captain rex  x  engineer!reader

summary: bathtime n bedtime. (that means y’all get nakey nakey)

a/n: this isn’t smut, but I did make a sex joke here and there. but, I wanted to let it be known that clothes are off for those who want to avoid that. requested by two anons! one of them was from so long ago but here is Rex getting tucked in for you babes, as well as extra fluff for the anon from two days ago. this is basically my nighttime routine with the cap added in. enjoy loves! + my taglist

After a long day of staring at holos of preparatory battle plans and debriefings, Rex is simply exhausted.

Staring at a screen for hours on end tired him out more than any battle ever could — and he’d known that for sure, since he’d just escaped relatively unscathed from not one, but two encounters with a wild and rampant Zillo Beast. The following week had seen endless piles of bureaucratic bantha-shit, and his role as first-in-command to the Jedi that had been pivotal in saving the Chancellor meant that he was rewarded with the privilege of filling out the mountains of damage reports to the city. Returning to actual military work had been a small relief, but not enough to soothe his raging irritation. Once he’d dismissed Echo from their brainstorming at sundown, he’d felt the oncoming ache in his joints from sitting hunched over too long.

So when you’d approached him in the command center with Hardcase and Kix in tow, adorning scheming grins and bouncing with uncontained excitement, he hadn’t had the energy to even look suspicious.

“Don’t you have work to do, all of you?” He glances at your hands, free from the trademark mechanic’s gloves that usually cover them. You’re tapping your fingers against your leg, a habit he’d come to realize was a signal you were keeping something from him. But in this case, it seemed like you were dying to tell him.

“Oh, we’ve got a piece of work alright,” you reassure him, motioning for the boys behind you to grab each of Rex’s arms. “It’s you.”

He erupts in a chorus of protests when they begin to usher him none-too-gently after you, and glowers at Hardcase when the trooper simpers, “Trust us, Cap. Lady’s orders.”

You send a satisfied smirk over your shoulder, and the view from behind the determined strut of your walk was the only thing keeping him from wrenching out of his brothers’ grips.

———

He’s questions aren’t answered until he’s released at the front of your quarters, two hallways down from the rest of the bunks and his own room. You punch in the access code and then he’s pushed in, and after he sends a glare to the three of you, he stands confusedly in the middle of the room, still unobliged in his request for an explanation.

But then, he sees it — the hunk of metal shoved halfway into the refresher, too long to fit completely inside. It’s filled halfway with water, your detachable showerhead bubbling at the bottom as it fills the basin higher.

It’s...a tub.

“Surprise!” Hardcase shouts, face reflecting his full-blown elation. “Do you like it?”

Rex turns, mind still racing to connect the dots. “Like what?”

“We all thought you could do with a day off,” your hands land on his armor, pulling off his arm sleeves first, then his pauldron. “Think of it as a spa day.”

“And if you refuse to cooperate, I’ll officially mark you down for mandatory bed-rest.” Kix chimes in. “You’re due for some, anyway.”

The gesture isn’t lost upon him, your peppy faces beaming at him, but Rex is so fully drained that he can’t even express his gratitude out loud. Thankfully, it doesn’t seem to need to be said.

“Come on, get naked!” Hardcase cheers, but it’s interrupted by a jab in the side from Kix. “I mean, after we leave, of course.”

Kix shoots the both of you a knowing wink, and promptly shoves his vod back out into the hall. You trigger the door’s release to shut it, and then you’re alone.

He stares at you.

“Well, you heard him, Captain.” A roguish smile hangs across your features as your eyes flicker downwards. “Get naked.”

———

You’d gotten into the water first, testing out the temperature, then beckoned him to lay back against you so you could shampoo his hair. He’d raised an eyebrow at the violet liquid collecting in your palm, but you’d insisted. “It’ll keep the bleach job from getting brassy,” you explained. “Unless you want hair like Crys.”

He’d winced at the prospect, and no more convincing was needed. He’d gladly let you do whatever you wanted to him if it meant preserving his trademark dusty blonde.

Now, as you work at his scalp, Rex feels the tension leave his body for the first time in what feels like months. 

His appreciation simmers deep in his middle, pleasured feelings he doesn’t know how to describe washing over him the same way the small waves do with every swish of his legs in the tub. In the back of his mind, a voice calls him undeserving, but it’s quickly silenced by your own reminders he’d memorized, an attempt to undo his depreciative self-image. He’s been working on that, thanks to you.

Regardless, the nag to reciprocate your kindness remains. He should be doing something for you, too. Repay you, get you a gift or something. Return the favor.

Rex is a man of action, after all.

Words and action alike fail him, however, when your fingernails drag across the sensitive spot behind his ears and brush up, collecting the lather at the crown of his head.

You snicker. “Feel good?”

He nods, unable to speak with his mouth hanging open from the sensation.

“You look like you have a mohawk.”

“Don’t care what I look like, so long as you keep doin’ that.”

Without another word, you comply, and he doesn’t realize he’s falling asleep until it’s too late.

———

It’s his own snoring that wakes him up, then the rush of water filling his nostrils as he slips underneath the surface.

“Kriff!” A series of coughs and splashes draws your attention to his flailing form gripping the sides of the tub, in the middle of drying your hair at the sink. Your concern quickly dissolves into amusement, though, when he releases another string of curses in Mando’a.

“Those are new.”

His hacking is muffled into the towel you’ve handed him, and he turns a glare of betrayal towards you as he splutters. “‘S not-ack-funny.”

You swallow a laugh and opt to kiss the top of his head instead, conceding in favor of his pride. “You’re right, sweetheart. It’s not funny,” he blows his nose into the cloth as he stumbles out of the bath. “It’s hilarious.”

He gets you back by throwing his makeshift tissue at your freshly cleaned face.

After he’d dried off and you’d reapplied your nighttime products — though there really wasn’t a need to wash up again, there wasn’t any snot on your face, he’d checked — the limb-loosening heat of his bath had sunk in fully, drowsiness returning like a sheet of Kaminoan rain. You’d made cooing noises at his ‘adorable sleepy face’, and he was too weary to reject the compliment, even less so as you swept behind him and pulled him to sit on the bed between your legs.

Your arms squeeze around his chest tightly in a split second hug before releasing him, but your touch returns soon enough, accompanied by the sweet smell of the lotion you begin to massage firmly into his shoulders. Deft fingers rub the expanse of his scarred chest, and Rex holds in a groan at the sensation.

As you lean down to lay kisses along his clavicle, he smirks, “Should’ve told me to keep my pants off if you wanted to do this.”

At once, your hands freeze, and then you’re craning around him to look him head on. “Do what, Rex?”

The unimpressed expression on your face is enough to clue him in that this hadn’t been leading to where he thought it was, and he gulps as you raise a brow at him expectantly. “Um…”

“I’m not lubing you up to jack you off, di’kut.” A swat at his abs has him jerking upwards. Those Mando’a lessons were really backfiring on him. “That’s not what the lotion is for.”

“Well, according to Jesse…” Another swat, this time followed by a pinch. “Ow! Okay, sorry!”

You’re not mad, despite the way you roll your eyes, he can tell by the subtle tittering exhales as you hide a chuckle. He relaxes further into your body, back curving against your stomach. Your massaging resumes, and he lets his head roll backwards onto your shoulder. You turn your head to peck his cheek. “It’s lavender, for stress relief.”

And Rex thinks that his assumption could just as well be stress relief all the same, but he’s secretly grateful. After the day he’s had, he’s ready to just huddle close and fall asleep in your arms.

You finish a few minutes later, though not before the pull of sleep hangs heavy on Rex’s eyelids. Still, he catches the affectionate smile playing on your lips as you maneuver him to lay down fully. Though he knows that logically, every cot on base is the same standard sorry excuse for a mattress, your bed always seems to be the most comfortable. But just as you reach for the government-issued blanket at his feet, one last craving for your skin on his is enough to fight off his coming slumber.

He surges upwards with the last of his strength, hands gripping your hips softly and lips meeting their mark in a sweet kiss. Your mouth twists into a wider smile against him, and as you clamber over him in a slow motion dance of fumbled crawling, his head finds its place back onto the pillows, faces still connected.

“Rex.”

He hums dazedly, contentment thrumming through his veins. Maker, you’re so warm.

“You’re tired, Rex.” To his disappointment, you separate from him, but it’s placated by the look of fondness shining in your star-filled eyes. You gift him another kiss on the corner of his mouth, and he’s so struck by your reverence that he barely moves his lips to reciprocate. He’s weak at your touch, even weaker at your devotion. You make him feel treasured. You make him feel loved.

You say so, the same time he does. “I love you.”

A hushed giggle escapes you, and his cheeks sing with his adoration. It buzzes in the air, louder when you pull the covers across the both of you, shielding out the rest of the world with the thin blanket. His toes twitch at the cold air when they’re uncovered in favor of your impromptu fort, but the comforting weight of your body atop him is worth more than chilly feet in the night. Underneath the cheap fabric tented by your head, he is safe from any cold or evil.

Your grin, heavy-eyed and childish, is the last thing he sees as he finally slips out of consciousness. “Thank you,” he whispers, still smiling. “For everything.”

You nestle into the crook of his neck, and murmur a command into his ear. “Go to sleep.”

Like a good soldier, he follows your orders.

[red-writing-on-asylum-walls]

Like Everyone Who Was Dragged There First (Again)

A rewrite of the original fic. I’m...not sure if this one is actually better? Or just longer. I think I cleared some things up and filled in some plot holes buutttt idk. Lemme know what you guys think.

Warnings for: torture, blood, violence, child endangerment, strangulation, implied child abuse, implied past torture, force feeding, implied psychotic break, this is not how mental health works

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“Heya, Jake. Long time, no see.”

The bowl slipped out of Jake’s numb fingers and clattered to the floor, spilling popcorn all over the carpet. The air felt frigid and thick, the world slippery against the cold clamminess of his skin. His lungs didn’t seem to want to work right, he couldn’t breathe, his brain short circuiting as it desperately tried to reconcile what it was seeing.

Aaron Pierly was sitting casually on the couch next to Milo. There was a ratty backpack on the floor between his feet and an all to familiar smirk on his face.

Jake was already on the brink of panic, thoughts tumbling over one another as Milo stared at him in confusion. Dan wasn’t home. Jake’s cellphone was upstairs and out of reach. Aaron was sitting too close to Milo. Dan wasn’t home and he wouldn’t be for several hours. Dan wasn’t home and they were in very real danger.

“Aaron.” His voice was tight, squeezed out of his throat in a reluctant gasp of stale air. It tasted like old, dusty fears being pulled from the attic of his mind.

“Dad?” Said Milo and Aaron’s eyes flickered with something wicked and gleeful.

“Wwhhhaattt? This is your kid? Aw, Jake, how could you be so cruel? Why didn’t you tell your own brother that you had a son?” Aaron’s voice was teasing, could almost have been friendly if not for the sour, mocking edge to it. And the look in his eyes that said something else entirely.

“I have an uncle?” Milo perked up excitedly and Jake wanted to scream and pull him away from the monster he sat next to.

“You didn’t even tell your kid about me? Ouch, big brother, that hurts my feelings.” The words were acid as Aaron hissed them through the grin in his teeth. His arm coiled around Milo’s shoulder, a python trapping its prey, his fingers curling into the soft fabric of the shark hoodie, “How about we talk in the kitchen? Make another bowl of popcorn. See what kind of fun we can have.”

It was not a suggestion.

Aaron pulled Milo off the couch, arm still around his shoulders, pinning the boy to his side as he steered them past Jake and back into the kitchen. Jake had to follow them. Dan wasn’t here so Jake was going to do everything he could to protect Milo, no matter what it took. He forced himself to follow and tried to keep the fear off his face, for Milo’s sake, tried not to wince when Aaron pressed his hand into Milo’s shoulder and forced him to sit down in a kitchen chair. Jake stood in the doorway, trying to take steady breaths, his palms sweating and his heart thudding. Aaron was humming tunelessly as he lifted the backpack up and set it on the table.

“I brought some of our old toys we used to play with together,” The devil in his brother’s skin said cheerily, “For nostalgia, ya know.” The zipper on the backpack sounded like cracking bones in the heavy quiet of the house, “Remember this stuff?” Aaron turned the bag over and dumped its contents onto the table.

A scream swelled in Jake’s throat and then wouldn’t come out. He forgot how to breathe, choking on icy panic as he tripped backwards and nearly fell out of the kitchen. The world felt muffled, drowned by a roaring in his ears and the painful thudding of his own heart pounding fists against the prison bars of his ribcage. The edges of his vision went dark and fuzzy, static clinging to his mind, old blood in his nose, long healed aches flaring deep in his bones. All he could see were the old instruments of torture spilling across the kitchen table, so bright and vivid and full of memories he wished he didn’t have.

“Dad?” Milo’s voice from somewhere far away, miles away and underwater, a thread in the maze of panic leading him to the exit, “Jake? Dad? W-what’s going on? Dad!?”

A chair scrape on the tile floor.

A thud.

“You stay in your seat, brat. Unless you want to play too…”

“Don’t touch him!” Jake didn’t remember moving but as the world snapped back into clear focus, he found he had put himself between Milo and Aaron. His hand was gripping Aaron’s wrist in a shaking grip, having wrenched it off of Milo’s shoulder.

Aaron looked far too pleased, “I won’t touch him if you play with me, Jake. I’ve missed out time together. It’s no fun without around.” There was such darkness in his voice, such loathing, that Jake pulled his hand away from Aaron as if he could feel it burning through his skin.

“I…” Jake choked. Aaron was much too close, filling his vision, blotting out the light.

Aaron grinned, showed his nicotine stained teeth. And, faster than Jake could react, Aaron snatched up Jake’s wrist and bent his arm back. Jake cried out as his shoulder was pulled harshly, trying to twist away, but Aaron just followed the movement, using it to steer Jake over to the table and pushing him down. Jake scrambled, gasping in fear and pain, as he was bent over the tabletop, one arm behind his back and the other pinned beneath his chest. Jake could feel his own pressing against his arm.

“Dad!” Milo’s desperately scared voice, that sound of the chair against the floor again.

“I said stay in your seat!” Aaron barked, the first time he’d raised his voice, cracking it against the walls of the kitchen. Jake heard Milo thump back into the chair, the squeak of felt pads on shiny tile.

“Now Jake,” Fingers fisted in Jake’s blond hair, yanked hair head back at a painfully sharp angle to expose the curve of his neck and making Jake let out a small, choked cry. Aaron forced Jake to look at Milo sitting petrified in his seat, making their eyes meet, their terror an echo chamber between them. Then Aaron shoved Jake’s face back into the table, grinding it against the polished wood for a moment before releasing his hair, “We’re going to have a nice little chat. And your kid is going to sit there and watch while we go on a nice little stroll down memory lane. And I can remind you about what a piece of utter shit you are.”

“Aaron, p-please…” Jake whimpered, “Milo…h-he doesn’t need to see…”

“Oh, I think he does,” Aaron hissed back, “Someone’s got to show him how the world works and you’re too much of a pussy to do it. So let’s start with the basics. Family,” Aaron said matter-of-factly, “Will always ruin your life. Because people are selfish and stupid and older brothers are the worst! Right Jake?”

Jake knew better than to answer.

But he still made a frightened little noise when a pair of scissors flashed in front of his face. He felt the blades snag on the shoulder of his button up, the snip-click of them slicing into the fabric making him shudder. Aaron cut the sleeve off and then wrenched Jake’s arm out straight, making Jake wince, gritting his teeth. The side of scissors ghost over old and faded scars, raising goosebumps as they went, until their sharp tip pressed against some of the ropey tissue that had never healed quite right in the crook of Jake’s elbow.

“It was right here, I think,” Aaron said in a sickly sweet voice, leaning over Jake and crushing him against the table, “You didn’t want to share that stupid CD player. So I had to teach you a lesson in manners. It was a knife, right? I wasn’t very good with that at first. Wasn’t good about not leaving marks…”

Jake watched the horror dawning on Milo’s face, wished with all his damaged hear that Milo had never seen this part of his life, would have given anything to be alone in the house when Aaron had found him. Now Milo was going to have what innocence he had left shattered while Aaron inevitably did the same with Jake’s fragile sanity.

“A-Aaron, just—just let him…he doesn’t need to be h-here…” Jake tried to plead again, only to choke when Aaron pressed a hand down hard on the back of Jake’s neck.

“He’s staying, Jake,” His brother snarled, “And if either of you scream or try to call for help, first I’ll break your legs. And then I’ll show your fucking mouth shut.”

Milo’s mouth opened—to protest or curse or spew whatever teenage rebellion was still on fire inside him. Jake caught his eye and silently pleaded for him to stay silent, to just go along with it, please Milo, please don’t do anything. Milo searched Jake’s face, then shut his mouth, chewing on his lower lip as he eased back into the chair. Jake swallowed the sigh of relief that wanted to escape him, felt his neck flex against Aaron’s hand, and prayed that whatever happened, it would only leave Jake with more scars and Milo unblemished.

He was jarred from his prayers when he was dragged backwards off the table and thrown into a nearby dining chair. Jake looked up in time to see Aaron uncoiling a faded rope from the pile of tools on the table. He caught Jake’s frightened stare and sneered, snapping it taunt and making Jake flinch.

“Here’s the deal, Jacob,” Aaron growled, walking over to Milo who shrank away from him, “We’re going to play for a while, and your kid’s going to watch so he can learn exactly what kind of dumb, disobedient, horrible, lying person you are. Then I’m going to pack up my stuff and leave and you’re not going to tell anyone what happened because you know you deserve it.”

Aaron approached Milo with the rope and Milo kicked out at him instinctively. But Aaron just sidestepped it and swung the bundle of rope hard against Milo’s face, knocking him to the side. Milo was too dazed to struggle as Aaron wrapped the rope tight around Milo’s chest and the back of the chair, pinning the teenager’s arms to his sides. His movement were deft and practiced, an efficiency created from repeated use of the skill. The rope pinned Milo’s ankles to the legs of the chair and made a complicated series of loops beneath and behind. Milo flinched as the rope draped against his neck and rubbed against his bare skin, tugging against his windpipe as Aaron tied it off behind him. He stepped back to admire his handiwork, grinning nastily when Milo turned fearful but angry eyes on him,

“Haha, look at that. Still a rebellious little shit, huh? Yyeeaahhh, Jakey used to fight back too until I figured out this knot. See, the real beauty of this thing is, the more you struggle, the tighter it pulls. So, if you move around and try to wriggle free then…” Aaron reached around behind Milo and jerked on one of the lines woven into the binding. The rope around Milo’s throat instantly tightened, pressing hard into his neck and cutting his air supply down to the barest wheeze of breath. Milo’s eyes bulged and Aaron laughed as the teenager bucked in instinctual panic. Of course, it was just as Aaron had said—the more Milo struggled, the tighter the noose became.

“Aaron, stop it! You’re here for me! Let him go! Just stop!” Jake was out of his chair, shoving brother out of the way as he fumbled with the knots constructing Milo’s bonds. His fingers slipped off of them, confused by Aaron’s complicated work, and he turned his attention instead to the teenager gagging helplessly in the chair. He cupped Milo’s face in his shaking hands, hushing him, voice hitching as he tried to help,

“Milo, you need to stop struggling. I—I know it’s hard but you need to just—Milo, listen, please listen to me, okay, you need to sit still and don’t move.” He brushed the pads of his thumbs across freckled cheeks, wiping away hot tears, smiling thinly as Milo’s breathing came back under control and his struggling ceased, “That’s it, okay, just—just deep breaths, all right, little shark. It’ll be okay. Just don’t move anymore, okay? Milo? N-no matter what you see, no matter wh-what happens, don’t move. I’ll be fine, I promise, just don’t—“

Aaron yanked Jake away by a fistful of his hair, throwing him to the floor with a growl, “Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Jake. Get back in your fucking chair.”

Jake scrambled across the floor, barely dodging the kick Aaron had aimed at him as he crawled onto he kitchen chair. Aaron followed after him, sneering, pulling a roll of extension cord off the table and knocking several other tools to the floor as he did so. Jake couldn’t stop the whimper that slipped out of him as he pressed himself against the back of the chair, desperate to get away but too worried about what would happen to Milo if he ran. His chest rose and fell with sharp, panicked breaths that scraped his dry throat, his heart was beginning to ache as it thudded harder and faster than it had in a long time. His head spun with an ice cold terror he hadn’t experience since he was a child.

Aaron towered over him, the grin on his face nasty and eager, “Sshhhh, big brother, deep breaths. Wouldn’t want you passing out just yet. We haven’t even gotten started…”

The extension cord wrapped around Jake like an old friend, pinching his skin in familiar places and alarmingly tight across his chest. Aaron heaved on the cord, yanking Jake’s legs off the floor by his ankles and forcing him to bend his knees so that his heels were almost touching the seat of the chair. It made his thighs shake, muscles spasming uncomfortably tight as Aaron finished his work. It seemed he’d learned some new tricks over the years. Jake shivered to think who he might have used as a practice dummy.

“Let’s have a conversation,” Aaron said in the same tone of voice one might have used to discuss the weather. He crossed back to the table and sorted through the objects until he found what he was looking for. When he turned back to face Jake, he was holding an old, wooden baseball bat, tiny and child sized, scraped and scratched from years of use.

“Do you wanna know,” Aaron spun the little bat in one hand as he approached, his grin twisted with rage, “What the house was like after you left? Do you know what happened you weren’t around anymore? Do you know how angry mom was?”

Jake cringed back in the chair, pure terror written in every shaking line of his body, “Aaron, n-no, I didn’t mean—I didn’t think she would—you were—she wouldn’t—“

“But she did!” The bat arced through the air and smashed into the side of Jake’s face, jerking his head violently to the side and smashing the inside of his cheek against his teeth. Iron welled into his mouth and he swallowed it back with a grimace. Aaron brought the baseball bat around again and cracked it into Jake’s head, splitting open the skin of his temple. Blood bubbled from the head wound and slid freely down his already swelling cheek as he blinked dazedly, trying to refocus. Aaron didn’t let him; he swung again and struck Jake hard in the stomach, knocking the wind out of his brother. Jake doubled over with a wet wheeze, drool and blood smearing across his lap from his gasping mouth as he struggled for breath. But Aaron brought another heavy blow down on Jake’s shoulder with a loud, crunching pop. Jake thrashed in the chair, a strangled, gasping scream of pain rattling up his throat, eyes wide and face pale. His shoulder was lumpy and awkward, numb and throbbing and awful—probably dislocated.

“Mom was so pissed when you left,” Aaron snarled, looming over his brother as Jake choked on a sob, breath gasping as he fought for breath, tried to sort through the pain chewing him up from the inside out, “She was so angry. I’d never seen her so mad. And then you didn’t even have the decency to leave us a number? An address!? So fucking disrespectful, Jacob!” Aaron swung again, hit Jake hard in the stomach with the bat. Jake wretched and coughed, spitting up an acrid mixture of stomach acid, blood, and coffee. Aaron dropped the baseball bat with a sneer of disgust, backing away as Jake choked and gagged,

“Pathetic. She raised us. Put a roof over our heads. Gave us food and clothes. And you spat on that. Ran away and didn’t even tell your little brother where you were going!”

Jake looked up, tears and blood and bile still oozing down his face, dropping with the sweat from his chin, staining his shirt and jeans. His breathing was labored and he trembled violently. But his eyes were hard and resolute.

He would not be broken.

That only seemed to stoke the fires of Aaron’s temper.

He spun away to untangle another tool from his collection, shoving things around as he tried to find what he wanted.

Chest heaving, blood and sick and sweat and tears smeared across his front, Jake looked up through hazy eyes and met Milo’s gaze.

The kid was mortified.

Milo’s eyes were wide, bloodshot whites surrounding watery irises. His face was so pale it made his freckles stand out like bullet wounds, his body shaking against the rope binding him to the chair. His throat was already scraped red from the noose dangling threateningly around it. Milo had never witnessed brutality like this before, not outside of television where he was fully aware of how fake it was. Jake wanted to apologize, but his voice was gone, lost under years of conditioned silence because he knew a single word from him would only make things worse.

Aaron turning towards him again made Jake look away. It killed him to do it but the longer he kept Aaron’s attention, the safer Milo would be.

“So scrawny,” Aaron muttered through gritted teeth, wearing something that was akin to a grimace of triumph, “Bet you’re not eating right, huh big brother? You never did. I should be a better sibling…should help you with that.” Jake shook his head and Aaron’s eyes narrowed, “Open your mouth.”

Jake’s throat clicked as he swallowed dryly, clenching his jaw when he caught sight of the plastic tubing and funnel rigged together in Aaron’s hands. The funnel was attached at one end of the tube and the other end was patched awkwardly into some kind of series of straps. Jake could guess what it was for and it was enough to make his stomach turn.

“Open. Your. Mouth.” Aaron’s voice was a stinging lance that made Jake flinch. But, trembling and avoiding his brother’s eye, Jake’s lips parted and he slowly opened his mouth.

Not fast enough for Aaron.

A fist coiled into Jake’s hair, yanking his head back and baring his throat. Jake let out a cry of surprise and pain that was quickly muffled by the foul plastic tubing being wedged into his jaw, pressing against his tongue and shoved almost to the back of his mouth, making him gag. He shook his head, trying to dislodge it, trying to pull away. Aaron snarled and swore, fighting back and shoving Jake against the chair to connect the straps holding the tube in place. Jake let out a muffled scream into the tube, glaring at Aaron as he brother stepped back, pushing greasy black hair from his face with a satisfied smirk.

“Like it? I made it myself,” Aaron patted the side of Jake’s face and Jake cringed away, “Now let’s see what I can feed my poor, starving brother…” Aaron shuffled away to start pulling open cabinets and drawers, inspecting the food in the kitchen, humming and muttering to himself.

Jake struggled, trying to free his uninjured arm, wriggling it against the extension cord even when it pinched and rubbed his skin raw. He glanced up at Milo, trying to apologize, trying to reassure, trying to be there for Milo even though nothing good would ever come of this. Milo was sniffling and crying, trying to keep it in, trying to be strong when he shouldn’t have to be. Jake ached to think of the scars this would leave.

He’d never wanted to be the reason for Milo to cry.

“Oooohh, this’ll work!” Aaron stepped back from the fridge, kicking the door closed with a gleeful little chuckle. He held a jug of milk and a couple of cans of Milo’s favorite energy drinks, all of which he dumped on the table while he scrounged around for something to mix them all in. Jake whimpered and Aaron laughed, dropping a bowl and a container of chicken stock beside the milk and drinks, “Don’t worry, Jakey, let your little brother take care of dinner for you!”

Aaron whistled as he poured both energy drinks into the bowl and then mixed in the milk and chicken stock. The concoction smelled atrocious and looked worse; a pale, hazy snot green that looked slightly greasy. Jake shook his head frantically as Aaron approached with the bowl, trying to dislodge the tube from his mouth, thrashing with all his might against the restraints. Behind Aaron, he could see Milo’s chest heaving, eyes wide and horrified, helpless.

“Bottom’s up, Jake!” Aaron sing-songed. He picked up the funnel and slowly started tipping his horrid mixture in, watching it sluice down the tube into Jake’s mouth.

The second it touched his tongue, Jake wretched, dry heaving and trying to spit it up. But Aaron just kept pouring it and he either had to choke or swallow it down. It felt slick in his throat, burning and disgusting, sitting in his stomach like a lead weight, the aftertaste as caustic as the stuff itself. Another horrible laugh came from Aaron as he dropped the empty bowl and wrenched the straps from Jake’s head, jerking him forward, strings of saliva clinging to the tube as it fell out of Jake’s mouth. Jake coughed, gagged, coughed again, eyes watering, stomach churning, wishing desperately he could throw up. But, god, if he did, Aaron might try to feed him something worse.

“And for dessert…” He heard Aaron say from the end of a long tunnel. He raised his head, watching through blurry eyes as his younger brother picked up a knife from the pile on the table. Aaron slid it from its sheath, inspected it in the light, and grinned at Jake.

Jake just stared at him, wheezing with every shallow inhale, sagging in his bonds.

Aaron scoffed, “Yeah, you’re right…I don’t think I’ve tenderized the meat enough.” He put the knife back into its sheath and grabbed a thick metal pipe instead, rusted and slightly bent out of shape but still dangerous enough to do its job. He hefted it in his hand as he approached Jake.

“STOP IT!”

The voice was like a lance that made the room freeze.

Jake held absolutely still, heart pounding painfully hard in his chest, palms sweating, praying he had only imagined the shout.

“Stop it!” Milo repeated to Aaron’s hunched back and Jake wished he wouldn’t, “Stop hurting my dad! He never did anything to you! So stop it!”

Ice settled in Jake’s chest as Aaron turned to face the teenager. Jake frantically shook his head behind Aaron’s back, trying to tell Milo to just be quiet, to just let this happen because it was inevitable, it had to happen, it was his place in the universe to let it happen. Jake would always run, Aaron would always find him, and Jake would always be punished for being the bad son. No one else needed to be involved, no one else needed to be hurt. If Milo would just stay quiet then things would go back to normal, they would be okay. Jake would eventually walk off the bruises and cuts and the memories would fade into nightmares and be forgotten for what they really were and Milo wouldn’t have anything to worry about. Jake didn’t care how many scars he had to carry if it meant that Milo would never have to experience any at all.

“I told you to BE! QUIET!” Aaron stomped across the room, rearing back with the pipe as he neared Milo.

Milo jerked back, forgetting his predicament and tightening the noose on his own neck. He gagged, his cries choked by the rope cutting off his air supply, feet scrabbling to try and back away from the man approaching him. Jake’s fear escalated to a point where it felt like his heart was tearing itself into pieces. And he would let it, he would gladly let his heart explode if it meant Milo would be spared.

Years of conditioning wrenched his mind in twenty different direction, his eyes burning and his throat closing as he struggled to speak. If he said something he could get Aaron’s attention away from Milo. But if he spoke, then Aaron would make things worse, he always made things worse if Jake said anything, even if it was just a wordless cry of pain, Aaron wouldn’t stand for it. Jake swallowed hard, squeezing his eyes shut and trying to force his voice out despite the way it made his mouth taste like ash and made his tongue feel heavy with fear.

But before he could make a sound, someone else spoke up.

“Milo? Were you eating dinner? I tried texting but y—“

Cody stood frozen in the threshold to the kitchen, his eyes wide and his mouth hanging open as he processed what he was seeing.

For a long minute, there was silence as everyone stared at each other.

Then Jake pushed the words out past the vice in his chest, “CODY! RUN!!”

Cody bolted and Aaron launched himself after the teenager with a scream of rage.

He took a swipe with the pipe and managed to bash it into the side of Cody’s legs, tangling them and sending them both crashing to the floor. Aaron grabbed onto Cody’s ankle and tried to pull him closer but Cody kicked out with his free leg, the heel of his sneaker smashing into Aaron’s face with a crunch of snapping cartilage. Aaron howled in a combination of rage and pain, letting go of Cody in order to clutch at his face. Cody backed away, fumbling his phone out of his pocket, his fingers shaking on the touch screen as he dialed for help.

“H-hello! Th-there’s a man—he tied up my friend—he—he’s trying to hurt me—!”

The sound that came out of Aaron’s mouth was one of inhuman fury. His face was smeared in blood from his broken nose, madness glowing in his eyes as he heaved himself off the floor. A red handprint plastered over the white kitchen tile, the pipe scraping like a furious banshee as he dragged it up beside him. Cody screamed, bolting in the other direction, running around to put the table between himself and Aaron.

Jake was trying to wriggle free of his restraints again, pulling and pressing his good arm as much as he could, ignoring the way the extension cord bit into his sides and made his legs ache. He managed to wrestle his hand free and he twisted, frantically feeling for where he knew the knot was and picking at it, fingers bruised and numb and sore as he tried to undo the rubber cord.

Cody was playing chicken around the dining room table with Aaron. Dodging one way when Aaron went the other. Aaron was getting furious, banging his pipe on the table whenever Cody tried to snag a weapon of his own or got too close. Milo was shouting, shaking in his chair, desperate to wriggle free but knowing what moving would cost him. It was a stalemate; Cody couldn’t get past Aaron but Aaron couldn’t pin Cody, nor could Aaron get Milo to shut up without taking his attention off of Cody.

What Aaron had forgotten, it seemed, was that Jake was very used to escaping from Aaron. He knew all of Aaron’s little tricks.

The knot in the extension cord came loose and then, free. Jake rattled back and forth in the chair, wrenching his dislocated arm, kicking numb legs that didn’t want to cooperate, clawing his way out of the clinging cord. He saw Aaron glance back at him and then do a double take when he realized Jake was freeing himself. He screamed in rage and threw himself at Jake instead, swinging wildly with the pipe. Jake screamed, throwing himself backwards and tipping the entire chair over so he slammed into the floor. The pipe connected with his shin in a savage blow that shattered inside him, drawing out another scream of pain. But his other foot swung up and kicked Aaron’s hand, knocking the pipe free and sending it clattering across the floor.

Aaron was blinded by rage, launching himself at Jake with his bare hands. Jake skittered out of the chair and out of the way just in time, gasping as Aaron went head over heels over the seat of the chair and crashed into the cabinets.

“GET MILO OUT!” Jake shouted to Cody, trying to scramble to his feet, trying to reach for something on the table, anything to give him an advantage against Aaron, “GO! JUST GO! I’LL—“

His voice cut off as hands closed tight around his throat, thumbs pressing into his windpipe, fingers digging into the back of his neck. A heavy body pinned him to the floor, the back of his head knocking against the tile, spine grinding into the grout.

“You’ll what, Jake,” Aaron hissed, spitting blood and rage as he leered over his brother, strangling him with all his strength, ignoring Jake’s weak kicks and flailing hand, “Fight me? Me? You can’t stop me! You never could! You couldn’t stop me when we were kids! You couldn’t stop mom from hurting us! Instead you ran away! You ran away and there was no one to stop her from hurting me! This is your fault! This is all your fucking fault!”

“GET THE FUCK OFF OF MY DAD!”

A whirlwind of red and blue collided with Aaron, knocking him over, and Jake gasped as air rushed back into his straining lungs. He tried to yell at Milo, tried to tell him to run, but he could only cough, clutching at his chest, trying to breathe. The pain beneath his ribs was an inferno of burning acid, flaring in stuttering bursts, his limbs weak and shaky and refusing to obey him.

He heard Aaron scream in rage and pain and then the distinct thud of a fist hitting flesh.

Cody’s voice shouting, “Leave him alone!” And then another collision, more shouting and scrambling.

Distantly, Jake thought he heard the front door opening.

Or maybe he was just hoping that someone was coming to save them.

Shaking and wheezing, eyes fuzzing in and out of focus, chest flaring with agony that drowned everything else out, Jake heaved himself onto his side. He could barely make out the blurry, writhing shape that was Cody and Milo wrestling with Aaron.

Two teenage boys could not fight a full grown man.

“S-sto—stop—“ Jake tried to call to them but his throat didn’t work right and it hurt to breathe.

Someone screamed in pain. It did not sound like Aaron.

Anger and a fierce protectiveness flared to life in Jake, momentarily surging over the pain and exhaustion trying to drag him down. He hauled himself to his feet, lurching over to where Aaron was trying to pin down Cody, Milo on Aaron’s back, pulling at that greasy hair and trying to beat him with fists that seemed too tiny and ineffective. Fury like Jake hadn’t felt since his younger days had him drawing back his leg and kicking Aaron square in the ribs.

Aaron dropped back from Cody with a grunt, spilling Milo from his shoulders, and before he could recover, Jake kicked him again. Then he fell atop Aaron and beat his fist into his younger bother as hard as he could. Someone was shouting, screaming a hoarse voice to stay away from his family. There was red, hot and sticky on Jake’s fist, scratches on his arms.

Someone was pulling at him, dragging him off of Aaron, jostling his broken leg and making him cry out.

He didn’t know where Cody and Milo were.

There were strangers in the house.

Voices were overwhelming him.

His chest was on fire and his lungs weren’t working.

Jake fell unconscious.

———

He woke up in a hospital.

Because of course he did.

Everything ached, a dull throb through his entire body, an even wave of dull pain washing over him with everything shallow breath he took. Jake decided it wasn’t worth the energy to try and stay awake, and so he passed out again.

———

He woke up.

The room was dark. The steady beat of the heart monitor a familiar drone in the background. Someone’s soft breathing came from his bedside.

He was safe.

He fell asleep.

———

He woke up.

Someone’s hand was on his, big and warm and a little calloused.

It took a hundred years for Jake to turn his head and a hundred more for his tired eyes to focus.

Dan was slumped in a chair next to the hospital bed, looking pale and exhausted, his hand lightly resting over Jake’s. He looked like he’d been sitting there for decades.

Jake tried to say something but all that came out was a little gasp of air.

Dan’s head jerked up and their eyes met. Jake tried to smile but his face felt sore. Tears welled up in Dan’s eyes and he clutched at Jake’s hand with both of his, turning towards the door to shout something that was too muffled and far away for Jake to focus on.

He fell asleep.

———

He woke up.

The scent of flowers, a little dry, very faint against the chemicals of the hospital.

No hand on his this time.

The scratch of a pen on paper.

Jake pried his eyes open enough to look around.

A nurse was copying down the information from the monitors hooked to him. She glanced at him and jumped when she saw he was awake.

Suddenly there were doctors and nurses everywhere, shining lights in his eyes, asking him questions he struggled to answer with a tongue made a sandpaper and a throat as dry as the desert.

At some point, it was just too much.

He fell asleep.

———

He woke up.

Something warm was pressed against his side.

It didn’t take as long for him to move this time, though his head still felt like a bowling ball packed with concrete while he did it.

A familiar mop of messy red hair and a soft hoodie.

Milo had tucked himself under Jake’s arm and was curled against him, asleep with his head on Jake’s chest, one hand lightly fisted in Jake’s hospital gown and his brow scrunched up in his sleep. Jake watched him dazedly for a moment and then, very slowly, moved a hand to brush it through Milo’s hair, gently and softly petting his head. The crease between Milo’s eyebrows eased, smoothed out, and he seemed to relax a little, snuggling closer to Jake’s side. Jake winced a little at the pressure, but smiled thinly at the warmth.

At least he knew Milo was okay.

Milo was safe.

Milo was alive.

Jake fell asleep.

———

He woke up far more coherent than he had been before.

When Jake looked around, he saw the slightly wilted flowers in the vase on his bedside table surrounded by a handful of get well soon cards and a well loved shark plush watching over him. With a tremendous effort, he reached out and slid the shark plushie off the table and onto the bed, dragging it closer so he could pet its soft fur.

It was one of Milo’s favorites.

The door opened.

Jake barely had time to register that it was Dan who had come in before Dan was across the room, cupping Jake’s face in his hands and crying.

“You idiot!” Dan babbled, holding Jake like fragile china but still holding him as close as he dared, “You’re so stupid, Jake! You could have died! You idiot! Stupid!”

Jake weakly patted Dan, murmuring quiet reassurances no louder than a whisper, tears on his own face that he didn’t bother hiding. Dan was warm, comforting, strong, familiar. Dan was family. He smoothed Jake’s hair back, sniffing and checking him over, muttering about how happy he was that Jake was okay, that Jake was alive.

“Wh’ happen’d…?” Jake managed to ask. His throat still felt raw and his chest was sore, but it was a fair sight better than it had been.

Dan mellowed at the question, easing down into a chair and holding onto Jake’s hand. Jake’s other hand was still awkwardly stroking the soft shark plush.

“Dom…Dom said he heard police sirens,” Dan said quietly, staring at Jake’s thin and pale fingers against his own broad, dark ones, “Came out to see what was happening. He saw the cars at the other end of the street, coming towards him. Then he heard screaming from inside the house. So he came running in and—“ Dan swallowed hard, squeezing Jake’s hand, “And you were punching Aaron in the face, screaming at him not to touch the kids. You were really beat up, Jake. But it took Dom and three other police officers to pull you off of Aaron. And the second they did, you passed out and threw up. In…in that order…”

Jake grimaced; he could only imagine what that must have looked like, “A-are the kids…?”

“Milo and Cody are both okay,” Dan assured him with a sad smile that said there would probably be plenty of therapy bills in their future, “No permanent damage, just a lot of bruising. Milo wouldn’t stop talking about how cool you looked…”

Jake chuckled, coughed a little, and sagged back against the bed with a tired sigh. He stared at the ceiling for a long time before whispering,

“And Aaron?”

Silence. Jake turned his head enough to look at Dan. There was an expression on Dan’s face like he wasn’t sure about the contents of a questionable container of food found at the back of a fridge. Jake frowned.

“Dan…what h-happened to Aaron?”

“Um…” Dan cupped Jake’s hand in both of his, looked like he was working up the courage to say something, “They, um. They think he—it looks like he had some kind of—of psychotic break. He—your mom is…gone. Then he came looking for you. He’s committed now. I don’t think he’s ever going to…get out…” His look was one of sympathy and pity and apologies he didn’t owe, “Jake, I…I’m really sorry…”

Jake turned away to look at the ceiling again and tried to figure out how he felt.

Aaron had killed their mother.

Aaron was probably going to kill him.

Aaron might have tried to kill Milo.

It felt like too much to deal with all at once. Jake closed his eyes and let out a heavy, wheezing sigh,

“When can I go home?”

He felt Dan’s smile rather than saw it, “Not for a few days yet, buddy. Want me to see if Milo can come by? You’ve been asleep every time he’s visited. Bet he’d like to see you.”

Jake thought about the little spitfire of energy that was Milo, the wide smile, the eager spark. The terror in his eyes. The rope biting into his neck. The righteous anger in his voice.

“Yeah,” He said, looking at the little shark beneath his hand, “I want to tell him thank you.”

[sinninginpurple2-0]

Rite of Passage - Chapter 10

This was completely and utterly inspired by an ask sent to @clairelutra and her response to said ask. All credit for the basic idea goes to her.

Buy Me A Coffee?

AO3 <<Chapter 1  <Chapter 9   Chapter 10   Chapter 11> 

Confessions

“You’re staring at me, aren’t you?” Marinette asked, eyes still closed as she regained her senses completely.

Adrien grinned mischievously and moved to lie down next to her again, propping his head up on his arm as he did so. “How could I not stare at you when you look the way you do?” he asked, snickering a little when she opened one eye to peek at him, “Half naked and sweaty and delicious? Good, was it?”

“Oh God, you’re about to be unbearable right now, aren’t you?” she asked with a sigh, “You look so pleased with yourself. Like the cat who got the cream.”

Well…That pun was enough to uncomfortably stoke his imagination. His eyes trailed down her partially naked body to the juncture of her legs, slick with her own moisture. He licked his lips.

Noticing his gaze, Marinette rolled over onto her side to face him, propping herself up in the same way as him. He turned back to face her as she tilted her head and furrowed her eyebrows inquisitively.

“What?” she asked, “What is it?”

He gulped. Did he really want to tell her this? It was sort of embarrassing, but they had never lied to one another before – not except to protect their identities – and he didn’t want to start now over something as stupid as sex. He took a deep breath and forced himself to relax. Then he spoke as honestly as he could, in spite of the way his shoulders crawled upwards to try and hide his flaming ears.

“I want to go down on you. Like, I really want to. You have no idea how hard I am thinking about it.”

He watched as Marinette’s eyes widened before she averted her gaze in embarrassment. There was no noticeable blush this time, but her skin was already a permanent rosy colour, so perhaps she had simply reached her capacity.

“Really?” she asked, her nose wrinkling a little as she glanced back at him, “‘Cause I’m not too crazy about doing the same for you.” She suddenly looked horrified for a moment as the words her mouth had spoken without her brain’s input reached her ears. “Not that I wouldn’t!” she squeaked, desperate to reassure him, “You’d like it and I’ve never done it before, so who knows how I’d feel after trying it? But I can’t help thinking it’s a bit icky and-”

He leaned forward quickly without warning and kissed her deeply, quieting her ramble before it picked up too much speed. “You don’t have to,” he told her, “I mean, I’d like you to, but there’s no pressure. Maybe we could try that later? Or another time?”

Shit, he thought, biting his lip, eyebrows pulling together in sudden uncertainty.

“That is…if you wanted to do this again sometime?”

Marinette stared at him for a moment and Adrien began to worry that he had ruined everything. Why could he never be satisfied with what he was offered? Here he had been given this wonderful opportunity. The chance to show his Lady his love for her without the need for words. To let his adoration bleed through his physical touches and sensual kisses. Every neuron firing, carrying the message to his nervous system to paint his feelings across her skin and pray his worship was absorbed into her very being. And he might have killed that opportunity by daring to ask for more.

Marinette didn’t seem to be as oblivious to his inner turmoil as he had once been to her feelings for him, her hand reaching up to stroke through his bangs hanging down towards her before resting on his cheek tenderly. She caressed his skin with her thumb gently, a concerned look appearing in her expression. “You’re worried this is a one-time thing,” she said.

He dropped his eyes from her face to her collarbone, chewing his lip more harshly as an outlet for his dejection. He started when her thumb suddenly teased free the abused tissue from his teeth, glancing back up to her face to see the softest smile looking back at him.

“Adrien,” she started, “Chat. After today, I would be ecstatic to do this again. Maybe we could also…” her eyes darted away for a moment before returning to his face. He watched as she took a deep breath, a look of determination taking over her face as she continued. “Maybe we could get dinner? Then go to the cinema or something?”

Adrien’s self-imposed misery swiftly slipped away from him. Like ink floating through the liquid sweetness of her words, he felt it swept away by the current of her equal desire for more. Overcome by exhilaration, he pressed his lips to her own with alarming pressure, desperately trying to push all of his joy and devotion into the kiss. She responded with equal intensity as soon as her surprise at the sudden action wore off.

“I would love to go on a date with you. On one condition.”

“What?”

“We go on lots of them. And you let me pay. And I get to spoil you with lots of gifts and we cuddle in front of the TV sometimes instead of going out.”

“That’s more than one condition.”

“So, sue me, Maribug. Will you be my girlfriend?”

She smiled in a way that warmed his heart so thoroughly, he was sure he would never be cold again. In fact, he was sure to radiate that warmth now so that all places he travelled to would remain safe from inclement weather.

“Of course, I will, Chaton,” she replied, her hand cupping his cheek as she leaned forward to drop another chaste kiss to his lips. Her hand slid down his face to his shoulder, continuing to his chest where she applied the faintest pressure, nothing more than a hint of what she wanted from him.

He obliged by rolling back to lie against the mattress as she continued to smother his lips with unconcealed affection.

She pulled back slightly, and his eyes opened -still half lidded- to see the only girl he’d ever felt this strongly for, his Lady, his Marinette, hovering above him. She was watching his face closely and a strong wave of emotion was evident between them.

“I love you,” she said in a thick voice, “I love you so much.”

She loved him? He knew from what she’d already admitted to that she liked him, was definitely attracted to him and had been so for quite a long time if the way she talked was anything to go by. But for her to be in love with him? It was something he hadn’t yet considered.

His eyes felt hot and he pulled her down to him and buried his head in her shoulder to hide his face until he could control his urge to cry. “My Lady,” he sobbed, “I love you too. I love you, I love you, I love you.”

“Kitty, are you alright?” she asked, the concern in her voice evident as well as the soothing hand rubbing at his scalp.

“Yeah,” he sniffed, “I just…I’ve waited for you to say that for so long and part of me thought it might never happen so I’m…I’m-”

“Shh. It’s okay. I’ve got you,” she told him tenderly, shifting slightly to hold him more comfortably.

As emotional as he was, the crinkling noise caused by her movement evoked the curious cat in him and he experimentally brushed his own chest against hers a little to confirm. Yup, there was that strange plastic sound again. He pulled back from her shoulder to glance down at the origin of the noise and spotted it at once.

There, tucked tightly inside the small pocket on the front of her pyjama top was a square plastic packet. He recognised what it was at once and the beginning of a small smirk appeared on his face.

“Was this all an excuse to look down my top?” Marinette asked with a giggle, incorrectly guessing at the direction of his stare.

He looked back up at her for a moment before the grin intensified. “It wasn’t, but since you mention it, it’d be rude not to.”

She sat up before he could glance down again, and he laughed at her feigned disapproval despite himself.

“You know,” she started, drawing his attention with the way her arms crossed over each other to grab hold of the hem of her top, “if you wanted a look, you only had to ask.”

She pulled the garment over her head with a minor flourish before she attempted to throw it to the side of the bed with the growing pile of clothes they’d shed already. She would have been successful if Adrien hadn’t shot out his arm to grab the soft fabric before it could get out of his easy reach.

“Nice,” he said, turning back and really it was nice. Marinette had forgone her bra as well as her underwear when she had changed, so now she sat completely bare before him. Aside from the obvious exhilaration of finally getting an eyeful of her boobs, Adrien found he was completely awed at every inch of skin revealed to him. Hers was almost flawless and he was sure that most models he’d worked with in the past would kill for skin as soft and beautiful as hers.

He reached out for the only visible line he could see, a thin white scar -obviously a very old, healed one. It was offset from her right breast ever so slightly and led out towards her breastbone and he traced it in reverse with his thumb, stopping just short of his destination in order to glance up at her face for approval. She looked nervous again which confused him for a moment until she spoke.

“I fell off my bike as a kid and there was a stone in the road which cut me,” she explained, though he hadn’t asked, “I know it’s kind of ugly, but-”

“It’s not,” he told her, “There isn’t a single part of you that’s ugly and you don’t have to hide it from me. You know that right?”

When she didn’t respond he pushed himself up to place a kiss to the edge of her scar, delighting in the gasp she made at the contact. Again, he glanced up at her face.

“More?”

“More.”

He acquiesced, gently running his tongue along the fine line by feel alone and continuing further along her breast until he reached her nipple. He closed his mouth over it and sucked, encouraged by her breathy sighs. His other hand came up to reach for the other breast dropping the top he had still been holding to the bed beside him as he did.

He spent some time moving between breasts, experimenting as he was unsure what else to do due to his inexperience. He left trails of kisses, sucked and licked. He tried a light nip to her nipple at one point and immediately worked out never to do that again, as Marinette gave a hiss of discomfort and pulled away a little. He eventually fell into a rhythm of using the tip of his tongue to leave little secret messages across her, tattooing his feelings for her into her skin with words of affection.

She giggled after a while and he pulled back to look at her for clarification.

“Are you doing the alphabet trick?” she asked with a grin, “I thought that was for other places?”

“What? I-I wasn’t-I was just-” he began to splutter nonsensically, and she gave a snicker at his embarrassment, “I was writing that I love you, if you must know.”

“Aww, Kitty. That’s so sweet.”

The barely restrained laughter made it hard to believe her.

Adrien decided that if his Lady was enjoying teasing him, then maybe it was time for a little payback. Leaning in to touch his forehead against hers, he reached out with one hand to fish the little packet from the pocket on her top whilst the other one reached to cup her between the legs distractingly.

“I could always write those little love notes somewhere else for you, if you wanted,” he purred, enjoying immensely the immediate effect he had on her as she whimpered in response.

His other hand successfully extracted its prize and he brought it up to their faces to present between two fingers for her examination.

“Though I also kind of want to know where you got this condom from.”

Buy Me A Coffee?

[quindolyn]

no context male ship? marauders and golden era if u can :0

i get told i smell good a lot (like a dark, sophisticated perfume, dark chocolate, honey and a hint of citrus)

i love love love to learn. like ,,, i love it! mostly about literature and art and astronomy / astrology

i’m a very cuddly person i just touch people and tell them how much i love them a lot

thank u my love!!

Hey Dove! 

I ship you with:

Marauders Era:

Remus Lupin!

As a werewolf, Remmy has a very refined sense of smell, especially near the full moon he can be very sensitive to certain smells. There have been multiple occasions where the stench of James’ Axe Body Spray has had him bordering on nausea and the normally delicious aromas wafting from the great hall have him considering a hunger strike. But your scent is the only one that never makes his stomach turn. How could it when it smells so distinctly of you? Even though the smell of chocolate isn’t always appealing to him before or after a moon when it’s on you it’s like it doesn’t even matter. So at meals or just when he smells something truly rank he’ll bury his nose in your hair or in the crook of your neck, inhaling as much of you as he can. He uses you like people use lavender, if he’s feeling stressed out he just needs to smell you, your very smell soothes him. He loves it when you borrow his sweaters and other clothes because they come back smelling of you. He also has to be careful though because you’re an aphrodisiac and if he’s not careful he will get an erection during the middle of class.

When you said you loved to learn I basically knew who I was going to ship you with because Remmy would love learning with you. He’d go to the library and come back with more books for you than for himself. He shares his favorite books with you and likes to read them aloud to you with you tucked in between his legs. He loves taking you to museums, he walks around him you basically pressed to his chest with him whispering into your ear about the different pieces of art. You get him into astrology, before you he barely even knew his sign but now he gets his weekly horoscope and though he doesn’t really believe in it he still thinks it’s endlessly fascinating and loves to read about it. Will ask you questions about the topic as he learns more and more about it.

He’s touch-starved because he doesn’t think he’s worth the attention or affection. You help him see that he’s not a burden and are constantly hanging off of him, whispering to him how much you love him, tracing his scars with your index finger. He loves it.

and...

Golden Trio Era:

Neville Longbottom! 

Neville is the reason you smell so good. One day you were in the Common Room with his arm wrapped around your shoulders, his fingers playing with your hair when you told him that you wanted to try a new perfume, the one you’d been wearing just wasn’t doing it for you anymore. Neville loved what you smelled like, no matter what but if you wanted to switch it up he was more than happy to help you with that. He asked Professors Sprout and Slughorn for some help in his endeavor but by the time he was done he’d brewed a customized perfume for you, being the observant person that he was Neville had taken into account everything you’d ever brought up, using it to craft your new signature scent. It wasn’t your birthday, or an anniversary, or Christmas, or Valentine’s Day when he gave it to you. No, it was a perfectly normal Thursday afternoon when he found you reading in the common room and handed you a small pink bag stuffed with tissue paper holding the bottle of perfume. You cried when you opened it and he explained it to you because only Neville could be that sweet.

Neville loves to learn too just in different subjects so he would absolutely love to show you the things that he was interested in and that he was learning about and for you to do the same with him. As he learns more about Herbology he studies the different effects and symbolism behind different flowers and weaves you flower crowns with the ones he likes and explains to you the meaning behind each flower. I’d also like to think that if he weaved them a special way there are like “knot spells” that can be done by making them in certain patterns if that makes any sense and they do different things like there’s a protection one, a calming one, a clarity one, etc.

He too is touch-starved, his grandmother never giving him the proper validation he needed and deserved so you giving it to him in your words and actions boosts his confidence so much. He’s not sure how to respond to your affections at first but as he grows more confident he returns your sentiments all while clinging onto you as much as you do him.

I’m actually really proud of both of these, I hope you enjoy it!

[hermannsthumb]

90+96?

90. Unexpected Virgin + 96. Scars 

from fanfiction trope mashup here

continuation of me filling ancient, 2 year old prompts in my inbox! sometimes you just gotta return to the basics and write post-movie first time :’) this is the first thing ive written on my new laptop, MOMENTOUS OCCASION. as u might have guessed 18+/NOT SFW BELOW CUT

—————

They’re about an hour into the impromptu We Didn’t Die! party currently ravaging the base when Hermann–stripped out of his sweatervest, and clutching his cane like a lifeline–suddenly grips Newt by the forearm and swings him around to face him. “Newton,” he declares, as the contents of Newt’s plastic cup slosh to the floor, “I would like to invite you back to my quarters.”

It’s probably due to the two shots of vodka Newt downed in quick succession about twenty minutes into the impromptu party that the innuendo flies right over his head, and, instead of accepting enthusiastically, he merely draws his face into a pout. It’s not unusual for Hermann to force him to go to bed, especially after a week of all-nighters in the lab, but now? During this? They’re practically guests of fucking honor. “To sleep? Lame. I’m not tired. Hey, unwind, have a drink!” He pushes his plastic cup into Hermann’s face.

Hermann pushes it away. “I believe you misunderstood me,” he says. “I’m asking you to have sex with me, Newton.”

“Oh,” Newt says.

They’re out of LOCCENT in a flash, and bursting through the door of Hermann’s cramped quarters in another. Newt has been fucking vibrating with energy all day long–excitement, elation, fear, straight-up terror–and he’s more than ready to unleash all twelve hours’ worth of it, plus twelve years’ worth of pathetic pining, on Hermann in the most awesome, cathartic victory sex the world has ever seen. And now that they’re finally alone–now that they’re finally alone together–

“I am so fucking horny right now,” Newt breathes. He kicks off his boots: one of them flies across the room and knocks over a precariously-balanced stack of books, while the other smacks against Hermann’s dresser and sends a photograph of Newt and Hermann crashing to the floor. “Holy shit, you have no clue. Oh my God.” Truthfully, he’s been sporting a half-boner since he threw his arm around Hermann in LOCCENT, and Hermann gave him that little smile and tucked up against him, but Hermann doesn’t need to know that. 

Hermann’s eyes are dark, and his pupils are wide. He wets his lips as those eyes sweep over Newt. “I. Ah. I am, as well.”

“Fuck yes,” Newt says. He moves his hands to his collar, where he rips off his tie, but he stops at his buttons with a grin. He could at least pretend to play hard to get. “Hey, you want me to take my shirt off?”

“That’s typically what’s done, isn’t it?” Hermann says. “During–” He clears his throat. “During these sorts of things?”

“Right,” Newt says. “Okay, do yours too.”

They take their shirts off. Hermann is sporting a nice set of shoulders and biceps, and an even nicer set of pecs, and Newt thinks that trim waist would be the perfect size to wrap his fingers around, but his too-pale skin hugs his ribs a little too-tightly. There’s not a hint of hair in sight. The exact opposite of Newt, basically, in all his hairy, tattooed, out of shape glory. It’s kind of perfect. Newt bets they’d fit together like a pair of puzzle pieces.

He wolf-whistles before he can help himself. “I should’ve known you’d be even hotter under all those stupid sweaters.”

“Oh,” Hermann says. His mouth twitches up into a coy echo of his earlier smile. “Thank you. I think.”

Newt wants to get all over that hot bod, and so he does, inching up to Hermann until their stomachs brush and their chins bump, and planting his hands on either side of that neat, sexy waist. He’s right about it being the perfect size to grab. Hermann watches him through his dark lower lashes, standing perfectly still; he’s holding his breath. “I’m gonna kiss you now,” Newt says.

Hermann nods.

They kiss. It’s pretty cool, even if Hermann stands as stiff as a board, arms hanging limply at his sides, and even if when he finally decides to use tongue it’s at the moment Newt decides to use teeth and he ends up firmly biting down on it. “Ow,” Hermann hisses, pulling back sharply.

“Sorry,” Newt says. “I haven’t gotten laid in ages. I kinda forget how to, uh...” He tries to kiss Hermann again, but at Hermann’s darkening, skeptical expression, drops it. “Uh, you wanna take this to the bed?”

“Take off your jeans first,” Hermann says.

They stare at each other.

“Not–I mean yes, but–what I mean is they’re filthy,” Hermann snaps. “I’m not having you dirty up my sheets. Grime and blood and who on Earth knows what else.”

“Sure,” Newt says, and grins again. He fumbles with his belt and drops his jeans, and Hermann’s gaze drops too. Never one to pass up putting on a show, Newt tips his crotch forward to make his boner just that bit more prominent, and just that bit more in Hermann’s personal space. “Like what you’re seeing?”

Hermann nods.

Newt takes Hermann’s right hand and places it on his hip, just the waistband of his boxers. “You wanna take these off?” he says. He punctuates the question with a little kiss to Hermann’s throat. It’s so smooth–not at all like the scratchy, stubbly mess across Newt’s. He kisses it again, just ‘cause it’s nice, and feels more than hears the low rumble of a groan that rises in the back of it. Hermann’s shut his eyes.

“Ah–Newton–”

When it becomes clear Hermann won’t be sticking his hands down Newt’s boxers any time soon, Newt backs him up to his bed and pushes him down into it. Hermann sprawls backwards with a small thump. His cane clatters to the floor. “You gotta do some of the work here, dude,” Newt laughs.

To his surprise, Hermann flushes. “I’m sorry,” he says, “I haven’t much. Er. Experience, with this sort of thing. I’m not quite sure what to do.”

This comes as no small surprise to Newt. Hermann’s just…Hermann, y’know? He’s bitchy, and weird, and kind of weird-looking, but he has a sexy way of rolling his r’s and a sexy mouth and, apparently, a sexy bod, and if Newt–the guy’s certifiable rival–has wanted to get into his pants for ages, he’s sure he can’t have been the only one. But hell if the thought of being the first one to do it doesn’t turn him on likes crazy. “Luckily for you, I’m a pro at sex,” he lies. “I’m amazing. Just ask anyone. Wait, uh, not anyone, I don’t mean–”

“I know,” Hermann says. He sits up and plucks at Newt’s waistband. “May I take these off now?” He wets his lips again.

“By my fucking guest, dude,” Newt says.

Hermann tucks two elegant, nimble fingers under the elastic and slips Newt’s underwear down to pool around his ankles, finally letting his erection breathe a little. Newt leers down at him. “What about now?” he says. “Huh? You like this?”

But Hermann isn’t looking at his dick, inches from his nose though it is; Hermann’s looking to the left of it. “You have a scar here,” he says, and pokes at a small expanse of skin on Newt’s thigh between two tattoos.

“Uh,” Newt says. “Yeah, dude. I rammed into a table when I was rollerskating in the house once and had to get stitches.”

Hermann traces his fingers over the scar. “You must have been quite the handful as a child,” he says wryly.

The incident in question happened when Newt was twenty-four, but he decides it’s best to not divulge that particular bit of information to Hermann. “Uh. Yeah.”

Hermann reaches down and unbuckles his own belt, then begins to partially wriggle out of his stupid baggy pants and tighty-whiteys. “We’re matching,” he says. “Look.”

His left hip and thigh is a mess of scar tissue that Newt imagines, at one point, must’ve hurt like a bitch. Way more than Newt’s stupid incident with the roller skates. Way more than could even be compared to Newt’s stupid incident with the roller skates. But he smiles anyway: he likes the idea of it being some giant, flashing sign from the universe of their drift compatibility. “Have you looked in the mirror?” he says, and shuts his non-bloodied eye to make his point. “We’re not just matching there.”

“Hopefully not permanently,” Hermann says. He finally turns his attention on Newt’s dick, scrutinizing it like it’s one of his incomprehensible equations. It gets Newt even hotter. “Would you like to have sex now? I’m eager to put your renowned skills to the test.”

Newt doesn’t miss the sarcasm. It’d be kind of hard to. “Jackass,” he says. “Move over, I’m getting in.”

Hermann divests himself of the rest of his clothing and shuts off the overhead light while Newt makes himself comfortable on Hermann’s bed, though he leaves his small bedside lamp on to cast them both in a cozy yellow glow. All of Hermann’s room is shockingly cozy, in fact: the quilt tucked in neatly to his cushy mattress, the tea kettle on his dresser, the soft rug on the floor, the space heater (shut off) half-hidden in the corner. No wonder Hermann sleeps in so late. If Newt’s setup was like this, he’d never leave his quarters either.

“We could get under this, if you’d like,” Hermann says, pinching a bit of the quilt. “It’ll be warmer. It can get very chilly in here.” He fidgets. “And. Er. It’ll be easier to wash my sheets, rather than…”

“Yeah, that’s cool,” Newt says.

They move under the quilt. Hermann’s breath is warm on Newt’s face, and losing a layer seems to have imbibed Hermann with a newfound sense of confidence; his hands begin wandering across Newt’s body, up his sides, down his back, squeezing and pinching his skin, cupping his ass, and he layers kiss after kiss to Newt’s neck, his throat, his jaw. Newt rocks into each touch and moans helplessly. 

“You’re so beautiful,” Hermann murmurs into his ear. 

Newt laughs weakly. He’s gotten cute once or twice, but he doesn’t think anyone’s ever called him beautiful. It’s nice. He likes it. “Aw, dude.”

“You are,” Hermann says. “I’ve always thought you were. It’s been a terrible distraction in the laboratory.” He leans in and kisses Newt, still as graceless and chaste as before, but his low murmur has returned when he finishes, and it makes heat pool in Newt’s stomach. “Mm, sometimes all I could think about was how badly I wanted you.”

“Sometimes I used to jack off after we argued,” Newt blurts out.

Hermann blinks, surprised, and laughs. “Did you?”

“In the bathroom. Once in the supply closet. Nnh. Ah, fuck, Hermann, fuck–”

Bored of talking, apparently, Hermann’s decided to creep his hand lower and curl it around Newt’s dick. His touch is light, and unsure, and it kinda just makes it all even sexier. “I wish you told me this was your first time,” Newt whines out, pushing into Hermann’s fist. “I would’ve, guh, bought you dinner. Or something. We could’ve waited. Made it–made it meaningful.”

“Darling,” Hermann says, “this is perfect.”

Hermann kisses him; Newt comes, gasping and whining into his mouth. It’s a little embarrassing. He doesn’t think anyone’s ever called him beautiful, but he knows no one’s ever called him darling, and with Hermann the one being so sweet to him--it’s too much.

“Shit,” he pants afterwards, while Hermann examines the sticky mess on his fingers with mild interest. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to--I wanted to last longer.”

“Oh, we’ve got all night,” Hermann says, sounding pleased. He wipes his fingers off with tissues from a box on his bedside, then drags Newt’s hand under the covers to cup his own neglected dick, fluttering his eyelashes coquettishly. Newt swallows down a whimper. It’s not fair that Hermann is doing better at this than Newt. “I would like very much for you to touch me.”

“Okay,” Newt squeaks.

[kittyspring-creates]

Yan boys war.

A story for my senpai @killemwithkawaii from the prov of a genderless s/o. Warning for kidnapping mild sexual content, don’t interact if under 18 please.

Dear diary this is a story of how my ordinary life became not so ordinary. It begins with two separate kidnappings. One in the day behind the laundromat and one at night during, guiltily a midnight snack run.

I remember the day starting out like any other, coffee, smoke, one egg like I like it. And glaring at my basket of laundry over flowing. Laundry day was always the worst. Having to lug that thing three blocks over to the closest public laundromat cause the washing machine in the building is busted. It was always embarrassing having everyone staring at my clothes as I separate my delicates.

I was blushing and trying to ignore the feeling of eyes on me as I threw stuff into the washer, boxers, old panties and new ones. I tried not to look around but I couldn't help it. When I looked around no one was looking at me. I do remember seeing a flash of blue though but I thought it was light spots from turning my head to quickly. I turned back to my basket, It still felt like someone was watching me.

I did my best to finish up and start the machine. Sitting in front of the washer so I could watch it go and no one would have a chance to take my things. I always had that weird fear. Watching was boring so I listened to the semi quiet place. There was machines whirling, peoples foot steps, and a radio playing in the background. As the noises blended I noticed an odd one. A weird muring coming from the back door. No one else seems to hear it. But now that I noticed it I couldn't unhear it. The sound became louder then anything else. I couldn't ignore it so I got up and fallowed it, cautiously to the back door. It said employee exit only but the sound made me worried. It sounded like an animal. I looked around the place before turning the nob and slowly walking out into the ally. It smelt like garbage and piss. As soon as I stepped out the noise stopped.

It was weird, I looked around but I didn't see anything. So I turned back to the door to find it locked. I sighed in annoyance then a large hand covered my face and all I could smell was chemicals. I reached back at who ever and managed to grab something and tug. But it didn't do anything other then make the person groan. It was the last thing I remember before everything blurred together and became dark.

I woke up in a dark room with a very loud fan. My mind was kind of hazy but when I felt my arms restrained behind me with...Ya that felt like duck tape. Even smelt like it. The room reminded me of all those movies about survival choices and no I didn't wanna play a game. I sat up as best as I could. "Murder room I'm in a murder room" I shouted, the sound echoing off the walls.

My capture appeared seemingly our of nowhere, his blue pigtails bouncing around as he popped up. "Murder? oh angel never, your to precious- oof" the man was quick to come near me and he tripped over himself. Falling on me and lodging something across the room. I looked over to see this thing laying there with black straps on it. But I didn't get a chance to really look at the object as the man began to move. I looked down at him as my heart jumped. He looked up at me with the most piercing blue eyes I've ever seen. His face looked like an open wound with red skin and white scars scattered everywhere, no nose and pieces of his brow missing. I swallowed hard at the sight and uttered something without thinking. "My god your gorgeous."

He blinked at me for a second then smiled wide almost splitting his face. And heaven help me I thought it was adorable. "Really" he asked and all I could do was nod. He got closer, basically sitting in my lap. "I don't scare you" he asked and all I could do was squeak. I mean ya he scares me, he kidnapped me and now I don't know what he's gonna do. He chuckled though, so deeply it made my face heat up. "My angel, you don't know what that does to me" he whispered with a shaky voice against my ear. Again heaven help me cause instead of my fear spiking those words went down south. I felt his lips move from my ear to my neck, feeling the rough scar tissue as he kissed me. I whimpered and he seemed to purr. "Wh-what-" I tried to ask but my voice was suck in my throat.

I got my answer though when he bit me. Sinking his teeth into my shoulder as he grinded closer. I tensed when I felt something hard against my lap. I clinched my teeth, trying not to make a noise cause for some insane reason I sorta liked it. The man pulled back from the mark he left on me. He was so flushed with this desire in his eyes so intense, I swear his pupils were hearts. He sighed with a large smile on his face "you set me on fire (y/n)." He sounded so happy by it "o-Oh sorry" I stuttered like an idiot. But he chuckled then smashed our lips together. So that's why he didn't gag me.

That's the first story. I passed out from I don't know what and woke up at home, covered in hickeys. With my laundry basket placed neatly in my room. It scared me cause that meant the man knew where I lived and knew how to get in. But what scared me even more was how arousing that fact was.

******

About a week after the kidnapping and possible theft cause I swear some of my underwear is missing. I was nervous/ frightened, I had barely slept all week. So I did the one thing I knew would calm me down, Smoked a joint and took a sleeping pill. And that always made me hungry so I left, on shaky legs to grab some snacks. The store next door had the best subs at midnight and some how the milk tasted better to. So before it all kicked in I got my sub and milk then left. Now I was pretty high but I remember this bike alone in the parking lot. And laughing cause there was this sticker on it from watchman. I started laughing cause that movie was just the best. As I was laughed I felt a strong hand on my neck and I was pulled. I sorta clunked out for a second but I opened my eyes to see the ground moving. Then I blinked and The cement was now dirt, blinking again all I saw was bent wood.

I blinked again and this time I actually took in my surroundings. Just hazy brown, till I started noticing a fire place. I moved to try and rub my eyes but I felt my arms being pulled back. I looked up to see my arms were ducked taped to a support beam of wherever I was. My head hurt like hell. I groaned as I tugged at the tape, to no avail for escape. Then a sharp noise reached my ears and I looked around. There sitting on the other side of the cabin in an old chair was a man. He was tall, spilled out of the chair. He had ripped jeans and a leather jacket full of pins and patches. He smiled, more of a smirk actually, showing off a space between his front teeth. Ok I'd be lying if it wasn't totally hot in a Stockholm syndrome kind of way. He slowly stood up from the chair and I noticed the knife in his hand. Oh fuck, I panicked.

He looked me over, hungerly as he licked his lips. His boots echoed through out the room as he walked over to me. Playing with his knife he began to talk. "You slept for awhile my dear. naughty, naughty taking those sleeping pills. But it did make this much easier" he chuckled darkly. His voice wasn't as deep as the other mans but it was raspier. I swallowed as I shook, This man wasn't clumsy or over zealous like the other I realized. I tried again to get out of he restraints. But the man didn't seem to care, He kicked away my legs and settled in between them. His long brown hair spilling over his shoulders as he leaned closer to me. I stopped squirming when I felt the cold blade touch my skin. Oh god he was gonna stab me. His smile grew "I love that look in your eyes, so afraid." He dragged the knife across my shoulder, only cutting my shirt. He gripped my thigh hard, really hard "It makes me wild" he finished. Then slammed our lips together, actually slammed my head hit the support beam.  

He leaned back seeming satisfied but I was more afraid then ever, This man was so rough. "So afraid, you never looked more beautiful my love...heh well maybe covered in my marks you will" and with that he tore my shirt with the knife completely exposing my shoulder and neck. He leaned down to do as he said but stopped. He stared at my shoulder, which still had the healing bruises from the other guy that kidnapped me. The mans smile was gone "So Sally made a move did he, heh he can be so possessive" the man smiled as he moved the knife down my body. He settled the blade against my inner thigh, what a time to be wearing pj shorts. Blasted comfort the size of boxers. "But here's a secret so can I"

My heart jumped as the tall man moved down, he pushed my leg down and raised my other one. Wait what happened to the knife he had just a second ago. "I bet he never touched you here did he, such a gentleman" the man chuckled as he squeezed my thigh. I watched as he turned that wicked smile away from me and bit into my thigh. I gasped, loudly. Truthfully I'd be lying if I said I didn't like it. How rough the man was with me as he pushed my limbs around, biting and squeezing. Leaving his own marks all over my thighs. I know I was beat red from the attention and my throat hurt from how much I was trying to keep my voice down.

The man sat up and spread my legs more, marveling at his work. "So beautiful" he told. I wondered if he'd go any further then this, the other guy didn't I don't think. "Makes me want to fuck you sore" I gulped as he leaned closer to my face. "But the times not right, I want to make you beg for it" I'd be lying if my genitals didn't scream right there and then. Stupid hormones. The man kissed me again, knocking my head back against the beam again. He was really rough. He pulled back with a satisfied smirk on his lips "I can't wait for him to see these, I wonder how violent he'll get". He chuckled as he pressed his thumbs into the sensitive area of my thighs. I didn't even know his name. But now I knew the other guys, Sally.

Of course I woke up at home safe and puzzled on how I got there. So this is my two kidnapping stories and one by one these boys will either abduct me or break into my place. Surprisingly not at the same time but I know they know each other and this is a competition.

[dorkyungsoowrites]

Fatal Ties: The Ending

As promised, here's the plot bullet-points for the rest of this story so no one is left to wonder. When we left off, the Boss had just been shot at and was going to try figuring out who the mole was, who the perps were, and how to stop them while still going through with the wedding. I hadn't plotted out anything in detail, but here's the things I knew I wanted to put in. Oh, and a flashback that would reveal how the Boss became the Boss.

Message gets to the Boss to meet with mysterious people who shot at them. The fact there's no demands is fishy, but they go.

They have Kyungsoo hidden away ready to shoot if the meeting goes south. The person who shows up? The Boss' sister. *queue flashback*

(In the edits I was doing the pov changed and the bakery was instead a greenhouse cause I liked the idea that deep down this mafia boss just wanted a quiet life with their plants. So just to avoid confusion this is told from 3rd person pov, and it is indeed showing the day the Boss used a coup against their own father, but it was actually their sister who killed him, and they sent her away under the guise of protection. In truth the Boss pinned the murder on the sister and took over the business.)

They were standing in a vast, gleaming greenhouse awash with sunlight. Two rows of various plants and flowers grew on tables, leaves dancing in their warm glow. Two people stood in the center as they spoke alone. One of them carried an overwhelming sense of authority and sharpness. Wearing a pressed black suit and severe eyes. The other, with broad shoulders, looked right at home beside them.

There was something odd about the image, however. The emotions of the moment eclipsed details; softening and flooding out the edges with blotted blurs. The surroundings bent toward the two figures slightly, revolving around them, existing by extension.

A bright and fierce feeling consumed them. It beckoned they straighten their back. It filled them with elation and confidence.

The breeze sung, warmth and sweetness tickling their nose with a few wisps of hair. Distant concussions rang in their ears. That of hand-made rhythms and automatic syncopation like a crackling symphony. Fingers flinched by their hip, joints aching to grasp long awaited vindication.

A smile slid into place on the one with broad shoulders. Something older and deeper than amusement. It had the appearance of affection, but it was dangerous; too sunken and tight. "This is my kingdom," he said. "None of this would exist without me. Some delusional little girl won't change that."

"A kingdom is more than one person," they remarked, a sneer curling their upper lip. "You're not thinking."

"Am I now?" he marveled, teeth flashing. "You've spent your whole life trying to make me proud. Now you're going to give everything up for some petty cash?"

"Someone is."

"We could do that," he replied, stuffing his hands in his pockets. "Or you could stay here while I go clean up the mess inside, and every time you lay down in the bed I bought, under the roof I earned, you'll rest peacefully, remembering when you chose to walk away."

"Just like some mindless, obedient bitch, right? Why would I go back to that?"

"Some paths are less traveled for a reason."

The air stretched, a tethered tension consuming the room. It seeped into their chest. The words agonized and twisted their thoughts into turmoil, but more than that, it galvanized their wounds. Defenses dissolved into truth. Their face went eerily blank, poised for one direction or the other. Weighing the words against their knowledge. On the cusp of their vision, a shape came with the wind that made the leaves tremble.

Clasping metal, their hand raised, and a gunshot shattered the air. Three heartbeats, then a dull thud and a crack. The sound resonated throughout the new space created; striking the emptiness from their gaze. As they looked down at the man collapsed on the concrete their eyes blazed. Watching him attempt in vain to put pressure over the hole in his chest, mouth gaping open and shut with no utterance. The bullet had hit just under his clavicle.

The color was ripped from his face. As seconds passed his brows set into a hard line, glowering up at what must have been just shapes and bright lights. Slipping into shock and the blissful numbness.

And their veins were white hot. Seething scars lurked in the tremor of their hands. Their knees hit concrete, fingers twirling the barrel of the gun into their palm, and rammed the blunt end down onto his forehead.

A fissure opened in his flesh. Hazed hatred in hard eyes and harder hands, his bloodied fist cloyed upward. Treachery painted their neck, warm and slick, and their insides revolted.

They brought the corner of the grip down once more, grunting with the force of it. That time a wet crackle was heard, tissue and marrow and matter opening like a rift in the earth. His eyes dimmed and shut. Fingers fell limp. Then they brought the gun to his face again, and again, and again. Beating, breaking until all the scars were his and retribution stained their very self, pooling around their knees.

They were left with shivering leaves and limbs, metal clattering to concrete. For a few moments, they thought they could feel everything. Beneath, the ground itself breathed with them. The immeasurable magnitude of their actions soaked the air; acid in their lungs. Stinging, shallow flexes damming their thoughts. The image of his bloodied skull battered and branded into their memory; proof he would no longer torment.

"We have to go." A set of shoes stepped in to view. Welcomed into the washed-out greenhouse; making it sharper.

Their gun was picked up. Then a gentle hand rested on their arm. The light straightened and the emotions drained; a hollowness haunting their eyes.

"Come on," the voice urged softly. "I'll take you out of here for a bit. What's that place you always talk about going to? The one in the mountains. We'll lay low there for a bit, and when we come back everything will be like it should. They know what to do."

It was a trusted sound, the promise of better circumstances. It had to be, coming from the one who had been bound for so long; now unbound and free to bind. The vindication was theirs to share. So they swallowed the bile and butterflies, and took the hand on their arm. Bundled in familiar security, warm with such flattering certainty. There would be no leaving the stranger path.

This little exchange (starting with the sister speaking) during the reunion that would confirm what happened in the flashback:

"At least I killed him on purpose. You're a glorified accountant. Dad would've squashed your guts like an ant. If I'm appalled with what you've become, he's rolling over in his grave."

"As long as he stays there then I don't fucking care."

The meeting basically just confirms all the "who's" and "why's" but not the "how". Sister who wants the business for herself, therefore stopping the truce by getting revenge on the Boss is top on her list.

Some more reconnecting, tied together by a homophobic dad. Then this schpeel by the sister as well for more context.

"I was cursed from birth, just like you. The daughter of a mafioso. There's a mark on my head always. Police want to lock me up, criminals want to use me to prove themselves to their own shitbeat dads, regular people are scared shitless they'll be arrested just for talking to me. You weren't protecting me! You threw me to the wolves! My own sibling..."

"The world took everything from me! Don-"

"No! You did that! You took everything, killing anyone who didn't agree with your grand vision!"

Hadn't decided how the Boss would get out of the meeting, but basically the tension would build cause now you realize the Boss hasn't done much actual killing themselves. But the sister? She' killed her family before; what's stopping her from doing it again now?

More bonding with Baekhyun. Teaching him things. Maybe try and get him to kill someone to prove himself, but he can't go through with it.

Boss is in the greenhouse the morning of the wedding, but Baekhyun is also there, and with a gun to his head, kneeling. Boss of course then pulls their gun on the person threatening their fiancé which is the sister. Then maybe this interaction (starting with the sister speaking.)

"Look at you, so proud to kill me. About to be the big boss who saves the day. Protecting everyone with this fucking contract and this ridiculous fucking sham wedding. You think this'll make things right? Just like killing our fucking dad and throwing me out was right because you "saved" the business? Because you were "protecting" me? There's no redemption for someone like you. No happy, fairytale retirement ending. I'll just be another body you leave behind. Go on, finish me. Send my body to Junmyeon and scatter me to the wind, but it won't change what you are."

Lots of twisted emotions, Boss on the verge of tears.

"...I miss my old sister."

"Of course you do," the Boss replied. "They were much more trusting and naive. Easier to kill."

"What happened to your ruthless energy? You used to have real ambition for this company. Now you want to play cottage lesbian with this dipshit?" A pause. "I'm tired of this bluff. Kyungsoo?"

Kyungsoo appears and restrains the Boss, taking their gun away and maybe holding a knife to their throat, voice in their ear.

"Be a good kitten and shut your mouth, huh? You had your chance." He turns to the sister. "Trade you for the dipshit."

Sister laughs. "He's all yours, love."

Kyungsoo was the mole. Twisty, yes? The irony being the Boss was worried Baekhyun was the honeypot, when Kyungsoo had been all along. Well, from when he actually started sleeping with them. He tried to get the Boss to change their ways, and when they didn't, the sister gave up and and gave in to vengeance.

As Kyungsoo trades, Baekhyun steals a gun from Kyungsoo's holster, presses it to his chest, and pulls the trigger. His first kill.

The Boss uses the distraction to kill their sister. Their final violent act. Both of them standing amidst the blood.

The truce is made, the Boss gets married, and both their souls are now corrupted and damned.

Hadn't totally decided, but if I were to lean toward a happier ending then the Boss would've raised up one of the others (probably Jongdae) to be the new boss, and they'd prove their sister wrong by retiring with Baekhyun to a small house with a garden. Well, they weren't totally happy after everything they'd been through, but they were content.

[fortunatelyhauntedblackcherry]

Moonshine - A Beetlejuice Fanfiction 08

Warning: ANGST. With capital letters. So much trauma, anger, crying and death you guys. It was so hard for me to write, it was emotionally challenging, so it might do the same to some of you by reading it. There's also swearing in it.

Beetlejuice floated right through the wall between Rei's and Ari's room. He stretched his back with closed eyes and a huge smile, his bones cracking like dry branches in the wind.

- Oh babes you couldn't possibly imagine how happy I am right now! I heard a genuine scream coming my way! Ah man I haven't heard any of those in a decade, it sounded so... - Beetlejuice opened his eyes. The room was almost empty, only Sirius was inside. Couple of sewing patters were scattered on the floor, next to the already cut-out parts of a cornflower blue dress. BJ blinked at Ari's laptop; the podcast she was listening to has been stopped. - ...kinky. - he finished his sentence in a lowered voice.

He suddenly turned his head to the open window as he realized that a muffled voice came from outside. Sirius scuffled for a bit when he heard the noise and growled when Beetlejuice moved past him. The demon climbed out to the roof, following the noises. Ari was sitting at the farthest end, wrapped in an oversized dark green knitted cardigan. Beetlejuice almost called out to her, scolding her for disappearing when he had such great news but he stopped himself when he realized what the voices were. Ari was crying.

- Babes? - asked Beetlejuice, as he lowered his raspy voice. - What's going on? - Ari quickly turned to the demon's voice's direction. She had a used tissue in her hand. She quickly tried to cover her face with her hair but Beetlejuice saw what she was hiding. Her emerald eyes were all puffy and red, her nose was swollen and full-blooded too, and her lips looked like she didn't drink any water in a week. Her voice was cracking a bit as she started talking.

- Oh, it's nothing, Bug, just... - she beckoned with her hand. Beetlejuice heard as she tried to pull herself together. She let out a huge breath. - ...it's just my mental health issues. They're acting up again. - Beetlejuice stepped next to her as she cleared her throat. - Just gimme a sec, I'll be alright and you can tell me what you have done to my poor sister.

- Nonono, there's something wrong here. - he sat down next to Ari. Her legs were pulled close to her chest as she has enclasped them. She put her chin on her knees, showing as little of her face as she could. - You had a bad day last week when your anxiety was thriving. This is not like that. - Ari smiled lightly. Her wet eyelashes juddered, which made them glisten in the beams of moonlight.

- You really got to know me in the past couple weeks, didn't you?

- Yeah, that... and you also made me sit through 13 episodes of Therapy, which is an awful series by the way, so I'm basically a mind-scientist now. - Ari snorted while she let out a small, sad laugh. - So tell Doctor B, what's going on here, patient number one? - Ari let go of her knees and huffed out. She let her legs dangle off of the roof. She didn't look at Beetlejuice's direction, she just watched the darkness pass by under her feet.

- I... I got to know why do I hear you.

Beetlejuice scrowled and shook his head.

- I'm not following, please explain why does that makes you sad? I thought you wanted to know... - he stopped as Ari rubbed her temples and sighed. She kept her eyes closed while she was talking.

- B., of course I wanted to know! I wanna help, don't think otherwise, it's just... - she clenched her jaw, swallowed her saliva then continued. - The memories. They make me so goddamn angry and sad at the same time.

- I don't get it. - Beetlejuice sounded clueless. He didn't really know what she was talking about. As Ari clicked with her tongue, Beetlejuice moved closer to her and leaned even closer to her ear. His voice was as raspy as always, but he sounded much more sweet and kind. Almost gentle. - Maybe... Talking will help. I don't know, Dr. Phil says it does a lot. - Ari opened her eyes and breathed out. Her breath was jerky.

- The podcast I was listening to, you know, the one about the extraspecial demons, well... - Beetlejuice looked down at Ari's hands. She was sinking her nails into her fingertips. She must have been doing this for at least an hour, since some already left dark purple marks on her fingerpads. Beetlejuice put his hand over Ari's. The cold air made the girl shiver a bit but it also made her stop. - The show started with the hosts talking about how they invited a parapsychologist into the show so he could tell the audience interesting things about demons generally before they start to talk about the different types. So the guy said really interesting stuff, hands down, it really was good, but then he said that after a certain type of trauma, some people develop a weird... "ability". - she used her hands to emphasize the word then let them fall onto her lap again. She sighed. - Do you want to hear the long story of why do I hear you, or the short version? - Beetlejuice flinched his eyes.

- I prefer long and thick things so give it to me, baby. - Ari didn't react to his joke. She'd didn't even smile. She looked like she was was collecting her strength. After a couple minutes of silence, she finally started to speak.

- Bug, have you ever seen how my abdomen looks?

That was a sudden question.

- No? - he said in a kind of shy voice. He didn't wanna upset her more. She seemed just as miserable as furious. - You said no croptops until it's at least 30 °C... Why? - Ari breathed in and layed a bit back. She started to roll her olive t-shirt up on her belly.

Beetlejuice gasped and held his palm before his mouth. The tips of his hair started to turn into red and purple at the same time.

- Who... Who did that to you?!? - Beetlejuice held his hand above the three scars that Ari had on her abdomen. They were shapeless, with rigged edges and at least 5 centimeters long each.

- They've been with me since I was 17. - she sniffled a bit as she let her shirt down. She pulled one of her knees close to her chest again, and put her elbow up on it. - Don't worry, I already got used to them. I don't love them, but they're stuck with me so... - she sighed and look at Beetlejuice's direction. - You sure you wanna hear this story? I might cry. I might get furious and start screaming. You wouldn't like either.

- It's true that nothing is sexier than laughing and screaming of terror, but I'd surely get hard, seeing you deranged with anger. - Ari snorted at the demon's arousing voice. He actually just tried to cover up the fact that all he wanted was to kill whoever did that, and then hug the girl tight.

- Get ready for a love story that is basically horror at best... The kind where the hero still... Gets broken in the end. - she sighed and looked up at the stars. - This fucked up story starts half a year before I got my scars. I started dating a guy named... - she gulped and closed her eyes. - Matthias. - she opened her eyes with a sigh. - Gods, I hate to say his name out loud. It makes me wanna gag. It was a teenage love, I didn't see or didn't want to see his faults and I totally fell head over feet for him. You know what I'm talking about, right?

- Totally. - he had no clue.

- So you know, it was fun in the beginning. He was older than me, so nice and funny. He escorted me basically everywhere, and it just felt so good to be with him. - she sighed. - I thought that he was just worried when he told me I shouldn't go to a party with my friends cause "the world is filled with creeps", but later I realized that he was just simply possessive. - she sighed, sounding annoyed, and looked straight into the darkness of the night. - I started feeling anxious because of him when he started to tell me where could I go and what could I wear. "That's too showing, you can show that much skin only to me!" - she said in a mimicking voice. Then her face turned so dark so quickly. - He told me that if I wasn't acting nice, or behave, or do exactly as he says, that would make him look bad before his friends and a good girlfriend wouldn't want that. Shit, man, we've been together for 4 months only but I was so unstable because of him and massive bullying in school that I turned out to be an anxious wreck. - she clicked her tongue, got up and started to walk up and down, her bare feet tapping on the roof. - We went out one day, and during our "date" he repeatedly told me how I was not smart enough, pretty enough, ENOUGH, and he was with me just because no one else would want me. After he dropped me off at home, I started crying my heart out to my mom. - her eyes got teary again, but there was so much anger in her voice. - Gods she's such a wonderful woman. She taught me how to be brave, how to be strong enough to be myself. And at that moment she made me realize how I'm starting to lose my badass, weird but awesome self because of this stupid cabrón! - she kicked the air. Her breathing was so fast, and her body was radiating so much heat it could almost warm Beetlejuice up. She breathed out with a sigh. - Shit, I must look like a crazy person. Excuse me. I sometimes use spanish words when I'm experiencing a strong feeling. Multilingual things. Cabrón means...

- Pendejo, fucker, asshole, I know. - that sudden cut-in brought Ari down back to earth quickly. She knitted her eyebrows. - I had an argentinian girlfriend who taught me a bit spanish. I can cuss just perfectly. - he tried to sound calm. He really did. But oh boy he was not. The way the emotions changed on Ari's face made him remember some of his past traumas, and that made him feel a lot of different things at the same time. And he was also furious at this asshole of an ex.

Ari sat down again. She breathed out to calm herself down. After a minute of frozen silence, the demon started to talk.

- This whole thing is fucked up, you know. The whole being told what to do and where to go and how to look... - said Beetlejuice in a low manner. His raspy voice sounded... sad? He cleared his throat, even though, being dead, he didn't have to, it just felt good. - I'll totally regret this, but since we're doing this overly honest heartfelt shit that I normally hate, and I'm very much irritated by it, let me tell ya... - he looked at Ari as his hair turned more purple. - I can relate to you. My mother did the same shit to me. She made me feel worthless, a piece of shit that didn't deserve any love. - he sighed and looked up at the moon. He chuckled a bit, his voice went back from soft to normal quickly. - Dear God slash Satan, your emotional bullshit is contagious, Ari. I gotta stop hanging out with you.

Ari smiled lightly.

- You couldn't. You love chilling with me. - the demon scretched his stubbles and let out a tiny laugh.

- True. I'm hooked on that fine ass of yours. - Ari laughed a bit. She looked where Beetlejuice's voice came from previously, and held out her hands.

- You know, I wouldn't really feel it, it won't exactly be a real hug, but if you want to... - Beetlejuice didn't let this opportunity go, he basically jumped into Ari's embrace instantly. He almost fell over her body, and he couldn't really wrap his hands around her, but being this close felt so good. Ari's body radiated so much heat and hearing her heart pitter-patter inside her chest made him forget how she didn't even see him. They both smiled. - Thanks for telling me a bit about your origin story. I know it's hard to talk about these kind of shits.

Beetlejuice let Ari go and sit back a bit, still staying close to the girl. She let her hands down.

- I'm only this honest with you cause you told shit to me too. - the demon lowered his raspy voice. - But if you tell anyone about my problems, even though we are bffffs forever, I'll skewer you like a pig. Understood? - Ari swallowed and blinked nervously while nodding. Beetlejuice continued like he didn't say anything threatening. - Anyway, I still don't know why do you hear me. Are we getting there soon? - Ari nodded again and rubbed her cheek.

- Yeah, sure, buckle up for the worse part of the ride, buddy. - she cleared her throat. - When the next day I went over to his place to break up with him and to tell him that I belong to no one, and he doesn't have the right to tell me what to do, he hit me. He slapped me so hard that my cheek ripped up a bit. - she pulled her hair back a bit, revealing a tiny scar on her left cheekbone. - The next day he called me, told me that he's sorry and he didn't want to hurt me. I hang up on him quickly and got a new number the same day. I wanted him gone. But it didn't take him much time to get my new number. He called me a thousand times. But since I didn't answer, he started to follow me. Watching from the street while I was at school. Creeping around the studio I sang at. - she sniffled as her eyes started to get teary, but she quickly wiped them with the sleeve of her cardigan - You know, I called the cops. I told them everything. And they told me they couldn't do anything until he hurts me. - she chuckled in an annoyed way. She fuckin chuckled. - They didn't have to wait for that for so long.

- WHAT?! - shouted Beetlejuice which made Ari jump a bit. He jumped up in anger, the tips of his hair shining in bright red. - THOSE GUYS SHOULD TAKE CARE OF PEOPLE, NOT TELL THEM TO "GET FUCKIN HURT THEN WE'LL TALK"?!? - he squatted down next to Ari. - Let me guess, that son of a bitch ex of yours caused those fuckin scars?!?

-...yes... - said Ari with bated breath. Beetlejuice scraffed his fluffy hair and unshaven face. - I was walking home late from a rehearsal, mom was at work, and when I was already at our street, he stepped up to me out of nowhere, started to tell me how he's gonna change and after I pushed him, and told him to leave me alone since I fuckin hate him and I don't belong to him... He said that if I don't wanna belong to him, then I'll belong to no-one. And he... - tears started running down her cheeks. - Stabbed me. Again. And again.

- THIS... MOTHER FUCKER... - he bit his fist and started to babble. - I mean yeah sure I kinda get it I'm a bit possessive too, also creepy, but I'm pretty sure he could get an another hot goth chick and...

- HE KILLED ME, MAN! - screamed Ari into the abyss. Beetlejuice froze in his movement.

- W...What? - Ari sat still, hands covering her mouth. Beetlejuice squatted down next to her again. - Babes did I hear that right? - she shut her eyes and sighed. She let her hands go and stared down from the roof.

- Yes. - she said. Her voice was so weak. - A neighbor saw what happened and called the ambulance. I got rushed into hospital and... I went under surgery. They had to remove a part of my intestines asap... They got damaged from the stabs... And while I was knocked out... My heart decided to give up on me. And I died.

Beetlejuice sat down at the brim of the roof. He was shocked.

- I... suppose that's why you have a fixation with death? - he asked calmly. Ari shrugged and lifted her hands up.

- Partly... Other than the fact I was born on Halloween so it's basically in my blood... I think what really caused my obsession is that I remember every goddamn second of being dead. I remember seeing my body, covered in blood, and as I realized what was going on, I started panicking about how much more I wanted to do and how young I was to die. - she sighed with a light, not so real smile. She sounded so damaged. The demon could hear the pain in her voice. - 🎶And so, being young and dipt in folly, I fell in love with melancholy.🎶 - she looked at Beetlejuice's direction after she wiped her tears off with a tissue. - I was dead for 4 minutes before they brought me back. More or less. Looks like that's why I hear you. Many folks who die and come back develop this... "ability" to see or hear creatures from other dimensions. My special power is to hear demons, as it turns out. - she looked at the demon's direction. - Good for you I winded up in this house.

- I'm so happy about that. I couldn't ask for a better breather partner in crime in my dreams. - Ari heard in his voice that he was smiling. Oh if she could see his lightpink hairtips too... - What happened after? - asked Beetlejuice. Ari lifted her eyebrows a bit. - I mean, I hope the fucker got what he deserved and someone killed him. - Ari bit his lips in frustration, and sighed.

- Not exactly... At least he didn't got what I think he would have deserved. - she stretched out her legs. - While I was in the hospital for 8 months, on full-time mental and physical therapy by the way, I filed a report against him and got him arrested. I was so relieved... Then I heard he only got 3 years. - she fumbled through her hair. - Seriously, he fuckin put someone in intensive care for months and all he got was a couple of years then adiós, go on your fuckin way my man?! - she let out an angry growl. - Just because, and I quote, "he was young and could have a bright future", yes, that's what the jury said... - she huffed. - But the good thing is, right after he got out, he violated the restraining order that I got against him. He came to the house that Sofi, Rei, my mom and I lived in. You know, they moved in with us after I got out of the hospital because... For the first 5 or six months, I was afraid to go out without company. So my sisters helped a lot. They even kind of made me forget how my friends left me, because "I was acting overdramatic and why couldn't I just forget and be happy". - Beetlejuice raised his eyebrows and shook his head.

- The fuck is wrong with people... - Ari let out an annoyed chuckle.

- Oh my man, most of them are awful fellas. After this, I didn't even care that I missed my prom. - she swallowed her saliva and leaned back so she could gaze the stars. - So yeah, back to the subject, that pendejo came to our house in the middle of the night and demanded my mom to take him to me cause he wanted to say sorry because he missed me so much and wanted us to start a new chapter. - Ari rubbed her temples. - The police acted quickly this time and put him into jail for 3 more years. - she sighed. - Not that I think that's enough... But it was enough for us to find a new home and move away from him, as far as we could.

Beetlejuice waddled closer to her, and layed down as well.

- You know what's the weirdest thing about you, scarecrow? - Ari chuckled.

- Besides the fact that my best buddy is a demon? - BJ laughed a bit too. - No idea, Bug.

- That you're so full of life, and so goddamn annoyingly positive. If you wouldn't tell me, I wouldn't know you had so much shit to deal with. - Ari put her hands up in the air while shrugging.

- Look, I already know how does it feel to die. By the time I turned 19, I decided I'd try how does it feel to be alive. And when I'm not a mess, oh boy, it's so much fun! - Beetlejuice turned to his side and looked at the girl.

- You’re not a mess babes, you’re a... spicy disaster! - Ari laughed. It was so nice to hear that adorable laugh again. BJ looked straight into her emerald eyes that were gleaming in the moonlight. - You know, doll, I'm really sorry for creeping around. If I would've known, I... - he shut up as Ari gestured with her hand.

- You didn't know. It's alright. I hate being followed, but you're so goddamn chatty that it doesn't feel creepy at all. Plus, you're not human, which makes me more comfortable. It's somehow nice to have you weirdo around.

For a couple of minutes, they just laid there, both watching the stars. It was so peaceful, but something still bugged Beetlejuice and he just couldn't let it go.

- Hey, babes? - Ari turned her head to his direction.

- Yeah?

- If he ever finds you, can I kill your ex-boyfriend?

[lemonsandstrawberries]

I am Iron Man

fandom: Stony (Steve x Tony), MCU

characters: Tony Stark, Steve Rogers, Pepper Potts, James Rhodey Rhodes, James Bucky Barnes, Peter Parker

summary: When Tony used the Iron Gauntlet and erased Thanos and his troops, Steve thought he would have to watch his boyfriend die. Thanks to quick thinking of their team, Tony got a chance to live and the healing process starts.

length: 3 781

warnings: MAJOR AVENGERS ENDGAME SPOILERS

a/n: this is my last fic from the ones I planned to write after Endgame. the happy ending. totally self-indulgent and from a Stony shipper point of view! also, it doesn’t have to make sense if it makes me feel better. hopefully, it will make you feel better too!

——————–

I am Iron Man

He was looking at it, but he couldn't believe it. Alien troops fading away and turning into dust, just in front of his eyes. In the middle of it all, he saw Thanos taking his last breath, before he turned into nothing, vanishing from the face of the Earth.

They did it. They won. How did they win?

And then Steve saw how.

Tony. In the midst of a broken world, among dust that was left of the compound, his back leaned against some rubble, supporting him. Right hand covered up to the elbow with gold and infinity stones shining on knuckles, above from that dark and charred, black marks stretching all up to his face, covering half of it. Tony's gaze was unfocused and his breath was so shallow, it was almost gone.

Tony did it. He did the snap and defeated Thanos and his army. They won.

And yet...

Tony was dying. His Tony was dying.

The whole world around Steve slowed down, draining out of color and sound, eyes focused on his boyfriend's almost lifeless form.  

Tony was dying. His Tony was dying.

He couldn't move, his body not listening to him. His whole body felt heavy and there was a painful silence ringing in his ears, stretching and consuming everything.

Tony was dying. His Tony was dying.

Rhodey was the first one to get to Tony. He opened his faceplate and leaned over his best friend, reaching to him, eyes wide and terrified.

Tony was going to die.

Steve couldn't believe it. He didn't want to believe it. The weight of grief and pain smothered him, his knees buckled and Steve fell, digging his hands into the dry ground, hot tears blurring his vision and falling down.

Tony was going to die. His Tony was going to die.

It wasn't supposed to end like this.

It won't end like this.

A bullet of fire and energy cut the air. Steve raised his head, watching Captain Marvel landing between Tony and Rhodey. Rhodey said something, gesturing to Tony and the glove, and Carol leaned down. Something snapped, just like a piece of wood snaps in two, dry and loud. Then a metal clank when the Iron Glove with infinity stones was thrown away, landing few feet in front of Steve, discarded like something toxic. Steve looked at the stones and gold, eyes wide and not understanding. There was another person flying past him and he recognized the silver and blue armor, belonging to Pepper. Carol and Rhodey moved aside when Pepper stopped, her hand reaching to Tony, a thick, foamy substance Steve had seen before spraying from her fingers and coating Tony's right side with a shell resembling frost. Tony's mouth moved, faint and weak, but Steve read the words.

'Hi Pep.'

Tony wasn't dying.

He was alive. Barely, but alive.

They still had a chance.

Feeling new energy coursing through him, Steve got back on his feet. He pushed his emotions aside and acted on instinct, falling back into the line of command. Time was crucial and they had to act quickly.

"Queens!" Steve called in a strong voice when Spider-man tried to make his way past him. The teenager stopped, hearing the call. "Go and find the wizard! Bring him here!"

"But- but Mr. Stark-" Peter hesitated in a broken voice, face pale and dirty and with droplets of dried blood near his nose and mouth. He kept looking away, torn what to do and just desperately needing to get to Tony.

"Go!" Steve yelled. There was no pleading note in his voice, just a rough, cold command. The kid was smart, he would understand. Peter took a last glance at Tony and turned around, searching and calling for Doctor Strange.

"Sam?" Steve put a hand to his ear, relieved to find that he still had the communication device on himself. "Sam, if you can hear me, find T'Challa or Shuri, we need to get Tony to Wakanda, now," he gave more orders. He didn't get an answer and his eyes scanned the battlefield looking for anyone he could turn to when the device crackled.

"Copy that," Sam said, cutting the connection.

They had a chance. There still was a chance.

Steve rushed forward, giving coordinates where Tony was, trying to organize everything as quickly and smoothly as possible.

Tony was not going to die. His Tony was not going to die.

***

It was taking forever. Why it was taking so long?

Steve couldn't find his place. He was pacing back and forth along the corridor, his shoulders squared and jaw tight with worry. Pepper and Rhodey were sitting in the corner on the couch, their thighs touching, Rhodey's arm slung over Pepper's back. They were silent and exhausted and worried. Steve looked around. Peter curled on the chair, holding knees close to himself, trying not to break. Bruce, Thor, and Clint remained silent, avoiding everyone's gaze. Even Nebula stayed, leaned against the wall with arms crossed and closed eyes, waiting for news.

The door to the surgery room opened and a female doctor approached them, everyone focusing on her.

"We couldn't save his arm," she said in a thick, Wakandan accent, "but he will live."

Everyone breathed out in relief, but it was Peter who uncurled and yelled out in excitement, getting a scolding look from the doctor and amused ones from the team. Pepper started to smile through her tears and Rhodey hugged her close, not even trying to hold back his own emotions, laughter mixing with sobbing. Steve felt a huge boulder lifting off his arms and the painful grip on his lungs and throat loosening.

Tony would live.

***

"I am sorry about your arm, Tony," Helen said, busying next to Tony's bed, examining his damaged right side. His arm had to be amputated at the shoulder and the damage from using the gauntlet spread all over to his face, leaving a network of scars and damaged tissue. Helen gently examined Tony's face, looking at his jawline and temple area. "After all this radiation exposure, you are still lucky the nerves on your face are intact."

"Yup. Lucky," Tony repeated, nodding to the words. It took days before he got well enough to do basic activities and still was on bed rest, confined to a small and bright room in the medical sector in Wakanda. His tone was light and optimistic and he even smiled at Steve, trying to lighten the mood and not deepen the frown on soldier's face. Steve tried to not look so worried, but it was difficult when he saw the dark network of scars on his boyfriend's body, not even imagining the pain Tony had to endure when he had slid the gauntlet on his arm. He tried smiling back and to match Tony's smile, but it came out as strained and forced and not genuine at all.

"Drink this," Rhodey handed Tony a green smoothie, some special blend of herbs and nutrients to nourish him and help to clear his blood. Tony took it with his left arm and sipped through a straw, not even protesting at the earthy taste. Pepper was also in the room, changing the display of flowers and balloons and 'get well soon' cards that were flooding to Wakanda from all over the world. Iron Man, Earth's best defender. Steve liked that title much more from the famous 'genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist' that stuck to Tony for years.

"I think we can fix this," Helen said, creasing her forehead before smiling and gesturing to the damaged half of Tony’s face and Steve looked hopefully at her. "It will take a long time and a number of sessions in the cradle,  but I think we can get a good result with synthetic tissue."

Tony didn't say anything and quietly finished the smoothie. When he was done, he pushed the straw out with his tongue and turned to Helen. "Yeah, great. Maybe except that, let's not do it?" he asked, his voice waving at the last words. The room fell silent and Steve looked in shock at Tony, Pepper, and Rhodey pausing their work.

"Tony, what are you talking about?" Rhodey was the first one to break the silence. Maybe it was the painkillers speaking and Tony was just dazed and not thinking clearly.

"I am thinking that this," he said, using his left hand to point at the scars on his face, "is not lethal. It is not spreading and is under control. Improving this would be just for cosmetic reasons."

Steve stared at Tony is silence. The whole room was silent, and Pepper and Rhodey exchanged worried looks.

"Road accidents. Acid. Burning," Tony listed, not addressing anyone in particular, more of having a conversation with himself. "It all happens all over the world, all the time. And people have to live with it," he touched the damaged skin on his cheek. "Why I should be the one privileged asshole who can get healed while millions of people can't?" he asked, not really waiting for anyone to answer and let the question hang in the air. Then, he turned to Helen. "Your cradle is amazing and will revolutionize the medical industry. Please keep working on it and once it will be available to the public, I will sign in line. And until that happens," he faced Steve on his left, "you will have to get used to me looking like this," he said, sounding minimally sorry and a whole lot sarcastic.

It was the first time Steve had smiled for real in many, many days.

***

Thanks to T'Challa's hospitality, Tony and Steve stayed in Wakanda until the clearing after the battle and rebuilding of the new Avengers compound had been finished. Tony kept healing under the watchful eye of Wakanda's medics and kept working on projects, forming a bond with Shuri and welcomed to used her lab for the time being. Steve trained and sketched and organized a new life for the Avengers and for himself and Tony. The Guardians and Thor left to space, Doctor Strange and Wong retreated to Sanctum Sanctorum and Peter resumed his education, attending school once more like a regular teenager and swinging by the compound whenever he had a chance to visit Tony. Sam went back to VA, and Steve helped him during lectures from time to time, while Bucky enrolled in the group. Soon, Pepper shared the news that she and Happy were expecting and awaiting the birth of their firstborn, Tony calling dibs on being the godfather and Pepper accepted it with a smile, not seeing a different possibility. Slowly, everything went back to normal, the missing pieces falling back in their places.

"You know," Tony yawned, spread comfortably on the couch in the new compound, his missing arm hidden under a black shirt, "if they would put us together, one healthy dude would come out of it," he said, gesturing with his left hand between himself, Rhodey and Bucky.

Steve looked at Tony with a confused expression on his face, the same look mirrored on their friends' faces.

"He would have two pairs of legs, Tony," Rhodey said calmly, closing the fridge and holding a plate with a sandwich on it.

"Kinda like a human centaur," Tony mused out, nodding to himself.

"That is not a thing," Rhodey answered and grinned at Steve, catching his shocked expression. Tony was still on a high dose of painkillers and did tend to say the most random things from time to time.

"Hey, you, one armed bandit!" Tony called, sitting up on the couch. Bucky turned to him, eyes narrowing suspiciously. "Come here for a sec, I want to look at that arm Shuri made for you," he said, calling Bucky over.

"It is your arm that is missing, not your legs, come here on your own, Two-Face," Bucky retorted, and Steve gagged in panic, trying to scold Bucky solely with a look. Bucky only shrugged, not remorseful at all.

Tony seemed more amused than insulted and turned to Rhodey, hungry eyes focusing on the sandwich before flipping up to his friend. "Sandwich me, Rhodes," Tony said, sounding as flirty and dirty as he just intended to.

Rhodey grimaced, because no, painkillers or not, this just sounded wrong. "Get your own sandwich, Tony," Rhodey replied before Steve had the chance to jump in and offer to make a sandwich for his boyfriend.

"Un-freaking-believable," Tony said, raising his one arm up in a dramatic gesture, that admittedly looked a lot less dramatic. "How many times do I have to almost die for this planet to get some respect around here, not mentioning getting a sandwich-"

"Okay, okay!" Rhodey went back to the kitchen isle, opening the fridge and taking out some deli meat, cheese and mayo, putting it all on a slice of rye bread.

"Don't forget the pickles," Tony called, smiling sweetly when Rhodey send him a sour look.  With two plates with sandwiches on, Rhodey walked to the couch, handing Tony one of them.

"Thanks!" Tony beamed a smile and grabbed the sandwich, standing up from the couch and walking away, Rhodey looking after him with a scoff. Tony made it over to Bucky and set next to him instead, too close and not having any issues with barging into Bucky's personal space. He put the sandwich in his mouth and used his free hand to urge the former soldier to put his bionic arm closer for inspection.

Steve put the end of the pencil to his lips and chewed it in thoughts, watching everyone in the room. Rhodey took Tony's place on the couch and bit into the sandwich, while Tony ran his hand delicately over the vibranium lines in Bucky's bionic arm, asking questions in a sandwich obscured hum, Bucky answering the best he could, trying to decipher the words. Steve kept looking in Tony's and Bucky's direction, his heart happy with seeing his boyfriend and best friend being on speaking terms. Still, he would prefer if Bucky was nicer to Tony, who still was in a delicate state and was recovering. Then he realized that Tony would absolutely hate if someone took pity on him and maybe sarcasm responding to sarcasm what was he needed, and not doting over.

***

In front of the team, Tony was coping remarkably well with a missing arm and scarred face. Just sometimes there were situations that gave him more troubles.

Steve heard a thud, when something heavy fell into the sink, a curse following. He waited for another sound and soon heard another thud.

"Babe?" he called in the direction of the adjoined bathroom. "You okay?" he asked, deciding to stay in bed for the time being.

"M'fine…"

Somehow Tony didn't sound fine. It was hard for Steve to accept, but he had to learn to not barge in whenever he suspected that Tony had troubles with everyday tasks. Tony was still capable of taking care of himself and rarely asked for help, unless it was absolutely necessary. Just something in the tone of his voice told Steve that he could use some help... Throwing the covers away, Steve got out of the bed and peered into the bathroom, leaning over the door frame. Tony was turned away from him and saw Steve in the mirror and smiled weakly. In his left hand, he was holding an electric shaver.

"I have some troubles," Tony admitted in a defeated sigh.

Steve clicked his tongue sympathetically, entering the bathroom. No matter the circumstances, Tony Stark had to keep his trademark goatee impeccable. In the last days, Tony had become nicely scruffed and rough, but it was time to get back to his usual look. Just it turned out to be more difficult than he expected.

"Can I do it?" Steve asked, holding Tony by the chin and examining his face. He didn't want it to sound like he was suggesting that Tony couldn't shave on his own. Steve felt that he needed that moment of closeness too. Just to feel connected to Tony again.

"Yeah," Tony agreed, handing him the electric shaver. Steve took it and put away on the shelf.

"Let's do it the traditional way," he smiled gently at his boyfriend, reaching for a disposable razor and his shaving soap in a ceramic bowl.

"You won't get a sharp cut using that thing," Tony grimaced.

"Try me," Steve kept smiling, almost challenging. How Tony could say no to that?

Tony watched Steve dipping the shaving brush into water and shaking it to get some of the excess water off. Then he rubbed the brush in a circular motion over the soap, creating some paste on the tips.

"Give me your hand," Steve asked and Tony reached his hand out, palm upwards. Dropping a few more droplets of water on his skin, Steve pressed the brush in the middle of the palm and swirled it around until the foam became dense and heavy, almost like whipped cream. With long strokes of fingers, Steve applied the foam over brunet’s jaw and neck and anywhere his face became too scruffy. Tony closed his eyes when the razor slid down his skin, getting the hair off and shaping his beard and mustache. Quiet, clinking sound when Steve rinsed the razor in a bowl of clean water from time to time, resuming the process. Steve took his time, trying his best to recall the shape of Tony's goatee. Tony was leaning into his touch, not wincing even once, putting all his trust in Steve and Steve felt a serene, full of love feeling taking over him. It was so domestic and comforting. When Steve was satisfied with the result, he used a damp towel to wipe his boyfriend’s face clean and patted it dry.

"All done," Steve said proudly. Tony opened his eyes and looked into the mirror.

"Huh," he mused out touching his smooth cheek and jawline. Steve even remembered to leave a thin strip of facial hair there, just like he liked it. "Looks good," he smiled at his reflection, turning around. "Thanks."

"Welcome, babe," Steve smiled, leaning down for a kiss. It wasn't aimed at any spot in particular, but Tony still turned, making sure that it would fall on the left side of his face. When Steve kissed his cheek and straightened up, he looked admittedly a little irritated and a lot heartbroken.

"Sweetheart, you know I don't mind it," Steve whispered, meaning Tony's scarred face and neck. Steve really didn't care. Tony seemed to not care either, just in their intimate moments he seemed a bit more self-conscious.

"I know, I know," Tony grimaced, looking back at Steve, a sorry look in his eyes, "I am just not ready yet," he admitted in a quiet voice.

"Okay," Steve smiled softly, agreeing. "I will wait for you to be ready."

After all, there was no rush.

***

"Tony, lunch is ready, we all are waiting for you -" words got stuck in Steve's throat as soon as he entered Tony's workshop and saw his boyfriend. It seemed almost wrong, after months of living and getting used to one-armed Tony, here he was, standing in front of Steve, one arm flesh and bones, other shiny metal.

Tony smiled brightly, pleased with the stunned reaction. He moved his right arm and spread fingers and closed his fist a few times, showing that he had full control over it. "It is enhanced with vibranium," Tony said and Steve remembered the long talks his boyfriend had with the princess back in Wakanda. "Shuri helped. She gave me the blueprints for Bucky's arm so I went through the design, creating something new. Took a few tries before I was satisfied with the result."

Steve walked closer. He was still in awe and looked at the artificial limb attached to his boyfriend, completely stunned.

"So, I think this is what I will be doing in the nearest future. Creating prosthetic limbs. Of course, not vibranium for safety reasons and not as flashy as this one, or maybe flashy, all depends on the wearer-"

"It is amazing," Steve said breathlessly, wanting to touch it, but not daring to. Luckily, Tony understood the need and reached his prosthetic arm in Steve's direction, making the move slow enough to give him time to move away, if he changed his mind. Steve didn't budge and Tony rested the mechanical palm against his cheek, fingers touching his ear. It felt hard and smooth, but not unpleasant.

"It is warm," Steve said, not expecting that.

"It is temperature controlled. It is set to match my body temperature, but I can make it hotter or colder, up to a point where it can change into a weapon," Tony explained.

Steve put his hand on the artificial wrist and slid his hand down, cupping the elbow. It was smooth and flawless, its dimensions matching Tony's left arm perfectly.

Just…

"Is this your everyday arm?" Steve asked carefully, unsure if he worded himself correctly. The prosthetic was hot red almost up to the elbow, inner arm was gold and the part near Tony's tank top was red again. Almost like in Mark 3. Iron Man classic armor.

"Yeah," Tony laughed, "because I am -"

"Iron Man," Steve finished, smiling with joy. "You are Iron Man."

"I am Iron Man," Tony confirmed a proud note hearable in his voice, before it was gone, replaced by hesitation, "but I was thinking that maybe for a while I could not be Iron Man and you could not be Captain America? That maybe we could settle somewhere calm, maybe in a secluded house near a lake or something-"

And Tony didn't finish, Steve already pulling him into a kiss. He was carried on the moment and cupped Tony's face with both hands, lips meeting long and sweet. When he drew away, his gaze was soft and full of love, but the look was quickly gone when he realized where his hands were.

“Shit, sorry-” Steve said quickly, withdrawing from the touch. To his surprise, Tony stopped him and held his hands in place with his own hands, one palm pressed to healthy skin held by a warm hand, the other to his scarred cheek and ear held by the prosthetic arm. It was a new feeling and a bit confusing, but Steve focused on Tony’s brown eyes and soft lips instead. After all, it was still Tony. His Tony.

"So, that's a yes to my idea, right?" Tony asked after the kiss ended, just to be sure.

Steve only smiled and kissed him once more, whispering 'yes' over and over again.