#i doubt he's kept Talia around him for so long to force her to become like him

[decentwinter]

everyone, he's a girl dad. (check the tags for extra yapping)

i struggled so much with this sketch but i NEEDED to draw ra’s and baby talia

[damianbugs]

Why didn't Talia let Bruce see Damian when he was a baby?

there is this fantastic book called "The Batman Files (2011)" which is essentially a massive scrap book of things bruce has collected over the years. it is beautiful and definitely a must read since it includes photographs, drawings and notes of different events and important people in bruce's life.

in this book we find a letter from talia. she never actually sent this letter to bruce, instead, damian stole it from her and passed it to bruce when they met. it is essentially talia's confession on the matter.

this letter loosely works off the events of "Son of The Demon (1987)" and basically explains everything. one of the main and unavoidable issues is bruce and ra's relationships. they were on good terms at the start of their relationship, but by the end, bruce and ra's become enemies. for talia, who's major character trait is her unwavering loyalty, choosing between her father and her lover is not something she wants to do. not to mention that it would directly put damian in danger regardless of which side she picked.

the second problem was talia and bruce themselves. talia says that the two of them were acting out an "impossible life" — which is a direct reference to talia's reality check about bruce's behaviour back when she told him she was pregnant:

bruce knows not to doubt talia's skills, but upon finding out he was going to be a father, he starts to actively put himself in harms way if it meant saving talia and their baby. this to her, was wildly out of character and above all, very worrying. she loves bruce too much to be the reason he hurts himself. she knows the lives they live are unpredictable as well, and that the chance that anything happens to her or the baby, it would absolutely kill batman.

so she tells him she had a miscarriage and used that to push him away and make sure he wouldn't try to stick around after. then, she gives damian up for adoption, because she wanted to try and give him "the life you (Bruce) wanted for him" away from the league.

i much prefer this telling of their relationship and damian's conception and i think it explains why talia kept damian away from bruce for as long as she did. it makes their dynamic far more tragic and interesting! it also reinforces why eventhough bruce doesn't hold it against talia (because he absolutely wouldn't), it does play as the driving force that still keeps them separated.

[river-bottom-nightmare]

You Don’t Have To

Happy Birthday @screennamealreadyused !! Your birthday gift is a damijon ficlet. I get the feeling you like overdramatic, soap-opera-y fics based on the kinda stuff you come up with in the server, so hopefully that came across. 

What Jon didn’t think other people realized was that Damian, if comfortable enough, enjoyed talking. Of course, the subjects he was interested in were a tad limited, and he mentioned decapitation too often for Jon’s liking, but he enjoyed it. Barring Nightwing, Jon doubted anyone had ever taken the time to sit and listen to what Damian had to say, but Nightwing was his own adult superhero with his own adult life. And despite the fact that Damian was prickly and rude, his holier-than-thou attitude absolutely infuriating, his tendency to just drag Jon wherever he wanted despite the fact that Jon could technically crush him with one foot, despite all of that, Jon decided he wanted to be Damian’s friend. He was interesting, loud and abrasive in a way Smallville never boasted. 

Today it was cows. Ma Kent had let Damian milk some of the cows, and now, sitting on the roof of the barn, licking melting ice cream drops off their hands, Damian was telling Jon the story of a couple bulls Ra’s had bought.

“You ever think about going to go visit them?” Jon asked.

“Jon,” Damian said dryly. “Grandfather killed the bulls a long time ago.”

“Oh.”

“Also,” Damian’s voice had dropped, going quiet in a purposefully shy way that Jon had never heard before, “I’m not even sure I would be welcomed back.”

“What?” Jon said, almost on instinct. “That’s nuts! I mean, I know your Grandad is a crazy assassin or something, but your mom...she loves you right?”

“She does,” Damian said, then added, “sort of.”

“You can’t only sort of love someone,” Jon said, because Mom was sharp and pointy, her lips turned up in a smirk as she chased down a story, her fingernails tapping on a paper pad. But she tried to make Jon cookies even though she always burnt them and called Kon over so they could do their nails together and told Jon bedtime stories and she loved him.

Damian hesitated, as if trying to find the right words. “My mother wanted a perfect son. One she could use to reclaim her supposed place by Father’s side, one that would take over Batman title.”

“But...” Jon urged on.

“But I don’t think Batman was ever meant to be a legacy, not the way Robin or Batgirl were. And,” Damian paused, growing so quiet Jon had to use his superhearing to make out what Damian mumbled. “I don’t really want to be Batman.”

Damian cringed, as if expecting Jon to say something cutting, something admonishing. Jon just said the first thing that came into his head.

“You don’t have to.”

Startled, Damian looked up. “What?”

“You don’t have to,” Jon repeated. “You don’t have to be Batman if you don’t want to. You can be some other hero, or even make your own name.”

“I can’t just do that!”

“Sure you can,” Jon said. “What’s stopping you?”

“My mother, I think. Also, I suppose it’s just expected of me.”

“Nah,” Jon said, finishing off the last of his ice cream. “No one’s expecting you are forcing you to do anything. If you don’t want to be Batman, you don’t have to be Batman.”

Damian eyed him suspiciously. “I don’t think it’s that simple.”

“Maybe not,” Jon shrugged. “But I’ll back you up.”

“She wants me to come back,” Damian whispered, his voice drowned out by the chirping of crickets outside, the sunset approaching. 

“What?” Jon asked, scrambling to sit up. His limbs move awkwardly on the bed, moving with the exact opposite of grace, the way most teenagers were known for. But as Damian pulled himself into a seated position, curling up his legs, Jon saw nothing but control and elegance. “Who wants you to come back?”

“My mother.”

“Woah, your mother?,” Jon bounced over to sit next to Damian. “And she wants you to come back to...what? The League of Assassins.”

“Yes.”

“You can’t be serious,” Jon poured every ounce of incredulity he could muster into his voice. “You’re a hero. You’re not an assassin anymore.” 

Damian shrugged, limbs taught and face stony.

“Hold on. Damian. You’re not actually thinking of going with her, right?”

“She’s my mother,” Damian said helplessly. “And though she hasn’t always been the best one, she seemed sincere the last time she asked.”

“Let’s go back to the part where you said she hasn’t always been the best mother, because she hasn’t, at all.”

“What do you want me to say, Kent?” Damian demanded. “By blood, she is my mother. By blood, I am an al Ghul!”

“You don’t have to be.”

“It’s not about being, Jonathan. You cannot change what you are.”

“No,” Jon said thoughtfully. “You can’t change Talia being your mom. But you don’t have to be an al Ghul.” 

“That’s what her being my mother means, moron.”

“Well by that logic, Dick’s not your brother,” Jon pointed out.

“What!?”

“He’s a Grayson. He was never adopted by Bruce, and he never changed his name either. By blood, he’s a Grayson, and he can’t change who he is.” 

Damian was silent, and Jon felt a little surge of pride at being able to render Damian speechless. But there was a time for gloating, and this wasn’t it. “See? Just because you were born an al Ghul doesn’t mean you have to be one of them. You can be a Wayne, with your dad! Or a Grayson. Or maybe even a Pennyworth!”

“Being a Pennyworth does seem like rather intriguing idea,” Damian said, and he was agreeing with Jon, but drawing closer into himself, huddling up into a little ball. So Jon scooted a little closer and, projecting his movements, wrapped his arms around Damian. Damian didn’t relax into it, but made no move to stop Jon or shift away, so Jon kept holding on.

“Just stick with being Damian for now,” Jon said. “You can figure everything else out later.”

Damian hummed in acknowledgement and slowly, oh so slowly, leaned into Jon’s hug. Privately, Jon didn’t know what he’d do if Damian ever decided to leave and become an assassin. You’d think someone like him would have tons of friends, but Jon’s terrible attempts at secrecy and the way he tried to distance himself in order to keep his powers in check turned most people away. That and being miles ahead of everyone else in class due to Damian’s tutoring (I will not stand to have an associate who is of such low intellectual level) led to Damian being the best of his few friends. He would not handle Damian leaving very well at all.

But he knew that was the last thing Damian wanted to hear. So Jon simply hugged him for a little while, until Mom called them down to dinner.

Jon tried and failed to track Damian’s movements, eyes latching onto his best friend. Exercising to work off anger was apparently a saying Damian took to heart, because Damian had shown up at his house in the middle of the day and, after avoiding Jon’s questions, had paced around the living room, somehow angrily done a backflip and scoffed, saying how he was just as capable of acrobatics to a very confused Jon, and was now doing push-ups.

And the view was—the view was really nice if Jon was being honest with himself, but he was sick of Damian ignoring him. So, he sighed and walked over to Damian, plopping down on his back and folding his legs.

“I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what’s going on,” Jon said.

Damian had been startled into pausing when Jon first made his way over, but soon restarted his reps, and snarled, “I don’t need your help, Kent.”

“Well clearly you do, since you showed up at my house on a weekend seething mad.”

“I’m not seething mad.”

“You’re doing anger push-ups.”

“I am not doing anger push-ups. Those aren’t even a thing.”

“Then what exactly are you doing right now?”

Damian was silent.

Jon made an exasperated noise. He’d sworn to break through Damian’s emotional constipation a long time back, but it clearly wasn’t working. “Damian,” Jon said, stressing each syllable. “Tell me why you’re mad.”

For a minute, Jon thought Damian was going to ignore him entirely. Then, all at once, Damian burst out, “She wants Robin!”

“Who?” Jon asked, though there could only be one candidate.

It was like a dam broke. “Mar’i. She wants Robin. It’s not like she hasn’t been training for it, and I was someone who helped with her training.”

“But you’re not ready to give it up.”

“No,” Damian said quietly. “I didn’t realize how much I relied on the role. I have to be Robin.”

“You don’t. You don’t have to be Robin.”

“Yeah,” Damian sighed. “And I want to give it to her, I really do. I want to pass down Robin so Mar’i looks up to me like right now, instead of ending up with a relationship between their replacements like my brothers. And I don’t even want to imagine how Grayson will feel about it if there’s a fight.”

“You don’t need it, Damian. You’re just scared.”

“Robin was the thing that gave me purpose outside my old life. It’s what made me a hero instead of a villain.”

“Giving it up won’t turn you into a villain either,” Jon hopped off Damian’s back. Holding a hand out, Jon said, “Come on. I think an early patrol will help the both of us. You don’t have to be Robin, and I’m gonna show you that you can still be a hero without it.”

Jon wasn’t exactly sure when the title of “Official Damian Wayne Translator” switched from Dick to him. Granted, the two of them spent a lot of time together, and he knew Damian better than himself.

Then again, that was the problem, wasn’t it. 

A bunch of random heroes will just show up in Jon’s dorm room and demand Jon talk some sense into Damian, or work through his problems, or do something to make him less unbearable. And usually, Jon did it.

He listened to Damian’s complaints without hesitation, talked through his struggles and worries attentively. And he never once asked for anything in return.

He knew how hopelessly gone he was. Damian was his best friend, Damian trusted him like no one else. It made Jon feel special, though it really shouldn’t. Because Damian sure didn’t think he was special.

Some small, spiteful part of himself wanted to say something the next time Damian came over with a set of problems for Jon to solve. To say sorry, he had an important assignment due and he had to finish. To say he really didn’t have the time, maybe Damian could come back later. To say he was sick and tired of Damian taking him for granted, for believing Jon would always be there to support him no matter what.

But one look at those eyes filled to the brim with trust and Jon’s resolve crumbed. There were very few people in the world Damian trusted, and Jon would do anything to make sure he never fell off that list.

So he sucked it up, stayed quiet, stayed kind, stayed helpful.

Until Damian came to him one day asking him how to ask a guy out.

“Stop,” Jon whispered, feeling something inside him crack. “Just stop.”

“I—what?”

“You have no right being so cruel.”

Damian stared at him, a hint of apprehensiveness in his face. “What are you talking about?”

“As if you don’t know, Damian. Your family is full of detectives, there’s no way you don’t know.” Oh no, Jon’s voice was starting to waver, but he couldn’t stop it. Couldn’t control it, couldn’t pull himself together long enough to tell Damian this one thing. “And I was okay with it, because you didn’t really like anyone. But apparently that’s not true. You just don’t like me.”

Jon looked up at Damian and saw nothing but shock in those green eyes.

“But you need to stop,” Jon continued. “Stop always assuming I’ll be there for you, stop treating me like your personal therapist or whatever, stop taking me for granted.”

“I don’t—” Damian tried to whisper, but Jon cut him off.

“Because I don’t think I can take it anymore,” Jon said, and his voice was entirely too raw for his comfort, so he took a breath to gain some semblance of control. “I’m sorry. I really can’t help you with that. But I can still be your friend.”

There was silence, a thick, heavy silence. Jon opted to stare at the floor, watching his feet fidget nervously. 

Then, “You don’t have to.”

“What?”

“You don’t have to. Be just my friend, I mean,” Damian clarified.

“You...you really—what?”

“I didn’t know, Jon,” Damian said, sounding almost ashamed. “I swear I didn’t. If I had, well,” Damian trailed off, stepping closer and looking up at Jon, his face filled with pain. 

He tugged Jon down into a kiss, and Jon could barely process what was happening, but Damian was kissing him, so he responded mindlessly. When Damian pulled back, though, he realized the other boy was saying something, over and over and over.

“I’m sorry,” Damian breathed. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

It was like a slap to the face. Damian never said sorry. He fixed the problem, sometimes avoided it outright, or gave a halfhearted, forced excuse. All those years with the Bats had done little to his pride. But here he was, gripping Jon’s arms and apologizing, asking for Jon’s forgiveness like he meant it.

“I never meant to make you feel like that,” Damian “I would never, I swear. You’re my best friend, and I thought that meant being able to talk to you about anything.”

“You can, you always can,” Jon was quick to reassure him.

Damian shook his head. “But I never offered you the same in return. And that was awful of me and I’m sorry. I’ll,” Damian’s voice faltered. “I’ll apologize as many times as I need if it means I still have you.”

“You don’t have to,” Jon assured him. “It’s okay, you mean it, I can tell.” Then, he leaned down to kiss Damian once more, and mumbled against his lips, “You’ll always have me.”

tag list: @woahjaybird @birdy-bat-writes @elles-shitposts-personified @subtleappreciation @screennamealreadyused @pricetagofficial @catxsnow @yesboopityboop @dangerduckjpeg @iconbicon

[nurseofren]

Keeping Your Promise - Chapter 27 (NSFW)

Read on AO3 | Read on Wattpad

Read Chapter twenty-six

Title: There is No Redemption

Words: 7.4K

Summary: Happy trail worship? Happy trail worship. 

ST Rambles: Hello readers, I hope you enjoy this part. I am in my final semester for my ADN and cannot promise even monthly updates at this time. Please, please, please comment your thoughts because I don't want to produce content that is not enjoyable. Thank you for your patience and understanding.

[MASTERLIST] || BANNER / @elmidol

Stress enveloped your skull in throbbing pain, Karmen’s six-hour rundown stinging your senses and drawing you inward.  Halfway through, you had already begun to feel the excess of information take its toll; Zag’s voice – unpleasant in small doses – grated into you, each word coming too fast and leaving too soon.  Thankfully, no doubt to cover herself, she had left you with a thumb drive; it summarized everything she’d mentioned.

After the ordeal, when she left by the sharp click of her heels, you understood why it was recommended to arrive two days prior to the initial hearing: you were utterly and dreadfully exhausted.  After unpacking – ensuring easy access to your favorite socks and keeping Snoke’s letter tucked into the back drawer of a desk – you had sat in bed for an hour trying to refresh with the thumb drive’s contents; you’d were determined to be prepared for tomorrow’s shift at Canto Bight’s recovery wing.  If nothing else, you would not make a fool of yourself during your practice here.  This you swore to yourself.

At some point you had drifted to sleep, waking to find your cheek stuck to the datapad that’d been propped up before you.  The sunset woke you with a searing ray of light, screaming fuchsias and hazy purples warming your outstretched arm as they cast through open curtains.  The breeze rolled off of the bay and tickled loose hair over your nape, a deep breath stretching your lungs awake before you unfurled from yourself. 

The radar at your wrist indicated Kylo Ren was near but not in his quarters, probably not inside the building.  It was a confusing feeling – the unsteadiness you felt when revisiting your earlier interaction, the vagueness of his words contradicted by the certainty in which they’d been delivered, but simultaneously this calm in your chest since you had left him.  Although you had no idea what he’d gone on about, or what in time meant, his mere presence – the fact that he was near and would continue to be – allowed you these glimmers of peace.

Not since Starkiller.  Not since Snoke.  Not Mason and his baseless confidence, no matter how much you wished to latch onto it; not Talia, who had helped you back from your darkest moment.  The only things that stilled you were the known proximity of your master, and the nature of the words he’d earlier spoken.  You’d felt it that recent night on the Finalizer, how it lingered in your muscles just before you’d dozed off, how it seemed his presence had scared your nightmares away.

However ridiculous and backwards, Kylo Ren – the one whose pain is printed on your skin, who led a slaughter just strides away from you – had become a constant.  It was never what you had expected, but when you thought of the trial now, what eased your nerves was nothing less than the raven-haired warrior whose face was slashed with midnight hues of pain. 

Much like you, you’d come to realize, he had survived Starkiller, and the event changed him.  Though you could not know for sure, you began to wonder if what had gone on had not only left him with the wounds that’d wet your skin, but perhaps ones that were deeper – ones that were not so visible.  Something happened before that explosion, something more than whatever fight had earned him that scar.

You shook your head; this was too much to think on right now.  With a throw draped over your back, you trudged through the room and out into the chill of your side-balcony.  This sky held more beauty than any you’d ever seen; you watched the sun descend, spying a domed, octagonal pavilion at the far left of the side gardens.  It dripped with violet-petaled ropes and emerald ivies, was supported by scalloped columns entwined with twinkling blooms welded from gold, the whole stage centered around a sunken fire pit. 

Considering for a moment, you saw it would have a better view of the sunset, and you’d been cooped up since arriving.  It was a quick decision, catching view of a spiral of stairs that led to the grounds, but only after noting the pair of doors a few paces left of your room’s.  They were closed, and the inner curtains seemed to be shut, the room behind them dark.  Empty.

No, Kylo Ren was not here, but – a thumb over your radar – he was not far.  Somewhere off on his own business.  Training, maybe.  At least, that’s what you supposed kept you from traveling with him, the thought frustrating.  Maybe – no, undoubtedly – he would never admit to it, never show it, but he was still recovering. 

Ten days ago he was in a medically induced coma talking about someone named Ben and how he’s dead.  Bacta works wonders, but it means nothing if a patient is noncompliant with post-operative restrictions, like swinging around a plasma sword for hours on end, or doing trial runs with the Force – which, although you knew little about, one could easily assume it put strain on the body. 

Maybe you were wrong and your master was completely fine, maybe the Force aided in healing.  No matter, you worried; for him, mostly, never forgetting how he appeared in that medbay, but also for yourself.  It was clear that you cared for him – for fuck’s sake, when you thought you’d never see him again you wanted to tell him you loved him – and you knew his pursuits could very likely be the death of him.  Stubborn as you might be to acknowledge it, so long as he was okay and not recklessly shredding through healed wounds, so long as he returned to you, you could rest somewhat soundly.

Hugging your blanket, tighter when the wind blew, you wandered down to the courtyard’s trim lawn, along the overflowing flowerbeds that brimmed with brilliant colors, until you met the few steps that led to the pavilion’s stage.  Flames shocked you when you stepped onto the eight-sided base, your presence triggering a hidden system.  The rectangular pit exploded into a rainbow of fire, thin veils of flames ascending elegantly into an ordered myriad.  The pit was massive, consuming the base but for a few paces from each support.

Much like everything else, the pavilion was grand in size and decoration; the hearth’s hues danced along the draped flora, at least ten paces separating each gold-threaded pillar.  Everything here was explicitly luxurious, so big and gorgeous.  You wanted to settle into it, but it was temporary, and you would not know how fatal that fact was until it was too late.

Farther out, flames rippled over the bay; the sinking heat of the sun endeared your skin, the warmth at your back growing in distance as you gave in to the silent call of the scorching sky.  First tracing the tip of one of the gold leaves woven to a pillar, admiring the detailed stems and ridges, you curled up against the column’s wide base.  Head caressed by the smooth, cool stone, knees curled close to your chest, you were glamored by the water’s rhythmic sway, wondering if you would ever have the chance to feel it on your skin.

It took little effort to keep Karmen’s lecture from your thoughts, too lost to the burgundy of dusk that bloomed as the sun wilted toward the bay.  A stillness surrounded you, and then you tuned into the chirping whispers of bugs that remained hidden with the fall of night.  It did not bother you in the slightest, their distant songs a reminder of your life before the academy.  A passing thought, fond amusement lazily humming in your chest – there are no crickets in space. 

You remained folded against the pillar for some time, watching night creep over the city, more grateful for the heat on your back as warmth waned, the moon climbing higher with each lulling minute.  The stone iced into your cheek.  You went to leave, but your commlink buzzed at your waist, and you knew it would be wiser to keep this particular conversation outside. 

Elbows to your knees, you ruffled a hand through your hair, closed your eyes, and answered Mason’s call.  “How’s your day, McCarty?” There was no use in starting an argument if he had moved on from earlier.

“Probably better than yours, if I had to guess.” He sounded chipper.  It was a relief.

“Well, what went on? Where’d you go? Who’d you see? What’d you eat?”

“I’ve really just been hanging out at the house since getting here.  Caught a nap, which was nice.  Soto sent me a transmission detailing updates on a few patients.”

He wasn’t hostile at all.  Hopefully it meant he was done being weird.  “I also got a nap.  Which, agreed, is definitely nice.  Especially after being kept in a room with Zag for six hours and trying to keep my head from exploding.”

“Six hours? With Zag? Are they trying to get you convicted of murder?”

You shared a laugh, scooting along the stone floor and peering up to the ceiling.  It was tiled with mosaics, the fire’s vibrant colors reflecting off of it and shifting along the intricate designs.  The view of the city was wider from this position, distant lights shimmering in windows that peered into whatever parties were undoubtedly happening. 

“She isn’t that bad.  It’s just her voice.  And I barely have a handle on anything other than the fact that I have my first shift tomorrow, and then two days after that is the initial hearing.  And I don’t even want to think about that to begin with, so…”

“Well,” he sighed your name, “I’ll be there.  Bright and early, just like you.  Wearing my second-best attire, saving the very best for the official trial, of course.”

“Jeez, that’s another thing, right? They fly us out here, put me up in some military-grade villa, but they give me nothing to wear, are aware that my residence just exploded on Starkiller, and then still say I can’t wear my uniform.  I just find that a bit unfair.  But that’s what I think, which we both know has not mattered since the very beginning of all this.  I don’t even know why I expected anything different.  I’ll just have to request transport to the shops or something.  And then make credits appear out of thin air to pay for it.”

With notably increased enthusiasm Mason said, “Actually, I, uh, I was going through the house earlier and there’s actually a lot left over from my family’s recent trip.  You’re free to come over and take some stuff back to your embassy if you want.”

“Alright, first – not my embassy, and if we’re calling it anything, I vote palace.  Seriously—” you stared at a trellis that overflowed with wild blooms of every shade of red, the dead, fallen petals mocking you in the familiar way they pooled beneath.  “—this place is too beautiful for any of the old businessmen who stay here.  It’s actually ridiculous.”

“So it’s not homey, after all?”

A bellowing laugh came from the center of your chest, echoing up to the domed roof and into the growing dark.  “No.  No.  Not homey.  Not quaint.  None of that.  Just giant and spectacular.”

“Well, whatever it is, do you want to come over and grab some clothes?”

“Oh! Oh, yeah.  That’s a lot better than spending credits I don’t have.  Although maybe I’m worrying for nothing? Don’t they forgive your debt when you die, anyway?”

Mason did not laugh, did not even speak, and your amusement fell into alarm.  An edge menaced along each pointed word when he spoke; “Maybe they’ll forgive your debt, but I won’t forgive you for dying.” He grunted in rejection.  “You’re not dying, so I don’t know why we’re discussing this.”

Silence swallowed you both, and for a moment you could hear him trembling, hear the shakiness of his breath.  A sharp exhale startled your hand from your ear.  And then it was quiet again.  He cleared his throat, and you noticed how thick it had become.  Was he crying?

“Mason, you need to tell me what’s going on.  And don’t say-,”

“Nothing is going on.  It’s fine.  We’re fine.”

“Funny, because when you say that, when you tell me we’re fine when I didn’t ask, it makes me think the exact opposite.”

He sighed, but at this point there was a good chance it was more exasperation or fuming than anything else.  “I’m not having this conversation when I can’t see you.”

“Well, I’ll just turn my transmission on and we can-,”

“No.” Clipped, barked.  Final.

It concaved your chest.  Mason had never spoken to you like this.  Your teeth scraped at your bottom lip.  “Should I be worried?”

He paused.  “No,” as it gritted through his teeth, your name was contoured with wisps of ire.  An ounce less of restraint and whatever he was holding back would crack this hardened, taut façade.

The worst came to mind.  All you could manage was a terrified whisper, “Are you revoking your seat to testify? Is that what this is about? Am I about – fuck – am I about to- I can’t lose you.  I can’t-,”

“I told you.  I told you I will be there.” Frosted fury swept through his following pause.  His flat tone was laced with quiet hurt when he next said, “Do you really think I could do that to you? Leave you in the dust like that?”

“No.  I guess not.”

“You guess not,” he thought aloud, a long drag of breath crackling into your ear.  “I’m glad that you’re settled in, and… good luck during your shift tomorrow.  You don’t need it, I know, but nonetheless.”

He was dismissing you.  You hated it.  “I’m not hanging up until I know we’re okay.”

“We’re okay,” he said simply, too fast.  Mason cleared his throat.  “Request transport for the morning after your shift.  You can shop around the closets and after, we can order lunch and… and we can talk.  About things.  Everything.”

It was apparent he would not give anything more away, but you knew from his flat tone that whatever it was, was detrimental to him.  Or you.  Or both.

“Yeah.  I’ll put in the request after shift tomorrow.”

Another long, aching silence.  You listened to his breath, trying and failing at ignoring the knives in it.  The line remained silent, the hanging static a backdrop to the hidden, harmless creatures humming in the night. 

“I love you, Mason,” you prompted, teeth catching your trembling lips, time choking you with every halved second that trudged along.

It killed you, every inhale adding to the weight in your chest, every empty, wordless moment he spent cutting into you with a silent blade.

Another second and you turned back to the heightening tide of the bay, the clear night sky dying it a deep navy.  Even as you tried to focus on the waves that foamed along the distant shore, there was no sound louder than Mason’s nonresponse.

“Goodnight,” Mason said, small, far enough away that it splintered through your heart like ice wedged through rock.

“Good-,” the line went dead, the static dying, a night-kissed wave crashing in your periphery, “-night.”

The iridescent veils of hearth rippled before you now, turning away from the seemingly infinite expanse of water.  Even so, you shivered, and you were sure it had nothing to do with the weather.  Tucking your commlink into your waist pocket, loosing a long-kept breath, you stood from the stone and clasped your blanket over your shoulders.  With a final glance, chin to your shoulder, you appreciated the beauty of your first night here. 

Whatever awaited you tomorrow, the next day, and in the weeks to come? It would remain.  For now, just this one moment alone, you could pretend that everything was okay.  Just for a moment.

A soft touch brushed your shoulder, but when you turned to meet whoever it belonged to, you found there was no one around.  But a light caught your eye, one that had not been there before.  Maybe that interruption to the dark captured your attention, but not at all was it what kept your gaze above the gardens.

Through the clear night, a breeze danced through the flora, glittering scarlet petals into the shadows.  Above those dwindling rubies, leaning over the balcony’s curve, was Kylo Ren.  Behind him, the golden light of his quarters caressed his back, small fragments draping over the sharp, toned muscles of his shoulders.  He was staring down to you, his gaze laving along your figure, eyes those of a predator aware their prey was no match for them.  The ever-heightening moon was all that lit his front, but it was enough.  No, so much more than enough.  Entrancing.  Captivating.  Beguiling.

Light cascaded along the taut strength of Kylo’s abdomen, his broad, thick chest emanating with the smooth white of the dusk’s sun.  Once more, like it always did, the scar skating through his features kept your attention.  From a distance it was less intrusive, but its presence sank your heart like the sun had wandered into the sea.

A whip of night air pushed his hair back to tease his ears, his head slightly cocking to the side when you found his eyes again.  There was no color to them, none that you could see so far away, but you felt their heat slink along your lips, then your neck, over your chest, and lower still.  When they claimed yours once more, they were sculpted with steadfast steel, strong and slithering, ordering your compliance to the smoking promises beyond.

Without noticing, that chill from earlier had left you, and you gathered the blanket so it hung from your forearm.  Kylo held you with his eyes, the fire’s warmth falling away when you stepped off the platform and wandered, in leisure, down the steps and into the plush lawn.  A dew was readying to form on the grass beneath your bare feet, the coolness welcome under his blazing attention.  One step, two, another, and a final; small, shuffling, like you were hypnotized – truthfully, you could have been, but there was none but your own intent in the steps that carried you closer to him.

Only when he straightened to his full height, standing away from the balcony’s edge, did you halt your advance.  He paused there, watching you, so gracefully still you were unsure of his breathing.  From his new position you could no longer see his hands, but – you could feel them.  A pressure along your cheek, your heart stammering at how its span so completely matched his own, and then around your throat, dizzying when it teased your carotids.  Breath shivered from your slack mouth, catching when that – his – ghosted touch skimmed down your sternum and pushed into your rib cage. 

Kylo made no sound, but when the night’s quiet scattered around your faint, gasped moan – feeling the whispered hands smooth over your hips, around the front of your thighs – you saw his jaw flutter, darkness and moonlight tangling when he gave you one final glance.  The phantom touch left, a feline smirk flickered along his lips, and when his brows descended and veiled those deep, deep eyes, Kylo turned and sauntered out of sight.

But you understood his message, the silent one that only his body spoke, and you knew that his leaving was not goodnight, but an invitation.  One you fully intended on accepting. 

The trees swayed above you, the beds of perfectly spaced flowers blowing with the gentle breeze and combining with the sea behind to fill your head with the salty, fresh aroma of a Canto Bight night.  Each step you took along the patterned grass shimmered anticipation through your veins, heady, wanton thoughts brimming in your mind.

The cold stone that marked the ground level’s patio shocked through you, wet crimson petals that had pooled below the trellis now clinging to the soles of your feet.  You did not have time, or at least were desperate to not waste any, to pluck them off, allowing them to travel with you as you led them up the curved staircase.  As you climbed the steps, you stole a fleeting glimpse of the bay; from this height the city’s nightlife sheened along the shore, a few private ships zooming above the skyline and carrying their passengers to events unknown to you. 

Events that you could not have cared less about, not when you arrived to the second-level balcony, not when you saw the swaying curtain beyond Kylo Ren’s open, waiting door.  No, those events meant nil, exceedingly so when you found the beginnings of a trail leading into his room, the first crumb that of pooled, discarded athletic pants. 

Instant, overwhelming chills clamored about your skull, the blanket draped over your arm joining the black bottoms when your limbs went wobbly.  Through the wind-swept gossamer you spied the second addition – one long, impossibly large, black sock – and when you came closer, the cool of night waning as you met the threshold, your heart thrummed louder at the nearing shaft of light that fled the refresher’s entrance. 

Heated tiles warmed your first steps into Kylo’s room, the coquettish curtain kissing the tip of your nose before the door at your back locked shut in near silence.  You brushed past the veil of fabric and took in your surroundings, quite different from what they were earlier.  The golden rays of morning had since been overridden by soft panes of night, only the moon reflecting onto the light tile, not a single star to join it.  The bed’s canopy remained shut, its thin sheets cascading around the bed so there was ample space to walk within its soft confines.  And from that canopy, from the circular track above, bloomed delicate, mild light; it melted midway down the canopy, fading to nothing before it breeched the polished ivory below.

Another step and you noticed the trail of scarlet, dew-drop-covered petals you were leaving in your wake.  On the step up from the bed’s level lay a second sock, so you padded to it, and tuned into the sound of heavy, rushing water that became louder as you delved further into the dimly lit room.  This level was dark save for the glow of the open refresher; you followed that light like a lost vessel in space, hands trembling as you passed through the sitting area with soundless strides.  Finally, as you’d calculated at the earlier bareness of his chest, you found the piece of clothing that signaled your final destination lying at your feet.

Atop the refresher’s threshold lay a pair of black boxer-briefs – unfolded, just as they’d appear fresh off the heated, muscled body from which they’d come.  A smile played at your lips, remembering how the pair he’d so generously provided you the morning after you’d first slept next to him had hugged your hips with subtle compression.  Those, unfortunately, were undoubtedly obliterated with everything else that had exploded with Starkiller. 

Kylo Ren was nowhere within view, but running water tucked behind a corner to your left, and when steam swirled around an inlet that bordered a sleek, unbroken wall of ash-grey tile, your lungs lit with need, with want, your thoughts only focused on the body and man that waited for you just beyond view, just out of reach.  Suddenly you became aware of how overdressed you were, so you turned to your right and found a mirror that ruled its own wall and plucked open the top button of your uniform.

The fogged silver expanse provided a blurred, softened outline of your near-bare body, scalding goosebumps scraping up your neck at the thought of Kylo’s slicked, dripping body.  Hands hooked behind your back, you loosed your bra and smoothed the straps down the sides of your arms.  And then all that covered you were the lack-luster panties the Finalizer had provided all those months ago, but they soon joined the small pile at your feet, leaving you naked and anticipatory and adamant.

Plopping your watch onto your clothes, you squared your shoulders, fixed your posture, and approached the heat of the hidden shower.  Its warm embrace evoked such a calm through you, first loosening your shoulders, then steadying your breath.

Beyond the smoke hued barrier was a chamber of luxury, the water cascading from above like it came from an invisible storm cloud; its volume suggested a harsh pressure, but, stepping beneath the jets that seemed to span the entire stall, your skin was graced with the pleasant fall of a spring shower.  Looking up, blinking through the misted warmth, you found the navy night sky peering down at you through the clear glass ceiling.

All light but that of the moon left the stall, and when your attention shifted down, you saw him through the sheets of water that kept you apart.  The air was thick with fog and mist and night, but he remained the most devastatingly gorgeous person you’d ever seen, ever known.  You needed him to be closer, you needed to be closer to him.  No matter if you’d been with him those few nights ago, and though you’d spoken just hours ago, there was a tautness that tightened as your steps brought you to him. 

Arms at his sides, stance strong and confident, Kylo Ren was a stride away from you, and you stopped.  Inky black hair dripped down his neck, and his mouth was set in a flat, unreadable line, but all you could think of was how it felt you were seeing him for the first time all over again.  He was different now, body scarred and worn from the passing of time.  You did not stare at the red and black that had only been there for such a short time now.  You appreciated it.

Kylo observed you, and a measure after your gaze followed the ebony ribbon rested in his countenance, you lifted a hand to it.  He tensed and you caught his eyes, giving him a small nod before the very tip of your fourth finger kissed the start of his scar.  You watched him, vaguely aware of your hand slipping along the marked path through his brow and down his cheek.  Breath pushed from him in eased waves, his eyes danced between yours, and when you reached the line of his jaw and tapped your finger to the raised, pinking skin there, you closed your eyes and leaned up on your toes so you could press an aching kiss to it. 

That tenseness that’d clanged into him at your touch was instantly gone, the heated streams above not a match to the stifling relief that fogged from his nares.  So near to him, a second hand pushing through wetted, onyx locks, you remembered how he’d stared up at you on the Command Shuttle, how unreadable his expression was when his new scars had still been fresh wounds.

Your touch found the tail end of his healing flesh, and you swallowed down a thick, betraying sob.  “Why did you believe me?” you whispered, not looking up to him.  “When I told you I hated you and I wanted to quit.  When I said,” you winced, “when I called you a bastard and said I wished I could forget you.  Why didn’t you fight it longer?”

Kylo was quiet for a moment, body still but not reluctant to the steady meandering of your fingers.  Something haunted him when he said, “Irredeemable bastard, if you’ve forgotten.”

“No,” your throat bobbed, “I haven’t.  I don’t think I’ll ever forget that day.  Any, any part of it.” Looking up at him, you smoothed your hand over the scar settled into his shoulder.  “After that morning, after everything, why did you believe me?”

“You were saying goodbye,” he murmured, like he’d mulled over that day time and time again and never considered the possibility.  “Before Takodana.  You knew.  He’d gotten to you by then.” A note of betrayal sharpened his tongue, a snarl lighting when he referred to Snoke.

The hand that wasn’t tracing circles along his scarred muscles now toyed with his ear, the tip of your index finger molding to the curved pinnae.  “Kylo,” just a breath, nearly drowned by the water ricocheting at your feet, “answer me.  Please.”

Smooth, low, he began, “Because who could-,” he swallowed, considering you before starting over, “Because I’ve never known anyone who didn’t hate me.  And I’ve always been a bastard.  So when you said those things, after that morning, after you’d ran through Starkiller to tell me and kept saying them…”

Memories fluttered behind his eyes, and as their burning brown centered glittered against the navy night, you lifted your hand so you could hold his face, hold it like a parent would caress their child’s tear-sodden cheek.  Kylo blinked back to you and you comforted the purpled skin beneath his eye. 

He did not want to voice the answers you sought, but you watched as, piece by piece, you dented one of those walls he’d erected in that time-stained interrogation room.  Perhaps it was a hopeful thought, but you swore you felt him ease into your hand.

“I stopped fighting because only a fool counters the truth of his life.” Kylo’s throat bobbed, his deep, shadowed gaze swallowing you whole.  He caught your hand and led it flat along his broad chest, and then to the panes of his abdomen, placing it over the bruised, raised flesh of the scar you’d yet to explore.  “I believed you because there was no reason to doubt you.”

The showering heat from above shielded that which was blurring your vision.  He believed you because he believed those things of himself.  After seeing him wear so many masks, physical or phantom, you saw it in his eyes that he still thought those things and had for his entire life.

And then it made sense, and the realization dragged jagged, thorn-wrapped talons through your heart.  You whispered through the water, wondering if you were speaking only for yourself when you said, “That’s why you didn’t look inside my head.  You didn’t think it would show you anything different.  You didn’t think I could ever feel differently.”

You ran your thumb along the uneven ridge of the scar forming over his side and tucked your other arm around his waist.  With the force that kept moons anchored to their planets, you pulled him in and nestled into the notch of his breastbone.

Through your teeth, “You are not a bastard.  Or irredeemable,” your fingers dipped to the center of the healing tissue, “I’ve learned that we make the choices we think are best, and if that’s true, if I believe it? What do either of us have to be redeemed for?”

Kylo said your name, clear as the night that loomed overhead, and a patient finger tipped your chin up.  “Nothing.  Because there is no redemption for those who do not want it.”

Intensity hardened his face, and once more you felt that sense of equality between him and you.  Long fingers smoothed into your drenched hair, and you found a prompt in his brow.  Sighing, lungs stuttering, you asked, “What, then, if not redemption?”

The hand that he’d set over yours shifted to your hip, thick fingers prodding at your flesh.  Kylo’s touch left your chin and the pad of his thumb rolled over the faint scar that cut into your hairline, a twinge of pain lighting at the memory of its origin; it had healed days ago, but you would never forget the sound of it cracking open when Robbie knocked your skull against the durasteel door. 

Kylo stopped musing when he heard you wince, his eyes meeting yours in a stark, unwavering gaze.  He smoothed over the blight a final time and proceeded to skate his fingers along your jaw, his thumb coming to rest over your bottom lip.  Similar to this morning, yet colder and with a quiet fury breathing beyond his eyes, he looked at you with solidarity.

Calm, sure, adamant, Kylo said, “Retribution.”

A moment to process was spent in his gaze, studying how unbreakable it was, swimming in the shadowed hazel that poured into you.  Kylo’s eyes flicked to your lips, and before he could look away, you leaned up so you could reach his own.  The swirled hair at his nape slithered through your fingers when you swept you hand from his abdomen and up his torso.  Massive, enveloping hands trailed praise along your body until they were mirrored under your breasts.

Exploring his skin, your fingers took residence over the small of his back, digging red trails along the slick surface.  You moaned into Kylo’s mouth when a capable hand claimed your supple chest and kneaded into you.  He growled in response, a predatory sound that rippled through your nerves and tightened deep, deep in your belly.  The pliant pads of his thumbs circled your nipples, the very tips of his nails flicking upward before he added his forefingers and pinched the sensitive peaks to his will. 

Kylo mouthed the hinge of your jaw, the bridge of his nose slipping along the bone until you surrendered your neck to him.  He hummed against your artery, sucking away the beaded moisture that’d collected for the past few minutes – or had it been hours? Time evaded you further when the schemes of his tongue at your throat delved deeper, revealed themselves further when he laved at your clavicle, shifting between kissing and biting and marking as he made his way to your breastbone. 

His muscled back flexed as your fingers routed to his front, dipping low until you found the haze of soft, wet hair that grew from his pelvis.  Kylo continued his endeavors and pulled you in by the curve of your back so he could bare your chest to him and run his nose under the base of your breast.  His need for your body was evident in the way he bent you to his will, cradling your back so he could have you, but also permitting a sense of safety in the relentless strength that flowed from his forearms through to your marrow. 

Near limp in his hold, you tread your fingers down his pelvis and savored the feel of that patch of hair, feeling his pulse beat beneath it, reveling how water collected and fled in such a slow, teasing manner.  His chest was to yours, so you felt, rather than heard, the pleasure vibrate from him, deepening when you grazed the very foundations of his hardening shaft.  He breathed into your skin, mouthing at your breast and sucking painful paths as he went.  The heat of his mouth melded around your nipple, and he bit, and even when you winced and writhed with satisfied hurt, Kylo kept on; not until you were sure he’d drawn blood did his teeth – their unique ridges now throbbing into your breast – leave you, replaced by the salve of his plush, scorching lips.  The body of his tongue was structured with adamant, laving over your pebbled peak until poems of pleasure groaned from the depths of your chest. 

He leaned you back up and shifted his attention to the remaining half of your body, but you needed him just as much, and you wanted to litter his body with the same pleasure he’d given yours.  So, snaking your hands to his jaw, you kissed the hinge opposite to his scar and pecked harder and longer, sucking at his skin like the blood that bruised would grant you eternal life.  Falling to your knees in a steady, unrushed descent, you kissed every inch of his abdomen, every bump and ripple of skin that was present around the mending injury.  With eyes peering up, hands cherishing the fronts of his thighs, you tongued the scarred tissue and watched him shutter with ecstasy, eyes half-lolling, mouth slackening for a second before he swallowed down whatever satisfaction would have left him.

You teethed at the soft, raised skin, watching him, content when a guiding hand pet down your slick hair.  Shifting to his middle, you hummed from one hip bone to the next, feeling the tickle of hair that fled from his naval and dispersed in an even, thick layer of black atop his pubis.  Hunger ravaged your throat and you nuzzled into the soft bed of obsidian hair.  A kiss to it, then a nip, and then the tip of your nose swirled around the dark patch, his cock twitching at the side of your face.

Anchoring your eyes to his yet again, you dragged the flat of your tongue through the maintained, drenched hair and pushed both your hands along his inner thighs.  The muscles beneath your touch sang, streamed just as fluidly as the droplets that were trickling down your spine.  Pulling away from him, you faced his cock and observed how it bobbed with your eyes on it, watched it strain for friction when your hands teased both sides of his base, sifting through the dark curls beneath. 

The moonlight painted his shaft with subtle, breathtaking contours – a shadow cast under the spongey ridge of his head, light glinting off the misted moisture that’d caught on his flushed shaft.  Each prominent vein cast a winding whisper of darkness just a measure from the next.  It hypnotized you, the way they overlapped and crossed at points, bulging out from his cock and shifting with each throbbing pulse of blood that clamored through him. 

Curious fingers flitted along the heavy, hot column of flesh, tapping it and listening to the thickening breath from the man watching you through ravenous eyes.  A smirk curved your mouth, and you peppered a light, whispered kiss to his slit, pushing his cockhead just so it met your teeth, and leading your lips away so the teasing burned through him.  You pulled a hand away from his leg and sat back on your calves, taking a breast into it and kneading as he had before, plucking your nipple through each space between your fingers. 

“A teasing little whore tonight,” he purred, voice thick.

You hummed, pleased you were getting to him.  “I’m your little nurse, remember?” The tip of your tongue teased circles into his frenulum.  “And you are my master.  Isn’t that right? Master Ren?” Fuck, the title even got to you, cunt fluttering with the hope to be overflowing with him.

“Good girl, teasing whore, nasty slut? Little nurse? You have so many names now.”

“And all of them belong to you.”

You teased his tip and finally laved a flat tongue on the underside of his shaft, flicking it side to side and gripping into his structured, rippling thighs.  Something animal, completely primal, roared in his throat, and sooner than you knew, Kylo Ren had joined you on your knees, the weight of his cock slicking down your middle and slapping up to your slit when inertia bounced through it. 

A masterful tongue slipped into your mouth and licked your hard pallet, next dropping down and pushing against the side of your own tongue.  A muffled moan – one that you were unsure was his or yours or both – clouded through the shower’s downfall.  But then a throat-thick huff, aggressive and impatient, gnarled through the air and you were spun on your knees so your back was flush with his chest.

“Yes,” he rumbled, “they do all belong to me.” A possessive hand pushed you into him with might, taking residence in the valley of your breasts.  “Your names, your body.  Everything.” His hips canted, and the tip of his cock knocked against your clit, fire billowing in your belly, quicker and deeper now. 

“Everything,” you echoed, finding his free hand and guiding it so it lay over the permanence etched into your thigh.  “I’m- everything.  It’s yours.  I am yours.”

Unrelenting digits bruised more marks around the one he’d made prior, and when you felt his cock fall in line with your entrance, you thrust into him as he did the same, and you took all of him, at once, in one, fluid, aching motion.  An unabashed cry echoed euphoria throughout the moonlit stall.  Before you could fully recover from the first thrust, his hand – the free hand that didn’t remain under your own, clutched to your thigh – dipped into your folds and that blooming fire from earlier mushroomed at the graze of his thick digits against the buzzing nerves. 

Thrust after thrust after thrust, fucking into you and filling you to the brim and then some each time, knocking the air from your lungs and burgeoning those sweet spots within with each paced, violent pass.  All of that pressure combined with the winding circles and strokes he racked your clit with, you felt the breath of climax rise first in your chest, and then upward into your throat. 

Kylo was panting by your ear, sucking the skin behind, clutching you to him so it became uncertain where his body ended and yours began.  You hooked your arm above your head and clutched at his drenched tresses, flailing for a better grip and settling on clasping your hand onto the back of his neck.

“I feel you,” he groaned.

“Feel me,” you huffed.

“I know you.”

“know me.”

“You’re mine,” your name was laden with yearning claim, lilting from his tongue so it caressed your mind, body, and soul all in one fell swoop. 

“Yours,” you heaved, “all, yours.”

You came.  Simple.  Body swimming in the schemes his fingers and cock and tongue and voice forced into you until it became too much.  A few thrusts more and his pace faltered, cum spurting against your walls and dripping out of you as more and more left him.  Full lips pressed fleeting, lulling praise into your nape, your shoulder, until he angled your head to his and branded his lips to yours. 

Spent, emotionally and physically, you fell into him and enjoyed the image of his legs framing your own.  But then your eyes lolled shut and you simply breathed, settling into this moment as best you could, and tried to memorize the tide of his chest slicking against your back.

Barely aware in the vague, misty stall, you only realized that Kylo had begun cleaning you when he guided you back to your feet to rinse you free of soap.  Even then you just leaned into his chest and let the jets spray silken streams down your skin.  And then you were wrapped in a heated towel and cradled in his arms, leaving the steamy refresher and coming into the gentle atmosphere within the golden gossamer canopy.

With less than a word, maybe a breath, the light from above waned to nothingness, and the room was black save for the glinting eyes that studied your own.  The towel discarded to the floor, you now lay beneath the thick comforter and linen sheets of Kylo Ren’s bed.  Both naked, you huddled together in the center of the expansive mattress, legs wrapped together in an impossible knot, each breathing in the other’s warmth. 

Ease trickled into your muscles, and you shifted so your forehead could rest in the heat of his chest.  

“What changed? From the other night?” you yawned.  “What convinced you? About Snoke.”

He was tired, too, you knew, the hand tucking you into him tracing lazy, distracting circles into your back to keep him from sleep.  “Perspective, really.  Seeing things clearly for the first time in… Seeing things clearly.”

For now, fatigue caressing you, that was an answer you could accept.  He’d given you more of his mind tonight than ever before, and you did not care to mar that fact with a half-wit interrogation.  Perhaps you would listen to him this time, given how little you potentially had left, and do as he’d said this morning.

Trust me first.

It was sound advice, and not worth questioning on the eve of your first shift on Canto Bight.  So you nuzzled into him and giggled when the tip of your nose nudged that black healing ribbon over his collar bone.

“I like your scars,” you hummed.

You could not be certain, sleep plunging you into its riptide, but just before it pulled you under, you swore you heard the fatigued rumble of Kylo Ren’s voice whisper, “I like yours too.”

[cakesunflower]

Matter of Time [C.H. One Shot]

Summary: Bringing the guy she had feelings for along as her date to her ex’s wedding was probably the smartest decision Talia could’ve made.

A/N: honestly this was supposed to be a short thing but it ended up being like nearly 9k words smh. also. these pics of Calum sure did come at the right time because this is exactly how i pictured him in this fic,,,,,maybe with his trusty chains thrown somewhere in there as well.

“He invited you to his wedding?”

Talia felt her shoulders deflate, nodding solemnly to Calum’s incredulous question. As they wandered around the mall, hands carrying a few bags that were some much needed retail therapy after the invitation she had received, she let out a sigh. “He did. I don’t know if I’m annoyed that he’s already getting married, or because he’s being the bigger person by inviting me.”

Calum swallowed a sip of his coffee—she had dragged him out to the mall quite early, she felt kind of bad for not letting him sleep in—before his slow, still morning voice responded, “Maybe he’s just bein’ petty by inviting you.” Lifting a finger that was wrapped around the Starbucks cup, he pointed at the brunette and spoke after smacking his lips, “Show him you’re the bigger person by showing up like it doesn’t affect you.”

Talia frowned at his words, stopping short as she faced her tall friend and blinked up at him. “It doesn’t affect me,” she stated firmly, hoping he heard it over the busy noise of the mall around them. She didn’t want Calum—or anyone—thinking that she was still hung up on an ex with whom a relationship had ended a year ago. Sure, Ian had broken up with her and it had hurt, especially since she had loved him, but that was in the past. She’d moved on. But that didn’t mean she was jumping at the chance of attending his wedding while she was still single. Not that it was a competition. It was just a bummer.

Calum lifted his chin, looking down at her with curious, challenging eyes that kind of had her breath hitching. “Prove it,” he said, prompting Talia to raise her eyebrows. “Show him you’re unbothered and how you hadn’t thought about him until the invitation showed up by attending the wedding to congratulate him.”

With a scoff and a roll of her eyes, Talia pointed out, “I doubt he’s gonna be paying attention on his wedding day, Calum.”

Her friend took a step closer towards her, enough to let the familiar scent of his favorite cologne wash over her, forcing Talia to tilt her head back ever so slightly to maintain eye contact with his taller figure. She ignored the butterflies in her stomach at his proximity, something she’d nearly become an expert at doing over the past few months when something unexpectedly switched in her head and she wasn’t looking at Calum as just her friend anymore.

He was an observant man, but Talia desperately hoped he didn’t notice the way her throat worked through its sudden dryness or the tenseness of her shoulders as he stood so close to her. His brown eyes held every bit of intensity that she had come to know yet still melted under, eyebrows raising subtly in encouragement as he responded, “Then prove it to yourself, Tal.”

She bit down on her lower lip, telling herself she imagined the brief second in which Calum’s gaze had dropped to her mouth before returning to meet her eyes, as she thought over his suggestion. Honestly, Talia doubted that she’d feel any kind of pain at the sight of Ian vowing to love another woman for the rest of his life—that wasn’t why she was hesitant on attending. Like she had told Calum, it was more of an annoying self esteem thing. Ian had found someone else to love; meanwhile, Talia was struggling to keep her feelings for her friend at bay out of, what? Fear? Anxiety? Nervousness?

Excuses, excuses, excuses.

Maybe if she took Calum’s suggestion, maybe if she faced this one thing, she would find some courage to face her feelings. Maybe it would give her the push to actually do something about them.

Ugh. She kind of hated that Ian was giving her this opportunity.

“Fine,” Talia found herself answering, lifting her own chin decidedly as Calum raised his eyebrows. Then, with a smile, “But if I’m gonna attend my ex’s wedding, I need a new dress.”

She then turned, purposefully walking towards a dress shop they had passed, hearing Calum groan behind her as he followed and complained, “You already have so many dresses.”

She scoffed, shooting him an unimpressed stare as her gaze briefly dropped to what he was wearing. “Just because you wear the same Nine Inch Nails shirt every day, doesn’t mean everyone else is the same way.”

Calum frowned as he sipped his coffee, chin touching his chest as he looked down at his tee and asked, almost poutily, “What’s wrong with my shirt?”

Talia sighed, but kept the words to herself as they continued. Nothing. Nothing was wrong with that damn shirt; it hung off of him adorably and it was so soft and she kind of loved hugging him when he wore it. But she wasn’t about to admit that to the Australian. Not when just thinking about it warmed her cheeks foolishly.

Despite his initial complaint, Calum kept up with Talia, asking what size she wore before looking through the many dresses hung on the many racks. She found herself, on more than one occasion, glancing over to wherever he was, feeling the smile grow on her lips when she noted the subtle concentrated furrow on his eyebrows, sifting through dresses while taking sips of his coffee in between.What was even better was the two dresses hanging off his arm already.

“It’s a no on the blue one.”

From the other side of the door, Talia heard Calum groan before he said, “At least let me see!”

Talia’s face scrunched up as she looked at herself in the mirror, head tilted as she scrutinized the way the dress hugged at her waist too tightly. “No, it looks weird. What’s the point in showing you if I’m not getting it?” she called back smartly, smiling in triumph when she heard him huff in exasperation.

He sounded much closer to the door and Talia glanced down to the space between the door and the floor to see his Docs right in front. “Wasn’t that the last one?”

Her gaze flickered to the lavender colored number hanging on the hook on the door. “No, I’ve got one more.”

“At least show me that one.”

Talia took off the blue dress she wore with a mumble of “we’ll see,” before grabbing the lavender dress, feeling a chill run down her spine as the air hit her bare skin. As she slipped it on and put her arms through the spaghetti straps of it, Talia admired the softness of the material as well as the color of it. It was fitted on top and looser at the bottom, going a little past her knees. It was kind of plain, a little simple even, but Talia loved it.

Her right hand reached behind her, fingers toying with the zipper before realizing she wasn’t able to pull it up all the way. She rolled her lips into her mouth, staring at her reflection on the back wall mirror, wondering if she needed to zip it up. Except she wouldn’t know the proper fitting of it, and Talia let out a heavy yet quiet sigh as her head tilted back to look up at the ceiling. It wasn’t a big deal. She could ask Calum. She needed to relax.

Licking her lips, Talia’s throat worked briefly before grabbing the door handle and opening it as she found her voice long enough to say, “Can you zip this up for me?”

She turned around as she said it, so the door opened for Calum to look at her back and Talia reluctantly allowed for her gaze to wander over to the mirror right in front of her. She watched as Calum stepped forward, the coffee cup long gone, his body easily towering over hers as his hands raised to grasp the zipper, and Talia fought the bristle in her body that threatened to ripple through when she felt the warm touch of his fingers brush against the exposed skin of her back.

The buzz of the store and the music playing throughout sounded like background noise over the thrumming of her heart, racing in her ears as she watched Calum’s ducked head and felt the movement of his hand as he pulled the zipper up, the dress gently tightening as he did so. He no longer had curls that brushed along his forehead, his dark hair shorter now, the blue disappearing as his hair grew out. She wasn’t sure how she felt about being so acutely aware of his warmth radiating to her, or how she could just barely hear the sound of his breathing. Talia wondered if she imagined the jolt of electricity at the touch of his fingers against her skin, biting the inside of her lower lip as Calum finally raised his head.

Right before his gaze met hers through the reflection, Talia turned around and took half a step back, lifting her head to finally meet his gaze. Or, she would’ve, had it not been for the fact that Calum’s dark eyes were oh so slowly trailing up her figure, her stomach twisting into excited knots as she watched him admire—was that too conceited? Too yearning?—her so openly. It had Talia’s skin warming, especially when his eyes finally met hers and a smile upturned his lips through a breathy chuckle.

She saw a glint in his eyes as he smirked boyishly, “Bride’s gonna be pissed you’ll be taking the attention off her.”

Talia’s cheeks flushed as she ran her hands down the smooth material of the dress, looking down at the way it hugged her nicely and speaking through the butterflies erupting in her stomach as she modestly responded, “Alright, relax,” with a sheepish chuckle. God, she used to be able to take his compliments. Now, even the simplest of admirations from him, nothing but platonic, overwhelmed Talia’s senses far quicker than she could put them down.

If anyone had an affect on her, it was Calum.

“Seriously, doll,” he spoke up with a light chuckle, prompting for her dark eyes to meet his once more, taking in the smile he wore that pushed up his cheeks the way she adored. “That dress looks amazing on you.” Then Calum grasped her shoulders, bare thanks to the thin dress straps, and used his grip to turn her until she was facing the mirror once again. The air locked in Talia’s throat when Calum stepped forward until his front was against her back, tattooed left arm draped across her collarbones, the sight of his skin wrapped in ink fluttering her stomach as his warmth seeped into her. His chin rested on top of his head, gaze meeting hers through the reflection, and Talia silently willed for her heart to calm down as he rasped, “Lavender is definitely your color.”

It was proving to be difficult to think about anything else other than the way Calum’s body felt against hers. God. They’d hugged plenty of times, had been close just as much, and yet the proximity still sent her heart racing, thundering in her ears as the warmth settled like a comforting blanket. Was Talia crazy to feel so safe in his embrace? To feel as though all of her worries slipped away for as long as he was holding her in some capacity?

She probably was crazy, especially given that whatever she was feeling, was more than likely to be unrequited. How pathetic to be setting herself up for inevitable pain yet not doing anything to resist the pull Calum seemed to have on her?

Finding her voice, Talia let out a gentle scoff and raised her eyebrows at their reflection. “You’re a flatterer.” Calum rolled his eyes, not releasing his hold on her—not that she wanted him to. Talia subtly tilted her head, not wanting him to lift his chin, as she ran her gaze down her reflection before humming, “Something’s missing.” She knew exactly what. The thoughtfulness was an act. She took a leap of faith, unsure what exactly gave her the courage to do so, as she grinned at Calum’s raised eyebrows. “Arm candy.”

She turned around, which unfortunately meant for Calum to drop his arm from her as he stared down with narrowed eyes, like he knew what she was about to say as Talia grinned sweetly, pleadingly. “I haven’t sent in my RSVP yet—will you please come with me?” Calum parted his lips, and before he got the chance to protest, Talia quickly pushed on, “You know what’s better than going to your ex’s wedding? Going to his wedding with a hot date.”

Okay, yeah, she was a masochist set on igniting her face on fire as the words slipped past her mouth without much thought. Talia fought the urge to bite down on her tongue as she kept smiling up at him, hoping she could silently encourage him despite the heat spreading across her skin under his intent gaze. Calum looked at her, raising his eyebrows as he took in a deep breath as he contemplated her offer.

He puckered his lips momentarily before asking, “Open bar?”

“I think so.”

The corner of Calum’s lips quirked as he remained silent for another second before deciding, “I’m there.”

Talia let out a gentle scoff, raising a single eyebrow as she questioned, “Just ’cause there’s an open bar?”

His smirk widened, boyish and heartbreaking as he took a step back, out of the fitting room with his hand on the door handle as he winked, “That’s just a bonus.” And then he was out, shutting the door and leaving Talia alone with the thunderous pounding of her heart.

*****

When Calum stepped out of his house, dressed in a black suit with his rings, bracelet and chains around his neck glimmering in their silver delight under the sun. Her grip tightened on the steering wheel as he locked the door behind him and headed down the two steps, sunglasses shielding him from the rays as his jaw worked to chew the gum in his mouth. “Oh, shit.” He looked incredibly good, unfairly so, and Talia quickly tapped her fingers against the steering wheel and let out a sharp breath as Calum offered her a quick boyish greeting nod, a smirk on his lips as he walked around the front of the car and got in.

“Hey, doll,” Calum greeted easily, reaching behind him to shut the door as he leaned forward to press a quick kiss to Talia’s cheek. Brief, yet the tingle of his touch lingered. Her car was greeted with his cologne, fresh and citrusy and pleasantly musky. He settled back in his seat, strapping in his seat belt as he looked at her from behind his sunglasses. His smile returned, soft and sweet, as he said, “You look gorgeous, Tal.”

She knew the blush she wore would do nothing to hide the pink the warmth on her face was spreading, yet Talia returned his smile and found a teasing tilt in her voice as she said, “You don’t look so bad yourself,” as she put the car into drive. Man, was that the understatement of the century. She glanced to see him look down by his feet, apparently having hit something, and Talia told him, “Oh, those are my heels, sorry.”

Driving in heels wasn’t something she was fond of, deciding to put on her favorite slip ons for the drive to the wedding venue. “All good,” Calum chuckled, picking up her phone as he asked, “Can I?”

She knew he was only going to go on Spotify, and if it was anyone else, Talia would’ve told them no because it was her car, so the music choice was hers alone. But it was Calum, and their music taste was achingly similar, and with a quick mental check of not having sent any incriminating texts to anyone about her wedding date—not that Calum would go through her phone, he respected her privacy too much—she gave an affirming hum.

He put in the passcode and scrolled through the playlist, settling on a Post Malone song as Talia drove onto the freeway. She noticed Calum pick up the wedding invitation, reading it over, before he scoffed and asked, “What kind of name is Damaris?”

Talia pressed her lips together, feeling the smile come on. She had the same reaction when she read the name of the bride. “Stop,” she chuckled, though there was no real pressure for him to actually stop. Almost reluctantly, with a huff, she acknowledged, “I’m sure she’s a nice girl.” Not that she particularly cared.

“Oh, I’m sure, too,” Calum reassured, a smile in his voice, and Talia could feel the heat of his gaze as he added in a knowing tone, “I may not like the guy, but he’s got great taste in women.”

The belief he held in that statement was loud and clear, enough to flip Talia’s stomach as the breath hitched in her throat. He shouldn’t really be saying vague-but-not-really things like that to her while she was driving. Talia hated that she was so aware of her feelings for Calum, because now it rendered her incapable of receiving compliments from him without her skin igniting on fire and her stomach becoming residence for a thousand butterflies.

It was funny, how when the so-called butterflies kind of made her nervous when it came to her feelings for someone else. She used to refer to them as moths instead. It didn’t seem natural, to feel something nauseating as reference to the excitement of merely seeing the person you harbored even the slightest bit of a crush? But then her feelings for Calum made themselves known, just one day where Talia saw her friend in a different light she hadn’t expected, and her breath was gone and the moths were suddenly butterflies and acting like the mere thought of him didn’t bring a smile to her face was her number one priority especially when around him. God forbid she made her feelings obvious.

Which was getting kind of hard with her being unable to maintain her breathing when he complimented her like he’s done a million times before.

Half an hour later, Talia pulled the car in front of the estate, right where the other cars were, catching sight of the valet attendants a few ways ahead. Taking the opportunity, she asked hastily, “Can you pass me my heels?” while toeing off her slippers and tossing them in the back.

“Sure,” he chuckled, grabbing her shoes and handing her one of them and she quickly put her right one on, eyes on the windshield as she blindly and expertly strapped it on before doing the same with the other. Next to her, she could hear the subtle awe in Calum’s voice as he laughed, “Impressive.”

Eventually, they pulled up in front of the valet podium and got out of the car, and Talia tucked the ticket into her purse as she looked up at the grey stone building—manor, actually—in front of her. Talia blew out a slow breath as the guests around her wandered inside, heels clicking and chatter sounding, and she couldn’t help but think Ian and his bride had some good taste in wedding venues. Maybe she’d hire the same wedding planner. If they used one. Or if she was ever going to get married.

She felt Calum step up to her left, glancing at him to watch as he offered his right arm and asked, “Shall we?”

Talia smiled, heart drumming as she linked her arm with his before the two made their way inside. They walked through the gorgeous manor, walking past a sign that read Graham & Drew Wedding and through a pair of glass doors that led to a stunning forecourt with greenery in the center and a few staircases around that led up to the terraces of the manor, as well as some steps up ahead that led to a garden where Talia could see the ceremony would take place.

People were lingering in the court to take pictures before heading on down, and Talia was more than ready to just sit down and wait for the ceremony to start. But that idea derailed when Calum led her towards one corner of the court and said, “Come on, let me take a photo of you.”

Talia groaned lightly as he pulled her along and said, “Are you serious?”

“Yes,” Calum decided, dropping his arm from her and shooting her a serious look before gesturing ahead. “Pretty thing like you deserves to be photographed.”

There went the blush.

She stood where he asked her to, the view behind her incredible, and Talia couldn’t stop the smile from growing onto her face as Calum pulled out his own phone and hung his glasses on the neckline of his button down before holding his phone up. He was grinning at her, at the view of her on his phone, and Talia’s own smile grew as she posed and he praised, “That’s it! Fuckin’ glowing, love.”

A laugh escaped Talia, using her fingers to tuck her hair behind her ear as she whispered dramatically, “The boomers are giving you nasty looks.”

Calum scoffed, unbothered as he kept clicking away, moving this way and that to get the angles, which Talia found too damn endearing. He looked up briefly for his dark eyes to meet hers, smirking as he added, “Let ’em—they’re jealous I’ve got the hottest date here.”

Oh, her face needed an ice pack or something. She smiled but her heart was in complete overdrive as she let out a chuckle that sounded nervous to her own ears and raised an eyebrow and wiggled her fingers at him, “Come take a picture with your hot date.”

He grinned, that dumb lower lip biting smile that drove her crazy as he nodded before finding a random stranger and asking them in that polite, boyish charm if they would mind taking a picture of the two of them. Calum then stood to her right, arm easily winding around her waist as hers did the same, fighting the urge to press herself closer to him as she felt his hand settle on her hip.

The woman who took their picture returned the phone with a smile, “You two are a gorgeous couple.”

Talia bit the inside of her cheek, merely smiling in return as Calum thanked her without correcting her, and she tried to ignore the tug in her heart and the hitch in her throat. Oh, lady. Talia wished.

*****

“So are you from the bride’s side or the groom’s?”

Calum stuck his gum to the inside of his cheek as he let out a short chuckle. “Groom—kind of,” he answered with a chuckle. The woman in front of him raised her eyebrows, smile ever present, as Calum clarified, “I mean, I know the groom but I’m here as a plus one for the girl who does know him.” He felt the smile tug at his lips at the thought of Talia, eyes wandering until his gaze landed on her. She was only a few feet away, chatting with someone he didn’t recognize. The sun was shining down on them all, but she was the only one glowing under it. Bright and gorgeous. He nodded over at her. “She’s right there.”

The woman, Sarah, followed his gaze before exclaiming gently. “Oh, Talia? You’re here with her?” Calum met her eyes and saw the smile she wore as she nodded. “She’s a sweetheart—of course, I’ve only met her once when Ian brought her around for Thanksgiving.” Then Sarah chuckled, waving her hand. “I think it might be taboo to talk about my nephew’s ex at his wedding but I doubt there’s any bad blood if she was invited.”

Calum chuckled along with Sarah, despite the awkwardness he was feeling. Truth be told, though it was none of his business and he had no right to feel that way, Calum wasn’t too fond of remembering the fact that Talia and Ian had been together. He hadn’t particularly liked Ian, and for a while Calum had assumed it was because of Ian, period. And, truthfully, he was definitely part of it. The guy kind of hadn’t gotten along with any of Talia’s friends himself, Calum included, and would always prefer if she hung out with his friends than him with hers.

He’d seemed like a decent enough boyfriend to Talia, but always preferred to keep her to himself rather than share. And, to be fair, Calum didn’t blame him, but he wouldn’t be a dick about it the way Ian used to be. It wasn’t like Calum could say anything either, out of respect for Talia and her relationship and, truthfully, the mild fear it would backfire on him and piss her off. So he kept to being her friend, as usual, knowing she had been doing her best to keep both her boyfriend and friends happy. In the end, the asshole left and she had them. Calum hoped they were enough. That he was enough.

Eventually, the ceremony was about to begin, and Calum met Talia in one of the middle rows as the two of them sat down towards the end by the aisle. And when the bride, Damaris, walked down the aisle, Calum’s gaze went from her to the woman standing next to him, raising his eyebrows at the fact that Talia was looking ahead at Ian instead of the woman in white making her way down.

For a moment, something twisted in Calum’s chest. But then, as if feeling his gaze on her, Talia spoke up quietly through a smile, “He looks genuinely happy.” Calum bit the inside of his cheek, noting the genuine sincerity in Talia’s warm brown eyes, his own muscles relaxing as she added musingly, “Good for him.”

He felt his lips mirror her own smile, though he felt happier for her than the couple of the hour. To see her watch her ex get married with no semblance of jealousy or sadness, not even a hint of self pity, had him smiling for Talia. It may be stupid for him to think, not that he cared, but he was proud of her. She’d been somewhat frazzled that day at the mall, and then the days leading up to the wedding. Now to be here, with the sun bright above them and her in that dress with that smile. . . He was glad to be here with her. For her.

So when they settled back down on their seats, he draped his arm around Talia, mindful of the drumming of his heart as he caught sight of her smile when she leaned into him. Calum felt her relax against him as the ceremony progressed, not sniffling and teary eyed like many of the guests around them, but watching with a contentment he was happy to see. It really was a lovely day for a wedding. It was a lovelier day to be Talia’s wedding date.

When the ceremony was over and the newly proclaimed husband and wife walked down the cheering aisle with bright grins on their faces, everyone got up to make their way to the courtyard where the reception was being held. The next little while went by in a blur; the two of them found their assigned seats, sitting at a table with people Calum didn’t know, sticking by Talia’s side as she was pulled into conversations with the few members of Ian’s family and his friends that she had met during their eight month dating period. Not only had Talia made a lasting impression on Ian to be invited to his wedding, but she did so on his parents and friends as well, all of whom had stated their delight in seeing her again.

Calum smirked lightly, silently agreeing with them. Who wouldn’t be glad to see Talia?

Soon enough, the DJ was announcing the arrival of the newly appointed Mr. and Mrs. Graham, and Calum stood next to Talia, clapping along with everyone else as Ian and Damaris walked down the stone steps, hand in hand, and into the courtyard where everyone was waiting for them, with the bride having undergone a dress change. They went right for the makeshift dance floor, a recognizable Ed Sheeran song playing for them to have their first dance to.

Next to him, Talia whispered, “Is it rude for us to go to the bar while they’re dancing?”

Calum suppressed a chuckle, but liked where her mind was at. “No. I think we’re far back enough to not be noticed.”

He caught her grin before she started moving slowly, Calum following her to where the bar was set up as everyone’s attention was on the happy couple up front. Calum stepped up to the bar, keeping his voice low as a way of not being rude as he said to the bartender, “Two whiskey neats, please.”

Talia scoffed lightly, telling the man, “Make mine a double.”

“A double?” Calum hummed, elbow resting on the bartop as he faced Talia with an amused raise of his eyebrow. The song had just hit the bridge, it would be ending soon. His gaze trailed Talia up and down; she was mirroring his pose, right hand on her hip as she looked over at the crowd. Calum fought the urge to allow his stare to wander the length of her figure once more, the dress hugging her perfectly and complimenting her. Absolutely stunning. But he tried to pay more attention to the topic at hand than her gorgeous she looked. “Thought you were good with this wedding?”

“Oh, I am,” Talia responded, her voice airy and assuring. He had half a mind to believe her, and he should. But he was just a little bit worried. She then turned her gaze to meet Calum’s once more, brown eyes meeting brown, her smile bright and even a little amused. “But I think it’s fair that I take advantage of the bar at my ex’s wedding, don’t I? Why else am I here?”

That brought a grin to Calum’s face, a chuckle escaping as he nodded along in agreement. She had a point there. So when the bartender handed them their drinks, the two picked up their glasses and clinked them together, a pretty glint in her eyes just as the song ended and they took sips of the whiskey. It happily burned at Calum’s throat, smacking his lips lightly and exhaling a satisfied breath. Talia was right; raiding the bar would definitely make this trip worth it.

Not that it already wasn’t. One look at her and Calum would be inclined to agree.

They eventually found their seats once again, just in time for the Best Man and Maid of Honor to make their speeches. Calum remained leaned back on his seat, right ankle resting on his left knee as his left arm remained settled on the top of Talia’s chair as she joined him in sipping their drinks. She didn’t look particularly entranced by the words being said about Ian and Damaris and the love they shared. Like she didn’t care about their relationship, and it proved the point she had made to Calum the day they went to buy her dress about Ian’s wedding not affecting her.

Unsure of how long the speeches were going to be, Calum let out a long sigh, gaze flickering to Talia to see her pull out her AirPods case from her purse. The smirk tilted at his lips as she offered him one, and Calum chuckled lowly as they each put on in and Talia scrolled through her playlist before settling on a song by The Maine. They were half way through the song as Talia let out a small chuckle and murmured, “We’re such assholes.”

Calum clicked his tongue in disagreement, uncaring that if anyone looked, they’d see the AirPod in his ear, while Talia’s hair hid hers. Quietly, he replied, “Weddings are only fun if your friend or family member’s the one getting hitched.” He leaned towards her, catching just a bit of her familiarly pleasant perfume, and added, “We’ll have fun at Mike and Crystal’s.”

Talia laughed quietly, knocking her knee with his as she turned her gaze back to the Maid of Honor who was all teary eyed and smiles as she spoke. Calum got to choose the next song, deciding on an Arctic Monkeys tune and, thankfully, the speech was over right when the song ended. Talia seemed to share the sentiment as she muttered, “Thank God,” while pulling out the AirPod, taking the one Calum handed to her as well and tucking them away. “I need food. And then we can be on our way.”

Calum pouted, arms crossing as he tilted his head at her. “Not even gonna stick around to dance?” When Talia shot him a flat look, Calum returned his arm to the top of her chair and leaned in close, knowing he didn’t imagine the way her throat worked when he closed the distance between them. Enough to see the gold flecks in the brown of her eyes, framed by pretty long eyelashes. “Come on, doll.” He may be pushing it, offering her his best pleading look, the kind she called his puppy dog face with the wide eyes and pouting lips, knowing it always got him his way. He didn’t miss the way her gaze flickered to his mouth, fighting the urge to smirk. “Just one dance?”

He heard the soft breath she took, finally meeting his gaze, before rolling her eyes lightly and responding reluctantly, “Fine. One dance,” while holding one finger up to emphasize her point.

Calum let go of his self restraint for once—or maybe the empty glass of whiskey had something to do with it—but he leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her finger, returning the grin that tilted at Talia’s lips and adoring the pink of her cheeks. She curled her finger into itself, her smile still present as she gave an endearing, amused shake of her head at him. Calum thanked the music that the DJ had began playing, or else he would genuinely worry that Talia could hear the erratic drumming of his heart. Part of him felt as though he was playing with fire, but mostly, Calum didn’t care. He was too busy wondering that if kissing her damn finger or cheek had his lips feeling as though they’d been shocked, just how would it feel to actually kiss her. For now, he could only dream.

*****

“Wanna dance?” Calum inquired, grinning at Talia. They’d finished eating a little while ago, the music still playing and those who had eaten already dancing and enjoying the wedding festivities, many taking advantage of the abar and photobooth that was aso set up.

Talia looked up at his already standing figure, gaze flickering to his offered hand before letting out a gentle laugh as their eyes met. “Sure.” Grin widening, she added, “I’m already two and a half drinks in anyway.”

Calum snorted, despite the warmth he felt when she held his hand and he pulled her up. “That’s the spirit,” he hummed, pulling her towards the dance floor just as a slow song started. His lips twitched into a grin, silently thanking the DJ for unknowingly working on his side as he and Talia moved within the group of dancing guests.

The DJ had good taste in music, Calum couldn’t help but think, as Dream a Little Dream of Me by Ella Fitzgerald and Louis Armstrong began playing. Calum used his grip on Talia’s hand to pull her towards him, her left arm around his shoulders as their bodies began moving to the gentle melody of the music. His own free hand settled on her lower back, trying not to stare at the way his fingers interlocked with hers, the few rings she wore clinking against his.

Calum’s eyes didn’t leave Talia, which is how he could tell she was trying her best not to meet his gaze. It kind of made him smile, this sudden shyness she was displaying, wanting her to never feel that way around him while being reassured that she felt around him what he felt around her. He’d just had a lot of practice hiding it, he figured, and he wanted to tell her that she had no reason to feel that way around him.

With a subtle lift of his chin, Calum mused, “Have I told you today how pretty you look?”

He knew he had, of course. He just wanted to remind her.

Talia let out a gentle laugh, gaze meeting his. “Yes, you have,” she responded. Narrowing her eyes playfully, she said, “At this point, I think you just like seeing my face turn red.”

Calum tilted his head back as he blew out a puff of air. “Nah, just like tellin’ you the truth.” Then, smirking, he shrugged a single shoulder before adding, “But, yeah, seeing you blush like that is adorable.”

Talia shook her head, either amused or embarrassed as she muttered, “Shut up.”

He chuckled as they continued swaying to the music, humming along to the tune as they moved, feeling the warmth of her body against his. Calum loved being this close to her; he could make out every detail in her features. The subtle dimple on her right cheek if she moved her lips a certain way, the four freckles—easily counted—on the bridge of her nose, or the tiny beauty mark right at the corner of her lips. Small little things that made her Talia; the girl he’s been crazy about for God knows how long.

If only he had the guts to actually tell her. Innocent flirting aside, when it came down to it, Calum was consistently holding himself back from saying anything because, what? He was scared? He didn’t want to ruin their friendship? From the way he’d catch her looking at him, Calum could tell there was a chance—even a small one—that she felt the same for him. Just maybe.

Right as the song was coming to an end, a familiar voice cut through the two of them. “Talia, Calum—so glad you guys could make it!”

They paused as Calum looked to his left, taking a breath at the sight of the bride and groom grinning at them. Talia was the first to recover, surprisingly, as she offered a smile. “Of course,” she replied, letting go of Calum just so she could accept the hug Ian was offering. Calum watched; it was nothing more than a hug between two. . . Exes? Friends? Acquaintances? Something of the like. Talia then hugged Damaris as she added, “Congratulations. I’m so happy for you both.”

When she pulled away, Calum saw in her smile that she genuinely was.

“Yeah,” Calum joined in with a smile, pushing aside whatever lingering contempt he may have for Ian as they shook hands. “Happy for you.”

“Thank you so much,” Damaris gushed, that happy bridal glow sticking to her justifiably as her arm linked with Ian’s.

“Man, I gotta say,” Ian laughed, shaking his head as he looked back and forth at Talia and Calum, the latter raising his eyebrows at the amused look they were receiving from the groom. “I’m not surprised the two of you ended up together. Kinda saw it coming.”

Calum’s eyebrows dropped. Wait. What?

His gaze instantly flickered to Talia, who was too busy gaping at her ex in a look of utter dumbfoundment, which he completely agreed with. Calum could feel the thrum of his heart, quick and erratic. His eyebrows drew together in bewilderment when he looked back at Ian, who seemed oblivious to the shock he’d startled the two of them with. Honestly, he looked like he was just delivering news he thought everyone was aware of.

“You saw it—” Talia cut off with an awkward, nervous chuckle as she frowned in confusion at Ian. She scoffed lightly, the tendons in her neck working as all she could end up managing turned out to be, “What?”

“Oh, come on,” Ian laughed, all good natured, which Calum realized he found more annoying than the douchey attitude he was used to. Gesturing at them, Ian continued, “It was only a matter of time—a friendship was never gonna be enough for you two.” He pulled Damaris towards him, an effortless grin taking over his features as he mused, “Glad it worked out for all of us.”

Just like that, the bride and groom were pulled away, leaving Calum and Talia standing amidst a group of dancing wedding goers, paralyzed in place by the bomb dropped on them by her ex. Calum rolled his lips into his mouth, eyebrows drawn together as he tried to slowly work out what the hell had just happened. It was only a matter of time? What the damn hell was Ian on about? Was he saying that it had been, what, obvious that there was something between Calum and Talia? An attraction that was mutual that neither of them had picked up on until recently?

Calum’s throat worked, trying to lose the dryness that suddenly itched at it, and looked over at Talia—only to find that she wasn’t next to him anymore. Calum blinked in confusion, gaze flickering around in attempt to catch sight of his date. “Talia?” His voice wasn’t loud enough for her to hear, wherever she was, over the music and chatter, so Calum mumbled a couple of excuse me’s and pushed himself out of the crowd while trying to search for her.

He didn’t find her around the courtyard where the reception was taking place, a furrow in his eyebrows as he looked over the heads of the guests, squinting against the sun that damn near blinded him. Calum moved further and further away from the courtyard, scoffing to himself because how far could she have gotten in a matter of minutes? His gaze cast over to the forecourt on higher ground near the actual manor, and his eyebrows drew together once more when he caught sight of a lavender dress in the distance.

He walked up one of the sets of steps that led to the forecourt, Talia’s back to him as she looked out at the gardens on the opposite side. His shoes clacked lightly against the stone as he approached Talia, unsure if she was aware of his presence. Calum felt something nervously tug at his chest; had Ian’s words rubbed her the wrong way? Was she embarrassed, even though she didn’t have any reason to be? Calum was just as taken aback at Ian’s statement as Talia probably was but. . . He’d be lying if he said there wasn’t any truth in the statement.

Calum’s hands were in the pockets of his pants as he finally reached Talia, turning so he was leaning his lower back against the stone bannister, head turned to look at her. She, instead, was staring straight ahead, a silence settling upon them for a few moments, only disturbed by the distant sound of music playing at the reception.

He wanted to break the silence, to cut out whatever tension was in between them, but Calum was at a loss for words. He ducked his head, gaze dropping to his black shoes and rolling his lips into his mouth. Then, without much thought, Calum asked, “Why’d you disappear?”

“Ian can’t keep his mouth shut,” was Talia’s way of answering, and Calum looked at her to see her gripping the top of the bannister tightly, jaw working as she still refused to meet his gaze. He wanted to see her pretty brown eyes.

For a moment, Calum considered what to say to that, considered if he should take the coward’s way out or, for once when it came to Talia, be straightforward in what he was thinking. For too long had Calum kept his thoughts, his feelings, to himself; first out of respect for her relationship, then out of fear of potentially disrupting the close friendship they had. It was funny how feelings could make or break a preexisting relationship, and what he had with Talia was not one he wanted to lose under any circumstances.

Maybe it was selfish of him, to want to just let her know. To want to be out with it and tell her how he felt and let her decide what to do with it. But Calum wasn’t blind—not totally, at least. He’d noticed over the past few months how he and Talia had grown closer than they already were; how lingering gazes burned his skin and absent touches that weren’t so innocent sparked something inside of him. Moments he replayed over and over again in his head, wondering if he was overthinking and over analyzing, telling himself he was even though the doubt was prevalent. He was sick of questioning everything between him and Talia. He needed answers.

So Calum kept his gaze on her, knowing she was well aware of his stare, and kept his voice smooth as he asked, “Are you mad he was saying what neither of us had the courage to admit ourselves?”

He noted the subtle widening of Talia’s dark eyes, neck tensing as she instinctively turned her head to look at Calum. The sun was shining down on her face, makeup glittering against her skin and lips a faded pink from the lipstick she had yet to reapply after eating. Her eyes met his, a furrow in her eyebrows as her surprised voice asked, “What?”

Calum scoffed through a slight incredulous, amused, and maybe even nervous smile. “Come on, Tal,” he pressed, tilting his head towards her. “Ian’s got a point, doesn’t he?” Calum shifted then, standing straight and facing her, still a few inches taller than her even when she wore heels. She remained put, only tilting her head to look at him, the surprise still widening her brown eyes. Calum’s own gaze dropped to her lips briefly, unable to help himself, before taking in the sight of her. Always so pretty. His voice was low, deep, as he confirmed, “A friendship was never gonna be enough for us.”

He wanted to know what she was thinking as she peered up at him, appearing as though she was registering his words. Talia took a soft breath, voice quiet as she said, “We’re not gonna have a friendship if something goes wrong.”

Calum’s throat worked. “Are you so afraid of that happening that you’re not willing to try?”

This time, Talia turned to face him, a frown mimicking distress furrowing her eyebrows as she questioned, “Aren’t you afraid? People fight and they break up and friendships get fucked because of it.” She scoffed, an edge slipping into her voice as she shook her head to look away from him. “Sorry, but I’d rather not lose a friendship.”

Calum frowned as well, lips curling downwards as he kept his eyes on her. His stomach coiled a bit as he responded, “Why’re you looking at this so negatively? You don’t think there’s a chance we’d make it work?” His left hand reached up, fingers grasping her chin to get her to look at him once more, purposefully meeting her gaze as he asked, “You don’t think after wanting you for so long, I wouldn’t fight to make it work?”

He felt her jaw working under his touch before she said, “I think we’d be screwing with a perfectly good thing we already have.”

Calum’s hand dropped from Talia, a dead weight at his side as he felt the disappointment spread. He didn’t want to pressure her, push her into something she didn’t want. But Calum knew Talia, and part of him knew she was speaking only out of fear and hesitation. And he understood that. But to let something that hadn’t even started go, a chance for them to be what he knew they could be, didn’t feel right.

“I just—” Calum paused to let out a short, empty chuckle as he shrugged, taking a step back from Talia, one that hadn’t gone unnoticed by her. His eyes met hers, a bit dejected, as he truthfully said, “I think you’re wrong. I think we won’t know what we have unless we try and, shit, Tal, I wanna try.” He shook his head, licking his lips as he forced himself to continue. He frowned against the sun briefly before saying to her, “But if you really don’t want to, then, uh, that’s okay.”

A silence settled upon them once again, the tension heavy in their ears and deafening them to the party as they stood facing one another, eyes unmet. Calum could feel Talia’s gaze on him, but he kept his own eyes on his fingers, nails lightly scraping at uneven cement on the top of the bannister as a feeble attempt of distracting himself. There was a bitter taste in his mouth; he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t disappointed, or that his heart had sank into the very pit of his stomach at the thought of not pursuing whatever it was that was between him and Talia. Because he knew something was there. Something worth exploring.

“Are you really willing to risk it?”

Her voice was soft and quiet, hesitant as she chanced a glance at him. Calum returned the gaze, noting the nervousness and hope that glimmered in her eyes. Like she was willing to move forward, only if he was completely sure of it. And he was. He wanted her to see that. What he felt for Talia easily won out again any reluctance in pursuing her.

Calum took a step towards her, offering a smile that was often reserved only for her, hand reaching to grasp hers. He enjoyed her touch, wanted more of it. Talia glanced down at their joined hands, her fingers moving to return his hold as she took a breath. When she looked at him again, Calum’s soft smile returned as he said, “I don’t see it as a risk, sweetheart. Just a step forward, y’know.” He gave her hand a squeeze before bringing it up, clasping it between both of his and resting his chin on top. Talia’s own lips tugged into a small smile when she caught the look he was wearing, pouty and puppy dog and adorably endearing. “You’re worth it.”

Talia inhaled sharply as she rolled her smiling lips into her mouth, cheeks pink as her free hand pressed against her own cheek. His words warmed her more than the sun above them, heart racing as Calum so effortlessly somehow made things easier. She peered up at him, taking in the glow of his skin under the sun and the warmth of his gaze, and Talia mentally admonished herself for even considering walking away from the opportunity of being with him. She’s wanted him for so long, kept in her feelings out of fear and hesitation—how could she possibly turn away now that she knew he felt the same for her? She’d be a coward, an idiot, to.

So Talia gave into her impulses, throwing caution to the wind as she brought her hand to his cheek and closed the gap between them, leaning forward and smiling when Calum followed her lead and met her lips with his. It felt like a breath of fresh air, kissing him, finally giving into what had been tugging at her for so long. Calum’s lips moved with hers, inhaling sharply as he kissed her as if he’d been dying to do so, releasing her hand as his arms wrapped around her waist while her now free hand grasped the back of his neck to keep him close.

Calum felt Talia melt into him, the heat of her kiss spreading through him like a wildfire as his lips worked with hers. He would’ve stayed kissing her, with the gentle breeze tickling them and the distant sound of music in the background, but they soon had to pull away and Calum took in a breath as his forehead rested against hers. He didn’t quite yet want to give up the proximity.

He felt Talia’s nose nudge against his, a smile in her voice as she giggled softly, “Only a matter of time, huh?”

Calum felt a smile tug at his own lips as he felt her fingers gently play with his hair at the back of his head, his own arms around her giving her a squeeze, fronts pressed together. His heart felt like it was floating and he knew it was all because of Talia, as always. Her repetition of Ian’s words weren’t lost on him. He found it amusing as he did the same, “It worked out for all of us.” He opened his eyes, tilting his head back as he looked down at her with a smirk and a raise of his eyebrows. “So. . . You’re not sad your ex got married?”

His smirk told Talia he knew the answer, yet she still rolled her eyes with a scoff. “I wasn’t sad,” she reminded, earning a snicker from Calum. “Just bummed. But, y’know, like you said: it worked out for everyone,” she finished with a coy grin, her subtle dimple just poking through.

Calum let out a breathy chuckle, leaning forward to once again close the gap between them. He already knew he’d never tire of kissing her. “Lucky us.”

--

tags: @irwinkitten @sweetcherrymike @meetashthere @valentinelrh @softforcal @astroashtonio @hereforlukescruff @novacanecalum @captain-what-is-going-on @angelbbycal @singt0mecalum @hopelessxcynic @lfwallscouldtalk @bodhi-black @findingliam-o @softlrh @calntynes @calumsmermaid @erikamarie41 @quintodosuniversos @longlastingdaydream @babylon-corgis @lukehemmingsunflower @imfuckin10plybud @pastelpapermoons @conquerwhatliesahead92 @rotten-kandy @metangi @neigcthood @ohhmuke @old-zeppelin-shirt @5sos-and-hessa @trustmeimawhalebiologist @vxlentinecal @pettybassists @vaporshawn @lu-my-golden-boi @visualm3nte @isabella-mae13 @dontjinx-it @lifeakaharry @neonweeknds @antisocialbandmate @ixcantxdecidexwhosxmyxfave @calpalbby @grreatgooglymoogly @sunnysidesblog @cocktail-calum @miahelizaaabeth @madelynerin @dramallamawithsparkles @aulxna @theagenderwhocriedwolf @kaytiebug14 @hoodskillerqueen @bitchinbabylon @empathycth @xhaileyreneex @inlovehoodx @calistheloml @aestheticrelated @bloodlinecal @sublimehood @madbomb @raabiac @britnicole11 @outofmylimitcal @fluffsshawn @bloodmoonashton @vxidhood @tea4sykes @gorgeouslygrace

[boogiewrites]

Love’s Liaison

Characters: Bane (TDKR) x Mina (OFC)

Summary: Mina has known Bane since his capture from prison. After the setback of losing in Gotham, what new changes will they both implement as they face starting over after almost losing one another?

Warnings/Tags: Violence. Sexual Content. Fluff, Angst. Medical jargon. Injury. 

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As she sat next to the hospital bed where Bane lay bent and broken she couldn’t help but be reminded of the last time she’d seen him in such a way.

He had been brought to the league by Talia and her father. That was where she had first taken care of him. She spent her days and nights nursing his wounds, having far better means to heal him than they had in the prison. She watched him form back into one piece, his face losing the discoloration and swelling, scars forming as his natural shape came back to him thanks to her. He didn’t speak much, but it would’ve been detrimental to the healing of his mouth if he’d tried. He didn’t need to speak to show how deep his intelligence ran. His eyes remained bright, and she watched them formulate so many plans for their deeds.

They sat for hours in silence, her kneading out his back, working him through the painful process of his spine forming to completion.

Every time she saw the scar that ran from his thick, muscular neck down the expanse of his bulked-up back she was reminded of having her hands on him. The time spent so close and skin to skin with him at his most vulnerable.

But then Ra’s Al Ghul interfered. Mina was secretly and silently heartbroken when he was excommunicated from the league. Having had put in so much time with him, having found a way for him to function with the mask, an idea that turned out just crazy enough to work. He was becoming strong again, his body as sharp as his mind when he left. Talia was vocal about her distaste for what happened, but Mina was left to stay silent. She wasn’t a member of the league, only taken in for her healing talents and to be an indentured servant for the members. She had no real power and had to watch someone she thought she had a real connection with disappear.

Then Batman would intervene, killing Ra’s Al Ghul and bringing Talia and Bane back together. With Ra’s gone, Talia allowed Mina to learn to defend herself, finding her years of watching to be beneficial to her in the endeavor. As a plan was formed to carry out Ra’s Al Ghul’s destiny, she found herself to be among the ones named to join Bane and Talia in their work.

In the sewers, she was kept mostly hidden. Bane didn’t want just anyone knowing about Mina. He considered her an understated but vital piece of the plan. He kept her close where he went, having her in masculine tactical gear. But instead of the plethora of weapons, one would expect to be in the numerous pouches and pockets, she kept the secret to Bane’s endurance and strength with her. She supplied him with his analgesic gas to keep him functioning so highly despite his body being broken underneath that threshold of pain. She helped him heal, being the one alone with him after confrontations, using her mixtures and knowledge to further aid his body in repairing the damage he inflicted upon it. Once again she knew him at his most vulnerable. He found himself trusting Mina, confiding in her plans and theories and intently listening when she gave her feedback. He was a master of strategy but she gave a distinct point of view from being the voiceless ears and eyes of the league for so many years. She had nursed so many who thought themselves invincible back from death that she knew where every one of them went wrong. Bane knew this information was priceless, and thus it made Mina that in turn.

So when she saw Talia leave, finding Bane in a heap against the wall after being shot she knew what she had to do. She did as she had time and time again, and saved him.

After gathering a handful of other mercenaries and taking one of the stolen Bat tech flying vehicles to get Bane out of Gotham, she took him to a small isolated island in Ireland to a bunker so she could put him back together again.

And here they were now. The steady and quiet beeping of machines, the painkillers being pumped in at high levels for him at her request. She stayed by his side, not trusting anyone else to watch over him.

He came and went, the sheer force from the blast making his insides displace and rupture. Slowly those who escaped Gotham found their way to them again. She found herself the highest-ranking person left and she made decisions she’d never had to before. She was training men, reaching out to other mercenaries for support as Bane healed. Failing in Gotham had left a bad taste in a lot of their mouths but she still believed in him. She knew no man smarter than him and she fought to keep his name clear of shame while he could not.

During one of the earlier nights alone, the trauma still fresh from fleeing Gotham, she sits by his bed in her casual civilian clothes. She reaches out and holds his hand, scorch marks still visible on his skin as she lets her sadness breakthrough for the first time since he was exiled from the league.

She lets herself cry alone in the room with him, her face pressed to his big hand, the hands she’d splinted so many years ago. The hands that broke necks and the bats back and destroyed their enemies without so much as fracture thanks to her. She stroked his arm and wondered if she’d ever know his hands to be anything but fierce. He had never been unfair or forceful with her. She had long wondered, since the days before he was this beast of a man in his size and reputation. She wanted to know if there was the sort of softness he held for Talia left to be shown to her. She had only ever shown him softness. But he had never called her weak for it. Only praised the things she did for him. She wondered when it was that she let her heart get in the way of her work. And why was it a man like Bane to make her thoughts so foolish?

She leans over him, wiping the tears she sheds for him as they fall to his pale skin. Her fingers feel the indentions on his face from the mask, her fingers tracing the thin pink scars she’d helped make barely visible over his nose and mouth. In a moment of weakness, when it was still uncertain if he would ever wake, she kisses him gently. She doesn’t linger long, her lips pressed to his forehead after his lips affectionately.

“I won’t give up on you. I never have and I never will. You’re going to come back to me, Bane. The world still needs you and so do I.”

———

“What are you doing up?” Mina turns to ask Bane as she could hear his forced heavy footsteps as they came down the hall and stopped in the lab's doorway. She moves towards him, trying not to show her concern for his pain as there were others around. “Aren’t you hurting?” She asks with a quiet voice, her face showing her worry.

“Yes but...you weren’t there when I woke.” He answers with squinted eyes, his brow still furrowing under the center strap of his new and improved mask.

“I was here looking to see what progress had been made with your new braces.” She explains with a confident nod.

“And?” He demands, taking a deep breath with the analgesic gas pumping through his lungs to ease the intense pain that was currently gnawing away at him from his injuries sustained in Gotham.

“The new vials are ready, they’ve passed all the necessary testing. The braces will match your new body brace as well, not that you care about that sort of thing.” She remarks with a subtle smile, the matching of new pain-relieving arm braces to his newly formed and reinforced body brace had been a purely aesthetic choice that she had made. She thought his image was important and while he agreed to a degree, he didn’t think the production should have been slowed for such a thing.

“When will they be ready?” He asks, holding his form up against the doorframe, his still large body looking as if it may even bend the metal of the sterile looking wing of the bunker.

“By tomorrow. They need to be installed and then another round of tests. Then I would feel comfortable having you try them. Then there’s the nasty business of having you come off the gas and adjust to the injectables. But as always I have complete faith in your full recovery within 4-5 days.” She gives another nod to confirm her words.

“Good.” He nods with a curt tone. He lumbers and turns, making his way back to his room down the hall. She knew he was in pain, so she didn’t take his short words personally.

——-

“How are you doing this morning?” She inquires, with a tender voice. She was the only one left now to dare to speak to him in such a way.

He’d been angry ever since he’d woken up. But she didn’t blame him in the least. His plans had failed, he’d lost the woman he’d sworn to protect from birth and now he was injured severely. It was more than an acceptable and understandable setback. With his men now in the Gotham prison, he was left with a scattered arsenal. And though he thought Mina was worth the cost of a hundred men, it didn’t change the fact that those men he had conditioned were now oppressed by the very structures he tried to take down. His anger for the turn of events was always under the surface, and the unpleasant change from his tried and true mask was going to be something he had to adjust to. He had no doubt he could, but he knew it wouldn’t be easy.

Mina stayed by him continuously, as she had ever since she brought him there. She oversaw the connection of the new arm braces, interchangeable for damage and reloadable for medicine and thanks to her stern demands, and the technology she’d taken from their heist of the Batman’s weapons arsenal, they were practically indestructible.

Bane wasn’t a creature for wallowing in his emotions. He was a force that nothing stopped, always forward on a mission. But as he found himself now without one, without a clear and precise prerogative and plan, emotions started to surface. For even though he knew only darkness from a very young age, he was still human. There were emotions from being an abandoned child, living in fear every moment as he grew strong and resilient that he could recall. And in that youth and initial betrayal, there was softness. This is why he had protected Talia as a child. This is why he kept Mina so close to him. They represented things that seemed so out of touch for him. With Talia now gone, something he found coming back to him in anger-inducing waves, he was left with only one other person now that had ever shown him such care and tenderness. And she reminded him of this unintentionally every time he woke up and she was there next to him, every time she touched him with a look in her eyes he hadn’t seen anyone else have for him. She had always been a source of softness in his life when there was room for none. She had reminded him of the child he once was, the boy who craved warmth and affection in a world where there was no such thing for a creature like him. And unbeknownst to her, in his weakened state, in her dedication to his survival and thriving, she had made him feel more like a man and less of a war machine. She’d made him feel like this pain and failure he put upon himself in such heavy doses were something that he wouldn’t drown in. If she were there to be a lighthouse on the shore guiding him to land.

He watches her with curious eyes, delicate hands he’d seen do such violent things, now so lightly adjusting the braces on his arms which were now pumping new serum into his system. She asks him if it’s comfortable. He doesn’t recall the last time someone took this into consideration.

She then instructs him to rest, as the medicine will make him tired soon as she lowers the amount of gas the mask puts out and his mind panics, a trained response to reach for the mask and fix the problem.

She shushes him, the only one in the room to see his wide eyes and still marked hands reach up in desperation to his face. She takes his hands, and even though she was not stronger than him, he’s compelled to not fight her back as her grip is strong and certain as she takes both of them into hers.

“You will sleep soon. We don’t want too much in your system at once unless you need it. It will be okay. There will not be the pain you are accustomed to with less gas. No reason to worry.” She comforts, without a look of disdain or judgment as she runs her fingers over the taut center strap on his still shaved head. Something else she had done while he had been in his comatose state. As was her role, and what she enjoyed more than most anything else, she took care of him in every way she knew how.

His breathing slows, the lump in his throat bobbing as he accepts this instruction. Wasn’t it so strange that the only one to speak to him without bite and demands was the one a man like him listened to?

———

Mina makes adjustments to Bane’s mask, being placed on so he could address the men and fight and overpower without pain if need be. They were all expecting the man in the mask, and he wasn’t ready to be without it yet.

“You will instruct with me today Mina.” He informs with a nod, eyes avoiding her large ones that held no fear when he spoke.

“Yes, Bane.” She responds simply in a curt tone acceptable for the men to hear.

“You will show me their progress. I want to see what I have to work with. Weed out the weaklings, promote the strong.” His voice drags, he knew she knew the drill, but it made him feel back in his element to say it all out loud again. He’d been away from the only existence he knew for months now, and he was ready to make some progress.

As she was trained to do, Mina takes control of a room when she walks into it. The men at first lazily reacting, but reacting to her voice barking over the large gymnasium where they trained. When they turned and saw Bane behind her, the scurried like scared rabbits into line as he stood on a small raised platform and she, at his side.

As he always does, he fills the space he moves around. A loud booming charisma and unmistakable power shifts with his wide powerful gate. His hands matched into the new dark metal and leather panels that surrounded his torso and forearms. He looked broad and strong and she felt pride for having helped get him to this point again.

Another introductory move, something she had to do when she took command in his absence, he challenges a man who seems to be questioning his ability to do the things he claims he will if any of them go against orders. And as it always went, with a single hand and not a bead of sweat, he picks up the man by the neck and tosses him into a pile of crates by the wall. A friend of this now injured man twitches too much for Banes liking and he comes to the defense of his fallen brother. Even with a weapon in his hand, he is no match. With the braces giving theatrical sparks to the display as the edge of the sword comes down against it time and time again, Bane shifts and attacks like a glorious beast that was born with no other motive than to kill. The man finds himself on the floor next to the man he had defended. The sword now bent and broken in his hand.

As Mina stands at attention and never flinches, she watches diligently. The other men with their wide eyes and white knuckles as they watched Bane made her suppress a fleeting smile. She knew some would doubt him after Gotham, but she was happy to see that all concerns would be quickly forgotten as they always were when Bane had to defend himself in combat.

He stands tall and in control, his arms with their bulbous musculature, unmatched in strength by any adversary as they hang after a shake of his shoulders.

“This is Mina. She will be the second in command here now that I am back. If she gives you orders. You obey. It is simple. If she speaks on my behalf, you ready as if it were my voice saying the same words. She will be in charge of you. I will be moving forward with our plans for the next venture.” He speaks without looking at her and she artfully hides the shock on her face for the announcement. She’d always been kept in the shadows before. Now she was his second, a title she never expected to hold. “She will oversee your every move. We need soldiers who can listen and learn. If you cannot do that...you are free to leave.” His tone doesn’t agree with the words he says, a threat hanging in the air. “But if I hear a word of anyone speaking ill of Mina due to the nature of her gender, you will have no choice but to leave. You could only dream of being the soldier she is. She is someone for you to strive to emulate and any treatment of her, verbal or otherwise will not be tolerated. There is no room for such nonsense in my work. Is this agreed?” His words tell that there is no other option, that it isn’t really a question, merely a formality, a warning. “Now then...Mina. They are yours. We will convene later to discuss these....men.” He says with disdain in his voice, letting them know he was not impressed. Even if he had been he wouldn’t show it. It was nearly impossible to reach Bane's level of expectancy, but that ethic is what got him as far as it had.

—————

Leaving her behind he entered his quarters, his door shut and locked behind him, curtains pulled in the white and grey minimal room with only the essentials for work and rest. He slumps, hands on his desk as he takes in filling breaths of air. His body had taken just fine to fighting again, but the exhaustion from the new medicine was quick to settle in after he exerted himself. Something he was promised would cease, and yet he waited. He moves his bulky frame to sit in the simple metal chair in front of the desk of the same material. His breathing slows, the faintest of hints of the smell and taste of gas easing his mind which rushed to tell him more, that he needed more. He gathers himself, posture back to straight and commanding as he saunters towards the window, hearing shouting outside.

Below was Mina, her face contorted as she shouted commands, running the men over the obstacle course in the courtyard. She ran alongside them, sharp claps and glances to her watch kept her occupied. Bane sank back, careful to not be seen. He didn’t want his personal quarters known to any who didn’t need to know. He also needed to appear busy, and all he was doing at the moment was recovery from an inconvenient, temporary weakness, and he certainly didn’t want that sort of information getting out either.

He hoped that his promotion of Mina would show her his gratitude for all she had done for him. He knew that this particular offering was not one that didn’t come with great work, but he knew she could take it. As she was demonstrating below to him on the rubberized ground that held the metal and wood obstacles. He knew there was much to thank her for, and short of saving her life he knew of nothing he could do that would appeal to her softer side, the one that he wished he could have her show more. But thanks to him they had lost that option. Now they had to be harder than ever.

———-

Mina’s room was not without its comforts. The same simple base as Banes, as their quarters were both shared in the same wing. But hers had touches of coziness. A simple addition of a painted vase and flowers, a colorful set of pillowcases against a maroon comforter instead of the standard stark white. She had also gotten a small portable speaker, which she was currently syncing to a phone and letting the tones mellow out the white and sterile looking bathroom. She had been able to get a single scented candle, and she had used it sparingly, but it was still almost gone. Another secret import of bubble bath is poured by her tired hands into a warm bath in a stand-alone tub of white and with silver hardware like the rest of the room. A navy bath mat on the floor, something also not standard that added a small touch of softness to the otherwise uninviting space.

Dinner had passed and Bane was now being tended to by the inventors, taking a survey of what he’d experienced with his new injections and hardware today. He had seemed to take to them well and lets herself let go of the tense feelings she had held onto for so long about the introduction of the new elements.

This time alone was crucial to her. As the only woman in the bunker, she had to do these small things to keep herself from becoming something sexless and mechanic. Little things like applying a tube of cherry lip balm became ritualistic for her. Lighting a candle, soft music playing and submerging in a hot bath of salts and oils to ease her muscles from the strain she put on herself was something close to holy for her. Something that reminded her she was, in fact, a feminine and delicate creature underneath the loosely fitted uniforms and training clothes. With Bane being occupied, and previously keeping to his bed by this hour she finds time for herself. Before coming to the bunker she had more time alone with how Bane kept her out of sight, protecting her as she was crucial to his pain control during their isolation in the sewers and after the riots started breaking out. But in those conditions, she did not have the amenities or luxuries this hideaway was providing. So while she has this brief time where she was not holed away in some unreachable part of the earth, she was taking advantage.

A soft sigh escapes, head resting on the lip of the tub, her body submerged to her nose as she moves her limbs, feeling the silky water caress her skin. Soft things were so rare in her life now. She couldn’t believe she actually missed the mountainous hideaways of the League of Shadows with their hot springs. She missed the company of other women. She missed the understanding that came from another’s willing tenderness. She also misses dresses. She huffs out an amused sound at the thought. Such a silly thing to miss. Now her only indulgence was a nightgown and nothing with the sheer and feminine touches that she had cherished before. Nothing that made her feel sexual at all. Her life was painfully devoid of sexuality truthfully. Except for the rare occasions, she would let herself think about Bane. His size and dark charming nature appealed to her inner craving to feel small and coddled by a man in her personal life. A woman like her who had to be in charge in such a strict way needed an outlet, a way to let go of that performative facade she slipped into. She found that touching herself, whether thinking of Bane or not, was as good of a release as any. And certainly better than none at all.

“MINA?!” Bane’s rough voice from behind his mask interrupts her small sanctuary with a jolt as her eyes widened and her back stiffened.

“Just a moment!” She calls out and purses her lips, raising out of the tub.

“What is that smell?” He speaks slowly and moves with heavy feet towards the bathroom. Since it was an isolated room with an en suite, it had no door, and thus no protection from the barreling beast coming her way with no hesitation.

“Bane, I’m-“ she begins before his large form fills the doorway and stands at the end of the tub at her feet.

There’s a heavy moment for Mina. Her heart feeling stuck in her throat as she stands in the tub, bent at the waist to place her hands on its edge to get out. The bubbles cling to her skin in her attempt at a rushed exit.

Bane realizes his intrusion in an instant. But it doesn’t take away his surprise at the state he finds her in, the nudity was the last thing to raise questions in his mind.

Her face is more inconvenienced than scared. Although he hadn't seen her naked before, they were taught to think nothing of it if it occurred. Her eyes glare up into his from her a lowered brow. “Do I need to stand at attention at this arrival?” The words laced with sarcasm would possibly annoy him if he hadn’t seen he was, in fact, the one being troublesome.

His mouth parts and holds open as he thinks, luckily for him she can’t see it and read any pause. She blinks and her face holds steady. The bubbles only mildly distracting from her body glistening with iridescent color as the candlelight flickers against them. It had been since he first arrived at the League that he had seen her look so feminine, he realizes. When they were in the thick of plans for domination and destruction, it was easy to forget such things.

But now they were both acutely aware.

“I see I’ve interrupted your...leisure time.” He chooses his words and lowers his eyes from hers. His hands hang low off broad shoulders, wishing he had his brace on to hook them into.

“Yes.” Her voice lacks the usual bite, her face remains stoic as he doesn’t turn from her.

“You may resume.” He extends with a nod of his head as she sinks back into the water. But the moment had already shifted the dynamic between them.

He stands with wandering eyes, as she checks that her hair, piled on her head in loose falling pieces was still in place. “Did you need me for something?”

“I came to discuss strategy. After today’s events.” He begins, second-guessing his entry into her quarters now. “But I did not know you were...doing this.” He excused at a slow pace, seeing his brows shift as he takes in the unexpected scene.

“In the evenings after dinner, I like to do this when I can.” She explains.

“I was not aware.”

“That was purposeful. For the sake of keeping things... equal between us. Between everyone and myself, actually.” She informs him with eyes that don’t waver from him, trying to read his body language.

“What do...bubble baths have to do with that?” His eyes are less tense, a lilt of teasing in his voice.

“I do things like this to remind myself that I am in fact, a woman. But I work to hide and make that fact irrelevant to the others. It doesn’t serve a purpose here.” She shakes her head. “And since I am the only woman now, it has become more important to me to take time to remind myself. As it’s easier to forget.”

“That is understandable.” He agreed. “Is this...crucial for you? This feminine focused time?” His words lack his usual demanding tone, one of a genuinely curious man is heard instead.

“I do not wish to always be an emotionless machine. I was once made for tenderness, not violence. I like to entertain the idea I could be without this violence in my life someday. To keep that hope alive... it is crucial yes.”

“That is where you and I differ.” His head nods, a heavier breath heard through his mask.

“I’m aware.” She responds quietly.

“Since you are of the utmost importance to me and my work, is there anything that can be done to help you with this, feminization?” He offers, seeing a possible means to help her, to repay her for her work and her loyalty.

“I must remain a soldier. A leader to the others. I do not wish to be treated differently.”

“I agree. Remaining sexless is important. Especially with these newer inductees. They have much to learn.”

She nods in agreement. “Is it not their place to remind me I am a woman. It is not something our work allows.” Her eyes finally move from his and to the water. He could see sadness, reluctance in them. Things he was not accustomed to witnessing with Mina.

“They should not remind you, no.” He pauses, choosing his next words carefully as she sits in the bath. He puts on a hard brow and knows his next movement is crucial. He sees her face, can read her body language, hear her voice, knows by the book what he could do or say next and its chances of being accepted or rejected. He decides to show the softness he admires so much in her. As he approaches the side of the tub, standing with a relaxed posture as he waits for her to meet his eyes, “But would you like for me to?” He boldly suggests.

A blush rises to her cheeks, the pink noticeable in the white surroundings as the steam framed her soft-looking features. “You?” She finally responds, only her eyes shifting up to meet his gaze which held strong as always.

“Yes.” He answers curtly. “Do you see me as someone who could have that kind of role? Not in a...professional manner but a personal one.” He still spoke as if in a meeting, and she found his approach endearing. His voice was gentle, his palms showing as he inquires further with his hands speaking to engage her.

But she still couldn’t believe what he was suggesting. After all this time. Making her feel like a woman? In a personal way? She only knew one way to interpret his words and she audibly swallows. “You would… like to… remind me that I am a woman?” Her voice is quieter, he could hear the disbelief in it. “This would require such softness, Bane. A degree of tenderness that you are not accustomed to. Both emotionally and physically.” She warns him but does not tell him no.

“I am accustomed to receiving it from you. You have shown it to me, Mina.” He says with a slight tilt of his head before kneeling by the tub to connect with her, to prove that he could. “With your care, I know it intimately do I not?” He asks with a more stern tone, only proving her point as he tries to defend his abilities. “I have the capacity for such things. But as you said, it does not have its place in our work.”

“But we aren’t talking about work. Are we?”

“No. We are not.”

She blinks slowly, eyes moving across the bubbles. “Have you… do you wish to know me with tenderness Bane? To treat me like a woman and not a soldier? As a friend, a companion?” He can so clearly see the want and fear now within her. He knew only honesty would prove his long-time suppressed interest.

“Our time spent alone has led me to consider it. You have always touched me with care and consideration. Our time here now, after Gotham, has made me consider touching you in the same way. A creature with such depth deserves to know it the same. I do not wish you to hide what you are. It does not serve either myself or you to do so.”

“I did not know.” Is all she manages, and he sees she truly did not. Perhaps he had been harder on her than he realized.

“That is how I intended it to appear. There are sacrifices to be made for our work. The same as you, yes?”

“Yes.” She admits.

“So I ask you again. Knowing now of my intention. Would you like me to remind you that you are a woman? I would not allow any other man to do it.”

“Why is it that you feel this way? Why tell me now?” Her narrowed eyes are sharp as he smiles behind his mask, she was always inquisitive. Never trusting at a glance. Something he always admired about her.

“Because we’ve always belonged to one another in our way haven’t we? You mended me. Twice now. We trained together. Planned together, fought together. Always as a team. A cohesive unit. One of the best partnerships I’ve had. And that does go beyond the professional. You are not only skilled and irreplaceable to me, but you are also loyal and a friend. I never interacted with anyone in such a casual way as I have you. You allowed a few moments of informal behavior and conversation. You reminded me that I was also a man, not only this machine the world has created. It is only right I’m the one to make you feel like a woman. As you’re the only one to make me feel like a man.” His head nods softly her way in confession. He sees her shoulders lose their tension. She was truly touched by his words and the sentiment behind them. She had no idea of the depth that he was capable of. She could see her error now. He was only hard for protection, for himself and those around him. Same as her. Who was she to tell him what he was capable of? A man like him who did such great things. She believes every word he says as she always does.

“You have always made me feel like a woman.” She admits with a small voice. “With our work, I’ve never had the luxury to explore feelings like the ones you have awakened in me. It has never been a part of our plans. “ she shakes her head, her eyes far away for a moment.”But when I thought I had lost you… when I had to take control and protect you… ever since I have had a harder time separating our work and the inconvenient emotions that this turn of events has caused me to have. “

“It has caused the same in me little Mina.”He replies, moving his forearm to rest on the tub edge, his large hand somehow light as it touches her hair, causing visible bumps to bloom across her skin. “Let us find the answers together. For we have been suffering in silence separately. In the interest of showing you more, would it not make sense for us to work together on these emotions neither of us are accustomed to? I trust no one else in this way.”

“We do make a very good team.” A small smile appears on her face. “One would think the compatibility might translate to pleasure from the professional.”

“We do know each other most... intimately.” He chooses his words to reflect something softer and more personable.

“We do.” She nods subtly. “And I have thought of what you and I would be like together. Intimately. Although I admit I pictured more of a frenzied unraveling than a discussion.” She chuckles. “But this does leave no room for misinterpretation. Which for people like us, in positions we find ourselves in, is more valuable than any quick tryst.”

“You know I prefer a deep discussion of important matters.” His shoulders move slightly as a small huff of amusement escapes him.

“And do you prefer other things deep Bane?” She asks, a less sweet smile appearing on her face. One he had not seen before.

“With you Mina, I have always wished to know what depths I could reach.” His voice has an inkling of that charm he uses to get his way. Almost cheeky and boyish that makes you second guess yourself. But she was past that, and she only found the confidence he held to be arousing as his knuckles grazed her cheek.

“We have been so very close all these years. And I have often wondered who the man was behind the mask. If the depth in your eyes was past mere intellect. And I have wanted to know if your brutality had an opposite side to it. If you had the power that lies in gentle and tenderness and not just violence” she puts her hand over his on her face and touches his face lightly, fingers tracing the tubes of his mask.

“I once knew it. But it was taken away and made into a weakness, a luxury someone like me couldn’t afford. So I tried to show it to Talia. And now I wear the mask. But when I was taken from the prison, when I was given to you, I was reminded that it existed again in others besides myself. And you have shown it to me without the expectancy of repayment all these years.” He stands, a hand outstretched to her that she doesn’t hesitate to take into her own now. “Let me repay it to you starting tonight.” He remarks, pulling her up and keeping his eyes soft as he lifted her from the tub and onto the mat by her waist. The water ran audibly down her body, plinking into the tub and tapping into the floor. With a steady hand he takes a towel and dries her off, limb by limb, one hand gently to her skin to move her as he needed and the other gliding the towel. Finishing with a soft once over of her face, hands to her cheeks as he looks over her gracious face. “You are as soft and lovely inside as you are outside Mina. As I imagined.” A soft hiss through the mask as his hands travel down her jaw, over the curves of her breasts and hips, his bare hands taking in every bit of her. Every scar and divot he touched lightly and with care, as she had when he was healing. He’s never run from anything that could be interpreted as a physical imperfection. He only wanted to make her feel as he believed a woman who was loved and cared for should as if she was perfect and the only woman in his eyes.

His thumbs circled and traced her raised nipples, a slight rise in pulse and rate of her breathing as he cupped and pinched. A soft sigh escapes her, eyes shut and hands reaching out for his arms to feel him. His hands roam, from her hair to her back and hips he touched her softly. Against his chest, she could hear his heart, the decompression of the mask she’d helped design to keep him with her in the hopes she’d know him like this one day. With her chin up to see his face, he presses his forehead to hers before dipping down and lifting her up.

She felt small but not weak in his arms. Her nose nuzzles his head and kissed his temples before he placed her in front of the bed. “I want to see you.” She softly asks of him, her hands at the hem of his basic black shirt.

A nod and a shedding of his layers commenced on her suggestion as she gets to see the breadth of him for what felt like the first time. The first time her body could react how it wished. He could see her hips twitch, her nipples harden at the sight of him. He was not a shy man and stood at attention for her to trace her fingers along his masculine lines as he held her.

“My god look at you.” She whispers, kissing his barrel chest. Hands feeling greedy as they explored the breadth of his shoulders, the musculature of his ass and thighs. She felt the need to please him, falling into a role she hadn’t expected and one she never got to play. She wanted to serve him. Moving to her knees he doesn’t stop her, letting her do as she pleased. He wasn’t one to judge how she wanted to feel like a woman. As she explored below his hips with a nuzzling of her face into his hair and skin the last thing he wanted was for her to stop.

As she always had, she touched him with care. Gentle hands stroked his length and cupped his balls, a hiss of pleasure from the mask as she took him into her mouth. Her soft lips and tongue worked against him hungrily. Small sounds escaping her as she sucked and licked him into her mouth and throat that told him she needed him there. He didn’t feel any need to be harsh with her, his hands only pushing back her hair to see her face, meet her eyes when they opened as she caught her breath. The steady audible breathing from the mask all the while. She could’ve stayed and worshipped him on her knees to completion but she withheld. She rose and with a gentle stroke of her hand still on him, she leaves messy kisses with trails of saliva behind them across his chest. “I’ve had my fun, now have yours.” She smiles, chin up to face the dark eyes that bore into her.

His hands lift and toss her to the bed gently as she smiles with soft waves of hair surrounding her face. A blush of happiness in color across her cheeks as he lay by her and teased her with fingers down her stomach.

She put her arm around his thick neck, bringing him close, temple to temple as he began exploring her body. Those strong hands, ones that snapped bones and took lives were gentle against her. She was the exception.

His fingers were large just like the rest of him and proved it as they parted her lips and legs with ease. She wasted no time giving herself over to it. Feeling the cold metal of his mask pressed to her throat where she wished his lips to be. But she had the heat of his skin, that handsome face pressed to her and it was enough to pretend the hiss was simply his breath tickling across her bare skin. With an arching back and open mouth she sighs and calls out his name. He pulled her to him, chest to chest as she grasps at his shoulders, leg over his hip as he kept pressing forward, stretching and stroking and making her feel how she needed, what she could never make herself feel.

“Bane, please. I want you. Let me feel you inside me when I come.” She whines, a tone he never thought he’d heard from her, but keeping her on the edge of orgasm she lets her needful nature show through. Her hands stroke him, already hard from feeling her hot and writhing against him. The call of his name so sweet makes him groan. Had his name ever been moaned in such a way?

With a lift of leg, he enters her fully sheathed and being pulled on top of her by her strong arms around his neck. Forehead to forehead he fucks her. Two column sized arms she clenches onto, his traps and shoulders daunting, she could reach around him and every bit of that muscle giving her the pressure and push she needed. With every call of his name, every arch of back and squeeze around him he felt closer to coming. Sex was something he did alone and only for the purpose of killing distraction. This was different, this was a connection being made. Something he hadn’t done with anyone else but her. Sex was performative, functional with anyone else. This was something different.

She sang his praises, “Bane, you feel so good. Better than I imagined. And oh how I imagined all these years.” She confesses into his red ears, flushed with effort. His own sounds, wordless carry into her sternum where his mask presses, holding her hips up and using the leverage of his knees to work her body against his. She circled her hips, hands back on the bed to push back onto him. His head hung down and hers back, both more animalistic now, growing only more so.

With clenched teeth and sweat dripping they locked eyes, holding an intensity they both knew the other held, and now it was for each other. She reaches for him and he scoops her up to ride him on his knees and arms around his neck. He lifts her hips and pounds her into him, both gasping the other's name, her's a light and delicate call and his a groaned and desperate warning.

“Bane, please love just… I’m going to come, finish. I want you inside me.” She mewls out with her lips latched to his neck.

He hadn’t expected it, and that was a rare event. Which is why it caught him deep in his gut and forced him to feel every breath she gave him as she came around him. Shaking and trembling, tears squeezed from clenched shut eyes as she felt it all so intensely overtake her. He follows suit, giving her what she asked, as he had always done within reason, and her plea of him was more than reasonable at the moment.

A mix of the two of them, cum, sweat, tears, and friction lay with them in the heap they created on the bed. Now with clear minds and relaxed muscles, they lay together, her kissing his chest and tracing her fingers across old scars. “Would you stay? Can you stay without arousing suspicion?”

“Those that would notice know better than to say anything.”

“Anyone who did would have to answer to my blade.” She chuckles and he feels her snuggle into him. “We are the leaders. They do as we say.” She adds with a tone that tells him she means it.

“Good to see you’re still the Mina I need in battle.”

“I can be the Mina you need in bed as well.” A smile crosses her lips and he pushes back her hair affectionately.

“You are many things to me, Mina. And all are important.” He nods in approval. “Now we rest. We have training in the morning.”

“Yes, sir.” She said playfully, wrapping herself around him and feeling him bare against her as she fell asleep, something she’d never really thought possible.

—————————————————

Time passes and it’s business as usual. He treats her no different around anyone else. He calls her to his room one night and gives her the report on his vitals for the new injections. Everything had stabilized and he no longer needed the mask.

She can see his reserved body language as he sits on the edge of the bed. She places the paper down, moving towards him slowly like a frightened animal. She kneels in front of him and puts her hands over his that clasp together between his knees.

“Are you ready to take it off?” She asks with no demand.

“I was no one before it. Will I still hold the same power and fear without it?” He asks her.

She’s touched by his honesty for the concern of how he presented himself, he did have a point. “I believe no matter what you look like or wear you are powerful and worthy to be feared.” He senses no lie in her sweet words. She truly believed in him. “Is it your appearance without it that bothers you?”

“No.” He swings his head. “Such things are of no consequence to me.” He explains. “The mask is a symbol. A character head for a movement, a belief that goes beyond myself. I am not the movement, it will go on after I am gone. But without the mask, I am only a man to them. With it, I am more. It will not be the same without it.”

“No, it will not. But you do not require it any longer for pain.” She shakes her head as she stares into his eyes that had so many thoughts running behind them. ”I do have a proposition.”

“Yes?”

“You can wear it out there... for them. You are Bane and the mask has been as big a part of you as any since your inception. But you are not only who they know. You are who I know as well. Perhaps you can be without it in private? Have it serve as only a mask now. No longer an aid.”

“Is this something you would prefer? As you would be the only one to witness it.”

“I will admit I want to see all of you. In every way. Every incarnation. I have dreamed of kissing your lips and feeling them on my skin.” He feels her words brush against him in a caress as tender as her own.

He nods and furrows his brow, finding her advice to be as solid as it always had been. “I have wondered what you taste like. What the soft flesh of your breasts would feel like under my tongue, between my teeth.” He begins and exhales with a hiss. His hand raises her chin, speaks of her lips as his thumb runs across them, knuckles grazing down her chest to her hardening nipples, her body reacting to him with words alone.

“I want you to know what it feels like too. I want to taste your lips and feel the tongue that commands army’s against mine. I want your breath and sounds unfiltered against my skin. I want us to devour each other with nothing between us.”

Her words of lust encourage them both, a solid thrumming through their veins as their eyes meet and hold boldly, her face set with a confident expression and wanting eyes, lips parted just slightly, begging to be known by his.

“Then I’ll make it so.” He decides, standing and letting his hand trail through her hair as he moves to a mirror on the wall. His strong fingers pull the straps, release the holds and a whisper of air escapes. He suppressed the learned panic from not having it on his face. Usually a sign of immediate and intense pain to follow, but Mina's ingenuity had led him to be able to exist as he was before the mask, something he never thought possible.

He stares at himself, the mask now sat on the tabletop growing cold. His eyes were curious and unafraid. His face as he recalled beneath it, having been shaved recently as the existence of facial hair was cumbersome to him. The same scars were there, the same snare in his lip that split the top one unevenly. White lines around his mouth, his nose still strong and a bit crooked. She waits on the bed for him, letting him have his moment of reflection.

“There’s the face I remember from so many years ago.” She beams as he moves towards her. “The mark of a true warrior. Scars and proof of survival as a man such as you should be.” She raises her hand to touch his face. He simply closes his eyes and doesn’t recoil at the feeling. Never flinching as she touches the unexpected softness, “I cherish mending every scar.” She whispers moving closer. “You’ve only grown more wise, depth in your eyes where fear lay then.”

Her words make him feel secure. He wasn’t a person who needed others to stroke his ego but having the approval of another person he admired as much as Mina felt good.

He opens his eyes again and she hums with content for what she finds there. “And hunger now.” She gives a broad and confident smile to his almost expressionless face. His eyes were always the way to understand him and she was fluent in it. “Tell me, Bane.” Her voice was low and full of clear intent to tempt. “What are you hungry for?” She asks as she removes her top, leaving her uncovered. “What do those lips want now that I’ve given them their freedom?” She challenges as she takes off each article of clothing, confronting him with an unwavering stare. “They can take anything they wish, just like you… your hands… your cock has before.” She touches his body before undressing him as he stands with a devilish glare to meet her precocious one. Stroking him now in her hands, she bites her lip and moans for the hardness she feels. “Let the flesh bleed between your teeth, my love. Take it how you wish. Know what this pussy tastes of as it starves for your touch. Only yours.” She taunts.

Bane has never let a worthy taunt go unanswered, and Mina was the most worthy person to receive his hunger. So he gave it to her. In full.

It’d been so long since she’d sparred with him she’d almost forgotten the speed that accompanied his strength. He had her mouth to his in an instant, hand in her hair to yank back her chin as he licked at her throat, drawing a moan from her. “Mina you minx I’ll eat you alive.” He threatens as they groan into the others mouth, hands fierce on each other as the kisses skip affection and go straight for desperation. Tongues outside of mouths, teeth drawing blood from lips and gnashing continues through the rolling they do on the bed. Nails leave marks on their bodies and they lap away at each other like beasts. He kisses her throat, teeth biting at her shoulders. His eyes rolled back, panting after the sound she emits when he takes her nipple into his mouth with a hard and biting suck. She only pleads for more, pressing his head into her chest.

He leaves a trail of marks down her body, on her thighs before he proves his appetite and takes her into his mouth. She’s left breathless, a starving man between her thighs he is as he laps and sucks and bites. He fucks her with his tongue first, tasting as deeply inside her as he can, a messy display of need as he slurps and grunts into her. His fingers follow, his lips attached to around her clit as they nursed and his tongue worked the sensitive and swollen bud between his teeth and lips. He earned every sound of pain and pleasure he wanted to hear. His enthusiasm is contagious and causes her to cum. He drinks her in, licking her clean before nipping and kissing his way up her body to meet their mouths again.

Only for a second a tender kiss is shared as he aligns himself and begins a brutish pace that her body eagerly welcomes. She was louder than he’d ever heard her as he engulfed her nipples, kissed her mouth and neck and couldn’t decide where he wanted to touch and taste next. The need was relentless, her hot and wet around him, both around his cock and his mouth now as she cried against him. He needed it harder, he needed her conquered and his jaws on her in new places.

He moves her without effort as she’d always fantasized. Turning her over and taking her from behind which made her roar out for him. Holding onto the headboard she braces herself, head knocking from the power and every breath a moan as he pounded into her full strength. His hand held her tightly, feeling her skin began to darken under his fingertips from the force. His mouth moved along her shoulders, as she cried for more from him. Always more.

He bites into her shoulder. She growls out approval and tries to push back onto him but he’s controlling her hips and the sounds were surely echoing around the base of their bodies hitting together. But who gave a fuck?

He yanks her up by her neck, one hand encasing it entirely as he holds her tightly by the hip with the other and pounds into her with his lips at her ears. She heard every breath and felt ever drop of spit on her skin as he groaned her name. He fucked her relentlessly as she came around him, giving it no mind as she yelped and shouted. He kept going, her legs spreading until she was flat on the bed, him with his heavy hands on her back, knees planted to hit into her impossibly deep. She moaned like a banshee for him, deep and guttural as she came again, him hitting and stretching every spot she craved.

He comes with a roar. The weight of him on her back and pressing her into the bed in the most comforting way. She was safe, he had her, she was his. She feels the heat and wet from his mouth in her hair, the lion-like roars now purrs against her skin. He had let out the beast in himself that had felt caged from the mask. He gave her a piece of himself, no one else had ever had, something that would frighten anyone else, and she took it as hungrily and desperately as he gave it. She was his match.

He rises and dips her over, her face with hair plastered with sweat, mouth open and arms already reaching for him. “You are… delicious.” He sighs as he leans in to kiss her again, this time taking his time, lips and tongue soothing and affectionate against one another.

“You are a beast.” She giggles against him. “You are as much of an animal as a man should be, Bane. You are… a force to be reckoned with.” She honors, hands on his cheeks to feel him even as he kissed her neck.

“Do you wish to tame it, Mina? Me?”

“Never.” She sways her head and he kisses up to her temples.

“That is why you are the only one to know him in this way. You’re the only one to ever know him, see him and accept it as it is. A part of me.”

“All parts of you are the ones I want. I’ve known them all. And I fear none because I know them. I know you.”

“You do. You see me now. As I am. As a man. No mask, no Bane, only a man.”

“And it is such a man that makes me feel like a woman.” She whispers against him. “Every part of me, woman and soldier are yours, my love. The only man to earn my heart.”

“And I’ll fight to keep it. I’ll bleed for you and our vision.”

“May the gods have mercy on our enemies, Bane. Because we never will.”

Click on my icon then go to my Mobile Masterlist in my bio for my other works! Please like, comment and reblog if you enjoyed it! It helps out us writers A LOT!

[welshwoman1988]

Through Your Eyes

Written for the first day of Sterek Week: Alpha and Emissary. There will be a second part for later in the week! Edit: The second part is here!

It goes without saying that Stiles was a little nervous.

Fine, maybe a lot nervous...

Okay, maybe he was teetering on the edge of completely fucking terrified, but given how important today was, could you really blame him?!?

Today marked an exact year, almost to the hour, since Stiles completed his Emissary training with Deaton.

Today was exactly a year since his Spark manifested at his seventeen birthday party by making all the lights go disco and multicolored.

Today was the first time Stiles would find himself in the Bonding Ceremony that all Emissaries went through after they finished training to find a potential Pack to counsel and follow.

It was the culmination of an entire year and the lifelong dream ever since Claudia Stilinski had taken his face in her hands and whispered, “Don’t be scared, darling. You have my gift, and that means I will never leave you.”

So, yeah, it was kind of a big deal.

"Stiles, you really need to-"

"If that sentence ends with 'relax' or 'breathe' or any of the five thousand other platitudes that I've been hearing all day, I swear to God..." Stiles cuts himself off when he can’t think of anything before dropping onto his bed and growling at the ceiling, “I don’t know what I’ll do, but you can be sure that it will be painful and lasting, mark my words!”

Scott McCall, Stiles’ best friend and current pain in his ass, scrunched his nose at the threat, but wisely kept his mouth shut as Stiles continued his mental battle with his stomach, arguing that puking all over his potential Alpha's shoes would be a terrible first impression.

Dropping his head between his knees, Stiles started a mental list of all the protective skills he knew, going alphabetically so that he would have to concentrate more, and by the time he made it to 'Ash, Wolfsbane' his heart no longer felt like it was going to beat out of his chest.

That, however, was too long for Scott, and he nearly set the whole house of cards tumbling when he opens his mouth to say, "You know, if this is freaking you out this bad, you don't have to do this. Didn't Deaton say something about this whole thing being some sort of formality, anyway?"

Stiles breathes deep, knowing that Scott is only trying to help, but still angry that he's making this seem so much smaller than it is because the boy doesn't listen unless it has to do with Allison's dimples or Isaac's cheekbones.

“No, Scott, Deaton didn’t say that this was a formality, he said that Emissaries did this to formally be welcomed to the Circle. I only told you this about a hundred times in the past week alone.”

Scott mutters something along the lines of Stiles not reminding him that often, before saying in a slightly louder voice, “Okay, so this is kind of a big deal-”

“’Kind of’ a big deal? ‘Kind of’ a big deal, Scotty? This is one of the most important moments of my life! This will not only show that I am a competent Emissary, but will also bind me to a Pack for the foreseeable future! What if I screw up and get them all killed?!? What if I never get Chosen at all? Deaton had to fight with me every step of the way, what if that means that I’m not really Emissary material? What if I become one of those cautionary tales? The one that Mentors tell all their Potentials; ‘make sure you study hard and follow every guide, otherwise you’ll end up like that Stilinski kid!’.”

Stiles knows he’s starting to get hysterical, but he can’t really see past the fear that has been boiling in his gut for the past few months, ever since this Ceremony became more of a certainty rather than a possibility.

“And then there’s the bit that really scares me; what if this Alpha makes me move halfway across the globe and I can never come home?!? I’m terrified that I’m going to be whisked away from home and never be allowed back, that the only news I’ll ever hear about you, or Melissa, or my dad is a letter saying one of you is critically injured, or sick, or even dead!”

Scott looks like he’s gearing up for another argument about how Stiles really shouldn’t be going through with this if it’s bothering him so much, but Stiles is more focused on the fact that his father has entered his room with that same expression he’s been wearing for the last couple of days now:

Pride, a whole lot of pride for completing something that had been so hard for him and meant so much, mixed with his own blend of worry that has Stiles moving to embrace his father before he can even give it much thought.

“I’m not leaving, you know that.”

“No, son, if your Alpha ends up needing to move or even is living-”

“If they really are my Alpha, then they know I’m not leaving you. And since you’re not moving-”

“Beacon Hills is my home. It’s where I married your mother and where I buried her.” Both Stilinskis take a breath at that, still needing a moment whenever Claudia is brought up…

It had been Claudia Stilinski that had passed on her gifts to Stiles, that told him all about her own Bonding with Talia Hale, said that it had been finding a best friend and sister all on the same day, and it had been Claudia that had seen the Potential in Stiles long before his seventeenth birthday.

John continues after a deep breath and a quick swipe of his hands over his face, “You are more than capable of leaving, Stiles, of moving somewhere else. I’ve said more than once that I would be happy if you saw more of the world than the little corner that you’ve lived in your whole life. We have planes and technology for a reason, kid.”

Stiles huffs, the old argument doing a lot more to settle his nerves than the mental categorizing and chatting with Scott had. “Well, who is going to watch your cholesterol if I’m not here to make sure you’re eating right and not sneaking donuts for every meal?”

John snorts out his own amusement as he pulls his son into a hug before gently steering him towards the stairs. “Ignoring that I am a grown man more than capable of taking care of himself, I highly doubt that the deputies, neighbors and cashiers that you have somehow managed to put under your thumb will let me get away with more than ‘regulated’ snacking. I’m more worried about this Alpha of yours and how they’re going to manage with all your interfering...”

“It’s not interfering, Dad! It’s counseling!”

“Somebody is going to need counseling when all of this is said and done, but I’m pretty sure that it’s not the kind you can give!”

Stiles immediately starts into a tirade about how much his father’s cholesterol has improved ever since his ‘interfering’, too focused on pointing out how well he’ll help his new Alpha to do more than follow his father out of the house and make their way to the where the Bonding Ceremony will be held.

Meanwhile, sitting in a hotel room that smelt too much of other people and the invasive funk of sex, Derek Hale was trying very hard to keep from panicking. This was the fourth Bonding Ceremony he had attended ever since he became an Alpha and the first time he had been in Beacon Hills since leaving more than ten years prior.

He had only been a Beta when he left, eager to see the world and meet other supernaturals, and hadn’t really expected to do more than feed his wanderlust before coming back to support his older sister Laura when she became Alpha.

Needless to say, all of that changed when he was halfway through his first year of college and was pulled from class to be told that nearly his entire family had been killed in a ‘freak house fire’.

Derek isn’t really sure how he made it back to his dorm room after that, or what Laura had told his roommate when she had shown up, but he does remember blinking his eyes and finding himself in his bed with his sister pressed all along his side, finally understanding what that gaping feeling in his chest that had been bothering him all day had been.

The days following the complete destruction of his entire world were a whirlwind of funeral and hospital preparations; while most of his family had perished amidst the flames, both his uncle Peter and younger sister Cora had managed to only suffer mild injuries before the fire department had arrived, unknowingly breaking the mountain ash barrier that had trapped the rest of the Hale Pack.

It was during this time that Derek had first met John Stilinski, a deputy police officer that hadn’t offered empty words or looked at Derek with any kind of pity. The man had simply clapped a hand on his shoulder and swore that he would find whoever set the fire, swearing that they would face the full force of the justice system.

While he had appreciated the man’s words, Derek wasn’t really inclined to stick around to see if there was any truth to them; everywhere he went, someone either just had to let them know how sorry they were that something like this had happened to such a beloved family, or whisper about how rich the Hales were and, with all the insurance that they received, Derek and Laura were practically millionaires now...

One day, it had all become too much and Derek had begged Laura for them to leave, to put all of the memories behind them and leave the scent of ashes to the earth beneath their feet.

Laura had been hesitant, not wanting to move Peter and Cora while they were still healing from the wolfsbane poisoning, but she had also agreed that they needed to leave if they were ever going to continue on with their lives.

The moving had been a long and tiring process, trying to make it to a new area without angering another Pack or fighting through the rumors that the Hale Pack were marked by Hunters, but they eventually make a home for themselves in New York. It’s a hubbub of traveling and shifting Packs, so no one bats an eye at two new lost souls...

It’s also in New York that Derek meets Vernon Boyd the Third, preferring to go by Boyd, and Erica Reyes, a blonde bombshell that said that he’d call her Erica ‘or else’. Derek had known almost without asking that he really didn’t want to find out what ‘or else’ meant...

Spending time with them eased the loneliness that Derek felt whenever Laura went back to Beacon Hill to look in on Peter and Cora; she had tried to have Derek join her whenever she left, but he had argued against it so fiercely that she eventually just gave up and only let him know whenever she was leaving.

It was during one of those visits that Derek’s life radically shifted for the second time:

Not one to really go out of his way to meet new people, Derek nonetheless let himself be ‘convinced’ to go out a few times with Erica and Boyd, supposedly to get him to loosen up a bit and maybe get the stick out of his ass (Erica’s words).

Walking down to the bar that they frequently visited-which Derek had thought was a bit stupid, considering that they couldn’t get drunk-a soft noise, something that Derek would never have heard if he wasn’t a werewolf, has him breaking from his friends and darting down an alleyway.

Isaac Lahey maintains that he had everything under control, that he was just waiting for the feral Alpha that was tearing into him to lower his guard, but Derek has a vivid memory of broken skin too bruised to heal and a throat too torn to even scream to really believe him. He never argues, however, because he can understand remembering something a certain way to keep certain demons from overtaking you…

As it is, Derek is acting before he can think about it and storming into the alleyway with an enraged roar. The next thing he knows is there’s an ex-Alpha’s blood on his claws, an overwhelming rush of power flowing through his veins, and his phone is blaring with Laura’s ringtone almost as loudly as his heart had been beating.

Laura had been easy enough to appease; she had felt the shifting power and had been terrified that something had happened to one of the few family members she had left, so hearing that he was now an Alpha was a lot better than learning that he was dead.

Dealing with Boyd and Erica, on the other hand…

As soon as Derek has Isaac calmed down and has called the police to deal with the body, Erica immediately starts in on him for running in half-cocked and nearly killing himself because he couldn’t wait for backup. Boyd merely sighs at him and goes over to Isaac’s side in an attempt to help calm the boy down.

Derek, still dealing with the influx of power twitching through his limbs and shaking now that the adrenaline rush was over, snaps at Erica with a flash of his new Alpha eyes. It nearly knocks him on his ass when she immediately dips her head in submission, albeit with a frustrated huff.

“Like anybody else would be our Alpha!”

That had been four years ago; four years of navigating his new status, of balancing being Alpha of his own Pack while being a Beta to his sister until his uncle and Cora wake from their comas, four years of being rejected again and again of an Emissary at the Bonding Ceremonies.

He almost hadn’t come this one, certain that the universe was telling him something with the constant disappointment, but Boyd-of all people-had convinced him to try one more time.

The younger man had joined him on one of his runs around the streets of New York, not really trying to talk, more just letting his presence say more than his words ever could. It was one of the things that Derek liked best about Boyd; he knew the importance of silence, and never tried to fill it will idle chatter.

It’s not until they make it back to the apartment that the four of them share that Boyd finally speaks.

“The Bonding Ceremonies are coming up.”

Derek had grunted in acknowledgement, not really wanting to think about another rejection in a week’s time.

“I haven’t heard you say anything about going this year.”

Another grunt.

“Derek…”

He had looked up then, thrown by the tone that Boyd’s voice had taken and more than a little unnerved by the look his Second was giving him when he met the other man’s gaze.

“Look, I know that you’re probably thinking that the reason that you’ve not found an Emissary yet is because you’re too ‘broken’ or whatever, but maybe it’s because the right one just hasn’t come around yet?”

Derek had opened his mouth to argue, to point out all the reasons he had failed as an Alpha, but Boyd had cut off his words with a heavy hand on his shoulder

(Alpha or not, Boyd was really freaking strong.)

“Derek, you took in two kids that had no idea how anyone could care for them, you became an Alpha by defending a complete stranger, and despite having your own troubles to work through, you’d drop everything if one of us made even the merest mention of needing anything. If anyone deserves an Emissary, it’s you.”

Boyd hadn’t said anything else about it, but his words had resounded through Derek’s brain whenever he had a spare moment to think, and he had found himself on a plane to Beacon Hills at the end of the week with a promise to Skype Erica every single day he was gone.

Swallowing hard, Derek makes a promise to himself that, even if he doesn’t manage to gain an Emissary by the end of these Ceremonies, he would focus more on his Pack and less on himself.

Nodding once, Derek pushes himself to his feet and makes his way to the Preserve that these Bonding Ceremonies will be starting in and, hopefully, to a brighter future.

[stereksecretsanta]

Merry Christmas, @cobrakaisback!

Synopsis: It's just a foregone conclusion that Derek and Stiles will be soulmates some day...right?

*****

Love is an Anchor (Part 1) 

Derek Hale meets Mieczyslaw Stilinski when they are seven and four respectively.

“Mom! Mom!” Derek cries, dragging the little boy behind him as he races across the playground to where his mom is sitting on a bench next to a lady he doesn't know. He skids to a stop in front of them and drags the younger boy forwards. “This is Stiles.” He beams brightly at the two women, proud of his introduction.

But the woman who isn't Derek's mom looks at Derek's mom in confusion. “Um, his name is Mieczyslaw,” she corrects, not unkindly, and Derek makes a face.

“Yeah, but I can't say that and he can't either, so I'm going to call him Stiles.”

The two women share a grin. “Is that so?” Derek's mom says and Derek knows that tone in her voice, knows he's made her laugh at something he's said, but he doesn't know what it could be.

He just made a new friend.

“Stiles, huh?” the other woman, who Derek supposes is Stiles' mom, asks with a grin.

Stiles toes at the grass beneath his feet. “Better than Mischief.”

Stiles' mom sighs. “I knew this would happen when I gave him that name, but my father always was the king of the guilt trip and it wasn't worth arguing over. I suppose Stiles is a good a name as any. I'm sure your dad will love it. Stiles.”

Stiles smiles brilliantly and takes Derek's hand again. “Thanks, Mama, hi, Derek's mama! Come on, let's go play again! You can be Superman and I'll be Batman!”

They run off again and their mothers share a knowing look.

“Perhaps we should exchange numbers?” Talia suggests pulling out her cellphone.

Claudia nods with a smile.

///

After that day, it's like they become inseparable, and it becomes a foregone conclusion that they'll share a soul-mark one day.

A soul-mark comes in during puberty, a symbol that appears on the skin like a birthmark that represents the bond and relationship a person will have with the one who shares their soul-mark.

Derek's parents' soul-mark is a wolf, symbolizing their strong commitment to each other and their family and Derek can't wait to see what kind of soul-mark he and Stiles will share.

“You think it'll be something cool?” Stiles asks him one day, his head hanging off Derek's bed. How he can watch TV like that, Derek will never know.

“Do I think what will be cool?” he asks. He's not really paying attention to Stiles, trying to finish his project for English. It's a blackout poem made from a page from he took from The Hobbit.

Yeah, Stiles had kind of yelled at him a little bit when he tore the page out, but he's not really thinking about that.

“Our soul-mark,” Stiles says, his tone suggesting he thinks Derek's an idiot for needing the clarification. He's nine, he kind of thinks everyone is an idiot when they ask him what the hell he's talking about. Stiles tends to ramble a lot. Derek kind of finds it endearing, but he's not going to mention that.

Derek shrugs in answer. “I dunno.” Seriously, he's twelve, he hasn't even had a hint that'll he'll start puberty anytime soon, so his – and Stiles' – soul-mark is probably not coming in in the near future.

“Come on, you haven't even thought about it?” Stiles pushes. “I think it'll be something cool, like a car or an action figure!”

Derek scoffs. “That doesn't even represent us at all.”

“Soccer ball? Ooh, Batman symbol!”

“I really hope I don't have run around for most of my life wearing a Batman symbol on my chest or something.”

“Why?! Batman's the coolest thing ever!”

“Superman's way better, Stiles. He can shoot lasers out of his eyes!”

“Batman has a Batcave!”

Derek rolls his eyes. They've been having this argument since the day they met, and he knows that they are never going to settle it.

It makes him feel a little warm inside, knowing that they'll be able to have this argument for the rest of their lives.

“As long as it's not something lame like Laura got, I don't care what it is.”

Stiles laughs so hard he falls off the bed.

Laura, Derek's older sister, had recently found her soul-mark, a set of inter-locked hearts on her ankle.

It's supposed to represent how much she and her soulmate love each other – or will love each other, once she finds him or her.

But for Laura, hard-core, straight-edge Laura, who wears nothing but black and dyes purple streaks in her black hair, it's pretty much a death sentence.

Good thing she can cover it up with her biker boots.

“We'll have something cool,” Derek promises and Stiles nods in agreement.

“Like the moon!” Stiles agrees, his interest in astronomy not going dissipating.

And, yeah, Derek thinks, the moon would be cool.

///

When Stiles' mom dies, Derek mourns right along with the Stilinskis.

Claudia was always like a second mom to Derek, ever since he was seven years old, and to lose her is like someone carving a hole into his chest and ripping out a vital piece.

But it's nothing to how Stiles is feeling.

He locks himself in his room and won't let anyone in, so Derek sets up camp outside in the hallway and plays Marvel movies on his laptop loud enough for Stiles to hear through the door.

“I met Claudia my senior year of college,” Noah Stilinski says, easing himself down into the floor next to Derek. He looks tired, worn out completely, and there's whiskey on his breath that Derek chooses not to dwell on, just pauses the movie so that Stiles can hear his father talk.

“She was a freshman, hadn't been in the States for long, and I loved her the second I laid eyes on her. Didn't matter if her soul-mark matched mine or not, I just knew that she was the woman I was going to spend the rest of my life with.” He touches the tree on the back of his right hand with the tips of his fingers. It's black and harsh looking, signifying the death of a soulmate and Derek hates looking at it. He can't imagine what the Sheriff must think, knowing he'll see it every day for the rest of his life.

“When I saw the tree on her palm, an exact match to mine, it was the happiest day of my life. I wanted to drag her down to the courthouse right then and there, but her father...well, he wasn't exactly the easiest man to get along with.”

Derek scoffs. While he never met Stiles' paternal grandfather, he forced his own daughter to name her only son Mieczyslaw out of some sort of pride or spitefulness. He's not sorry he missed out on the honor.

“He was so old fashioned,” Noah continues, “so outraged at the age difference between me and his daughter, even though he was six years older than his own soulmate, Claudia's mom. He insisted that she finished college before we finalized the bond, like I was going to prevent her from doing whatever she wanted, being whatever or whoever she wanted. Claudia was his only child, he just wanted to keep her to himself, get her to move back to Poland and leave me behind.” He smiles at Derek. “It's why she was so determined that the two of you get to know each other, build a relationship, she never wanted either one of you to think that she didn't support you as soulmates.”

Derek manages a choked off laugh. “She allowed me to change Stiles' name when I was seven. I don't think anyone ever doubted that she was our biggest supporter.”

“She was planning your wedding, you know? She wanted to go all out, matching white suits, she and Talia were going to walk you and Stiles down the aisle, she even had a selection of rings for you guys to choose from. She was always in your corner, Derek, don't ever forget that and don't let anyone tell you otherwise.”

“We haven't even gotten our soul-marks yet and everyone already has us married off.”

“I don't think there's a question in anyone's mind that your marks will be identical when they do show up. Claudia believed that more than anyone.”

“I miss her,” Derek tells him in a choked whisper. He feels guilty just for saying the words out loud, because Stiles has lost his mother and Noah has lost his wife and soulmate. What he feels is nothing compared to that.

Noah just wraps an arm around his shoulders and nods against the top of his head. “Me, too, son.”

The door to Stiles' room opens and the boy pops his head outside and Derek smiles up at him. Stiles eyes are red and puffy, his skin pale and drawn. He looks tired and shaken up and all Derek can do is hold out his arms.

Stiles falls forward on his knees, burying himself between his father and his future soulmate, his body wracked by sobs.

They stay that way for a long time, the three of them huddled on the floor of a hallway that isn't as clean as Claudia kept it.

It's only when Stiles' stomach starts to rumble and Talia and Spencer let themselves into the house, calling out that they've brought food that they break apart.

Derek stands and pulls Stiles up with him, smiling at both of them.

They might have lost an essential member of their family, but with Derek's parents downstairs, making themselves at home, Derek knows they'll always have people to turn to.

///

Stiles meets Scott McCall second year of middle school when he transfers to Beacon Hills after his parents' divorce. Derek's already in high school by that point and already lamenting the lack of time he and Stiles have to spend together, now that they're at different schools.

Derek has his own friends, of course, he's not one of those people who lives for their soulmate and nothing more. But when Stiles starts blowing Derek off in order to spend time with Scott, it hurts Derek in a way that he didn't think it was possible to be hurt.

He tries to just...hang around when they're hanging out, because at least then he gets to spend time with Stiles. But Scott doesn't like him, that much is clear, is intimidated by his presence and Stiles is left awkwardly trying to bridge the gap between them that Derek knows will never be closed.

It makes Derek feel a little sad, knowing that there's a part of Stiles' life that he'll never be a part of after all, all of his friends get along with Stiles – well, mostly, but honesty, Derek isn't really sure that Boyd likes anyone who isn't a blonde firecracker named Erica.

In the end, he gives up. He knows that he and Stiles have the rest of their lives to spend time together, and he's only freaking out now because they're at different schools. Soon, Stiles will be at the high school, too, and then they'll be off to college and he'll be able to forget all about the time Stiles didn't turn up to their weekly dinner with Derek's parents because he was playing video games with Scott.

“It'll get better,” Talia tells him, carding her hand through his hair. “He's just young, stretching his wings.”

“What if Scott's his soulmate?” Derek asks lowly, finally admitting the one thing that's been plaguing him since the day Stiles came home from school declaring Scott the coolest person he's ever met.

Talia, though, laughs loudly. “Oh, honey, don't be so ridiculous. Stiles loves you, he's your soulmate. There's nothing on this earth that will convince me otherwise.”

“Kinda doesn't feel that he is when I haven't seen him all week and he's ignoring my texts.”

Talia sighs. “I'll admit, most people don't meet their soulmates when they're so young, so they've already done the whole school friends thing. You and Stiles are different, though, you met as kids, you've spent most of your lives in each others pockets. Maybe you both need this, to grow a little away from each other. It's not going to change how you feel about each other.”

Derek is skeptical. “You sure?”

“I'm positive.”

///

So Derek takes his mom's advice and joins the basketball team and the swim team.

The swim team meets for practice before school Monday's, Wednesday's and Friday's, the basketball team after school Tuesday's and Thursday's and Saturday mornings. It's hard work at first, but soon Derek's craving the competition and the adrenaline rush he gets from hitting the court or diving into the pool.

 He's better at basketball, that much is clear, but he wants to at least try to get better at swimming and he starts looking for tips on the internet and he finds out that swimmers, apparently, shave their bodies.

Laura and Cora laugh at him so loud and hard that they're sick with it but Derek's perseveres, shaving every inch of hair from his body except what's on his head. It doesn't make his lap times any faster, but he does make a startling discovery when he's shaving his left armpit.

“Stiles!”

He doesn't think about knocking, just bursts into Stiles' room, excitement getting in the way of everything else. “Stiles, look! I got my soul-mark!”

He's already ripped off his t-shirt and stuck his arm in the air to show off the broken star he'd uncovered when he notices Scott sitting sitting next to Stiles on the bed and his mood instantly sours.

Stiles, however, is more than excited enough for the both of them and he bounces off the bed in a tangle of limbs.

���Seriously?! Oh, my God! Let me see, let me see!” He's smiling so wide that Derek can feel it like a brand and so he just stands there and let's Stiles inspect his mark.

“Why should Stiles care?” Scott asks, jealousy coloring his tone so brightly that even Derek notices, but he's saved from trying to come up with a snarky reply by Stiles snorting.

“Duh, because he's my soulmate?” he phrases the answer like a question, like he's trying not to be too hard on Scott. “I've told you that a million times already, Scotty-Boy. This is the mark I'm gonna be getting in a couple years, I deserve to see what it looks like up close and personal.”

Stiles bobs his eyebrows obnoxiously at Derek and the older boy can do nothing but roll his eyes in fond amusement.

“Oh,” Scott says, his tone sounding almost absentminded, “I kinda thought that was just, you know...wishful thinking or something.”

Stiles snorts again. “Please, I've known since I was three that this big guy was my soulmate. No getting away from it. What do you think a broken star means?” He sobers up suddenly pulling away from the mark to look Derek in the eyes. “You think that means we're not gonna last or something? 'Cause it's broken?” His tone sounding every day of his thirteen years.

“No,” Derek answers, voice confident and sure. “It could mean that...that we know we're not perfect, that we're a little bent and broken, but we're perfect for each other anyway.”

Stiles grins. “Maybe it means you're gonna be a big basketball star and then bust your knee or something and I'm gonna have to be the one to take care of you because you can't even climb the stairs by yourself.”

“Works for me.”

“I just hope that my mark is somewhere cooler than my armpit. Lame, man.”

Derek shoves him lightly back towards the bed, grin fading a little as he catches Scott's eye.

There's something different in his gaze, like he's looking at Derek and seeing something he didn't see before and he gives Derek a tight smile.

He's trying, Derek guesses, and realizes he should do the same.

///

Things get a little better after that. Stiles stops spending all of his free time with Scott and Derek quits the swim team – no matter how much he tries, he'll always be better at basketball and so he starts throwing everything he has into the sport, pinning his hopes on a scholarship for college. Stiles has the brains to get into whatever college he wants, when the time comes, though Derek already knows that he's going to go to whatever college Derek ends up at. If he can get a scholarship, it means he can get into a decent college, which in turn means that Stiles won't have to take a big step down when he inevitably follows his soulmate.

Scott warms up to him, too, especially when puberty hits early for him and the small, delicate arrow etches itself onto the inside of his upper arm.

It points towards his left armpit and it makes Stiles cackle delightedly.

But the amusement wears off as soon as Scott is out of earshot. “I don't think he was hoping it would be me,” he tells Derek honestly. “I just think...I think maybe he was hoping that neither of us would get a soul-mark? It didn't work so well for his mom, you know? Maybe he just doesn't want one.”

Scott's mom is one of those people who didn't marry her soulmate. Her mark – a flour-di-lis behind her right ear – didn't match Scott's father's mark, but they married anyway and their subsequent divorce is what prompted Melissa to move to Beacon Hills. Scott's always hated how much his parents fought, how much his dad drank, and blamed it on the fact that their marks were so wildly different.

Apparently, until his own mark appeared, he'd signed himself up for a life without one.

Derek knows that that could still happen – there's nothing suggesting that everyone will find their soulmates, Derek's uncle Peter is proof of that – but hypothetically opting out and actually being opted in are two very different things.

“Plus, how cliche is his mark? An arrow? Please, our mark is so much cooler than that.”

Derek scratches at his mark, the hair grown back over it now since he quit the team, hiding it from view. “Yeah, of course it is.”

///

Derek gets in to UC Irvine on a basketball scholarship. It's not the greatest of schools for Stiles, but they sit down and talk about it with their parents when the acceptance letter comes in.

“Caltech isn't all that far away,” Spencer, Derek's father, offers gently. “After your mandatory first year on campus, the two of you could get a place somewhere in between. It's not ideal, I know, but it could work for however long Derek's schooling takes. Whatever it is he eventually decides to do.” He elbows Derek with a grin. It's been a point of conversation the whole of Derek's senior year, how he has no idea what he wants to do in college.

He's still no closer to figuring it out.

“Or I could just go to UC Irvine and stop all the drama,” Stiles counters. The parental units sigh loudly and Derek shakes his head.

“No, Stiles, if you can get into a private college, that's what you should do. I'm not going to let you take a hit on your education just so that you can be near me.”

“Alright, fine, but you get that this all might be a moot point, right? There's no guarantee that I'll even get in to Caltech.”

“You can at least try,” Noah says. “If you don't make it, then we'll talk about UC Irvine.”

“I'm applying there anyway, doesn't hurt to have a backup.”

Derek manages a laugh, even though he's terrified by the idea of leaving Stiles at all.

///

By the time he's moved into his dorm room three months later, Stiles is sixteen and his soul-mark still hasn't shown up.

///

Derek has been at college for three months when he gets a call from Stiles.

It's been fun so far; he gets along with his roommate and he'd found out after a few days that Erica, his friend Boyd's soulmate, lived across the hall. The fact that he had someone from home living so close, when Stiles and everyone else were so far away, helped him feel a little more settled in his new environment.

Except now that settled feeling is fading fast because Stiles called him and isn't saying anything.

“Stiles?” he asks, his voice gentle, but his heart is beating wildly in his chest and his hands feel sweaty and suddenly it's hard to breath.

Stiles sniffs and now Derek knows that something's wrong, something terrible. Stiles hasn't cried since his mother died.

“Stiles, you're scaring me.”

“It doesn't match.”

It's just three little words, but they hurt more than a sword through the heart ever could. Derek can't breathe, his chest feels too tight to pull in oxygen and the there's darkness creeping in around the edges of his vision.

“Derek?” Stiles calls, his voice sounding tinny and far away, small and hurt.

But Derek can't, he can't deal with this right now.

He hangs up and drops his phone, following it down to the floor.

///

Derek doesn't go back home after that.  He doesn't really do much of anything, really, and his grades tank. It's like his whole reason for existing was for Stiles to be his soulmate and now that that isn't possible, it's like he's lost all motivation.

“Come home,” his dad asks in another one of his ever more pleading phone calls. “Just...you need to get your head on straight again, son. You can take the year off, reapply again. Or go somewhere different. Your life doesn't have to stop just because...”

He can't even says it, Derek thinks to himself. His whole life has been tied to Stiles, their families so intertwined that it's going to be almost impossible to separate them at this point. Thanksgiving, Christmas, birthday parties, all of them are planned with the knowledge that the other family will already be included. Hell, at this point, they don't even bother with invitations anymore.

“I can't,” he answers, his voice tight with barely repressed emotion, “Stiles is...I can't see him, I don't want to. When he's gone, I'll...”

“Derek, he doesn't leave for college for almost two years. You can't stay gone for that long, your mom won't let you.”

“She can't exactly stop me, Dad.”

“What are you going to do? Where are you going to live when the school year ends?”

“I'll get an apartment or a house, some of my friends might want to stay here, too, we can split the rent.”

He's fairly sure his roommate, Isaac, doesn't want to even step foot in his home state ever again, after he'd explained about the abuse his own father had subjected him to over the years.

“And how are you going to pay for an apartment?”

“I'll get a job! The same thing millions of other college students have done. I'm not exactly in a unique situation here, Dad!”

Spencer sighs. “I know I can't stop you doing this, Derek, but please. Just because your marks don't match doesn't mean that you can Stiles can't have a wonderful life together. Anyone who looks at you can see how in love you are, how perfect you are for each other. Don't let something a silly as a little picture on your skin ruin the rest of your lives.”

Derek shakes his head even though he knows his father can't see him. “I won't do that to Stiles. I won't stand in the way of him finding his perfect person just because I want to keep him for myself. That's not fair and I refuse to be that selfish. And, you know, my soulmate is obviously out there somewhere, and they must be amazing, they have to be if they're somehow more perfect for me than Stiles.”

Spencer laughs but it sounds forced, even over the phone. “I'm sure whoever your destined for will be a wonderful person, Derek. I hope we'll see you soon.”

He hangs up without giving Derek the chance to return the farewell and he stands in the middle of his dorm room and sighs.

“You have a paper due for you ethics class tomorrow and basketball practice in an hour.”

The sound of Isaac's voice makes Derek jump. He'd forgotten his roommate was even there, the phone call stressing him out so much.

“What?” he asks after a long few seconds of silence.

Isaac rolls his eyes, then rolls himself off his bed to stand in front of Derek. “I heard what you said to your dad. You don't want to go back home in case you see this Stiles person, but if you don't do something, you're gonna flunk out. You haven't even been to practice this week, you'll lose your scholarship if you don't do something.”

Derek scrapes his fingers through his hair. “Well, you just said it yourself, I have a paper due. I can't exactly do that and go to practice.”

Isaac sighs like a long suffering parent. “Your friend, Erica, her roommate is in your ethics class, right?”

“Yeah,” Derek answers slowly. He doesn't really speak to Kira much, they just sit next to each other in class because they literally don't know anyone else and Erica, Derek's friend from home, is sort of their common denominator.

“I'll get her to help me, we'll write your paper, you just go to training.”

Derek blinks. “And you want to do this for me because...?”

Isaac just shrugs. “You're a half-decent roommate, if you flunk out, I'll probably end up with someone shitty and I don't want a shitty roommate.”

Derek gives up. “I'm going to practice, you...do whatever you want with my paper.”

Isaac smiles, like this is the best thing he can think of the do in his spare time. “What's the password for your laptop? I'll submit your paper when it's done and, you know, check your other classes.”

And that right there is the main reason why Derek hasn't even started his paper or checked anything online since that fateful phone call, because it hurts to type that word.

“Stiles,” he says, his voice tight with emotion. “Stiles with an 'i'. But, uh, if you can figure out how to change it, can you...can you do that, please? Just write whatever you change it to on a notepad or something.”

Isaac just nods once, like he knows how much Derek is hurting. He's been living with Derek through all of this, he's probably an expert by now.

He smirks at Derek. “I can change it to whatever I want?”

Derek just grabs his gear and heads for the door.

///

Isaac changes his password to 'Derek likes balls' all one word, all lower case.

Derek doesn't really have it in him to change it to something else.

///

Things get better after that. Derek's grades pick up, with a little help from Isaac and Kira while Erica provides snacks for their study dates. She's an art student, her strengths don't really play well with the classes he's taking. But she's his one solid connection to Beacon Hills and he can't lose her now.

The basketball team doesn't make the playoffs, but Derek passes all his classes, so he takes the win and vows to be better next year.

The four of them get a small house off campus after the school year finishes, Derek and Isaac for obvious reasons, ones that Isaac still doesn't want to talk about even though everyone already knows about Derek's issues. Erica moves in with them because she lands a job at a local gallery and she doesn't want to leave, and Kira, because her family is from the East coast and she says she just can't be bothered leaving California.

But it works, the four of them. Derek, Isaac and Kira get jobs nearby, they have movie marathons every weekend, and it's decided that, under no circumstances, is Kira allowed to cook because she can burn water.

But it's good and Derek can pretend he's happy for a while. Boyd comes to visit Erica and pointedly doesn't mention Stiles at all, but it doesn't matter, it's not like Derek isn't stalking his Facebook page every spare second.

He'd unfriended Stiles and all the rest of his friends from Beacon Hills who aren't Boyd or Erica, because he didn't want updates on Stiles, but it doesn't matter because Derek can't stay away no matter what.

Scott has found his soulmate, a beautiful brunette called Allison who smiles in their picture together like a Disney princess. Stiles has made friends with Lydia, a girl he was always jealous of, because she was just that little bit smarter than he was. There are other people that Derek doesn't know, Jackson, Danny, Ethan and Aiden, Liam, Mason, Tracey and Hayden. Even Derek's sister, Cora, pops up more than once. Stiles is popular, more popular than he was when Derek was around and wanted nothing more than to keep Stiles all to himself.

The one thing that Derek does notice is that Stiles hasn't found his soulmate yet.

He's not an idiot, he heard what his dad said, he knows there are people out there who never find their soulmate and marry anyway, people like Scott's mom, though that didn't end well for her. He could probably, if they really, really wanted to, marry Stiles anyway, but he knows he would spend the rest of his life looking for someone with a broken star and he just can't do it. And he would never deprive Stiles of finding his soulmate. It's something too important in this world. And Stiles deserves to have the best life possible.

It just so happens that his life doesn't include Derek.

To be continued.... I'll fix it, I promise!!

[hoeimaginethis]

Not Good Enough | Peter Parker Imagine Part 1 |

Anonymous requested: Can you please do a DC and Marvel crossover imagine where reader is a part of the batfam, and she's like super self-conscious. And then the avengers need their help and she is crushing on Peter (Parker) and her brothers like unintentionally make fun of her and she gets super embarrassed and runs away? Idk that might be super confusing. I can do that! I made the reader 18 (so is Peter in this) and Bruce’s actual child, and Damian’s full sibling, meaning she was trained by the league, contributing to the self-doubt she has. I hope I portrayed the self-consciousness of the reader right. If you ever feel like you need to talk to someone, you can always talk to me xx Also this is going to split into 3 parts. I can’t help myself. It’s becoming a problem.

Summary: Life as a Wayne child was hard, made harder by the Avengers sudden need for you.

Warnings: Swearing, self-degrading talk, self-conscious reader, asshole paparazzi, unintentional bullying, I think that’s it?

Living in a family like yours made things more difficult than you’d care to admit. Being one of the children of Wayne put you in the limelight, something that you hated. While your brothers weren’t exactly fans of it, they weren’t reported about in the same way.

The media reported them as they would all male celebrities, they glamorized everything they were doing made them seem amazing, and they were. But they reported on you in a different way. You were pitted against them, made out to be some sort of terrible person, they made fun of what you ate, what you were wearing, who you hung out with. It was a nightmare, and your family couldn’t seem to care less about it.

Tonight seemed to be one of those nights when the paparazzi were in a frenzy, Tony Stark was in town, looking to meet up with Bruce Wayne for some conservation thing. So when you stepped out of the restaurant to go home, after saying goodbye to your friends, someone was waiting for you.

“Y/N! Y/N! Over here! Are you sure you should be eating things like that? It’s pretty unhealthy and you kinda look like you need to go on a diet as it is.” On and on this guy went, following you and taking as may photos as he possibly could. His questions had you choking back tears, not wanting to seem weaker than you already are, and you kept you head down. Pulling out your phone, you tried calling each of your brothers but none of them picked up. It wasn’t until you decided to call Alfred that you got an answer.

“Miss Y/N, how was your dinner?” The friendly old man asked, and you could hear chatter in the background. Distinctly, Jason and Damian fighting about something and Dick trying his hardest to break it up.

“C-can you come get me? Paparazzi are following me, and he won’t leave me alone.” You muttered into the phone, loud enough for Alfred to hear you but soft enough so that the man screaming questions at you couldn’t hear.

“Yes, miss. Of course. I won’t be long, just try and avoid him.” And that was the end of the conversation. You wrapped your arms around yourself, trying to ignore the questions being flung your way.

“Are you pregnant? You seem to be gaining weight.” “What do your brothers think of this?” “Where are you really from?”

You couldn’t escape the questions, but it wasn’t long before Alfred pulled up in the car. He ushered you into the backseat, closing the door firmly, before climbing in and driving away. You couldn’t stop the tears as they rushed down your face, replaying the words the man had been throwing at you.

Maybe I am fat. Maybe I am worthless. I could probably stand to lose a few pounds. You were trapped in a vicious cycle inside your own head, unable to escape. Even when Alfred pulled up at the manor and you climbed out, listening to everyone greet you, you couldn’t bring yourself to say anything back to them. You heard their questions about your night, why were you crying, who did they have to beat up, but you could form an answer.

You trudged up the stairs to your room, shutting the door and leaning back against it. Tears flowed freely down your cheeks and you couldn’t stop the sobs from escaping you. You heard more questions, knocking on your door, your father asking you to let him in, but you couldn’t. You didn’t move for hours, even when the tears had stopped, you still couldn’t bring yourself to move. But you were forced to move when your brothers barged into your room, telling you that you were needed down in the Bat Cave. You nodded and each of them left, leaving you to get dressed into your training clothes in peace.

As you approached the Cave, you heard voices discussing something. Peering over the ledge, but remaining hidden, you saw the Avengers standing across from your family, everyone looked tense and on edge, before your father spoke again.

“No. She’s not going.” His voice was gruff and final, and you knew they were talking about you. From your position, you could see Tony Stark roll his eyes at your dad.

“She’s just as good as any of you, if not better, and we need someone to help up train. Who better than an ex-assassin better than the three we already have?” He asked, gesturing to three people who stood off to his right. A woman and two men, one of which had a metal arm.

“She’s not going, she’s staying here.” Dick fought back, widening his stance, as if he was expecting an attack.

“Shouldn’t the choice be hers? I mean, it is her life. She’s a n adult who can make her own decisions.” Captain America spoke up next, taking a small step forward. You agreed with the super soldier. It is your life, why are they discussing it as if you didn’t exist.

“No. She’s my child, it’s my decision.” Bruce shook his head, glaring at the man in stars and stripes.

“And yet you let her younger brother, your youngest child, make the decision to go off to the Himalayas by himself. When he was ten.” The woman with red hair, Black Widow, snapped.

“She’s not good enough, she can’t go.” Jason snapped, making you gasp and giving away your position. They all looked up to see you and you could see the horror plastered on your family’s faces. You scoffed and shook your head, turning and running away, ignoring their calls of your name.

You sprinted to your room, grabbing your back pack and threw yourself out of your open window. You landed and rolled before standing and taking off again. You were the fastest in the family, and the best at hiding so you used this to your advantage, sprinting off into the woods and disappearing, the one thing that Talia and Ra’s taught you that you were best at.

“Y/N!” You heard their calls for you, but you wouldn’t reveal yourself. You couldn’t. You knew you weren’t good enough, but hearing it from your brother? That just made the reality so much worse.

You could hear the unfamiliar voices of the Avengers calling for you and you were half tempted to show yourself to one. A kid, probably about your age, decked out in a red and blue costume walked passed, making you hold your breath. But you were too late, he saw you. Reaching out you pressed your hand to his mouth, whatever he was going to say now muffled by both your hand and the mask. You shook your head franticly, and he seemed to get what you meant.

“Please don’t say anything. Please.” You begged in a harsh whisper. He nodded and you slowly removed your hand, staring up at him.

“Do you want to come with us? Help train us and then you can come home?” He asked as quietly as you. You stopped for a moment. Did you want to go and help train ‘Earth’s mightiest heroes’? You slowly nodded, yes you did.

“Okay. We should probably tell the others, right?” He asked and you stopped.

“I-I can’t look at them right now.” You stuttered, looking down at your feet. You felt weak, but his hand came up under your chin, making you look back up at him.

“You don’t have to. I’m Peter, by the way.” He held his hand out for you to shake and you took it with a small laugh.

“Y/N. Y/N Wayne. Nice to meet you, Peter.” You smiled. You couldn’t see it but you knew he was smiling under the mask.

“Nice to meet you, Y/N.”