#it would be a super short oneshot though (as i always say and lie about)

[marieanneline]

abandoned fic idea #2

tddk actor au

"How are you so confident to make it out unscathed? I for one have never engaged in any instance remotely romantic with Midoriya-kun, and yet I admit to have been infatuated with him for some time."

He tosses a film script onto the coffee table. It consists of an easy romance; easy attraction between the leads, where they fall in love quickly and take action without hesitation. It's not his type of genre at all.

"I'll be the first co-lead to keep things professional then."

Todoroki Shoto accepts an offer for his first romance drama. It's one of many offers, but the first to be accepted in the romance genre among his many action movies, and he's confident to be the first to not fall in love with Midoriya Izuku and his eight freckles.

(Or, a story in which Todoroki Shoto eats his fucking words.)

[almostangrything]

More Fanfic

Back to the Land of the Living (AU)

Not a oneshot. Warning: This story has some angst. 

     Neil couldn't believe it. Manny, his best friend, had found a way for them to get back to the living world. He was going to see his parents again. He hoped that they would be excited to see him again. But what if they weren't? What if they didn't want him back? What if they thought he was hideous? He had no face, after all. He had no eyes, but empty black sockets, though he could still see. He recently got a mouth when Manny took him to a Face Shop the previous month. It had small lines around the top and bottom lips because none of the mouths there worked for him. The shopkeeper, Joe, told them that with a special needle and black thread, Neil could sew on his own mouth. It was painful, but Neil went through with it.

      It was nice being able to talk. He didn't have to rely on crude sign language or Manny to translate his thoughts. Because Manny was a spirit, he could choose to hear Neil's thoughts, which could get a little annoying at times. But Manny never listened to Neil's thoughts unless Neil wanted to say something because he didn't want to be too invasive. But now Neil could talk! He was so happy. That night, Neil and Manny had a little celebration. Manny ended up getting super drunk and was messing with Neil all night long. Manny got super clingy when he was drunk, although he didn't get drunk often. Only when they were celebrating something. It was kind of adorable. Neil often thought about how to explain their friendship to an outsider, as an outsider. The best one he thought of was, "This is Neil. He enjoys his personal space. This is Manny. He also enjoys Neil's personal space."  Neil didn't mind being near Manny; he liked it when Manny hugged him or patted him on the shoulder. Enough thinking about Manny, Neil thought. I have to get ready to go see my parents. He walked to his bathroom and looked in the mirror. He picked up his comb and tried to make his short-ish but very messy black hair to lie flat. He wasn't able to do much. Whatever he tried, his hair would bounce right back up. Neil liked it that way, but his parents might not. Neil walked out of the bathroom and grabbed his cell phone. They had pretty good service in Morteville, which was where Neil and Manny lived.

      "Are you up yet sleepyhead?" Manny's voice came from outside Neil's door. "I'm coming, I'm coming," Neil said. He opened the door at the same time Manny did, and they ended up bumping into one another and toppling over on the floor. "Woah, careful!" Manny said, surprised. "Sorry Neil, didn't know you were coming out." "It's fine Manny," Neil replied, smiling. He liked to smile because he could now, ever since he made his mouth. He could tell that Manny liked it too. Manny's smile widened a bit when he saw Neil smile. Manny was almost always smiling. It was the default position for his wide mouth. Neil and Manny got some toast, and then left their house. They passed the gates of Morteville, and Neil could see a thick white mist in the distance. He knew it was going to be cold, even though he had his coat on. He shivered a little at the thought. Neil hated the cold.

      Manny must have seen Neil shiver, because he placed one of his long arms around Neil's shoulder as he floated along. Manny didn't have any legs, so he glided along through the air like a snake, with his long, serpentine body. Manny's head was pale like a skull, but the rest of his body was black, like Neil's hair. "How are we going to get to my parents again?" Neil asked. "We'll travel down the River of Souls in a boat," Manny replied cheerfully. They went along a grassy path for about fifteen more minutes, not saying anything. Neil didn't know what to talk about. Finally he asked Manny to tell him about the river. "Hey Manny, why do they call it the River of Souls?" "Well it's easy, Neil," Manny replied. "They call it the River of Souls because all the souls travel down it when going to other realms." "Ohhh. Yeah, that makes sense, I guess." They went along for another couple of minutes until Manny said, "Here we are! The River of Souls." "I don't see it, where is it?" Neil asked, confused. Just then, the fog lifted. Neil gasped as he saw the dark blue river, with thin, light blue foam swirled on top. "Woah. It's so...pretty," Neil said, amazed. "It sure is a sight, ain't it?" Manny said, pleased that Neil found the river to be cool. "Well, hop aboard the boat and let's go!" "What boat?" Neil was very confused. "This boat!" A wooden boat, big enough for the both of them to lie down in comfortably, rose out of the water. Of course. Neil hesitated. Manny was already on the boat, but Neil really didn't want to fall into the river. He took a deep breath and stepped onto the boat. "Ummm...Manny? Doesn't the boat need oars?" Neil asked, worried that this wouldn't work after all. "Oh, we don't need oars, Neil. This one is self propelling and self piloting!" Manny replied, giggling a little at Neil's confusion. "Are you ready to go see your parents again?" Neil thought for a second about all his worries and doubts concerning his parents. Finally he said, "Okay, I'm ready. Let's go."

[slashingdisneypasta]

Jack Bass x Younger!Reader || Oneshot

Title: Bass's.

Notes:

I have no idea when this is supposed to be set. Just go with it.

I have two things to say about Jack in this gif, though. 1. Does he not know how to carry a tray. And 2. I love this statement, here. Its like 'Bart's Dead, Chuck. I can barely contain my joy, Chuck. Its taking all my willpower, Chuck, to keep a monotonous expression. Also Chuck I am carrying a tray, do you see this?'

Plot: Bart Bass decides to be his creepy fucking self (Not that Jack is exponentially better in any way but whatever) towards you, Chuck's best friend- but thankfully, Jack accidentally walks in on the scene and gives you a get out of jail free card.

Good old 'lesser of two evils' shit. I love stuff like that.

Warnings: BART BASS being predatory, and a bit of age difference (You and Jack. I'm going by actors ages though so there's only a, like, 11 year age gap between him and Chuck which is not that bad if you ask me). Sexual references.

~~~

Chuck looks from his phone, that's flashing Blairs name, to you and your big, wide eyes and lips mouthing 'Don't you dare', then to his father quietly tapping away on his phone on the couch a few feet away... then back at his phone.

"Charles- " You hiss, prepared to threaten his very existence but he cuts you off first- slipping off the bar stool beside you and heading for the hallway.

"I'm going to go to the bathroom."

Why am I friends with him again!? You think, but stay quiet and hope that Bart doesn't realise that you're back there despite having said hello to you earlier when he came in. You think, if you stay quiet like a mouse, he will forget your existence and keep texting until Chuck gets back- although, who knows how long he and Blair can go on for.

Depends what its about, honestly. If its about revenge or espionage... well, the conversation could last quite some time.

Should I just leave?

The impulse to run away is a strong one, as you sit there with your cheeks heating up and you start to feel nauseated. You never liked Bart Bass, from the moment you met him. Before that, actually. You had heard Chuck talking about him to Nate before you even became friends with them, and none of what you heard was good. And then you did meet him, one day when Chuck invited you over to do a school project. Or 'school project' as he so obnoxiously put it. You really did end up just doing a school project, though. Hence your friendship nowadays. Bart was creepy towards you even then, at 16 with terribly died hair and the wrong eyeshadow.

You've been very careful since then to never be alone with him like this. You would talk to him at parties if you were forced to, say hello to him when Chuck had you at his place and the man walked by, but that is the extent of your communication with the creep. Always, always, someone would be around. Chuck, mostly. But also staff, or Nate, or random fundraiser ladies, or Jack who Chuck the bastard never left alone with all willy-nilly like this, unfortunately, or Lily, or literally anyone else possible on the earth.

You've even hidden away in the men's bathroom, which is disgusting no matter how expensive the restaurant, with Nate before to get away from this man when Chuck once ditched you both at a dinner with him. And that's the story of how you got your first kiss, too, and it was from Nate Archibald. Hell yes.

That's how much this man makes you want to grab your bag and flee.

But you don't. You stay glued to your seat, super still, listening only to the tap-tap-tapping noises that Bart makes and the bump-bump-bump noises your heart is making right into your throbbing ears.

Until it stops.

Not the bump-bump-bumping, oh no. The tapping. And, nightmarishly, it's replaced by a groan and footsteps coming towards your turned back.

"Y/N," As soon as he says your name, his hands fall on your your shoulders and you literally jump under his touch. Shit- Shit- Fuck- what's happening- "I've been meaning to speak with you recently but Chuck- ah. Well you know him. He refused to share with me your telephone number. But I knew you'd turn up here at some point, so not to worry."

"Uh... right." You cant even force yourself to be your normal, cheery, polite self in this position. You just want him to get. off. of. you.

"Did you want a drink?" He asks, in that possibly cheery (But only because its slightly louder then his usual husk level) but mostly still scary voice he uses to convey emotion, letting go of you thankfully and rounding to the other side of the bar. You shake your head, though. He raises his brows, picking out a scotch for himself. "You don't drink? Shocking, seeing as you're friends with my son."

Oh I drink. You think, giving him a shrug. Just not in situations like this one. Also, what must he think of Chuck? Jesus Christ. For sure, your boy likes debauchery but what's wrong with that?

"Well, I like that." Bart pauses before pouring his drink, to appreciate you. "Mature."

Damn it. It makes your skin absolutely crawl.

"So... " You take a deep breath, tucking your hair back behind your ears rather then ruffling it back like you usually would to get it out of your face- lest that be recognised as some kind of extremely subtle form of flirting. God, fear makes you think weird things. "What did you want to discuss?"

"Oh- Just, your future. Where are you going to school? Will you be sticking close to us?"

Us? US? No, I'll be far far away, from you.

You don't really want to tell Bart where you're going to be going to school, because in your fear addled brain you know that that will just lead to 'Which campus?', or 'Where will you be staying?' and you really don't want it to go there.

You're just taking another, shakier deep breath, when the front door of the apartment opens and shuts loudly and set of feet trample down the hallway towards you. Immediately total relief plashes over you and you wipe your face. Oh, thank god.

Jack Bass appears in the doorway to the living room, looking as put-together yet somehow simultaneously still totally relaxed, as always, and forces aa polite smile onto his handsome face. "Brother. Y/N? Its good to see you."

You have no idea. "Good to see you too Jack. Uh- Chuck's in the bathroom."

"Thanks. For that... enlightening, information, Y/N. I needed that." You cheeks flare up in embarrassment, but ultimately you just roll your eyes as Jack flashes you a subtle wink, and turns promptly to his - much, - older brother. "Bart."

The older brother in question looks less then pleased at his baby brothers appearance in his home. Right now. And he possibly isn't thrilled about that little wink, either. Like you two are in on some kind of joke together. "Jack... What are you doing here?"

"Simmer down, bro. Just visiting." Even you know that that excuse is weak, but anything that comes out Jack's own monotonous voice right now is blessed where you're concerned so you certainly don't say anything. Or make any faces, which would be more appropriate. "Y/N, I don't think Bart-man here's too happy about my presence." Hm, no. You'd have to agree with that observation- not that you've looked up at Bart since Jack came in. You wont risk it. Jack glides through the room with the practised grace of a man who's lived 3 quarters of his life in suits and the other, happier quarter in board shorts, and ends up right next to your chair, an arm resting on the bench in front of you.

If you weren't already so nervous about Bart, you would blush about Jack.

"At least tell me you're glad to see me."

You grin, which is less forced then you thought it would be prior to trying it. Damn, he's good. You think, realising he just swepped in here and made you comfortable in less then 50 words. "Always, 'Uncle Jack'."

"Oh," He groans, like it physically pained him to hear you tease him like that. A tiny smirk even slips through his usually emotionless - well, not emotionless. He has one standing colour, that being sly, - stone statue of a face. "'Uncle Jack'- Please, stop. I'm barely a decade older then you."

That's enough to make anything else possible, inappropriate. Unfortunately. "Hey, I said I'm glad to see you." You wink, a bit sly yourself. "Count your blessings."

His grin widens a bit, like the dangerously charming Cheshire cat-type that he is. Genes that Chuck inherited, clearly, if his track record with girls say anything at all, but that Bart obviously missed out on. "You've got a point."

"She's a remarkable young woman." Bart pipes up, making your stomach tie itself up in knots again, and you immediately revert your gaze to your lap. Remarkable young woman... you want to barf. "Who, I was actually having a conversation with before you burst in here, unannounced." He takes a slow sip of his drink, then mutters. "And uninvited."

"Well that's great." Jack straightens up, clapping his hands together and finally showing his teeth in a smile. They're really freaken white, compared to his skin, deeply tanned by the hot Australian sun. "A visit would be kinda uncomfortable without a conversation; I'll join. I can converse with the best of 'em, Bart. I assure you."

"It was private." The old man sneers, thinking that he's got the upper hand on Jack, and all you can do is hope to god that he's wrong.

Jack turns his head back to look at you, and you meet his gaze tentatively. Your eyes scream, 'Please don't leave me alone with that guy'. He promptly looks back to Bart. "Well Bart why don't we ask the lady in the room what she wants? We are gentlemen here aren't we?" Then Jack makes a face, all crumpled up and unsure, for a moment. "Err. Well actually... 'gentleman' might be a bold faced lie. We'll ask anyway. Y/N! Do you mind if I weigh in here?"

"Not at all." You say quickly, flashing a tiny, thankful smile. He gives you another wink- this time actually subtle. So Bart didn't see it. Your smile gets a little bit bigger, relaxing. He's got you.

"Great." You watch him pull out the stool beside you, that Chuck - who has still not returned from his phone call with Blair. You assume some, likely cruel vengeance must be involved. Possibly involving that Humphrey guy, - had vacated and settles down in it. He then sets his arms firmly on the bench and looks up attentively at Bart, not breaking eye contact with him. Boy these Bass's like their stare downs. "So?" He prompts, expectantly. And a little arrogantly- a Bass speciality that you truly don't mind at all. "What's on the agenda, today?"

Bart glares heatedly, back.

~

Throughout the awkward discussion between the three of you, which your good friend Chuck has yet to return to discover - at this point you're resigned to him having climbed out the window and scaled the building probably, - , Jack constantly, skilfully changes the subject for you whenever Bart rears to close to somewhere uncomfortable. He makes jokes that make you laugh, he nudges you with his elbow at times - but never touches you any more then that, although you honestly wouldn't mind it if he did, - and takes the attention off you a lot. At times you truly thought you saw steam come out of Bart's ears.

When finally Bart gives up and excuses himself, saying he as an early dinner with Lily, you feel exhausted and relieved. After the door swings shut behind him, you cover your face with your hands and deeply sigh.

"So, what was that about? You looked like a trapped mouse. I recognise that look, I invented that look." You pull back slightly from your hands and glance over at him, to see him thoughtful for a moment. "Well, not by making it. By... causing... it... Either way, it was not good." He shakes his head, taking a sip of his own drink - scotch, - that he made Bart pour for him; Raising his eyebrows at you for an explanation over the rim of the glass.

Jack's always been great, like this. Even when he was horrible, he was the lesser of two evils between him and Bart. Good for a laugh and quality eye candy in a pinch- and that counts for a hell of a lot when it comes to surviving Bart Bass and the Upper East Side. And he had the power and pull of an adult, but knew what the hell was going on like one of you.

So he always made you feel at ease.

You ruffle your hair back, and sigh, straightening your back finally from their hunched over position they live in when you're uncomfortable and pushing back your shoulders. "He was just, saying some weird stuff... and Chuck disappeared to talk to Blair." At that, Jack nods in total understanding. Like ah, yeah. Got ya. Finally, you shrug. "He just makes me really uncomfortable. No offence, but I hate your brother."

As you watch Jack's eyes don't even flicker; He's totally on board with what you've said. Then he finishes the rest of his scotch in one gulp. "Ahh- I hate him too."

"As do we all." Chuck's voice suddenly pops up, as he appears in the doorway like Jack had earlier. You have to practice some serious self control so as to not laugh, at Chuck so coincidentally turning up again at the perfect moment to proclaim his hatred for his father. Jack grins back at Chuck coldly, nodding. Yeah. "Anyway, Y/N, I apologise but I'll be having to abandon you. Blair's waiting for me at her, empty, apartment." He pauses for a moment for dramatic effect, in perfect Chuck Bass fashion, and you roll your eyes, grinning. Jack smirks. "But you're welcome to stick around a while and help yourself to the amenities All on my tab, of course. Good to see you again, Jack." Then he pockets his phone and heads toward the door. The second Bass of the day leaves the building.

"Bye, nephew!" Jack waives as the elevator doors close behind Chuck then swiftly turns around back to you, to which you raise your eyebrows. "So, what do we do now?"

"I dunno." Shrugging you grin and turn your stool to angle your legs towards Jack. "When Chuck says those magical words 'All on my tab'," Those words, oh; You speak them with just as much raw, breathy sexual arousal as the man himself would. As the words demand. 'All on my tab'. Good lord, sex if they were words. "I tend to take advantage."

"An easy girl to please; That's what I like to see." Your cheeks flame up at those words out of Jack's mouth as he turns to look down at the room service menu. Yes, Jack Bass has toed the line, between platonic and flirtatious since the very moment you met the man... but that seemed a little bit more then toeing the line.

And you get a far different reaction to him doing it then you do the other Bass brother.

You don't even really mind the implications of his words.

"You're staying back with me?" You ask, feeling hopeful at the idea.

"Yeah well, I cant in, uh, good conscience," He makes a bit of a show to you, of pressing his hand to his chest totally earnestly as those words 'good conscience' come out of his mouth. "leave you here unguarded in case Bart comes back, can I? Besides, the way you said 'All on my tab'- man, you could sell moonshine at an AA meeting with that voice."

"Ha," You laugh, rolling your eyes and shaking your head. "Well, thanks."

"Oh. Don't thank me. You're just using what uh, your mama gave you. I actually encourage you totally, to do that more often- "

"No!" You exclaim, sighing in exasperation; But there is still a smile on your face you cant seem to shake. "For not leaving, today. When you walked in. It would've sucked if you had, not that I would've blamed you at all."

"Hey, just call me your knight in shining armour." He doesn't look up from the menu, flicking through it. Then turns to you with one of those beach boy/politician, toothless grins of his. "Besides you were automatically, my favourite person in the apartment. I mean, anyone with... uhhh- different, appendages to what I have, instantly gets a one-way ticket access to my rare bouts of chivalry. Now come over here, pick out what you want off here."

You just gape at him and that comment, making him stifle a laugh and return to the menu himself.

Bass's.

[sunookkii]

Hi hi loveeee~ can you please write a super SUPER cheesy Jay and Sunghoon fic? Like Y/n’s cute and bubbly and Jay is her bestfriend, then Sunghoon will sometimes flirt cause he likes her?? (But ofc Jay gets jealous 😣)

(Also SH being kind of a bad boy, ughhh the classic opposites)

Also! I love your layout, so cute!! 💗💗

a/n : STOP IS THIS FRIENDS TO LOVERS?? CUTE please I’m literally melting over how cute this imagine idea is, I’ll try my best!! TT I hope you like it! Also thank uu you’re so sweet,, I’m getting so many compliments today it’s making me so happy 😭💖 [there might or might not be some mistakes in the wording SORRY beforehand oops, and i kind of forgot to make Sunghoon the bad boy type sorrryy^cue jakes sorry voice]

Master link here

three words : I love you

Pairing : Jay x Fem. Reader

Genre : friends to lovers?

Warnings : none [short oneshot]

Requested : yess I can’t get over this cute idea

♡ ♡ ♡

You’ve been friends with the popular kid Jay Park for a really long time, you two basically have been friends since grade one. The first time you guys interacted was when you were a new kid at school and didn’t have much friends until Jay saw you alone and asked you to come sit with him and his friends at lunch time. Ever since then you and Jay have become inseparable, he was always a sweet person ever since he was a child and it was something you really loved and cherished about him~ you were a little similar as him, though you were more bubbly and cute while he was calm and his physical appearance was more of a cool boy type. Everyone who met you simply adored you because of your charming unique personality, but at times you can be a little clueless when it came to love and such. You also had a friend named Sunghoon who was a perfect fit to your friend group, though he gradually caught feelings for you not too long ago. And unfortunately for Sunghoon you had a crush on Jay, but you never told him because you were always scared to ruin the friendship you two already had,,,,soooo you always kept it on a downlow. But it would be wayy obvious at times since you can’t keep your emotions to yourself 💔 fortunately for you, Jay also had the returning feeling but like I said before you were clueless- another thing was that Sunghoon would always throw compliments at you and flirting with you giving you all sorts of hints that he was into you but you never caught on 😔

♡ ♡ ♡ time scape ♡ ♡ ♡

You were out shopping with the two boys since they were both really into clothes and fashion, especially your bestfriend Jay. You loved going shopping with him since he gave you tips and his style was always just *chefs kiss

You were wearing this pretty outfit today which lead to Sunghoon literally unintentionally stealing some glances, until he finally built up the courage to say something to you,,, and maybe even ask you out?

“Y/n you look pretty today” he said as if it was nothing pushing his hair pack then putting his hand in his pocket.

“Thanks!” He was a little flustered after you said ‘thanks’ to him but tbh anything you do can easily make him blush-

“Do you sorta want to go get coffee or something later?” (Sorry I didn’t really know what to put in for a date TT)

“Yeah su-!”

You were about to finish your sentence until Jay came out of nowhere wrapping his arms around your shoulder completely throwing you off,

“Ahh sorry Hoon y/n promised me she’d hang out with me today.” He said

“Ohh, but you always get to hang with her let me take her out once just for today!”

“Sorry can’t do that!”

“Ok fine~ next time then bye y/n!” Sunghoon leaving a bit disappointed,

“Bye?” Right when you saw Sunghoon leave you turn your face facing Jay wanting an explanation but to your luck he just grabbed your hand and went with it, you thought to yourself wtf just happened- was Jay jealous or something, nah he couldn’t be? He just thinks of me as a friend.

“Come with me I wanted to take you somewhere, its a surprise.” He grabbed your hand intertwining it with his causing butterfly’s to grow in your stomach.

He was driving you somewhere at this unknown place, it became dark outside quickly since it was a pretty long drive. You two finally arrived at the place he wanted to take you, you went out of his car and saw bright stars and this oddly beautiful field you have never seen before, is his what he wanted to show you? It’s gorgeous. You thought to yourself looking around the place like a curious smiley child.

“Here, we’re here isn’t it pretty?”

“Wahhh it’s beautiful, why did you take me here?”

“I don’t really know why to be honest.. (He lies down on the fluffy grass guiding you to lie down next to him) I- I guess I just wanted to watch the stars with you..” he says hoping you heard but didn’t at the same time

“YAH Jay Park! Do you have a crush on me or something” you say jokingly but not really joking since you had a small crush on him too- and you wanted to know his answer..

“Uh uh- NO!” He lightly hesitated

“Jay are you lying why are you so defensive all of a sudden?” You giggle a bit finding it cute that the small question made him flustered

You felt brave and leaned your face closer to his meeting your eyes, you didn’t know what you were trying to do but you just went with it,

As you two were getting lost in each others eyes he started to speak stuttering a bit before answering your previous question “I- I do”

since you two were centimetres apart barely any space between your faces, you decided to go in for a deep kiss, “i love y’know” “i love you too”

[blutopaz15]

How about "You're a softie", or rather "Ye're a softie" ?

Ackk!! This took me SO long to get to, I’m sorry!! It ~did~ turn into practically a whole oneshot though, so woooo! hope you enjoy ;)

also oops I lost the initial prompt post so I forget which number this is lol

#??: “You're a softie.”

Callum wasn’t exactly sure what he’d been expecting when Rayla had banished him from their room, saying that she had a “surprise” for him, but it certainly hadn’t been this.

She’d beaten him back there by a longshot. The “super short” evening audience that one of Ezran’s advisors had requested was not super or short by any means, and by the time Callum had traipsed back to their room, feet dragging and head foggy, she was already ready for bed. When the heavy door creaked open, though, rather than remaining comfortably and impatiently cross-legged on the edge of his matress, ready to curl up with him for a little bit before bedtime as usual, she’d popped up off his bed, shoved his pajamas into his arms, and quickly ushered him towards the washroom.

“Uh, okay,” he’d responded, curiosity over what she was up to clearing the fog from his mind. He deliberately leaned his weight into hers, stalling as she pushed him towards the door so he could ask: “What’s all this about?”  

“I have a surprise for you!” Her voice had his favorite teasing cadence to it, and Callum felt a little flutter of anticipation, warm and pleasant, in his chest. 

Satisfied and eager from the answer, Callum stopped resisting just as she shifted her hands from his shoulders to his waist and pressed her weight more insistently against him. This successfully sent him stumbling through the open washroom door. She gave him one more direction, accompanied first by a smile that was softer than he would’ve expected and then her lips on his cheek, before she sharply shut him away back there. 

“Ten minutes,” she said.

The typical draw of their evenings spent together was amplified by the promise of whatever surprise she was assembling out there, and Callum realized that he might’ve been a little too eager when he called out to her through the door for the first time—his face already washed, his teeth already brushed, his limbs already pajama-clad—and got an exasperated sigh in response. He tried once more, twice more, then thrice more before—at long last—she finally confirmed that he could enter.

The washroom door swung open wide, and there, at the center of the room, was Rayla on the floor, surrounded by what seemed to be every spare pillow and blanket in the castle, beaming at him, eyes shining and bright.

Callum grinned back at her, his head cocked to the side as his shoulder hit the doorframe. “What’s all this?” he asked, nodding at the piles of pillows she was nestled between.

Rayla’s nose wrinkled up as she lobbed the blue cushion laying across her lap at him, and he was pretty sure—as he held up his hands to knock it away from his face—that he’d never seen her smile so wide.

“Sleepover!” Rayla flung her arms open, gesturing towards the multi-color mountains all around her. “Last night you were saying how you wished I didn’t have to go back to my bed, and this isn’t technically sleeping in the same bed so…”

He bent to pick up the blue pillow and tossed it back to her—gently. That was a pillow-fight he would—absolutely, without a doubt, for sure—lose. She caught it—of course—and laid it back over her legs.

“I’m pretty sure this is still against the rules,” he said, shrugging at her, still in the doorway...trying to decide if he cared enough about those rules to deny her. 

Opeli’s ‘no sleeping in the same bed’ rule probably translated to ‘don’t sleep next to each other’ too, Callum thought. Though...he was pretty sure it also translated to ‘don’t lie in the same bed’...a rule which they’d been breaking daily...

But, attendants never came in to check on them in the evenings when they were bending those rules. The mornings were a different story, though: someone was always bustling in first thing, earlier than they could ever have a hope of waking up to separate themselves first, and Callum had to wonder if that was Opeli’s specific bidding.

Still though...like Rayla had said...technically…

“...and we care why, exactly?” Rayla asked, an eyebrow raised, arms crossed, outwardly annoyed. Callum could see, though, that his hesitation—which wasn’t really his anyway—had hurt her.

Pre-bedtime pillow fort cuddles—no beds or sleeping involved—probably wouldn’t break any rules, Callum figured, even if their luck changed and they got caught.

Though, maybe, he considered, the strictest translation of Opeli’s rule might be that they just weren’t supposed to lie down with each other at all…

Rayla was frowning now.

He took a few steps closer before turning his back, spreading his arms, and collapsing back onto the stacks of pillows next to her. When he peeked an eye open, Rayla chuckled softly, reaching for the hand that’d fallen across her knees.

“Dummy.”

She looked over her shoulder and down at him, appearing not quite as deflated. Callum leaned on his elbow to offer up an explanation. 

“I’m just saying, Rayla, I really don’t want to have to explain it to Ezran if Opeli separates us.” He’d meant that to be lighthearted...but it was also very true. He winced theatrically, and Rayla smiled back, rolling her eyes and squeezing at his fingers. When she stopped shaking her head at him, what she wanted was still lingering in the way she looked at him. She eased herself down by his side, matching his pose.

“Callum...please? Just for tonight?” The sincerity in the way her brow furrowed tugged at him...and she knew it. That teasing rhythm was back in her voice when she went on, her stare so very sweet. “Come on, you know you want to! It’ll be fun! The ‘it’s not a bed’ excuse will definitely work at least once.”

That was probably true, Callum admitted to himself. It was possible—likely, actually—that Opeli wouldn’t be happy about their rule-bending, but...feigning innocence was a possibility…

Plus...it’d be so nice to wake up at Rayla’s side. Her arms heavy with sleep and draped over him...her warm breath on his cheek...her lips parted and perfectly within kissing range…

Like she could see his resolve weakening, a mischievous smile crawled across Rayla’s lips. 

“How can I convince you? We can snuggle all night! I’ll let you be little spoon?” She rocked closer, still up on her elbow like he was, and pressed a kiss, brief and enthusiastic, to his lips. When she pulled away and her eyes opened...she didn’t even need to tag on the last incentive. “Mmm, I don’t know, what else do you want? Anything!” 

It wasn’t quite heat in her eyes...more like...a spark. An offer of heat. 

A similar heat very quickly filled in underneath his collar, across his cheeks.

“Yeah, the answer to that question is definitely against the rules,” he laughed, eyes wandering to the ceiling before he smiled at her. “But...fine. Sleepover. If we get caught, though, you’re going to be the one who explains to Ez what Opeli is so worried about.” 

Rayla’s hand wrapped around his almost as soon as Callum started poking a finger at her to go with the dramatized sternness of his stare, and, before he knew it, she’d used that leverage to knock him flat on his back. Rayla’s arms looped around his neck, her chest pressing him into the floor, and she was still for a moment, just holding him near. Her lips landed in his hair.

She stayed close to whisper, giggling in his ear. “You’re such a softie, Callum.”

“Maybe so,” Callum conceded, turning to press a clumsy kiss to her jaw before nuzzling closer, his lips drifting down to place tonight’s first of what he intended to be many kisses against her neck. “I was promised anything I want, though.”

The sigh she made wasn’t all that loud when he kissed her again—this time just under her ear, the skin there exceptionally warm and smooth—but Callum could feel it vibrate in her chest, and he was sure that she could feel the way he shuddered, too, as her fingertips ran along his spine.

“I thought you didn’t want to break any rules?”

[imagining-in-the-margins]

WIP Challenge Snippets!

Big thank you to everyone who requested something. I love hearing what ideas you all are excited for! I'll put each of the snippets below in alphabetical order. All but one are just dialogue - I'm currently at a point where that's all I have done for most of my WIPs.

Somewhat unsurprisingly, only smut fics were requested, so minors please DNI!

Hope you enjoy!

Centerfold*

I'm still unsure if this will be a mini-series or a oneshot. I have no freaking clue. Here's a snippet of dialogue, though! Starts with Derek.

“Alright kid, spill the beans.” “Did you know that phrase could stem from numerous possible practices? It could just be a reference to vomiting, but there’s an alternate explanation involving an ancient voting practice of dropping colored beans into a jar and—“ “Not gonna work on me, Reid.” “Fine.” (whispers) “That girl in that magazine? The ‘Vegas Vixen?’ I lost my virginity to her.” “You’re messing with me.” “No! I’m not! I swear that I am not messing with you.” “There’s no way.” “Would I make that up?!” “To mess with me? Yeah, maybe.”

Coquette*

This is a long work that has been heavily inquired about and a very long time coming, so here is a long snippet of dialogue to continue the trend. Starts with Spencer.

“Don’t sound so scared. I’m not going to tell anyone.” “I-I know.” “Do you?” “No. I just hoped not…” “What were you planning if I said I was going to?” “Where are we going? I never told you my address.” “I need to drive around in case someone is following us.” “Oh. That makes sense.” “Answer my question.” “I… hadn’t considered it.” “That’s a lie.” “Fine. I would make a deal with you.” “Tell me the deal. Maybe I’ve changed my mind.” “I won’t tell everyone how hard you got for me when I danced on your lap if you don’t tell them I’m a stripper.” “A tempting offer, although I’m not very ashamed of being turned on by a woman who’s made a career out of being tantalizing, Coquette.” “What’s your idea of a good deal, then?” “Hmmm… My silence in exchange for whatever you were willing to offer me before you found out who I was.” “What are you implying?” “I know a lot about that club… And that it was your first night in the backroom. But your nerves tell me you knew what you were there for.” “Are you seriously propositioning me right now? Through blackmail?” “You asked me what a good deal was, not what I would ask for.” “So what would you ask for?” “Your address. So I can take you home.”

H2M Epilogue*

This whole part makes me want to melt, but here is a funny dialogue snippet.

Derek: “Alright, I know you love to break rules, but Penelope made me doorman for a reason.” Reader: “You really want to pick a fight with me? On my wedding day? I know you know me, Derek Morgan. I know you know better than to stand between me and my husband.” Derek: “He’s not your husband yet, Princess.” Spencer: “Actually, we had a courthouse ceremony a few weeks ago, just in case something happened and we had to miss this ceremony.” (Reader tackles him as he walks up to the door) Derek: “Hopeless. And selfish. Penelope is going to kill me, you know.”

Lane Courtesy* (Franklin)

This fic is purely for my beta @sunlight-moonrise, but y'all can read it if you want. Starts with Franklin.

“Maybe it’d be easier if you bought clothes that fit.” “I think I look pretty good in what I’m wearing. And I think you think so, too. Besides... it’s all in the wrist, anyway. You wanna see?” (She grabs his ball, he grabs her arm) “Don’t worry, babe. I’m good at handling men’s balls.” “Oh, I bet you are.” “Plus, I promise I’ll give them back to you after.”

Practice Makes Perfect* (backburner)

This is a very old original idea I had. I'm not sure if/when I'll ever get around to it - if anyone wants it, I'd love to hand over the dialogue I have so far. Here is a snippet regardless! Starts with Spencer.

“Hey (y/n), what—" “Spencer! Can I come in?” “C-come in? Into my room?” “Uh... yeah.” “But you... you’re... you’re dressed like a...” “A stripper, yeah. Are you going to make me stand out here like this longer?” (He lets her in) “Is there something I can do?” “Can I dance on you?” “What?” “I want to give you a lap dance. Please.” “A lap— why?" “Who else am I going to ask? Hotch? Please, Spencer. You’re the only person I trust.” “Trust?” “Please stop rephrasing everything I say as a question.”

Shortbread (Chip)

Love me some Sub!Chip. This is honestly probably on the backburner. I've been in a very Spencer mood lately. Starts with Chip.

“Can I ask you something?” “What’s up, sweetheart?” “Why are you so nice to me all the time?” “What do you mean?” “You don’t really know me. But ever since I met you, you’ve always just been nice to me. I mean, I know you’re nice to everyone, but it feels…” “Different? It should.”

Seatbelt Safety* (Chip)

Gosh, this fic is so short, I really need to just write it. Uber Driver Chip. Starts with Reader.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Sorry. I kind of needed to act a bit crazy.” “Why?” “I was trying to get out a super awkward date.” “By running into the street?” “Trust me. It was a bad date.” “Oh. Well, I’m sorry you had a bad date.” “It’s fine. You know how it goes.” “Not really. Haven’t had a date in a long time.” “Why is that?” “Idunno.” “Hm.” “What?” “You wanna go on a date with me?” “What?” “Let’s go on a date.” “... What?” “Most people say yes or no. ‘What’ isn’t very helpful. Is this why you can’t get a date?” “I can get a date! I just... haven’t been asked by anyone in awhile. And definitely not like that. That was weird.”

Study Session* (requested three times!):

I have a lot of this done already, so you get an actual sneak peek here!

“Listen closely, young lady,” he said like I had any other option. Like I wasn’t enraptured and enchanted by the feel of his warm breath once again hitting my ear. He could feel the way breath stuttered and my body stumbled straight into him with eager hands. I could almost feel his smirk against my ear when he concluded, “I would never... ever sleep with you.” And just like that, he was gone. He didn’t just drop me; he tossed me to his side like the very notion of being that close to me disgusted him. The desire that had been burning inside of my chest quickly shifted to rage. He could pretend like he didn’t want me, but there was no other justification for bringing me out to the back in the first place. There was no reason to allow me to confront him, nor for him to discuss my sex life in any manner at all. Seconds after we were both inside again, I grabbed hold of his arm and pulled him back to me. Surprisingly, there was very little resistance. It was almost like he was waiting for me to do it. I tugged him into the small, dimly lit bathroom without a care in the world for who might have seen us or what whispers might follow. Spencer was already laughing, apparently amused by anger rolling off of me. “Say it again,” I ordered through heavy breaths, “Say it to my face.” I’d prepared myself for a number of responses — most of which were varying levels of humiliating. What I hadn’t prepared for, however, were the words that actually came out of his mouth. Casually, and without question, Spencer ordered, “Get on your knees.” He was so calm that I felt like it must have been a trick. It took everything in me not to fall to my knees, and instead I managed to ask, “Why?” His answer was equally unhelpful and alluring. “Because I said so.”

The Agent Assigned to My Webcam*

This is a beast of a fic, so it'll also be a while. There were so many parts I could show you, but I thought this one was the most thought provoking.

Reader: “Wait! Sorry, I-I... uh... Can I see your ring?” Spencer: “... Sure.” Reader: “Thanks. What did you say your name was?” Spencer: “I didn’t.” (He leaves, she follows him into the empty hallway) Reader: “Do I know you, Doctor Reid?” Spencer: “No.” Reader: “Are you sure?” Spencer: “I could ask you the same thing.” Reader: “Drop your pants and I’ll tell you exactly how sure I am.” Luke: (walks in) “Sorry. Am I... interrupting something?”

That's all for now, folks!

Thanks for reading. If you feel so inclined, let me know what you thought about any of the above here!

[metalbvcky]

2020 Fic Year in Review

I’m waiting for my Sims game to finish updating, so I thought I’d do this since I saw @kalee60‘s post about it :) 

Total number of completed stories: 

14 (15 if you include a short 1am-oneshot I orphaned haha) 

Total number of words: 

111,575 (and that’s not including stuff I scrapped/haven’t posted omg) 

Fandoms written in:

Marvel/Stucky but also Supernatural (on my main) just a tad because haven’t posted anything yet but I’m including it anyway haha 

Looking back, did you write more fic than you thought you would this year, less, or about what you’d expected?

Oh, absolutely! Heck, I never thought I’d write anything when it comes to fic because I’ve always kept quiet about my writing. (And I’ve been doing it since I was like 12 and it all started with my Club Penguin phase pffft)  But my interest turned into an obsession rather quickly and I honestly can say, without a doubt, that @buckybees​ is the whole reason why I even got the courage to post my first fic! I’m so glad I did because writing fic has given me a new perspective on fandom in general. And it makes me appreciate fandom/fanon even more. 

What’s your own favourite story of the year?

Pretty much all of them but Bucky's Got a Bun in the Oven? holds a special place in my heart. Not only was it my first published fic, but I never thought I’d write something like that. I go back and re-read it frequently since it’s so short. 

No lie: Sometimes I look back at that fic and it makes me wanna write a series of short oneshots with Pregnant!Bucky. Like, just Domestic Steve/Bucky living in the modern day with a baby on the way. Bucky shopping for baby clothes, decorating the nursery, having snack parties with Natasha, taking care of the baby after the birth, those sort of things. Oh, I think I just talked myself into another idea. 😂 

Did you take any writing risks this year?

Ehh, not really? However, I did write a series of crack oneshots lol. Some are crazier than others. 

Do you have any fanfic or profic goals for the new year?

Apple Pie Crumble Cake - This is my #1 goal. It’s a Bakery!AU Kid Fic that I’ve been planning for months. It’s gonna be multi-chaptered, and at least 50k. I have 10 chapters outlined and there are still more I need to get to, but probably won’t until I start writing the darn thing lol. 

I wanna start posting some smut oneshots on my secondary pseud, I have some done but I don’t think those will ever see the light of day since they’re just for practice- most of them were thought of on the spot without any outlining. I’d like to keep anything (totally) nsfw separate from my default pseud, just to be organized lol. And yes, this asexual read/writes smut. 😏 (my personal rule is as long as it doesn’t involve me, I’m good!) 

I thought long and hard on this in the past week or so, and originally I thought I’d join the Shrunkyclunks ‘21 Bang but the more I thought about it, the less I wanted to do it. It’d be my first bang, and while I have an idea, it’s just a little intimating to me lol. Soo, I’ll pass this year. Instead, I’m gonna look out for a Bingo whenever a new one starts up, since I’ll prob be more comfortable with that :) 

(Does this short lil Beach!AU count even though it’ll be done in 2020 but will be posted next year?? lolol) 

On my main, I’m writing a Supernatural + Spongebob crossover fic. Sort of like the episode, Scoobynatural. And I have a feeling that it’s gonna be turned into a series because I’m latched onto this idea- that started as a joke. 

Most popular story of the year.

Are we talking hits or kudos?? Hits, Buchanan Medical. Kudos, The Case of Bucky’s Wisdom Teeth. Eitherway, I’m so happy those two made it as my most popular stories. Buchanan Med is close to me on a personal level, and Bucky’s wisdom teeth fic is something I’ve always wanted to read but never existed :3 

Story of mine most under-appreciated by the universe, in my opinion:

I think @kalee60​ explained it perfectly when it comes to fics ‘flopping’ (I see this a lot on r/fanfiction) People will see it, they might like it, or won’t like it. And that’s okay! Not everything is for everyone, neither are tropes/genres. I know myself, I’m not a fan of A/B/O and the same could go for someone else who likes my personal favorite genre, hurt/comfort. And sometimes it’s kinda like an age old Tumblr saying: A post that took time and effort can get little as 10 notes but a spur of the moment post can get thousands. (Okay so, I made that up on the spot pffft) 

Most fun story to write.

Buchanan Medical, but Mercury In Retrograde was super fun since I added the whole ‘space puns/pickup lines’ aspect to it. They basically share the same AU, but they’re totally different and that’s why I love them.  

Most unintentionally telling story:

The entire Buchanan Med series. I wanted to explore Steve having asthma in a modern universe (because I too suffer from it- my whole life) and I really, truly, bled a little bit of my personal experience with the disease into the series. Having Bucky there, taking care of/treating Steve? It felt really comforting to me. And hey, write those self comfort fics!!! 

Biggest disappointment.

I hoped to finish the last oneshot of Buchanan Med this year but sadly, my motivation for it just tanked. I write hurt/comfort best when I’m in the right mood for it, and I’m still waiting for it to come back to me, whenever that may be XD. 

Biggest surprise.

The amount of reception I’ve gotten overall, the people I’ve met, the friends I’ve made, and new fandom experiences I’ve gotten to experience myself! Seriously, never in a million years did I think I’ve ever call myself a fanfic writer. But here I am, and I couldn’t be happier <3

~~~

My Sims game finished updating on the fifth question but I kept on rambling because I love taking about my writing!!! It made me realize that wow, I really did do a lot this year when it comes to fanon- especially since it was my first time delving into the world that is fanfiction writing <3 I have many hobbies, video games being the longest one, but I think I’ve spent more time writing/reading than playing games this year. My teenager-self WOULD NEVER believe that! But as the legendary Reggie Fils-Aimesays once said, "If it’s not fun, why bother?” 

I’m gonna tag you guys if you wanna do this! @buckybees​ @justice-for-plums​ @hbalbat​ @its-tortle​ @captainjanegay​ @greyhavensking​ @snarky-drabbles​ @joharvele​ @musette22​ @mysterious-marvel​ 

[whereflowersbloom]

Reborn

Jason remembered there were four season but he felt as if he was living in a fifth one, suspended in space and stuck in a time warp. He was cold. He had never been so freaking cold before in his life. His blood felt frozen, his heart beat slowly, barely pumping it through his numb body. With bones broken and muscles torn he crawled with the strength he left in his spirit for a way out. Feeling the cold tendrils of death creeping up on him, lingering at the edge of his consciousness, as though they were waiting for him to reach out a hand. His eyelids were getting heavy and growing weary, so damn fatigued. His breath came in labored gasps as he lay there. Where? Where exactly was him now? Impenetrable dense darkness surrounded him and there were no scents or sounds to give him a clue. He tried to focus perceive any sounds, intensity, patterns, frequency of any vibration, anything to explain the reason behind his limited sense of perception. He used his hands to try to gain a sense of his environment, but all they met was air. Even beneath him nothing existed but air, which made no sense.

He tried to reach back in his memory to understand what was happening to him, but his mind wash abnormally blank. Where fond memories should be, instead there were holes, gaps, vacant spots that are only filled with dried up dirt and burnt ashes, the soil for what used to be there. Now he could heard them. Distant voices calling his name. Familiar voices he recognized. His name. What was it again? Ja...Jason.. Jason Todd. Discerning grief, frustration, mysery and rage. But he can’t find his own voice. He was left with motionless lungs, frigid fingers and toes. There was a huge figure cradling him, rocking his body back and forth in his arms with desperation. A man he knew. What was his name? Bru...Bruce. Bruce stroked his raven locks, asking him with a surprisingly soft broken voice to calm down because he was going to take him to a hospital. Jason could detect the feeling on the man’s face. He hated the feeling of powerlessness, impotence, as if no matter how much he pushed himself, he knew he couldn't get in time. Bruce’s calloused hands were covered in Jason’s blood, and anguish like he’d never known washed over him. Tears were mixing with the blood flooding in his lap, as his eyes clouded over. Jason with fallen limp body, chest stopped rising, lungs not pushing for oxygen any longer. Bruce held his son tightly mumbling comforting words, a promise about taking him home.

Jason thought grief was a tricky thing, in his years with Bruce he never showed him such raw emotion. He probably only allowed himself to be expressed in his most private and vulnerable moments. He had given his whole life to upholding justice and keeping the civilians safe, because that had always been what he believed in. But as a parent...His back and heart had never felt heavier.

There’s too many feelings to be sorted now, too many feelings Jason didn't want to sort out. He was too confused to think clearly. There were blurry flashes of green hair, yellowish-brown eyes, a damn infuriating Cheshire grin, and that fucking crowbar already raised to strike him. One time. Another. Harder. Faster. Swearing under his breath, aching, pressure, throbbing pain on the side of his head. The pain was moderate at first, intensifying until it pierced throughly his whole body to the very core. The familiar maniac laughter he could hear echoing in his head. He couldn’t get away from the wicked laugher of that stupid clown. The weight of the world is hammering against my chest, his mind plagued with thousand of memories and thoughts. What was real? The people he trusted him shockingly stabbed him in the back. He was walking around in circles clueless, helpless and restless, like a fool wandering into a storm. A castaway. Now he was unjustly sentenced to a living hell. Fucking limbo.

He clenched his fists, knuckles white and shaking with untamed fury, endless wrath. Jason was furious. At the fact that the same piece of shit who should have been put down for what he did to him had been given the opportunity to traumatize innocent people, maybe children. What the hell Bruce? He let that insane murderer free while his body hardened, lifeless and the door was slammed shut on his tomb. Vengeance. He wanted vengeance with his very own hands. He would enjoy punching the clown so hard he wouldn't be able to breath, old lungs struggling for air. Pinning him down to the floor where he can’t move, where he felt powerless, trembling with fear. Kicking him time after time until pale skin turned blue and dark. Take his sweet time torturing him and then he would kill him slowly and painfully. He would enjoy that.

His funeral. Bruce could have done a million things as he was left alone for a couple of minutes, bidding his goodbye to his son. He could have sobbed for his lost son who died in his arms, he could have screamed at the universe for taking his family away again. He could have yelled at himself for failing. He could have prayed that at least Jason would find peace now. But he just stood there, in front of the casket, stone faced and unmoving. Nothing. Perhaps then Jason would have forgiven him. Maybe he didn’t want to forgive him he thought to himself. No.

It was a rainy and gloomy day at the Wayne cemetery. Indeed a fitting weather considering his he lived his life. Not many people attend the service, not surprised as he didn’t have many friends. None of their acquaintances had ever bothered to get to know the rough around the edges of Jason Todd. Barbara sheds tears with rough mournful cries. Dick knelt down. Dick’s pained expression and the fresh wave of tears cascading down his sculpted face is one of his last memories.

They whisper a muffled goodbye as they place lilies at his feet. Fungal mold begins to grow surrounding his remains, vines replace nerves and veins. His chest hurts but there wasn’t a beating heart where it should be. Numbness.

He died young and tragically some would say. Pathetic was the word he would use. He died young, weak, naive and credulous. They’d thought him weak, harmless prey, another piece of rubbish in an alley called ‘Crime.’ He would show them what this piece of trash could accomplish. He was reborn with such mighty and brute strength. He would become a great unstoppable soldier.

Jason’s head was a sea of emotions that he had to try hard not sink under. He was given a chance, newborn opportunity. And he couldn’t lie at the bottom of the sea now, he was the captain and he would never go down with the fucking ship, not with the waves, and not even with the lifeboat that was struck.

He continue punching, his knuckles having gone past the point of feeling to just a sense of motion now. Ripping through the air, developed muscles strained and trembling. Things were under my fists, cracking, breaking and now the voices whisper in his ear encourage him to go on. He couldn’t stop. It had started off with a scream, like he was finally letting out something that had been simmering inside and it was escaping out through his throat, down to arms and exploding from my fists.

Release. Anger. Wrath. Revenge. Payback.

Survive.

Jason Peter Tood had died pathetically.

But Red Hood was a survivor and victor.

He was ready to go back.

A super quick and short oneshot prompt because A Death in the family. I love Jason 😭😭😭😭❤️❤️❤��� @sofiii @amaati @chromium7sky @niahti

[softbiker]

Steve Rogers Oneshot

Warnings: mentions of character death, cursing, haunting, spooky stuff, angst

Word count: 7.1k

Summary: Steve Rogers is a man out of time. He knows more ghosts than people. One of his ghosts has come home. 

A/N: This is waaaay longer than I normally write, but I just wanted to do it justice. This is my submission for @barnesrogersvstheworld​ AYAOTD writing challenge! Sort of an Endgame AU, also features an appearance from a rather obscure Marvel comics character. The prompt I had was “Don’t look behind you.” - it’s highlighted in bold. This is also really sad. I’m sorry for that...but please let me know what you think! 

His tastes have changed.

Most people wouldn’t have known that - wouldn’t have seen anything abnormal about a 100+ year old man reaching for minute oatmeal and Folgers at the grocery store. There had been a few articles, before, in health or men’s interest magazines, about the ‘Super Soldier Diet’. They were much more colorful than this - full of sugary cereals and peanut butter and seasonal frappuccinos. The articles always ended with reminders that a normal human should reach for more nutritious foods.

Steve pulls his oats - plain, made with water, no sweetener - from the microwave, and stirs just a little. Not thick enough; he replaces the bowl and adds another 30 seconds to the microwave timer. On the counter, the Mr. Coffee drips away, slowly filling the pot.

He eats quietly, perched on a stool at the island; he never uses the table anymore. A few news highlights appear in the notifications on his phone, and he scrolls through them, eyes scanning as he spoons his tasteless breakfast into his mouth.

New York Nears Completion of Relocation Program he reads, letting his thumb swipe down to read more of the article.

“Almost three years after the globally devastating event in which Earth’s population was reduced by half, the people of New York City are finally seeing a light at the end of the tunnel in their relocation efforts for residents whose homes were damaged or destroyed in the aftermath of the Decimation. The project, one of the last proposals by Tony Stark before his retirement from the Department of Damage Control, is expected to end-”

He closes his phone.

**********

There are three support group meetings that he attends each week - two as a leader, one as a participant.

“You should come, Nat.” He’s a broken record, but he just keeps spinning. Like the planet, like the solar system. If he falls out of orbit- “Just once. You might be surprised…”

“Some of us still have jobs, Steve.” She raises a still perfect eyebrow, now back to its natural red. He finds a little comfort in that.

“They’re not mutually exclusive.”

“Maybe not. But don’t wait up for me.”

The Tuesday meeting is the hardest, though it was the first one he ever lead. It caters to a specific group, a group that looks to him because...well, because he lost what they lost. He wonders if they know, if they realize, that it’s all his fault.

“Jackie was...she was my rock, you know?” The new woman, Elsie, sniffs as she continues. “We went through a lot together, and I remember thinking all that time ‘God, what would I do without her?’ And now I know the answer - spiral and-and become an alcoholic.”

“You can’t blame yourself for all of that.” Steve shakes his head. “There was so much more going on - the world was practically in flames, and you were trying to cope. What matters is that you’re here now, trying to get better.”

Elsie is nodding, accepting a tissue from the man sitting next to her. She gives a shaky little smile and settles back in her chair, done sharing for now. Steve glances around the circle, waiting for someone else to speak up.

It was such an odd reversal for him, especially at first. When he first wandered into one of Sam’s support group meetings, he had felt out of place and alone - and that feeling was exactly why he belonged in a place like that. Sam could see it. It was one of his gifts; he was better at reading people than anyone Steve knew, except maybe Natasha. Even when Bucky came along, and Sam played the tough act, he could see all of that fear and pain, and knew exactly what to do with it. Over the years they were in hiding, Sam would secretly reach out to Bucky - during their visits in Wakanda, Steve found the two of them sitting at the lake behind Bucky’s hut and talking, low and intense.

“You know, sometimes-” It’s a man on the opposite side of the circle, dark-skinned with a greying beard. “I don’t know about all of you, but sometimes...I wonder if they can see us. If they know what we’re doing. Does that make any sense?”

He gets a few nods and murmurs from the group, so he goes on.

“I mean, after my old man died, my mom used to say he was watching over me.” He swallows thickly. “She was on her own, tucking a 9-year-old boy in at night, and telling me that Daddy could see me from heaven, that he was looking out for me. And I just think....well, I wanna know - where are they? Are they in heaven? Is that even possible?”

He turns to Steve, several of the people in the circle do. It’s always like this - whenever the sessions turn to specific questions or musings about what happened, they look to him. Because shouldn’t he know? He had lead them, he failed them, he was there when their lives went up in dust.

“Well, I don’t think I’m qualified to offer religious advice,” he starts with a rueful smile. “And, from everything I’ve seen, I don’t think we even know what’s possible. All I know is, we can’t live in the past...even if they see us, wherever they are, we have to accept that they’re really...gone.” He crossed his arms. “They’re not here with us anymore.”

The group has gone quiet, reflective. Most are staring at their hands rather than him, each lost in their own haze of memory and ashes. He wishes he could offer them more, but he knows grief like this, and Steve Rogers is honest to a fault - he won’t lie, even for the sake of comfort.

“We’re on our own now.”

**********

He goes for runs alone now.

No Bucky to keep up with him, pushing the pace and trying to trip him. No Sam to complain about his hamstrings and insist on coffee afterwards. Not even music on those weird tiny headphones she had gotten him. Just his sneakers and pavement and the sound of his own breath. Sometimes he hated that - how he never got winded anymore, never sounded hurt and tired, the way he would wheeze through his asthma attacks with Bucky holding him up and reminding him how to pull in air. The machine of his body was too efficient for that.

In his apartment, he takes short showers, cold and fast, like in the Army. The soap is blue, with a generic smell that is clean and reminds him of nothing. He turns and tilts his head back under the spray, allowing a few more seconds to rinse and-

He nearly jumps when a burst of heat runs down his back.

The water has suddenly turned hot, a steamy, balmy, sultry hot that turns his soft Irish skin pink. He had never had this problem with his showers before - never run out of cold water certainly. Maybe something was wrong with the…

When he turned around, he saw the hot water knob turning slowly clockwise, centimeter by centimeter, untouched.

He shut off the water and got out.

**********

“I’m gonna have to call a plumber sometime.”

“Oh yeah? I thought all you old guys were handymen.”

“Ha ha.” He watches Nat scoop some spaghetti into bowls for the two of them. “I was the artist type. Not really handy around the house.”

“Guess that means Barnes was wearing the pants?” She’s smirking, and he feels like he’s seeing the real Nat again, so he goes along with the joke.

“How could he not? Who’s gonna let a 90-pound asthmatic wear the pants?”

“So what’s wrong with your plumbing?” Nat peeks over the fridge door as she grabs some parmesan and a bottle of wine. Steve, under strict orders not to help, is watching from the kitchen table.

“It’s my shower, something happened the other day. The water turned hot while I was in the middle of showering, even though I had it turned cold.”

“Hm. Weird.”

Steve comes out here at least once a month, or as often as he can. He sees the way that Natasha would rather slip into her work, lose herself in the business of holding the pieces of the world together, let go of her own life. The pantry, open and visible from where he’s sitting, is stocked with the bare minimum dry goods and canned foods; the fridge isn’t much better. He’s seen her on missions, seen her at home in her mismatched socks; he knows that she’d barely feed herself, surviving on a sandwich a day, if the thought or the hunger struck her. So he comes and threatens to cook and she saves the compound from being burned down by making a meal for the two of them.

It’s a far cry from normal. From pizza nights with Sam and Wanda at the compound, the two of them taking turns introducing Steve to movies he missed - all the “classics” he hadn’t heard of. They were missing their monthly family dinners, too; Tony always made room in his schedule to attend, dragging Pepper along from the office, and Steve sat at the head of their long dining table watching this strange, funny little family he had share and eat and laugh with each other.

Now he sits across from Natasha at a table otherwise occupied by her scattered files and reports, a pair of pointe shoes laying in the chair next to her. He didn’t come often enough to expect her to clean for him. She had enough on her plate.

“You know, I was talking to Carol last week,” Nat says, twirling her pasta around her fork. “And she said she might make it to visit us next month. It’ll depend on that trafficking case she was working in the Pegasus galaxy.” She shrugs a little.

“That’s good.” Steve chews, sips his wine. “It would be nice to see her.”

They don’t talk much throughout their meal; there isn’t much new to share. Through the floor-to-ceiling windows along the wall of the compound, Steve watches the early sunset fall over the grounds, shadows reaching and reaching, as quiet as it was empty.

**********

Sometimes, sometimes, when he’s feeling more stupid than usual, he opens the drawer.

That drawer. The lower one in his bedside table. With her box inside.

The box isn’t really anything special - just plain black, with her name written on the top. He got it at the suggestion of the team’s - his - therapist, Dr. Rajan. She recommended that putting some things away, rather than leaving them around his room, might help him move on, realize that his life had changed. He thought about putting the compass in the box, too, but it felt wrong. She wouldn’t want that in there. Somehow it mostly ends up in his pocket, and he stares at it from time to time, at the picture inside, thinking about words like should have and what if.

He’s staring at the drawer now, remembering the night before, when he thought about getting the box after he shuffled in from support group. When he was halfway through his flask of that Asgardian shit he kept under the bed. Steve had shuffled out of his clothes and fallen asleep in his underwear instead, flask still clutched in his hand, just sober enough to turn down the bad idea.

So why was the drawer open?

**********

“Have you thought about getting back out there? Dating again?”

His laugh is humorless.

“Doc, come on. I think we both know I’m not the type.”

“All we know is that you’re a serial monogamist.” She smiles. “And a very eligible one.”

“Sure, but…” Steve pauses, rubbing his palms against his jeans. He looks around the office, trying to find something to focus on. “I feel lucky...really lucky, to have had the kind of love I got. I mean, I never really expected to have it, not after I woke up in this century. And then, with her, it just sort of happened so naturally...well, lightning never strikes twice, as the saying goes.”

“It seems like, for you at least, it did,” Dr. Rajan raises her brows. “Two great loves in one lifetime? More rare than lightning.”

He runs a hand through his hair, still long on the top.

“I-I guess so. But it won’t strike a third time.”

“Because you’re not going to give it a chance?”

“You know me too well, doc.” His smile is apologetic, kind.

**********

At night, he sweats through dreams of her. His legs tangle in sheets where they used to twist and curl around her. The pillows smell only of him, his blue generic soap, but in his mind, locked somewhere far and sweet, her scent fills the air. Fills him up until he tastes it.

He tastes her, too, in dreams; under him, around him, pressed close in that intimate haze only lovers can know. Her lips chase his and smile into his mouth, following the curve of his jaw as he tucks his own face into her neck. It’s in his veins now, her smell and taste, ripe and alive on his tongue and oh, he’s swimming in it. She sighs, blissful, and sinks her teeth into that spot at the base of his throat-

Bedsheets fly off him as he bolts upright in bed, chest heaving, the sweat rolling in little beads down his temple. The smell is fading, drifting away from the room even as he tries to hold on to it; she was here, right here, and it had all felt so real, having her in his arms again. But now he’s wading back to consciousness, unwillingly, the tide of his dream pulling away from the shore and tugging at his ankles, carrying her with it. He wants to drift out to sea on it, drown in it, never resurface in this half-empty world.

Always so dramatic, Rogers.

Something nags at the corner of his eye, and he turns to the bedside table. In the pre-dawn light of the window, he can see the second drawer open. Her box is pulled forward to the front of the drawer with its lid propped up, asking, begging to be seen. He feels himself almost chasing the tide, diving back in as he leans over the side of his bed…

He slams the drawer shut.

Steve blows a harsh breath past his lips and swings his legs out of bed, tugging the sheet from between his thighs. His bare feet brush the cold wood and he arches up on his toes, tight muscles protesting the stretch. Palms scrub at his heavy eyes, brushing away what he can of his sleep. He has no plans to go back to bed, not now. He’ll just get an early start on his run. Maybe put in a few extra miles. He runs a hand through his hair, fingernails scratching absently at his scalp.

Stumbling into the bathroom, he turns the cold water tap in the sink and splashes his face a few times, feeling the two-day stubble on his cheeks. The shave can wait until after his run, he thinks. He stands straighter and reaches for the towel next to the sink, patting his face dry - he leaves his eyes closed, buried in the cotton for a moment before meeting his own gaze in the mirror. Immediately his eyes are drawn down to - what the hell is that?

At the base of his neck, just where it meets his shoulder, is a small red mark. A love bite. He presses it with a finger and hisses at the tenderness of the skin. Unbidden, the wave of his dream crashes over him, rolling him under, and he can almost feel her lips again…

The hair on the back of his neck and arms is standing straight up, his body gone cold all over. He thinks, maybe, he should go back to bed after all. Somewhere deep in the back of his mind, he hears his own name. What if...what if she’s waiting for me? He almost turns around, almost looks at the rumpled bed, almost expects her to be in it, rolling over in that tangled mess and smiling past the curve of her shoulder…

He yanks on a hoodie and running pants, toeing into his sneakers without socks, and leaves the apartment unlocked. Hardly knowing it, he clocks 50 miles, the sun high overhead before he can force his legs to stop, even his enhanced muscles starting to twitch. His sweat is still cold.

**********

There’s a memorial. Lots of them, actually.

All the major cities have at least one, and New York has built theirs, unsurprisingly, in Memorial Park. It’s huge, a sprawling garden of sculpture installations covered overhead by a soft white canopy. A retaining wall, approximately 3 feet high, lines the garden beds and holds in the dark rubber mulch, its outer white brick etched with the names of the lost. Even Steve could admit that it was beautiful, and so different from the solemn obelisks and walls of names he had expected when the memorial was announced.

The city had commissioned a team of artists, led by the famous Chihuly, to create blown glass sculptures using...well, as much of the collected ashes of decimated people as they could. “Cremation glass” it was called. The concept was morbid; though symbolically beautiful, most hadn’t imagined a stunning art gallery, more suited to the Met than this mass grave of the unknown.

Steve was there when it was dedicated, as was Tony. He was asked to say a few words, and he did; he has no idea, now, what he read from those cards handed to him by the administrative team. A black suit stretched around his shoulders, no shield in sight, his tie more like a noose as he watched the somber faces of the attendees. Loved ones and friends of people he had failed. A living memorial. Tony stood next to him, year-old wedding band still shining as he crossed his hands in front of him and declined to speak.

There are a few locations he has memorized around the park, the Lost Garden, as it has been named. A blooming blue hydrangea bush, sculpted white flowers and leaves pressed between the green, with the name “James B. Barnes” carved a few inches below. Across from it, red and yellow globes hang from a white tree, the round shadows falling over “Samuel Wilson”. Two rows over, an exploding tower of tangled green and blue spirals, surrounded by bushes, guards the name “Wanda Maximoff”.

Hers is carved neatly - block letters, plain font - into the white brick near the entrance of the memorial. Above it, a cherry blossom tree blooms sweetly, the pink flowers joined by purple and pink glass stems sprouting up from the ground around the trunk of the tree. Soft green bushes hem in the sculpture, as though keeping the glass from growing too far. It’s whimsical, charming. Elegant.

He fucking hates it.

He hates how this is meant to honor her - the vibrancy of her memory, the slyness of her smile, the passion of her love, the ferocity of her anger. She was more solid and real and hard than the delicate stems of glass that stood for her now. It wasn’t even her ashes in there anyway - he knows that for certain. He knows because he felt her drift through his hands under a hot Wakandan sun. He had watched the dust float and settle and knew that all the parts of her he kissed and held were under his feet and in his mouth and Jesus God it made him want to scream.

He doesn’t know whose ashes are here, in the glass above her name. But he wants to smash it. Put a fist through it. Hear that tinkling glass shatter on the ground the way she did. It would only be right.

As he stands there, staring at the falling cherry blossoms scattered around the sculpture, he feels the air go cold around him. His whole body breaks out in goosebumps and the little hairs on the back of his neck start prickling. He shudders, looking around, but no one else is nearby. It’s a late spring day, warm and getting warmer, with the sun beaming through scattered clouds. He shouldn’t be shivering.

The wind picks up, light breeze growing stronger, and the long stalks of glass begin to vibrate. A low hum builds as the wind carves its way between the sculptures, a plaintive, lonely noise that he feels low in his belly.

Steve…

He whips his head around, looking up and down the row, but he’s alone - no one else is here. That whisper, his name, it was so close…

Steeeeve

He’s turning a full circle, looking for a microphone or a drone or something tiny like Scott’s suit.

“Hello? Who’s there?”

Stevie …

A cloud of cherry blossoms billows into his face, making him jump back. The chill sinks through his skin, slips down his spine bone by bone with each breath. His heart is hammering hard and fast. That name, that voice - it’s been three years. They’re gone. It’s not possible. He closes his eyes as he feels a presence close beside him, right at his shoulder, and he knows, he knows if he turns his head she’ll be-

“Captain Rogers? You alright?”

He jumps again, startled, and looks over to see a policeman watching him, eyes wary and concerned. The officer was young, like all of them now - mass recruiting in public services has been going on for a couple of years, with things nearly falling into chaos after...everything. The military, the police, trying to swell their numbers enough with what was left of the population to keep the world in check. Not like the Avengers were doing a very good job.

“Captain?” The young officer asks again, inching a half-step towards Steve. His hand, unconsciously, twitches towards his radio.

“I’m fine - really,” Steve shakes his head and offers a smile. “Everything’s fine. Just...remembering someone.”

The kid nods; Steve wonders if he himself ever looked so young in a uniform.

“I understand.” He’s tugging at his uniform jacket. “My, uh, parents - they’re over there.” He points at a patch of lilies, not far from Wanda. “And my brother.”

“I’m so sorry.”

That’s all he ever says these days. I’m sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Everyone pretends that it’s enough.

He walks the kid - the officer - back to his patrol car, shakes his hand; the boy has to crane his head back to look up at him, and he stares up at Steve like there’s still hope in this world. Steve doesn’t have the heart to tell him.

**********

The chill follows him into the summer. Even with the sun high and New York sweltering with heat, Steve shivers in his apartment, cold biting at him until he aches with it. He cranks the heat on his thermostat, yet still finds a harsh breeze blowing through his apartment somehow. He allows the shower faucet to continue turning hot - blistering hot, the way she liked it - now that this chill won’t let him go.

Despite that, he finds himself staying in more than ever. He was never exactly a social butterfly - Bucky could testify to that. It tumbles him into memory: Bucky, slicked-back hair and spit-shined shoes, a rose tucked into the lapel of his jacket; Bucky, chin thrown back and ready to laugh at the world, an arm around Steve’s shoulders as he drags them on yet another double date. “Ya gotta get out more, Rogers,” he’d say, cigarette tucked behind his ear. “I’m a piss-poor excuse for real company.”

The only people he sees now are Dr. Rajan and the members of his support groups. Occasionally Nat, but she’s been traveling more lately, following the crumbs of Clint’s trail. Their emails are few and far between, containing only the bare bones.

It’s a Friday night - or maybe it’s Saturday, Sunday. He sits on the edge of his bed, turning the little thing over in his hands. The compass stays in his pocket most days. He flips it open, stares at the portrait inside, the one he’s had memorized since ‘43. He could draw it with his eyes closed, probably.

Suddenly, the compass snaps shut, unbidden, in his hand. It shakes, the mechanisms inside rattling violently, and grows hot to the touch. He yelps and it falls from his palm, dropping to the floor between his feet. The skin of his hands is red, scalded, and he flexes his fingers, watching the trinket warily. It lies on the floor, perfectly still.

Behind him, he hears the second drawer of his dresser roll open.

**********

More dreams come to him, sweet ones, and he sinks into them without protest. He falls into his bed at night happily, searching for the smell of her somewhere behind his eyes. She’s always there, always smiling for him, reaching and pulling him further down into their own special hiding place. She’s there in her uniform, in her sweatpants, in his t-shirt, in nothing at all.

“C’mere, Stevie baby,” she nuzzles his nose, and he’s close to tears but he doesn’t know why. Then she’s tugging at his own clothes and he’s not thinking about it at all.

The ache in his throat returns when he wakes empty-handed and alone. Beneath his jaw, a line of hickeys leads down his neck and across his shoulder. His breath puffs in small clouds as he pants and tries not to cry.

**********

“You don’t look so good, Steve.” Nat’s tone is worried, her voice tight. She watches him stare at the wall with a cup of coffee in his massive hands. “Have you been sleeping?”

He nearly chuckles at that.

“A little too much, I think.” He goes quiet then, mouth turning back down, carved sadness in that larger-than-life face.

“I think...God, Nat,” Steve slumps forward, elbows on his knees. “I think I’m losing my mind.”

“Join the club.” She sits down next to him, sliding a soft hand across his back. Her voice is just above a whisper. “We’re all still struggling. You know that. You’ve seen it. Sometimes it feels...it feels like...you’re just holding on by a thread.”

He’s shaking his head before she finishes.

“Have you - do you dream about them? Ever?”

“Of course.”

“No, I mean…” Steve rubs his eyes. “I mean...do the dreams feel...when you wake up, does it feel like it really happened.”

Nat frowns.

“I’m not following you, Steve.”

He sighs, heavy and resigned.

“No, I know. I’m not making any sense.” He leans into her embrace a little. He likes the contact of it. Hasn’t had that in a long time.

“Listen, Nat. I know S.H.I.E.L.D. used to keep a lot of records of...enhanced individuals…”

“Sure. Everyone that pinged on their radar,” she nods. “So, pretty much anyone with abilities.”

“I need to have a look at them.”

“Anything in particular you’re looking for?”

“Yes. But if I told you, you’d have me committed.”

“Yeah, that really makes me want to help you.” She leans her head against his shoulder, fingers squeezing his bicep. Her voice still soft and low. “Tell me what you need.”

**********

They meet in a public place. It’s not hard now, with the world half-dead, to go about their business as though they are two men with nothing to hide. A bright, hot July sun beats on their heads, and Steve adjusts his sunglasses as a bead of sweat slides down his neck. On the street, traffic grumbles along, bikers and street vendors and tourists darting between. The hard metal chair of the café presses into the soft underside of his knees, leaving little dents in his skin.

“It is nice to finally meet you, Captain,” the man across from him smiles. The white symbol on his forehead stands out starkly against his dark skin. “I understand we move in different circles.”

They’re sitting outside a small restaurant in Port-au-Prince, only coffee on the table in front of them. The heat is sweltering, oppressive, different from the New York heat that Steve knows. Part of him wishes they were near the beach, with the wind coming off the ocean. She would have begged him to go to the beach.

“That we do,” Steve raises his eyebrows. “Even with everything that’s happened, aliens, Thanos...things like magic are still...hard to believe.”

“Hm.” Jericho Drumm leans back in his chair, steeples his fingers. “I think you are here because...it’s not so hard anymore, yes?”

He grits his teeth. There are fingernail scratches on his back and they chafe against the sweaty cotton of his shirt.

“You’re a smart man, Jericho,” he sighs. “And I think you might be the only person who can help me.”

Jericho Drumm nods.

“Yes, I think so, too.”

According to the S.H.I.E.L.D. files Steve spent all his free time digging through, there were only a few enhanced individuals with supernatural abilities. And now half of them were gone. Some, like the sorcerer Tony told him about, had managed to stay under the radar for thousands of years. With precious little to go on besides an alias, Steve commandeered a quinjet and packed a bag for Haiti.

“What you are asking me...communication with the spirits…” Jericho shakes his head. “It’s not what you think. Or what it looks like in the movies.”

“Then tell me,” Steve presses, leaning his elbows on the table. His coffee is half full. He can see his reflection in the oily surface of it.

“I’ve served as a houngan for many years; I’ve served as Sorcerer Supreme. In fact, with Stephen Strange gone, they may ask me to serve again. But inviting spirits into this world is a dangerous practice - not white magic.”

“But it can be done?”

Jericho narrows his eyes. The white streak in his hair is bright in the noonday sun.

“When Thanos tore a rift in this world, in this universe,” he speaks slowly, choosing his words with careful consideration. “He tore through the other side as well. The things he’s done affect us all, the living and the dead. It is possible, the things you describe, are caused by this. A ripple effect, if you will. A door not closed.”

“A ripple.”

“Yes. However,” Drumm raises a finger, leaning forward to speak in a low voice. “I will say something else. I may have years of experience with the supernatural, but I studied psychology as well. My time in America was mostly in a university, studying the human mind, how it works…” He pauses for a moment, giving Steve a look that is on the suspicious side of apologetic. “Our minds are powerful. When a person wishes for things, even terrible things, the mind can give them what they seek.”

Steve closes his eyes, jaw tightening.

“Believe me, I know how I sound,” he sighs. “I know. My therapist says the same thing. But if anyone’s going to believe me, it’s you. This is not in my mind.” His fingers are shaking and he curls them into fists. “This is real. She’s...it’s real. It’s her.” Haunting me.

Dr. Drumm nods, sympathetic and quiet. He watches this captain, this legend, the age showing in his young man’s body. With the sunglasses propped up on his head, the dark circles beneath Steve’s puffy eyes are on full display. His shoulders curl in, posture defensive, small. His knee bounces under the table, and his jaw ticks every so often, teeth clicking in his mouth. There is a bruise visible at the base of his neck where the collar of his shirt has shifted to one side.

“Very well, Captain. I will do my best to help you.”

**********

He sits cross-legged on the tile floor of the bathroom, surveying the items in front of him. According to Dr. Drumm, he would need only a few candles, items that belonged to her, a circle of salt to protect himself. Incense, too, burning in the corner, the smell of sage and smoke floating around him. The lights are off, only the flickering candles illuminating the room.

He feels a little silly, setting all of this up. When he was a boy, vampires and werewolves and ghosts were all just stories - hiding under the covers with Bucky and scaring themselves silly. No real monsters hid under his bed. All of that came later.

Under his shirt, the amulet rests against his chest, growing warm with his own body heat.

“If you must do this alone as you insist,” Jericho had said, shaking his head. “Then wear this. Bene gris-gris. It is the best I can do to protect you from dark magic.” His steel grip closed around Steve’s arm. “And this may be a dark thing, Captain. Her coming back to you. It doesn’t feel like white magic.”

Steve had only nodded, his hand closing around the amulet. He was beyond light and dark now, beyond counting costs. He had chased ghosts for so long after he woke up. It’s only right for him to chase her, too.

Here, in the bathroom, toes pressed to cold tile, he digs two more items out of his pockets. Dr. Drumm said to bring something that would ground him to himself, something special. He turns the compass over in his hand, flicks it open, and sets it on the edge of the circle. From the other pocket, he fishes a black velvet box. His fingers twitch, feeling the soft fabric; he doesn’t want to open it. He hasn’t opened it, since he took the ring off their nightstand in Wakanda and put it back in the box. She hadn’t worn it - didn’t like wearing it on missions or in fights. Afraid of scratching it. She had wiggled it off her finger, smiling at him, leaving a kiss on his bearded jaw-

He leaves the box closed for now, and places it in the center next to the other tokens - a photo of her, a necklace with a small silver pendant she used to wear whenever they went on dinner dates, a little jar of seashells from a beach vacation she took in college. All the little things he had packed away in that nightstand drawer. Memories he had put into storage.

Safe inside his little circle, he reaches in his shirt and grabs the amulet tight in his fist. He closes his eyes. Breathes deep the incense and soft curling smoke from his candles.

He says her name softly in the dark.

In his mind, he shifts his awareness down the plane of his body, piece by piece. He learned meditation techniques during his therapy sessions; now he has another use for them. He says her name again.

“I want to speak to you.” He says, voice low, a lover’s intimacy. “I call on your spirit.”

Her name. Her name. Her name.

He’s not sure how long he stays there, curled on the floor, but the chant of her name lulls him into a trance. His eyes are half-open, the candles wavering in front of him, casting long shadows on the walls. He licks his lips, calls her name again.

One by one, the candles snuff out.

He goes quiet. Smoke curls up to his nose, but he can’t see - the only light is coming from underneath the bathroom door. That familiar chill trickles down the back of his neck, raising the hairs. His flesh is covered in goosebumps; his muscles tense up, coiled tight, ready to spring. His tongue lies dry and thick against his teeth.

“Hello?”

Steve?

He sighs her name. “Sweetheart, is that you?”

A cold breeze passes over his face, rumpling his shirt.

“Are you there?”

The compass flies up and smashes against the wall.

Steve…

Her voice is harsher. Sadder.

“Baby, please,” he’s begging now. He can feel how close she is, she’s in the room, he knows it like he knows his own body. Like he knew hers.

For the first 25 years of his life, he lived with asthma - any little trigger could set him aching for air, his lungs betraying their purpose and seizing up on him, his whole body trembling in relief when he managed to pull in oxygen. He feels that ache for her now - acute and sharp as it was the day he first lost her, a physical pain and its cure so close, so close, if she would only let him - let him breathe-

Oh, Steve.

“Honey, I’m here, I’m right here.” He stands in his little circle, spinning around, though he still sees nothing in the darkened bathroom. He feels the tip of his nose go numb in the frigid air, his body shivering slightly.

I’m here, too, Stevie.

“Where, baby? Where are you?” He’s desperate, so desperate. He’s going to cry if she doesn’t-

I’m here. Look.

He feels, thinks he feels, cold fingers brush down his cheek, and he turns. The mirror above the sink is frosted over, he can see it now that his eyes are adjusting to the pale dark, and he stumbles towards it. Pulls a sleeve down over his hand and wipes at the fog, the remains of his body heat melting it away in streaks.

“Oh...oh god.” He grips the edges of the sink.

Hi, baby.

There she is. There she is. Standing right behind him, over his shoulder. His eyes sweep over her face in the mirror, scanning the details he never forgot, not for a moment. Her lips quirk a sad little smile, tilting her head.

You don’t look so good, Rogers.

His laugh comes out as a sob, and he nods. Fingers curl tighter over the edge of the sink because it’s all that’s holding him up right now. In the reflection, he sees her take a step closer to him - feels her presence, her smell is right behind him and if he can just turn and take her in his arms then everything will be alright again…

NO DON’T!

The force of it is loud in his mind, sends him reeling forward against the sink. Her lips are trembling in a soft frown.

Don’t look behind you.

It sounds so soft. So sad. And he knows, knows in the marrow of his bones, that this is it, this is all they can have. This halfway, this inbetween, this ships in the night barely seen as they pass - it’s all he gets. All he has left.

He presses his hand to the cold glass of the mirror, tips of his fingers stroking the image of her face. His chin feels weak, jaw slack, his hip leaning against the sink. She’s crying, too, tears shining against her soft cheeks.

“Where are you? Do you know what’s happening?” He manages to ask. It’s the question, the question everyone would ask of their ghosts. She shakes her head a little.

I...I don’t really know. But I know I’m not with you.

He nods, tries to swallow around the thick lump in his throat.

Wherever I am, I’m not with you. And I miss you, Steve.

“I miss you - God, honey, I miss you so bad-” his breath hitches, and he wonders in the back of his mind if he’s going to have another asthma attack, his first in 70 years. “I-I need you, sweetheart. Jesus Christ, I miss you. I don’t know what I’m doing without you and-and-”

He’s hyperventilating, breaths stuttering in his chest. The hand that’s pressed to the mirror has gone numb with cold but he won’t move it, not if it’s the closest he comes to touching her face. He watches her come closer to him, behind him - her smell fills the room, no smoke, no incense, only her. His teeth are clattering in his mouth even as he tries to grit them together, lungs stuttering and he’s so so cold but he only half feels it; the muscles in his back jump and twitch as he feels her, really feels her, right behind him. And then-

I know, baby. I know.

Her forehead presses between his shaking shoulder blades. Icy hands creep up beneath his shirt, pressing right over his heart. Her arms lock around his ribs and squeeze, squeeze, squeeze - as if she could brand herself there. In the glass, Steve’s lips are blue and his sobbing breaths come out as little frozen clouds. The mirror is starting to frost over again; the goosebumps on his body won’t lie down. His eyes slip closed, tears chilling in their tracks on his cheeks, and he presses his hand over hers at his heart.

I’m right here.

The ache in his chest sharpens, then dulls, slow and familiar. Something he always carries. His breaths are slowing now, the trembling in his muscles calms a little. She traces a frozen circle over his heart.

I’m right here.

He sighs her name before he blacks out.

**********

Natasha watches Steve in his kitchen, her green eyes sharp and narrow. She hasn’t been to his apartment in a long time, but three days of no answered phone calls, texts, or emails and the Black Widow will investigate. He seems...fine. As fine as Steve has been since it all happened, when he went clean-shaven and cropped his hair, like girls do after a break-up. He smiles over his shoulder while stirring the pot in front of him.

“It’s the one thing my ma made sure I knew how to make for myself,” he says. “She knew I’d need this soup every time I got sick.”

“That’s sweet,” she says. And it is, though she’s never heard him mention it before.

They eat on barstools at the island, sharing little bits of conversation, small talk, mission updates. Sound bites of friendship. Still no explanation for his radio silence.

“Can I use your bathroom?” She sighs as he scoots back his stool, scooping up their bowls to take to the sink.

“Of course - you don’t have to ask, Nat.”

She slips down the hall. Doesn’t go to the bathroom - turns right instead.

On the floor of his bedroom, she sees the candles. The circle. The pictures. A little jar of seashells on his nightstand. While they were eating, she had seen something new - a little chain around his neck, the shape of something underneath, suspiciously like a ring.

Natasha leaves without saying a word, maybe hugs him a little tighter at the door.

She won’t begrudge him this.

[waterboysokka]

What You Look Like; ATLA oneshot

Summary: It was easier when Zuko never had to explain why he had his scar. It was easier whenever everyone took to the common theme to never ask. It's harder to avoid a blind girl who doesn't even know it's there. (Three weeks post-canon)

Word count: 3,882

Note: Hii! Welcome to the first ATLA fic related thing I’ve posted on here so far :) This is a one shot that basically is deep 5am talks with Zuko and Toph. I dunno, I love their friendship and I felt like it had the potential to be so deep and intellectual. Soooo, that’s what this is! It’s basically Toph asking about Zuko’s scar (I saw a fic rec list of this prompt somewhere but now I can’t find it?? I would link it if I could!) Anyways, I listened to disney lullaby songs while writing this bc it just?? fit? Idk, it’s soft and kinda sad... But besides all of that, I hope you guys like it!! It’ll also be up on my AO3, which is linked in my bio!

Toph groaned as she rolled over once more in the bed that she could tell was just all-too big for her. She hadn’t asked for a separate room, she actually didn’t mind sleeping with the rest of the group, but Zuko's maids had insisted on each of them getting their own room since there were so many to go around.

It had been only three weeks since the defeat of Ozai and Zuko’s overtaken the role of Fire Lord. She continued to forget that he wasn’t just a prince anymore, he now had responsibilities- bigger than any of them had realized.

So when he had asked them to stay with him until things got in order, none of them were opposed. Maybe it was because they weren't quite ready to adjust to their new life in totality yet, or maybe they were fearful about losing their friend to the immense amount of stress that he had just been put under. 

Whichever it was, it didn’t matter, because they were still here as a team for Zuko.

But all of that didn’t change that the bed that she was put in was incredibly uncomfy for it to be owned by royalty. She felt like she was drowning in sheets and slowly getting devoured by the mattress itself.

Frustrated, Toph groaned and pushed herself out of bed. She needed tea. After being here for a couple of weeks, she was finally able to understand the layout of the palace without being attached to Aang or Sokka’s arm, as she used to be. She knew it was thirty-two steps down the hall to the right, then down the stairs, and one hundred and twelve steps to the kitchen- not counting the columns she’d have to dodge.

She hummed softly as she counted in her head the steps confidently, knowing she didn’t miscalculate considering that this was the fifth time she’d done this walk to get tea since they’d arrived.

“Toph?”

The voice startled her- not because she couldn’t sense someone there, but because she didn’t expect anyone to be awake. All the other times she had done this she had been the only one.

“Zuko?” She asked and raised an eyebrow. “Wouldn’t expect you to be awake.” “I could say the same thing to you,” Zuko replied.

“Well, I’m just down here to get some tea and then I’m leaving,” Toph explained nonchalantly and walked around the bar, feeling her way down the long, cool counter to the tea kettle (which Iroh conveniently pulled back out at night once the maids left for her after she told him about her occurrences). As she got closer to the tea kettle, the counter got increasingly hotter until she jerked her hand back in shock.

“Did you make tea?” She asked Zuko, who she could tell was now sitting at the long table.

“Mhm,” He murmured, and she heard him take a long sip of it.

Toph rolled her eyes, already knowing that Zuko’s tea was nothing in comparison to Iroh’s. Luckily, she had learned from Iroh about the best way to make tea for herself and it sufficed. Zuko’s wouldn’t- it was basically hot leaf water.

“Are you dumping it out?” Zuko asked, perplexed. His voice wasn’t raspy, which was a hint to Toph that he had been awake much longer than she had realized. Had he even gone to sleep?

“I’m not drinking hot leaf water,” Toph answered with a shrug and began the stove up again to make a much better mixture.

It was silent for a while after that while she worked. She could tell that Zuko was still there, just sitting and silently sipping his tea. He was stressed, he was anxious. She deduced that this probably had something to do with the reason why he wasn’t asleep, and she couldn’t blame him.

Even after the hard time she had given Zuko, she still knew that being the Fire Lord wasn’t a breeze even though he liked to surface-level it to everyone. No one believed what he said, not even for a minute. Which was another running contender for their prolonged stay.

The tea kettle began to hiss, and she immediately took it off of the stove, cautious not to wake anyone else up, and poured herself a cup. She got ready to leave when something in the back of her mind tugged at her to sit with Zuko, just for a minute.

So, that’s what she did.

Toph approached the table and felt around the chair sides and pulled it out for herself. She placed the drink on the table in front of her and plopped down into the seat, adjusting herself to where her tea was placed promptly in front of her for convenient drinking.

“I feel weird asking this, but how ya been holding up?” Toph said as she took a sip of her tea, she took a long sip of it, even though it had definitely burnt her tongue because she hadn’t waited long enough for it to cool.

“Good,” Zuko replied. It was a short reply, one that she definitely expected from him.

Silence hit again. She wasn’t very good at opening up to people on her own, let alone having other people do it with her. But she felt like she understood Zuko in a better way than some of the others, and she couldn’t depict why- she hadn’t ever asked about his past or even what his plans were for the future… or even what he looked like.

“I bet it’s hard,” Toph said, “getting thrown into running an entire Nation.”

“Yeah,” Zuko replied with a sigh. “But it’s what I expected. It’s what I was born to do.”

Another hit of silence. Toph blew on her tea to cool it off and heard Zuko do the same.

“How, though?” Toph asked bluntly. It was her only move she knew to continue the conversation. She was curious.

Zuko hadn’t spilled much of his life to anyone except for Aang, and while they were all incredibly close now, it had never seemed to come up about his past- just like it hadn’t ever come up about her’s or Suki’s. They were all too busy fighting and defeating Ozai that they had forgotten that they didn’t know much about each other.

Zuko sighed and she watched his outline run his hand through his hair (she presumed he had hair, unlike Aang, who she’d been notified to be bald).

“What do you mean how? Azula’s younger than me,” Zuko explained. Toph could tell he was bordering defensiveness. She pressed on anyways.

“You wouldn’t have wanted to fight your dad or your sister if there wasn’t a reason,” Toph said. “It just doesn’t add up like that.”

Zuko’s heart rate quickened. He wasn’t speaking. Toph knew this all too well- the attempt to create a lie that threw off the actual answer. He should really have known by now that that wasn’t going to work.

“Don’t lie. I can tell you’re trying to,” Toph bluntly pointed out. She took another sip of her tea and then placed it down in front of her again.

“I was banished. I had to find the Avatar to restore what I thought was my honor. I did that for three years before deciding it wasn’t right and my destiny was to join Aang,” Zuko explained in an overly-simplified, overly-glazed way. Toph rolled her eyes. “I already know that part. I’m talking about before that. I wanna know why you were banished.”

“Why? I thought you were going back to sleep.”

As much as he had worked on letting people in, this unexpected press of information of his past- from Toph of all people- was close to stepping over the line. He didn’t have time for this. He had things to do, orders to get through with, staff and guards and armies to command. He had his job to do once dawn broke.

Toph didn’t answer and took another long sip of her tea.

“I said something I shouldn’t have in a meeting.”

“And?”

“There is no ‘and’. I said something I shouldn’t have, it upset him, and he banished me.”

“Just like that?” Toph raised an eyebrow. This conversation was going nowhere fast, and she knew it. She could bail out now and go and sleep until the sun rose in a few hours before she started asking the big question.

“Mhm.”

She rolled the idea around in her head in the silence and opted against it. This question had nagged at her for a long time, and although it seemed to be like pulling eye teeth, it needed to be asked. She wasn’t sure if she could even go back to sleep anyways.

“What does Aang look like?” She asked. She started simple- one she knew that he could answer in a breeze. She felt his heart rate drop down to a more normal rate and his body relaxed.

“Hmm,” Zuko thought. He didn’t say anything for a minute, as if to gather the best explanation of his friend as possible. As much as it probably shouldn’t have been, it was a lot of pressure to describe one of their closest comrades to her. He hadn’t ever really thought about what Aang looked like- he just knew. He could just see him and know that, well… he was Aang.

“Well, ah… He’s short. Yeah, just a little bit taller than you, actually. He’s bald, obvious- well, maybe not obviously… sorry,” Zuko stuttered. “He has really big blue eyes. Like huge. There’s always like an adventure behind them, too. You can just tell that he’s always looking ahead- looking forward to something. He has his Airbender tattoos that are light blue and they’re, ah… they’re arrows. They start at his forehead and travel round his arms and wrists and stuff… it’s cool. He’s super thin, but I don’t know if you can see that- well, not see, but I didn’t know if that was important, er… maybe not.

He smiles really big, too. His whole face is centered around his smile. Katara told me that when he grew his hair out, it was brown, but I’ve never seen it… he wears lots of oranges and yellows, too. It’s pretty standard Air-Nomad colors.

I can’t really think of anything else… I think… I think that may be all.” Zuko breathed a sigh of relief as he tapered off what seemed to be his one long run-on sentence. He was known to do that when he was uncomfortable, or even under pressure. Hell, sometimes tired, too. These were all things he was feeling. He glanced up at a Toph who was looking up- not necessarily across the table to him. Just… up. A small smile was planted on her lips.

“I hope that helped some,” Zuko said and took another sip of his tea. He didn’t even realize how dry his mouth had gotten. It shouldn’t have been a difficult task describing Aang, but it was deemed to hold a lot more responsibility than just some random bystander looking for the Avatar. He knew he had to do it justice for Toph.

“Okay, now Katara,” Toph said as she flicked her gaze back down to reality. She took her teacup in her hands and cradled it to give her hands warmth. Zuko’s eyes widened for a second at the realization that she was going to go through the entire group. He cleared his throat and thought for a couple minutes, just like he had with Aang. “Well, she’s taller than you and Aang. But, she’s not really tall… just- average. She’s just average height. She has long, ah… dark brown hair? Sorry, I don’t know hair colors that well. Anyways, she also has big eyes, but not in the same way as Aang’s. You can kinda just… read her whole past in her eyes if you wanted to. You can see the pain and the fear that she’s… yeah. Uh, and they’re blue- like, deep, icy water blue. Her lips are naturally downturned- I think, but… you know how Katara is. She also has these two… what’d Sokka call them? These two… hair loopies that come down and… I dunno… frame her face? Her and Sokka have kinda ah… like a golden complexion? Not like gold- please, don’t think they’re gold- but it’s a deep tanned shade… I guess. I don’t know, it’s hard to say without sounding weird or… The colors that her and Sokka wear are the ones of the Water Tribe, so lots of blues and whites and stuff… they complement their eye colors and skin tone, too… Katara kinda has this disposition where she could hug you or fight you at the same time if that helps… I don’t know.”

He ran his fingers through the divots of the wood carved out in the table from wear-and-tear over time. They were smooth curves now, no rigid edges or stray wood to prick his fingers like they used to when he was a kid. It was his distraction, ultimately, from his stumble of a description of his friends, and mostly, Toph’s reaction.

There was no talk again for a minute, only the faint sound of fire igniting briefly for Zuko to heat up both of their teas. He wasn’t sure of the time anymore, but they had been sitting long enough for their drinks to no longer carry any warmth, which signified a significant length of time.

“Sokka?” Toph asked. He watched as her gaze, just as before, leveled back out with where her head was positioned.

“He… well, he looks like Katara, except… if Katara was a guy. They are siblings so it makes sense. He’s, ah… how do I say this- he’s not built. He’s super… think like a piece of wood. But I don’t think that’s a bad thing I think it kinda fits him, I guess. Oh, he’s taller than Katara and shorter than me… I wish I had a better visual to give you besides just the in-between height of Katara and I. His eyes are the same type of blue as Katara’s but instead of pain, they hold curiosity and… thrill, maybe? It doesn’t mean there isn’t any hurt in his eyes- in Aang’s either- but in Katara’s, it’s kind of hard to navigate around her hurt… yeah. Believe it or not, but Sokka’s hair is kinda long… I guess he used to shave the sides or something, but now it’s all grown out and stuff so he just pulls it back. He has this smug attitude that’s kinda just… all over his face? He always looks like he’s ready to do something or maybe even that he’s hiding something… But there’s also seriousness that hides in his face, too. He wears the same kind of blues and whites like Katara does, again, standard for the Water Tribe… ”

He waited hesitantly for her reply. It was a lot harder than he thought to describe these people who he’d become so close with. He just hoped he hadn’t messed up any of her visions of them. He wasn’t sure what her plan was for all of these descriptions, or why she'd even asked him.

He knew the others could do it better- make it more poetic and imaginary. But he wasn’t that person. He was the Fire Lord- and even before he was the Fire Lord, he was a silenced Prince. Creativity didn’t flow through him like it did the others. He wished it did, sometimes. Maybe then he’d be able to give Toph illusive descriptions of the people that mattered most to her.

“I hope those were okay,” He said, and rubbed his eyes with the bottom of his palms and pressed in hard so he could see dots. He was getting tired, but he couldn’t sleep even if he was. He hadn’t been able to. He had gotten comfortable with tiredness. He knew it wouldn’t last forever, but adjusting to the new role was harder than he thought.

“They were,” Toph reassured him quietly. It was sincere- he had no doubt. Toph, who was usually loud and stubborn and a tough fighter, was more reserved at night than Zuko would have thought. Maybe it was because she was tired, or because she had seen her friends in full bloom for the first time. Whichever it was, he couldn’t tell.

They sat there in silence again, moments of tea being sipped were exchanged, but mostly just quiet. It was solemn, and peaceful. Nothing was in a rush to be said, no battles to fight or rebuild plans to do- it was nice.

“Zuko,” Toph sighed. “What do you look like?”

Zuko’s breath hitched in his throat as his heart rate sped up again. He didn’t know where to begin or what to say, and surely he was stupid for believing that she wasn’t going to just let him slide. He couldn't just ignore the brutality that slashed half his face. He couldn’t sit with the guilt that she didn’t know it was there because he didn’t tell her.

His eyes widened slowly as he came to a sudden realization of what Toph was doing. It was comical, truthfully. He almost laughed. This was her way of getting the story. He wasn’t sure how she knew that his banishment had something to do with his cosmetic looks, but he gave her props for it nonetheless.

He took a deep breath and locked his gaze on the wood table as an anchor.

“I’m tall. Tallest, actually. I have really pale skin, but that’s just a Fire Nation thing… I don’t consider myself to be… built? I’m not exactly like Sokka but I'm not crazy buff either if that helps. My eyes aren’t as big or… full of adventure as the others have. I don’t know what all you can see, but I know they don’t have that. They’re brown, but almost everyone in the Fire Nation has brown eyes. It’s nothing special. I have shaggy hair- well, it’s black, and I have to pull it back for Fire Lord stuff, so I guess shaggy is the best way to describe it. I like it, I guess. I don’t feel confined with it. I wear a lot of reds and golds and blacks, which are Fire Nation colors. Right now I’m just wearing a… red shirt and black pants? Black slippers? I don’t know if that part helps or not… I also always look dissatisfied. At least, that’s what Sokka tells me. I don’t really know what he means by that…”

Zuko paused for a minute. Toph was staring across to him now as if she could recognize where he was. Her eyebrows were stitched together as if attempting to put his puzzle pieces together.

“And then there’s my… my scar.”

Deep breath.

“It covers my entire left eye… It doesn’t even open fully anymore. It bleeds out around to my ear and stops just before my jawline. It doesn’t hurt anymore, in case you’re wondering. It’s healed. It’s been since I was banished, so… three years. But, it’s there.

There was more to that story, by the way. My banishment. I didn’t just say something and was kicked out. I didn’t back down from an Agni Kai to… well, to prove to m- … Ozai, that I was stronger than he thought I was. That I deserved to be in the meeting. I didn’t think it’d be my own father I’d fight. I pleaded for some kind of relief and reprieve. All I got was a burn so deep that my skin almost melted off…”

There was silence.

No tea sips, no shifting in chairs. There wasn’t even really the sound of breathing anymore. It was still air.

This story had the ability to do that.

“Can I feel it?”

Zuko didn’t question it, or back away. He nodded, even though he knew she couldn’t see it.

He pushed himself out of the chair and walked around the table. He slowly crouched down until he was level with Toph, his hand steadying himself on the corner of the table, his fingers circling the divots so smoothly carved once more.

He took Toph’s hand, almost twice the size more compact of his own, and gingerly placed it on his cheekbone. He swallowed and shut his eyes, allowing her small, calloused hand to run slowly over it.

Toph wasn’t a gentle person by nature. But the minute that her hand touched his scar she felt his pain a thousand times over- intense and deep and wretched. She moved her hand slowly across his face, the ridges telling each their own thread of agony and grievance. Her hand roamed, unsure of where or if it ever was going to stop. If the story of his pain was ever going to cease. She blinked back tears as she finally reached his jawline. Untouched and human. Boyish and youthful. Peace.

She took her hand off of his face and cleared her throat, unsure of what else to do. She had gotten herself to this point- to this level. Now what?

She felt his presence leave due to the shift in cold air that shuffled in and heard him sit back down across from her, respectively.

Again, there was silence.

Not the same kind of silence where it was stilted, or even tense. It was an understood silence. An ‘I know your pain’ silence. It was gentle and welcomed and fluid.

So, they sat there for a minute. Neither unsure of how else to go on or continue their conversation. They sipped their tea in offbeat patterns. Long, slow, drawls of tea.

As the sun began to rise, Zuko realized that his job was beginning. He wasn’t a banished prince anymore, or a kid with an uncontrollable rage and fear of his father. Although that kid still existed in him, it wasn’t center stage. Fire Lord Zuko was. And as the dawn rose, so did he.

He gathered the two pieces of china from the table, both now completely empty of their tea. He put them on the counter for a maid to clean later.

Zuko glanced back at Toph- still sitting at the table, only this time, she was looking at the sunrise from the fully-bloomed windows in front of her. He knew she wasn’t looking at the sunrise, but he hoped that maybe she was picturing her friends in the same ways he had said- hopefully, even better. There was a small smile on her face, too. One of understanding.

He knew then that although she wanted to know his past, there was a part of her that wanted to be able to see her friends, too. He’d never know why she had asked him rather than asking a more creative mind, or even a closer friend, but he knew he would always be appreciative of being the one who did it for her.

Zuko’s lips upturned slightly and he turned to leave, carefully in an attempt to not disturb Toph’s somewhat mediation.

“Hey, Zuko?” He looked back over his shoulder to the girl, her face and gaze unmoving from the now more evident daybreak.

“Thank you.”

[headcans-oneshots-and-stuff]

Independence

Requested by a super-duper-amazing anon

can i get a oneshot in which Batsis is very independent and lives on her own (basically like Jason) but the batfamily wants her back to the Manor and they invite her for dinner and stuff?? A lil angst and lots of fluff?

I hope you like it. It kind of escalated, making it way longer than I intended and it‘s more Angst than Fluff...Way more Angst than fluff. Hope you‘re not disappointed

Warnings: It’s Angst. Much, much Angst. Not as bad as you’d thing tho. And it ends with fluff. And some swearing.

Word count: 3096

Summary: Basically what the request says

The silence filling the empty flat was deafening, surrounding you like water in the deep sea. It was always the same thing. You came home and opened the door to the un-furnished hall, walked through an almost empty kitchen to take a soda (one of the only things in your refrigerator) and ended up in your bedroom.

There were only three things in said bedroom, a bed, a suitcase full for your suit and weapons and a carton with normal clothes. It had been like this for all your past accommodation. You never bothered to really furnish or decorate, since you knew it would only last for a few months tops. None of the places you stayed at ever felt like home. They never did.

The only place you ever called home and whichever really felt like it, was the house you grew up. Wayne Manor.

But things have changed, you have changed.

With a sigh, you sunk down onto the bed peeled your mask off of your face and flung it into the corner of your room. You took your pillow from beside you, placed it behind you and laid back so that only your legs were dangling down from the side of your bed.

It was then that you realized the stinging pain in your side and remembered the bullet that hit you earlier. A groan left you when you realized that you were most likely bleeding all over your bed and would need to change the sheets later. Your own well-being was not really your first priority, in fact, it wasn't even in your top ten. Not anymore.

The sound of your window creaking made you sit up just enough to aim your 'Emergency'-gun at the door that leads to your room.

"I'm so not in the mood for fighting, so I'd really advice you to just turn around and leave," you shouted, even though it was more sarcastic than anything.

"It's me Ukthi," your youngest brother said, appearing in the doorway. You were happy to see him, but you knew better than to show it. You just fell back onto the pillow, careful laying your hand onto the part of your suit that was ruined and bloody in order for him nor to see it and grunted: "What do you want Damian?"

He looked unsure for a second, surely not having expected such a hard tone after not having seen you for five months straight. He was used to you basically suffocating him with hugs after being gone for the weekend, but now...now you reacted cold. And the look on his face broke your heart a little bit, but you knew that it was the right thing to do. Or at least you hoped so.

"Did Bruce sent you? I told him I'd contact him if there was something important," you said, rolling your eyes. Damian's eyes widened a bit when you called your shared father by his first name, something you've never done before, but he tried to not let you see how unsure he was. But you did. He was transparent for you.

"No. Father didn't send me... But he mentioned that he thought about inviting you to dinner this Friday and...uhm," usually you would have teased him for not wanting to outright say that he was worried for you, but this time you just ignored it. You huffed, but finally stood up, your back turned to your brother.

"I don't think Friday works for me, I have some business to attend to," it was a straight-out lie, but Damian didn't know that.

By now the blood loss from the bullet wound made you slightly dizzy and you were glad when you heard Damian's footsteps. I seemed like it made you dizzier then you thought, then contrary to what you thought, one of his hands landed on your arm, meaning his footsteps were coming in your direction.

"Please. I-I don't know what exactly happened that caused you to move out and," he made a short pause and you felt the need to lay your hand on his, but fought against the urge, "-and I understand that you don't tell me, but please," your breath hitched a bit, he rarely said that voice in such an honest fashion, "It's not the same without you in the manor. Father is getting even more distant than usual, without another girl in the manor Cass is feeling alone, Tim tries to help her, but it's not the same, it's not like the way you managed to do, the only times she is acting the way she...uhm...should, is when Steph or one of the other girls is visiting," he withdrew his hand and you felt a cold shudder run over your heart, something you were used to by now, but it hurts none the less.

"Tim and I manage, we're both used to the way it was before you came to us before you became part of our lives, but that doesn't mean it makes it easier. Jason doesn't come as often as he used to, even Dick is rarely seen anymore, we all depended on you, you know," his voice was timid and made you feel ashamed of yourself, "I know it's not fair, I have no entitlement to demand so, but please, come back to us." The tears were pricking in your eyes, but you held them back like you always did.

"Damian," you started, turning your head to look at him, the look on his face reminded you so much of how you felt when your mother left you, when you begged her to come back to you, and it reminded you of how painful it was for you when she didn't. At first, you wanted to deny him, to stay strong, but all those memories stopped you from doing so, but you couldn't give in fully either, "I can't say I'll come back, I- I don't know if I even can," you began, but before you gave Damian time to comprehend what you said, you continued: "But I think I can make some time for Dinner on Friday. I'll come around at 6 p.m. You think that would work?"

For the first time in months, you allowed yourself to truly smile, it was only for a second, but it was a real smile.

"I think that should work," Damian said with a small smile as well, "see you on Friday?"

"See you on Friday," you confirmed.

As soon as he was gone through the window, you collapsed onto the floor. That Bullet really took a toll on you, it angered you, but you knew you couldn't patrol until the wound was closed enough to not let you bleed out as soon as you started fighting.

"Fuck," you groaned but managed to get up on your feet again. With support from the wall, you made your way into the almost jokingly tiny bathroom and ripped the drawer over the sink open. You searched through it with drastic movements that made half the stuff (empty painkiller bottles mostly) fall out and land beside you on the floor. As soon as you found the gauze bandage, some cotton and disinfectant, you shut the drawer again and sunk down onto the toilet.

After you overcame the burden that was taking the suit off without getting into even more pain, you cleaned the wound as good as you could and took the gauze. You bit your lip and carefully stuffed it into the hole that led to the bullet still impaled into your intestines.

“That‘ll have to do,“ you mumbled and sank down from the toilet to the cold floor which embraced you like a frosty hug. At this point, it was impossible for you to keep your eyes open and they immediately shut, sending you into the dark world that was lead by your nightmares.

The Days leading to Friday were painfully slow, especially since you couldn‘t go on patrol like you‘d like to and the would in your stomach would just not stay shut for once, making every move at least very, very uncomfortable. But not moving wasn‘t a change either. You still needed to get the money to pay the rent.

Bruce had told you oft enough that he could pay, but that would only send you deeper into the mindset you already had, the mindset that had established itself ever since you‘ve begun to distance yourself from your family. So you refused and instead started to work as one of Gotham's private investigators. At first, you thought it would just be a way to pay the bills but by now you actually enjoyed it. It helped you forget and it helped you relax, something you really needed.

Your latest client has just left your office (the first room to the right in your Appartement and all in all the only room that had more then five peace’s of furniture and looked at least somewhat comfy), when you looked at the clock over the door and saw that it was time for you to get ready for dinner.

You didn‘t really have much choice clothes-wise, since most of them were bloody from the ever opening wound and had to be washed, so you settled for a simply form-fitting black T-shirt, high-waisted jeans that would sit above your wound in an attempt to keep the (new) gauze in it ‘in it‘, brown boots and a Trenchcoat to help you against the chilling cold. Nothing too special, but also not to unfitting. You should be good to go.

You‘ve already drawn your phone out of your pocket with the intent to call yourself a taxi since you only had a bike which you couldn‘t ride in your condition when you opened the buildings front door to see one of the black limousines of your father drive up. A warm feeling settled in your stomach when you saw the man who partly raised you step out of the front door.

“Hello Mistress Y/N,“ Alfred greeted you, a warm smile settled on his lips. “It has been quite long since I‘ve last seen you.“

“I‘m sorry, Alfie. It has been...“ you searched for the correct word, “busy.“ After you hugged him, you looked around in confusion, “What are you doing here anyway?“

“Oh, Master Bruce sent me to drive you, since he knows you don‘t have a car yourself.“

“But I have a bike,“ you said, knowing that Alfred had no idea of your current handicap.

“Yes, indeed, but it‘s a cold night and-“ before he could finish you interrupted him. “And he hopes that I stay for a while,“ the tone in your voice was bitter, but the bitterness wasn't really aimed at your father.

Alfred made no further comment to your interruption but opened your door for you to enter the car.

The drive to the Manor was silent, but pleasantly so. No pressure. Not yet.

When the car was parked in the garage, Alfred opened the door for you yet again and led you into the main building where you already heard different voices coming from the dining room. You had expected your father, Damian, Cass and, if he was not to tired or busy, maybe even Tim, but now you identified the voices of not just those four, but also your two older brothers Jason and Dick.

“They are all here?“ you asked Alfred quietly, not really trusting your voice.

“Yes, Miss Stephanie, Miss Harper, Miss Barbara and Mister Duke wanted to be here as well, but your father said something about baby-steps and someone having to patrol.“

You nodded and took a deep breath, getting ready for the hell that would be unleashed upon you in only seconds. Alfred opened the dining-room door and said: “Mistress Y/N has arrived, I‘ll give you some time to catch up, dinner will be served in about fifteen minutes.“ You walked into the room and all eyes immediately landed on you. You cleared your throat before giving an awkwardly “Hey“.

In order they all greeted you. The first one was Damian, who tried to keep his ‘tough‘ persona up and so didn‘t hug you, slightly smiling at you, quietly thanking you for keeping your promise, followed by Jason who gave you a half-hug-half-handshake combination, causing you to have to bite the inside of your mouth in pain. You wouldn‘t let them see your pain...you couldn‘t.

Tim and Dick both gave you bear hugs that luckily, due to their height, didn‘t hurt you any further. The whole time you had a tight, just somewhat off, smile on your lips, that only got real when your eyes met Cass‘.

God, you‘ve missed her. Of course, you missed all off your family members, but Cassandra and you always had a special bond, you could communicate without words. One look was enough. She was the only one who knew and understand why you had to leave. She tried to talk you out of it but accepted her defeat once she saw how determined you‘ve been. You weren‘t so sure anymore...

Cass took your hands into hers and smiled at you, looking right through your eyes into your soul. “Hey Pumpkin,“ you greeted your little sister and let one of her hands go to caress the top of her head. The only one left was Bruce, your father, who looked at you with a pained smile. He missed you so much. He didn‘t know why you left the manor. He tried to pinpoint the moment when you decided to leave, but he couldn‘t find anything different.

You had just healed after some time having to rest after a mission gone slightly wrong when you told him that you had to take some time for yourself, get some distance between you and them. You didn‘t tell him why or when (or if) you‘d come back. It threw him back to the time Dick moved out and somewhat also to the time Jason died, how he never really became the old one again. He had hoped so badly that that wouldn‘t happen to you.

“Hello Dad,“ you said, the tight smile back on your lips. He didn‘t respond, he just took you into his arms and gave you the tightest hug he could without knowingly hurting you. The problem was that he still did. Normally it wouldn‘t be a problem, but with the wound in your stomach, you felt your skin pierce and felt the area on your stomach get wet. Besides that, a pain roared through your whole body that made you scream in agony. Bruce let you go in shock, maybe thinking that he was the one who hurt you, which caused you to fall to your knees, your arms tightly pressed against you under-upper body.

You were immediately surrounded by the others. They all asked what could be wrong and held your shoulders in support, which caused you to momentarily forget the pain.

“Stop!“ you shouted, making them all back off slightly, “Please. Just stop.“

The first one to recover from the shook was Damian, who then kneeled down in front of you and laid one hand on your shoulder. “But Ukthi...You‘re hurt. We just want to help you,“ he said, earning a few agreeing noises from the others. The mix of pain and emotions made tears well up in your eyes and finally spill over, causing your next words to be interrupted and followed by sobs.

“Bu-but you-you shouldn‘t,“ a few harsh breaths rippled through your body, “You‘re always helping-helping me b-back up and I fall down none the- none the less. I can‘t do anything alone, I-I can‘t even manage the easiest missions. I‘m s-such a burden to all of you,“ even if you would be able to see anything through your blurry-tear-stained-eyes, you still couldn‘t, since your eyes where directed at the floor in shame, “How can you not be annoyed by me?“ you quietly mumbled, the tears now streaming down silently.

That made all the pieces fall into place for Bruce. You thought the failed mission shortly before you left was your fault. On the inside he cursed himself out for not noticing further, he had just overseen that you were hurting.

He gently pushed Damian away from you and sat down beside you, pulling you into his lap.

“I‘m so sorry Y/N. I should‘ve realized what was going on. Please believe me when I tell you, you‘re one of the best things that ever happened to me, I wouldn‘t know what I‘d do without you, without any of you. You have never been, nor will you ever be a burden to me. What happened wasn‘t your fault. None of it. Mistakes happen and that‘s all it was: a mistake.“ His works soothed you, but it was hard to let everything, you made yourself believe in the last few months, go. But you could try. For their sake. The way they looked at you and the way they worried for you showed you, that your siblings and your father did not think of you the way you thought of yourself. For them, you were a treasure and they hoped they could show you why they thought so. Engulfed in the biggest group hug ever, you felt at home, you felt safe again. You even Managed to forget the pain. Cass didn‘t. She came to your other side, remembering how you held your tummy. She gently moved your arms away from your body and carefully touched your T-shirt. The red liquid that drenched her fingers made her gasp softly.

“Y/N, what happened?“ she asked, directing the attention of the other males in the room to her and her hands.

“It‘s nothing,“ you started, but immediately noticed the looks in their eyes, “I got shot on my last patrol. I have been at home for the past week, but it‘s just not healing.“

“Was that the reason you didn‘t look at me when I came over?“ he asked and you nodded silently.

“I believe we‘ll postpone dinner until later and now go and get Misstress Y/N fixed up.“ It was Alfred who said that and broke the mega-group hug apart.

Maybe it was time to go back home. Go back home and stay. Because nothing is as good as home and family.

[kiruuuuu]

Doc/Lion oneshot in which, instead of going for each other’s throat, they reach a little lower (and Lion gets more than he bargained for). (Rating E, explicit, ~3k words) - written for @big-r6s-fan! 💗 I will never tire of thanking you for commissioning me and allowing me to write this because it was super fun :) Find my commission info here!

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“Flament, a word.”

The tone of voice effortlessly conveys the blatant lie in Doc’s statement – what he really means to say is: The only thing keeping me from writing you a novel is lack of time. Lion narrowly avoids rolling his eyes in annoyance and obliges, throws Montagne a meaningful look which implies they’ll finish their rudely interrupted conversation later and trails after his other teammate. If he could’ve gotten away with it, he’d be dragging his feet just because the murderous glare Doc would send him never fails to be hilarious. He’s reasonably certain he knows what this is about and boy, is he not in the mood for this.

And of course Doc marches him into his office instead of just any room which would’ve served the same purpose. With his inflated ego, it’s no surprise he enjoys chewing people out in a place where he’s comfortable; Lion can’t even begin counting the occasions on which he ended up on this side of the mahogany desk, having his person and skills and ethics challenged by a man too naive to be in this line of work and who genuinely thought he could pull off that frankly ridiculous moustache for a few years of his life. Lion is almost sad it’s gone by now, it befitted Doc’s general absurdity.

It doesn’t matter. He’s secretly begun rebelling against the man’s authority in a satisfying way and now he puffs himself up whenever he comes face to face with the very desk which used to make his temper flare purely by existing, but by now has lost its sting. It was customary for him to view the solid piece of furniture as an unsurmountable obstacle rendering any proper communication between them impossible, yet his view has shifted. It’s converted. It’s working for him now.

“I will not stand for you endangering more innocent lives.” Doc’s French is clipped, efficient, yet more than a tool to be used – he has the same intonation and melody to his words as Lion’s parents, as Sophie, as former teachers.

“Then stop endangering your own”, he replies and wants nothing more than to stuff something down Doc’s throat to make him stop talking. His holier-than-thou attitude has always rubbed Lion the wrong way, created sparks of fury, hostility, and something… entirely different on occasion. There’s dust from the debris in Doc’s hair, making it whiter than it already is and Lion wants to bury his fingers in it and then pull sharply.

He needs to stop getting distracted.

“Stop interfering with my work”, Doc snaps and it’s wonderful how easily Lion can get under his skin. At this point, it’s almost a hobby for him to rile up his colleague. And while private hissy fits are a necessary-turned-amusing evil, they serve another purpose as well: providing excellent material for long, gratifying ‘self-care’ sessions in which he fantasises about what would’ve happened if instead of quoting a specific law to shut down Doc’s argument, he’d just crowded him against a wall, rumbled filth into his ear and showed him how unprofessional he really can be.

“Then stop interfering with mine.” He has to suppress a smirk at the frustration on Doc’s face and doesn’t mind in the least that he’s doing the grown-up version of ‘no you’.

“Pray tell, Flament, what exactly does your work entail then? Does it state anywhere you should prevent me from administering first aid to a wounded civilian? Hm?” His tone is cutting, sharp and sweet like a rose’s thorn, and he actually abandons his safe haven behind the desk to come down to Lion’s level – or rather lower. Because he is noticeably shorter and Lion gladly stands up straighter to emphasise this fact.

“Above all, my work entails keeping my colleagues safe, for example preventing an altruistic idiot from rushing head first into a potential ambush.”

Doc’s eyes narrow. Their faces are uncomfortably close together, a result of too many altercations in the past where both of them got scolded for raising their voice, so now they rely on dangerous hissing. His smell is making it hard to breathe because it’s earthy, mesmerising, distinct. Lion wonders how it’d feel to force him to his knees and have this defiant gaze directed up at him while his sharp tongue is used for something other than reprimanding him for - “Is that your way of saying you’re worried about me?”

Lion is halfway through formulating a reply in his head when his thoughts screech to a grinding halt. Nothing has changed, Doc’s posture is just as defensive as before, expression stony, intonation accusing, and yet the atmosphere has… tilted a little. Spilled into uncharted territory. Lion isn’t sure what to make of it. “I worry about all my colleagues”, he eventually responds neutrally.

“That doesn’t absolve you from jerking off at my desk. Repeatedly.”

Oh.

Well fuck.

He blinks owlishly, utterly speechless because how in the world is he ever going to recover. Doc knows. How does he know?

Sensing he’s not going to get a sensible response from Lion any time soon, Doc continues: “If you have a problem with me, I’m sure we can work something out.”

His mouth is faster than his brain because there’s no way he’d in his right mind shoot back: “Yeah, you can work out on my cock.”

Okay. Alright.

This is still salvageable. All he needs to do is to back off immediately, apologise for the inappropriate comment, not mention that Doc needs to stop wearing these blasted form-fitting shirts or else Lion will really end up doing a briefing with a raging hard-on in front of everyone, and then steer clear of Doc for the rest of his entire -

“Real mature, Flament, but I expected no less. I’m afraid you’re mistaken, though, as it would be the other way round.”

Once again, words elude him, this time out of indignation. The audacity. Lion has no doubt he’s the more experienced one, is taller and heavier, certainly more masculine and dominant, and Doc has the gall to imply… Shock slowly morphs into smug disbelief and he finds himself shaking his head at this bold claim. “You haven’t got the balls.”

And Doc grabs him by the collar and smashes their mouths together.

Lion just – he stops functioning for a few seconds until he realises that it’s Doc’s tongue prying his lips open so he parts them willingly with an involuntary moan he regrets the moment he utters it. His brain still refuses to acknowledge the whole situation, making it easy for Doc to overpower him, guide the messy kiss and shove his hands under Lion’s sweater and holy shit, is this really happening? The desk’s edge digs into the backs of his thighs and Doc’s teeth into his lower lip and it’s Lion who’s making these horribly embarrassing noises, isn’t it? Like a mixture of a dying whale and a prisoner of war about to be freed and this is not at all how he pictured this to go.

Despite the suddenness of it all, there’s a particular part of his body which has no trouble keeping up and draws even more attention to itself the moment Doc’s thumbs brush over Lion’s nipples and good heavens, he did not expect Doc to be such a fantastic kisser. Desperate to regain any sort of control, Lion tries to fight the onslaught by grabbing Doc’s hands, wrestling his tongue into submission and spinning them around – with an emphasis on tries. Because Doc chooses that second to push a thigh between Lion’s legs, presses it directly against his achingly hard erection in all the right ways and makes his brain short-circuit yet again. The gesture results in vague flailing on Lion’s part, a particularly vicious swipe of Doc’s merciless tongue which turns his joints into butter and some ungraceful bumbling of which Doc makes use by basically lifting him up and setting him down on his stupid desk.

Well, so much for that.

“If you want me to stop, now’s the time”, Doc murmurs against his mouth and curls his tongue around Lion’s in a way he didn’t think possible. His inner monologue has turned into no more than incoherent screaming because while this general situation is a wet dream come true, he’s conflicted about the details and yet the thought of stopping the other man doesn’t even enter his mind. When calloused fingertips twist his nipples, all he can produce is a throaty groan full of arousal and longing, and when his legs (the traitors) wrap around Doc’s to pull him closer, his opponent breaks the kiss to regard him with a disgustingly smug expression. “That’s what I thought”, he says and starts unbuttoning Lion’s trousers.

Why don’t you start lubing up my cock with your throat so the sliding in becomes easier, the monkey part of Lion’s brain provides helpfully, sends the signal to his mouth and witnesses in stark horror how he instead chokes out something very, very different: “Please, hurry up, I want you.” It seems his entire body has set out to betray him: his upper body gives in at the slightest push and lies flat on the largely empty surface he’s defiled in the past, his hands lie uselessly by his side instead of struggling, and his dick is magnificently hard. Painfully hard. So hard it’s continuously throbbing and will probably ejaculate as soon as Doc looks at it wrong.

“I noticed my hand lotion depleting unusually quickly and asked Meghan for a Black Eye when I couldn’t locate the source”, Doc informs him conversationally while ripping down Lion’s trousers with minimal resistance. And oh, that explains how he knew. And… also means that Doc saw him. Oh God. “Tell me, did you fantasise about me, Olivier?”

His cheeks are crimson. It’s impossible to provide an honest answer, not when Doc pulls his underwear down as if they’d done this a thousand times and throws his uncomfortably hard cock an appraising glance. “I”, Lion starts stupidly and then Doc’s mouth envelops him in wonderful tight heat, prompting him to thrust his hips up at the unexpected stimulation and the next thing he hears is a sharp snap.

Doc just slapped his ass as punishment.

It stings, but even worse is the realisation that Lion isn’t going to top anybody today. “You can’t do that!”, he gasps, appalled, yet the look he receives is unbothered.

“Watch me”, Doc says and does it again. This time, Lion moans at the sensation, can’t help himself, it’s just – he doesn’t even know what’s going on, only that he’s in too deep already, and he’s not only talking about Doc’s mouth and oh God, his tongue really can do what it promised earlier. A mere minute later, Lion is writhing on the cursed desk in agonising bliss, trying desperately not to come down Doc’s throat while producing so much noise it’s a miracle no one has checked on them yet. He’s so resigned to his fate that he at first doesn’t notice the warm hand creeping up his thigh and getting dangerously close to his crotch, up until the pad of a finger strokes over his entrance and absolutely no way.

“Don’t”, Lion pants and nearly knees Doc in the temple, “just – keep sucking, please, but not -”

Doc pulls off his dick with a wet pop and, unperturbed, conjures up a bottle of lube seemingly out of thin air. “Should’ve used this instead of the lotion”, he states. “Then you could’ve fingered yourself in preparation as well.”

“I don’t do that sort of thing”, Lion protests and yelps when Doc hoists his legs up, folds them in half and places Lion’s hands on his own calves. He’s much too overwhelmed to complain and so he simply holds his legs up, spread invitingly, and then there’s a slippery finger inside him.

He opens his mouth to object. The finger crooks in a way just as magical as Doc’s tongue earlier and a fierce wave of pleasure rolls through him. Lion closes his mouth again.

“I don’t believe it for a second”, Doc counters and adds a second one and good Lord, how is he doing this? Lion’s thoughts are running haywire and he’s ashamed to admit that at least half of them are focused on replacing those fingers with something else. “This looks like your natural habitat.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?!” He flinches when the digits withdraw and narrowly stops himself from substituting his own. It really does feel phenomenal.

“It means”, Doc replies while unzipping his own trousers, “that you’re a slut.”

Lion is stupefied. Did Doc just -

And before his brain even processes the insult, it shuts down completely because that’s definitely a dick pushing inside him, giving him the opportunity to adjust and then rubbing over all the right places. In utter disbelief, Lion stares down at himself and can’t fathom how he ended up here when by all means, he should’ve -

“Hold this too.” The hem of his sweater gets shoved between his teeth and he bites down automatically; his reward is warm palms stroking over his chest and fingertips finding his nipples yet again and he’s sizzling, he feels hot and weird and his skin prickles wherever Doc touches, and above all he never wants this to end. Especially when Doc starts thrusting. “Do you like this?”

Lion’s only answer is a muffled moan about an octave higher than he’d like. There’s something like fireworks going on and it almost drowns out Doc’s next words. Almost.

“You, Olivier, are a nasty little slut”, and Doc emphasises this with a particularly deep thrust, “and you deserve to be punished. Do you know why?”

He shakes his head, too preoccupied with the sight before him, the incredible feeling of becoming one with this man, something of which he’s been dreaming for a long, long time.

“But you do. Because it wasn’t just my desk, was it?” Panicked, Lion looks up and is met with a half amused, half heated gaze. Doc seems to be enjoying this at least as much as he is. “My underwear has gone missing a few times. So has my uniform. I know how you look at me.”

Oh shit. Lion’s face starts burning and it’s only partly the hard movements which rock his entire body. He must make for a shameful display: presenting himself, incapacitated of his own volition, whimpering and squirming on Doc’s magnificent cock. And he realises that he doesn’t even care – because it looks like Doc is having the time of his life, and that implies they’ll do this again.

“Look at you, you’re taking it so well.” His voice is mesmerising and Lion notices himself giving in to the thrumming desire, relishing the sharp motions reaching deep and causing small explosions of need, of want, of delight. When a hand closes around his throbbing erection, he throws his head back and arches his back, feels fingernails dig into his ribs and scrape over a sensitive nipple, prompting an elated groan. “You’re sucking me in and gripping me so tightly.”

Lion wants it to last so badly, wants to hear Doc talk some more about all the depraved things he’s done because he hasn’t even mentioned half of it, can’t know the full extent, but as always, the universe is against him and gave Doc not only a gloriously talented tongue as well as a perfectly shaped dick, but also awarded him with skilled fingers who identify Lion’s weakspots in seconds and massage the ridge of his glans, torture him with long, slow strokes just like he would himself and that’s right, Doc knows exactly how he does it because he’s seen it, and this knowledge mercilessly shoves Lion off the edge without so much as a warning.

He comes with a series of moans, abs contracting marvellously and sending shocks of pleasure through him while Doc milks him, keeps jerking him in time with the almost violent spurts of come Lion unloads on his belly. Doc fucks him through it and creates white noise in Lion’s head with his thrusts, the stimulation flirting with discomfort but never really reaching it; and if it wasn’t for Doc’s own orgasm, Lion might’ve passed out cold with how hard the relief hits him. His rhythmic spasming must’ve been too much for Doc, causes him to climax while Lion is still tensing up and riding the last of his high and he looks beautiful. Doc tilts his head back with a satisfied groan, hips stuttering, and comes deep -

He – he’s actually coming inside, dick pulsing, eyes rolling back. And if Lion is honest, it’s one of the hottest things he’s ever seen.

The hem of his sweatshirt snaps back the moment he lets go and he rests his head on the uncomfortable and frankly ostentatious desk with a sigh, lowers his legs but refuses to let Doc go by wrapping them around him once again. The fight has left him, but so has the heat of the moment which has shifted into an odd uncertainty. He’s not sure what to do other than enjoy the gentle afterglow.

As if he’d read his mind, Doc bends down to him for a kiss which lasts much longer than Lion expected it to, and when they separate after a good while, they’re both smiling. “How about we think of an excuse as to why our conversation took this long while we get you cleaned up?”, he murmurs good-naturedly.

The warmth spreading in Lion’s chest easily replaces the insecurity he felt, and so he nods happily.

“Really, though. Don’t touch my stuff again.”

He almost laughs at Doc’s serious tone and decides to take a chance: “And what if I do?”

To this, Doc smirks and Lion didn’t even know he was capable of doing that, is actually glad he didn’t find out earlier because it apparently doubles his heart rate and steals his breath away.

“Then I’ll see you in my office, Flament”, he says and raises a meaningful brow.

[nifflersfancy]

Stubborn

[I know that people usually portray Sirius as being the worlds biggest drama queen, which I will admit, makes for a funnier fic, but I don’t see it that way. Would Sirius’ parents really allowed him to be loud and whiny when he was ill? Of course not. He would’ve been so damn quiet and would have done his best to hide it. It’s not like his parents would have been loving and gentle. 

So because I’m super ill right now (and a whiny little bitch) I decided to do a oneshot where Sirius is ill. Soooo the wolf star oneshot that nobody asked for. I  actually started writing this almost two weeks ago and have only gotten worse and have actually been bed-bound for the last few days but I’m feeling a bit better so am now finishing it. Enjoy! Requests are open bcos I have no life and writing is the only thing that brings me joy in this godforsaken hell hole of a world]

“You alright, Pads? You’re looking a bit pale.” The concerned voice of his best friend pulled Sirius out of the daydream that he had fallen into, making him realise that he had been staring down at his plate, which was almost full. He had hardly touched it, only taking a bit of this and a bit of that. He had absolutely no appetite and was feeling weak and shaky, struggling to keep his head up and his eyes open.

“Yeah, ‘m fine.” He mumbled before clearing his throat and nodding his head, attempting to sit up straighter as he repeated his previous words a bit clearer. “I’m fine. Just a bit tired, is all.” He sighed. Which, technically, was not a lie. He hadn’t slept that night but only because he had felt like he could hardly breathe with his blocked nose and clogged throat. He had been sweating so much during the night that his bedsheets were soaked, although he had’t felt it and had shivered all through the night, meaning that his body now ached from the constant shivering.

“Being tired doesn’t give you swollen glands, a cold sweat or an upset stomach.” Remus spoke, causing Sirius to silently curse. He had been sick that morning but he thought that he had hidden it so well. He mentally cursed Remus’ ‘werewolf senses’. “If you’re sick, you need to go to Madame Pomfrey.”

“I’m not sick, I’m just tired.” He insisted. Truthfully, he hated Pepper-Up Potion. It just reminded him of his parents forcing him to drink it when he was ill and younger so that they wouldn’t have to care for him. He had eventually just stopped saying that he was sick and had started hiding it. One time he had been unable to hide it but his parents had been furious with him at the time so had locked him in the loft until he was better so that he wouldn’t get any of them poorly. He had been up there for just over two weeks, having Kreacher appear once or twice a day to bring him food. After that, he had gotten rather good at hiding it but this one had hit him like a train. It had come out of nowhere as well - as far as he was aware, none of the other had had colds or even had so much as a headache.

He was too busy looking down at his plate to see the look shared between his friends. “You know, I’m not feeling very well to be honest.” Pete said. Sirius looked up with a frown, concerned that his illness had passed onto his friends but he noticed that he looked fine. Perhaps he was hiding it like Sirius was. Which was strange because he knew that Pete could be quite a drama queen when he was sick, although he was nowhere near as bad as James. Being the old child of quite a wealthy couple, James would whine and huff, demanding extra attention from anyone and everyone.

“Me too. It’s rather cold, isn’t it?” Remus said and before Remus could look at him, he felt the werewolf drape an arm around his shoulders and Remus pulled him close. Sirius looked up at his boyfriend and noted that Remus looked fine as well but didn’t comment on it. Remus was like a human radiator so he was grateful for the warmth. He leaned his head on Remus’ shoulder and wrapped both arms around his waist. Despite his reputation, when it came to Remus, Sirius wasn’t a big fan of PDA, which made their position unusual. Whilst he enjoyed hand holding and short and sweet kisses, he didn’t do much else with Remus in public, not wanting everyone else to think that Remus was just some plaything. He respected his boyfriend too much for that. Besides, Remus had always been rather reserved.

“Maybe there’s something going around. Shall we have a lazy day?” At James’ suggestion, Sirius expected Remus to say no. They all had quite a bit of homework that they needed to at least start. Remus always insisted that they all at least started their homework, even if they didn’t finish it. Although they usually did but at least by telling them that they just needed to start it, they still felt like they were in control of their choice. They weren’t and Remus had them all wrapped around his fingers. But no one else realised that.

“That sounds like a fantastic idea.” Remus announced and Sirius could vaguely tell that he was smiling but soon realised that his eyes had drifted shut. “Padfoot? Darling, come on.” Remus murmured, his voice a lot softer than it had been before as he gently nudged Sirius, whose eyes often and he blinked sleepily up at his boyfriend, who smiled gently and adoringly at him. “Come on, let’s go upstairs. We’re all rather tired.” He spoke quietly, now carefully pulling Sirius up. He managed to stand up, becoming slight dizzy as he did so but thankfully, Remus wrapped an arm around him at the same time so it didn’t show. Or at least, he thought it didn’t.

Sirius didn’t seem to realise how awful he looked. His skin was dry, his lips cracking, although he was sweating heavily. His hair was tied up in a knotty bun, his eyes bloodshot and swollen. He looked awful. Thankfully, he was too out of it to see that about 60% of the people in the hall kept glancing at him, mostly in concern, others with curiosity. It was strange to see the perfectly messy Sirius Black looking so painfully messy and sick.

The trip up to the common room felt a lot longer than it usually did as Sirius appeared to be falling asleep whilst they were walking and was almost completely leaning on Remus but refused to let the werewolf carry him, insisting that he was fine and just kept tripping. But they eventually made it and instead of going to the dorm as planned, James and Peter pushed the large sofa as close to the fireplace as they could, having to move a coffee table in the process. Remus then laid down on the sofa on his side and pulled Sirius to lay in front of him.

“Don’t get too close, Rem.” Sirius mumbled, reluctantly and weakly attempting to get out of Remus’ grip, who only held him tighter.

“Why? You’re not sick, right?” He questioned teasingly, grinning fondly down at his sick boyfriend who looked adorable with his flushed cheeks. “I’ll be fine, Pads. I can take a potion if I get sick.” Remus was aware that Sirius hated the potions, although he didn’t know the reasoning behind it. He could guess it was something to do with Sirius’ childhood though. “Let’s just focus on getting you warm and getting some sleep.”

“But ‘m not even tired.” Sirius insisted, although he was beginning to become limp in Remus’ arms already as his eyes fluttered shut.”Feel fine.” He added, although was dead to the world a few moments later.

“So damn stubborn.” Remus chuckled, pressing a kiss to the top of Sirius’ burning and sweat forehead. He looked up and saw James and Peter both sat on separate armchairs, appearing to be moments away from falling asleep themselves. Clearly he hadn’t been the only one that had been kept up by Sirius’ heavy breathing and wheezing coughs that he had attempted to muffle into his pillow. He smiled fondly. His boyfriend was so stubborn.

[I actually included Peter in a oneshot... Who’s proud of me???]

[thenecropolix]

First Meeting: A Wandersong Lab Experiment AU Oneshot

A oneshot based on an AU I came up with on Discord

Summary: The only reason Kiwi was in the medical sector of the facility was because they were waiting to take their usual physical as scheduled. What they weren't expecting to find was another experiment like themselves for the first time since they've been there, although it goes far more unexpected than they anticipated.

Genre: Sci-Fi, Fantasy, Supernatural

Word Count: 2090

Author's Notes: This fic was inspired by a short comic I drew in Discord in regards to an AU that I had personally created. The Lab Experiment AU, as I have been calling it, revolves around the trope of laboratories conducting private experiments, specifically with the creation of mutants and messing around with human/animal DNA in an attempt to give humans otherworldly abilities. Kiwi is a failed experiment from a small project that sought to find the perfect test subject, someone who could survive an experimentation process and come out with powers beyond man's wildest dreams while still retaining a human form/conscious; they’re primarily based off of a grizzly bear in terms of body shape while their claws are more like that of a mole. Miriam on the other hand is based primarily on an octopus and looks like a standard cecaelia, with some crocodile and black panther added into the mix. Having said all this, enjoy the fic!

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The brightness generated from the evenly spaced-out utility lights of the hallway did nothing to help the makeshift waiting room of the facility’s medical sector, if you could even call it that. As soon as you entered, the dimly-lit atmosphere was immediately apparent; even with the piercing glare coming from the hallway, it seemed as though a shadow was always cast within the area, preventing it from being completely lit and forever keeping it under the influence of its presence.

The only reason it wasn’t referred to as another containment unit for the scientists’ experiments was because of the objects scattered about; at every corner of the room there was a potted plant, and off to the right side there was a small coffee table in front of fairly large sofa. Had the facility choose to ignore the option of catering to its employees to some degree, this would otherwise look like a plain and empty room built for the sole purpose of detaining the laboratory’s ‘creations’ until further notice.

Kiwi supposed it could be worse; after all, if the personal demands of the employees were not met, the room would have otherwise felt as if it had been made to restrain some accursed abomination of the lab that had a high probability of escaping  and therefore wreak havoc upon the world as a dangerous, unnatural force of nature brought to life by man. The scientists involved with the experimentation process considered themselves to be a prime example of such, although in their defense, they didn’t mean to appear frightening; despite their happy-go-lucky attitude and pacifistic nature, most, if not all, of the employees working at the facility were rather terrified of them, from the nervous glances given to them by the scientists to the loud shrieks that escaped from the mouths of the office assistants that accidently ran right into them.

However, that was beside the point; their primary reason for being here was because they had another diagnostics test scheduled for today. It was simple enough; as soon as they walked through the door on the opposite side of the room, a small group of scientists were going to be waiting for them, where they will then have them go through an extensive physical, with at least two people taking notes on their health before finishing it off with a full-body scan for further documentation. Standard procedures as they called it; they wanted to make sure that they were aware of any “developing abilities” physical or otherwise in case they needed to go through further testing based on their assessments. 

As if their sharp fangs, inhuman super strength, and abnormally large claws weren’t enough.

Still, it’s not like they really had a say in the matter; in all seriousness, the point of the physical examination was to help keep the scientists from panicking over any minute changes that could impact their performance for better or worse. Even then, they really couldn’t say anything literally speaking; their vocal chords were scrambled during the experimentation process, thus hindering their speech save for the occasional growl or bark.

They could only hope that they considered a universal translator as their next project.

For now though, Kiwi remained in the so-called ‘waiting room’ for the time being until the scientists were ready for them to come in for their physical. Understanding the amount of time it would take until they were called in, they choose the option of lying down on the floor for a quick nap. They moved across the tile floor as their claws tapped against the ground with a rhythmic clack clack clack as they prepared to lower themselves closer to the floor. They were just beginning to lie down when their eyes landed on something they had completely missed when they first entered the room.

Just a few feet away from them on their left sat a large, dark blue container. Circular in shape, the containment unit appeared to be rather small; Kiwi figured that if they were to completely stand up, it wouldn’t be able to reach their arm at its midpoint.

Intrigued by the presence of the mysterious containment unit, Kiwi decided to change their plans and amuse themselves by leisurely walking over to the container for the purpose of further inspecting it as a way to cure their boredom.

They were barely a few inches away when they made contact with another pair of eyes.

At the edge of the container was another experiment staring at them from inside. Her pupils were slitted like that of a snake’s, but instead of being upright, they sat on their side horizontally speaking. Peeking out above the rim was her nose, which Kiwi found to be rather pointy, yet still on the blunt side like that of a shark. Two wispy, fin-like ears were attached to her head in addition to a spiky layer of cyan hair that stuck out at different angles. Her skin started off as being a dark shade of blue with black freckles dotted along her nose and around her eyes before gradually becoming lighter in color.

What had caught Kiwi off-guard however were the tentacles protruding from the container, with two on the other mutant’s right and one on her left. They wriggled and squirmed repeatedly, twisting in on themselves in a manner that made it seem as if they were having trouble deciding on how to feel about their current situation.

It was during this moment that Kiwi realized that the containment unit in question was in fact a transportable tank as they took notice of the amount of water that it retained, just barely a few inches away from reaching the rim and overflowing. Turning their attention back towards the experiment, the other watched them from her spot in a crocodilian manner. 

After a few minutes of staring at one another, Kiwi couldn’t help but smile. In the midst of their joy, their tongue lolled out of their mouth like a very happy golden retriever, but it didn’t matter to them. The facility was known for keeping their personal projects separated, making it hard to tell what went on deep in the bowels of the large, yet publicly inconspicuous research center. Such precautions left Kiwi wondering if there were any others like themselves beyond the rooms they frequented, but at last they knew the truth; there were other mutants apart from themselves. With this in mind, they were rather pleased with their discovery. Perhaps they were strangers now, but they could very well soon have a friend in just a moment.

Excitedly, they moved closer to the tank and raised their right hand (Errr…..paw? They really couldn’t tell at this point) in order to set it down on the rim while they attempted to make light conversation. 

Their claws were inches away from the containment unit when the other experiment suddenly moved.

With surprising speed, the mutant quickly rose from the water, revealing the rest of her body. At a glance, her arms appeared abnormally lanky in a cartoonish manner, and would have very well been mistaken for another pair of tentacles if it weren’t for the webbed claws that gripped the edge of the tank; meanwhile, her actual tentacles began to writhe as if they were a nest of angry snakes that were rudely disturbed from their slumber. Her eyes were narrowed as they locked onto Kiwi and pierced their soul; ears flattened, she bared her fangs in a snarl as a low, aggravated growl rumbled from the back of her throat, filling the atmosphere with a sense of hostility. 

Kiwi’s eyes slitted in fear; they pulled their claws away from the tank, lowering their head and body in the process as they backed down. 

When they first saw the experiment, they couldn’t help but think about how small she was as they had practically towered over her.

Now it was occurring to them that the only reason she had appeared small in the first place was because she had been lying down…..and as of right now, they were the small one here.

They could only hope that the other would understand that they were sorry.

With every passing second, the guttural growls continued to grow in both volume and agitation; a hardened stare was locked onto Kiwi, eyes alight with anger and ready to strike at any given moment.  The friendlier mutant figured it was only a matter of time befor-

“Miriam!”

Surprised, Kiwi’s eyes widened, and they turned to face the newcomer. 

From across the hallway in which they came from, a woman briskly moved towards both mutants. As she came closer, Kiwi could make out a few details about the unexpected visitor; she was much older in age based on the wrinkles that covered her face and her graying hair, which lightly bobbed up and down as she moved. She wore what appeared to be an oversized lab-coat, but upon further inspection, they deduced that this was because she was shorter in stature as she appeared no bigger than 5’0 in height. When she arrived at the doorway, they could make out the name inscribed on her ID as Saphy. 

Turning back to face the other mutant (now identified as Miriam), Kiwi realized that her attention was now directed towards Saphy. Furthermore, there was a tonal shift in her growling; she no longer sounded completely aggravated, and instead sounded a little more inquisitive, as if questioning the woman that called out to her.

Saphy spoke once more.

“Now now Miriam, there’s no need to get upset with them, they were only looking.”

Miriam appeared to be listening; her growling had completely softened until all that could be heard was a small rrrrrr as she mulled over Saphy’s words. Her eyes had shifted to the side, implying that she was legitimately processing what was being said to her and carefully thinking about what she ought to do, all while refraining from making any sudden movements.

Meanwhile, Kiwi could only stand there and wait in anticipation to see what would become of them; during this small and somewhat tense moment, they couldn’t help but note how Ms. Saphy spoke to Miriam. It was as if she already knew her…..and based on how Miriam reacted, it seemed to be a very likely case. Question is, how could these two unlikely individuals have met? What’s their story? Have they known each other longer than Kiwi had realized, or was it all in their head? The questions continued to pour into their mind like water being poured into a bucket and spilling over.

In any case, they quickly snapped back to reality when they noticed Miriam moving. To their surprise, she slowly sank back down into the water until she reassumed the position she had been in before. Once she had completely settled back down, Saphy calmly walked towards the tank and stood where one of her tentacles now idly sat. Gently, she placed both of her hands on the tentacle as if she were consoling it; as soon as she made contact, a second tendril rose from the water and high into the air before arching over and placing its tip on the back of both her hands, as if mimicking her. 

With a soft, yet cheerful smile, Saphy warmly responded with “See? That wasn’t so hard now was it?” 

Miriam answered her question with only a huff; she continued to calmly sit in the water and allow Saphy to hold onto her tentacles while keeping an eye on her.

Kiwi could only stand there and gawk in befuddlement, bewildered by what they were seeing.

Having gotten over their fear, they now stood upright, their ears perked up and their eyes still wide with surprise as they watched the situation play out in front of them. This woman, of whom seemingly came out of nowhere, managed to pacify a creature that was probably three times larger than she was, highly irritable, and no doubt temperamental, with nothing but her words, and was now physically touching her and speaking to her as if she was nothing more than a fussy child, all while still in one piece. 

In Kiwi’s mind, she was clearly a force to be reckoned with despite her appearance saying otherwise.

Judging from everything that had happened up to this point, they had a feeling this wouldn’t be the last time they’d be seeing Saphy.

Nor would it be the last time they’d be seeing Miriam.

[menalliha]

Proud of You

Summary: The support of your boyfriend is all you’ve ever needed.

Pairing: Peter Parker x Stark!Reader

Word Count: 1.9K

Warning: Angst, Tony is kinda a jerk (I didn’t mean too!!)

A/N: This is my first Peter oneshot. I was feeling a bit angsty with this. I hope it turned out well. 

MY MASTERLIST

REQUESTS ARE OPEN!!

PLEASE LIKE, REBLOG AND LEAVE FEEDBACK!!

When you entered the science fair at school, you were hoping that your dad, Tony Stark, would help you. That was the plan anyway. You enjoyed the father-daughter time you got to spend together. You always updated him on school stuff and he made sure Peter was treating you right and still making time for you. But sadly plans change. This was for the worst. You wanted to show your dad you were helping develop his nanotech and wanted to be like him. You wanted him to finally be proud of you for following your dreams. The one thing he told you to never give up on.

Growing up, you always lived with your mom and step-dad. They never hid the fact Tony was your real dad, your mom just knew he wouldn’t have time for you. You did many assortments of  things like ballet and soccer. But your passion for science started to develop when your 6th grade class went on a field trip to a science center. You couldn’t help but be intrigued.

Once your mom noticed the way you loved science like your dad, she went to him and tried really hard to get him to take you every other weekend. She didn’t care if he was busy or not, he helped to create you.  

Ever since your dad took on the roll of helping Peter with being Spider-Man, you saw less and less of both your dad and your boyfriend. Granted once you hit high school, you barely saw Tony anyway. He was too busy being Iron Man and trying to impress people. You suddenly, were less important. The only people who knew you were his daughter was the Avengers, Peter and obviously your mom, step-dad and you.

Tony used to boast about you all the time to the other members on the team. Saying how you did well at your ballet recital or how you kicked the winning goal in your soccer game. But what made him the most proud was the first time you ever won first place in a science fair. He was so proud of you for trying so hard and having results.

But now, here you sit alone in the lab of the compound, trying to rework the nanotech he developed. You weren’t having much luck. You wanted to show how it could help close wounds and save lives. Help recreate cells and tissue for any injuries that were caused.

You had spent day and night trying to get it to work. You ended up using a whole box of band-aids from making small cuts on your fingers and hands. You don’t remember the last time you slept or even ate or even showered and changed clothes.

The lab door opened but you barely moved a muscles. Trying to rewrite equations and try new ideas. You didn’t even bother to see who it was that came in. Bruce still used the lab around whatever it was you did. As well as even trying to help you. He’s become like a father to you. Willing to drop what he was doing to help you.

“Hey,” You looked up at the source of the voice, seeing your boyfriend with a tray of food. “I-I uh made you something to eat. No one knows when the last time it was when you left the lab.” Peter smiled and set the tray in front of you. He watched as you eyed the food. “You’ve been working way to hard. It’s Sunday and you’ve been at this since Friday after school. You need to eat.”

Carefully you picked up the sandwich he made you and took a big bite. “Thank you Peter.” You said as you covered your mouth. “Where did my dad go? You guys just got back like a few hours ago. I wanted to show him my progress. It’s actually a lot.” Smiling, you knew Peter would love to hear about the progress you made.

Peter tried to avoid any and all eye contact. You gave him a stern ‘Peter’ and watched as he fidgeted with his hands. You knew something was up.

“I-I’m so sorry babe! I-I-I tr-tried so hard to get him to see you. H-He had a dinner planned for him and Ms. Potts. I tried. I really did.” Peter watched as your sunken dark eyes fell with disappointment. “Y-You want to try and call him…?” He pulled a stool next to you and sat with you. “I won’t leave your side.” He gently placed a loose strand of hair, that somehow got free from your messy bun, behind your ear and kissed your temple. Wrapping an arm around your shoulders, he kissed your shoulder and gave you his goofy smile you loved so much.

You were grateful for Peter. Granted he was busy being Spider-Man, he tried to make time for you. You were one of the single most important things to him and he vowed to keep you safe. Out of harm's way from bad guys and anyone else who would try to hurt you.

Calling Tony, you rested your head on Peter’s shoulder and closed your eyes for the duration of the ringing. Hearing a click followed by a few mummers and background noise, You lifted your head slightly. “Hey dad…”

“Hey kiddo look I’m kinda busy. Can I call you back later? Or even see you later at the compound?” Tony replied.

You had to head back home with your mom and step-dad tonight. So you weren’t going to be able to see him. “Uh… yeah you can call me. I’m going back with mom tonight. I won’t really see you until the science fair this coming Friday though.” Your voice was laced with disappointment but you knew Tony couldn’t tell. He was too busy whispering things to Pepper that you could barely hear.

“Oh yeah the science fair. Shoot, I hope I didn’t book a meeting during that time.” The line fell silent for a brief moment. “I’ll be there I promise sweetie. Look, I’m sorry to cut this short but I need to go.” Before you could protest, the line went dead.

Tossing your phone on the table, you got up and paced the room. Peter could tell you were on the verge of a nervous breakdown. Having lack of sleep and constantly working, he knew this could be worse.

Jumping to his feet, he took his jacket off and wrapped it around you, giving you his familiar scent that usually calmed you, then wrapped his arms around you in a strong embrace. Pulling you close to his chest, he rocked you gently and rubbed your head along with your back. He felt as your body started to shake and almost silent sobs left your mouth.

“What have I done to make my dad push me away…? We used to be so close. Is it because I don’t have super powers…? Or it is because I’m just not relevant to his life anymore? Peter… promise me you won’t ever push me away… please.” Pressing your face in the crook of his neck, you kept softly whispering ‘please’ over and over again. Peter’s grip on you tightened as he kissed your cheek.

The words that left your mouth made his heartbreak. You always looked up to Tony and thought highly of him. But Peter knew here recently he hasn’t been sticking to his word. He was supposed to take you out to lunch one day but never showed up. Followed by picking you up from school when your mom and step-dad couldn’t, but he never did either. You were once the thing he gloated about. Saying how smart you were and how you would follow in his footsteps.

He always promised you he would never be like his father but he was breaking that promise.

As the rest of the day went on, Bruce and Peter helped you with your project. Finally making a breakthrough, you managed to finish it and take it home with you.

Thanking Bruce with a big hug and Peter with a quick kiss on the cheek, you hurried outside and got in your moms car. Telling her about your finished project for the fair and how you had help from Bruce and Peter. You lied and told your mom that Tony was busy that’s why the others helped you. But deep down, your mom knew the truth and saw the pain as you tried to hide the white lie. Along with the false hope of hearing from your dad that night - which you never did.

Once the day came for the science fair, you watched as judged walked around, asking questions about everyone’s projects. You had your whole speech ready to give as the judges made their way around to you.

Scanning the crowd of people, you saw your mom, step-dad and even Peter with Ned and MJ as well as Bruce. But no sign of your dad. You quickly pulled out your phone and sent your dad a quick text making sure he would be here and how they were going to be at your booth soon to judge your project.

You got nothing. No response from your dad. Your heart shattered. You had talked this event up for months. He promised each time and even said he would be here the last time you talked to him. He was only saying that to make you happy. You hated making these assumptions but every possibility crossed your mind as to why he would say he’d be here.

Looking down at your feet, you rubbed your arm and tried to hold back the tears. Squeezing your eyes shut, you heard the judges approach your booth.

“Ms. Stark, what wonderful new age technology have you blessed us with?” Your science teacher smiled at you. “She is one of our top students and following in her father’s footsteps. Hopefully you can impress the judges. I have my faith in you.”

You swore your heart was going to beat out of your chest, your palms grew sweaty as you wiped them on your pants. You cleared your throat and started to explain the technology of the nanotech and the purpose it had. The judges seemed very invested in your project and gave great compliments to you.

Once the science fair was over, your family and friends came and joined you as you carried your first place ribbon.

“Congrats baby!” Your mom hugged you and kissed your head as your step-dad did the same.

“How about we all go out to dinner and celebrate!” Smiling, you nodded and heard Ned and MJ talk about what they could get to eat along with dessert. Your parents have been feeding those two since you became close friends.

Tracing the patterns of the ribbons, Peter placed one hand on your shoulder and lifted your chinn with the other. “You going to be ok? I know he never showed up. You still had me here. I’m your number one supporter.” He managed to make you smile and pulled you into a tight embrace. “I’m proud of you Y/N.” He whispered to you.

You buried your face in his neck and cried. “Those are they only two words I have ever wanted to hear from my dad… but that will never happen. Peter… thank you for never giving up on me when I wanted to give up on myself and giving me hope.”

Peter tightened his grip on you. “Why would I ever give up on my smart, beautiful and amazing girlfriend? Just know, I will always be proud of you.” He wiped your tears and pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead then a quick one on your nose, causing you to giggle.

TAGS:

@httpmcrvel

[unoutan]

“Don’t run away on the first try“ Bakudeku Oneshot (2.6k)

@twinstarsweek Day 5: Festival / Tender / Recovery / Spice / First

💥Arrrg, I’m super late with the last one because, I forgot to queue it. x_x But yay (damn my past self for saving to tumblr drafts by accident!) Enjoy the Baku family feels, and Katsuki’s emotional constipation with his Deku! -Unoutan💥

Mini-summary: “I stuck my TONGUE down Deku’s THROAT AND RAN OFF, DAD!!” Jumping up to sit on the couch instead, Katsuki threw his hands in the air and screamed, “WHY WOULD I LIE AFTER SAYING THAT SHIT!?”

The beach is secluded this early morning and a trembling, but determined voice demanded with a single stomp to the sand. “Stop running from me, please…”

“I’m not running from you.” Angry denial.

“You are! You just did, and still are! Why did you kiss me and run?”

“I don’t deserve you.” Words facing the unknown future and back to the present, the hero continued denying any happiness he deserves. “After everything I did to you, everything I failed for you, I don’t, I don’t-…just forget I did anything.”

The hero’s ally and ex childhood lover stood only an arms reach away, but the distance between them felt like an eternity. Tears threatened to fall from the woman’s eyes as she stared at her man’s back. Fingers lingered on her lips, the bottom lip trembling slightly from the kiss that happened a moment ago.

Katsuki’s thumb hovered over the ‘next channel’ button for over five minutes now.

The beach where the troubled characters, both worn by their personal and hero duties, stood on the beach Deku cleaned before they went into UA. All Might accidentally let slip of that fact their second year when their second field trip involved the Dagobah Municipal Beach Park, and a week long beach-themed hero training. That’s the only reason, Katsuki stopped to watch the show.

The right side of Katsuki’s mouth twitched when the heroine character standing behind the hero reached out and touched his shoulder. Her bright red nails slid over his shoulder, down his arm, to loosely hold the man’s hand as she said, “I…don’t think you should be the only one to decide what becomes of us. We’ve known each other, bleed for each other, fought and agreed, so why are you trying to shoulder this by yourself?”

Turning around, the hero yelled, “After the shit I pulled, you’re just going to-”

“You’ve apologized to me more than once for your mistakes! And I’ve forgiven you long ago! Stop punishing yourself-”

Focused on her work, Bakugou Mitsuki didn’t notice the sound of the television fade. The voices of the action romantic drama tv show gradually lowered to a barely audible hum when the deuteragonist hero character cried and fell to his knees in front of the protagonist heroine. Sitting in the living room, Katsuki faced the television with one arm slung over the backrest, body tense when he closed his eyes and let out the longest sigh.

Wherever the scene was going in the tv show, it’s unimportant now.

Tossing the remote to the coffee table, Katsuki called out to his parents, “Hey?”

It was a surprise when the door to their home burst open suddenly. The familiar sound of Katsuki kicking off his shoes and school bag dropped to the floor was like music to their ears. The sight of keys thrown to the kitchen counter, made Mitsuki greet him happily, but paused when her son’s spiky hair bounced away to the tv. Mitsuki and Masaru’s son is home, but..something is wrong.

The Bakugou parents kept giving each other secrets looks before Katsuki finally spoke to them, but they knew they needed to give their son time to open up first. It’s been an hour since he got back, so they respectfully gave him a bit of distance, but now it’s time for that distance to disappear.

After erasing the line she over burnished into the paper of her sketchbook, thank goodness it’s just a messy sketchbook and not the final, Mitsuki answered in faux distraction. “Hmm? Yes, Katsuki? Need anything?”

“Yeah, but I need both of you nerds.” Scratching his hair wildly for a second, Katsuki hissed at his own words, before saying, “I mean, I need you both.”

Masaru locked eyes with his wife for a split second before looking back at Katsuki. Eyes wide, glasses sliding down halfway down his nose, Masaru stared at his son. Where he stood by the refrigerator, he put down his glass of water after sipping it once, and said, “Okay, kid, you can-”

He paused mid-sentence. His mind continued on saying ‘you can tell us anything, Katsuki” but that sounded too strong. Katsuki might close into himself and shell up in his room to sleep early again.

Picking up where her husband left off, Mitsuki gave a secret smile to Masaru when she spoke next. They always have each other’s back. She kept it casual, her tone even and inviting. “Lay it on us, Katsuki!”

“How did you guys…” Katsuki began quietly, too quietly. The Bakugou parents waited and Katsuki dug his nails into the couch fabric, clawing at the armrest, but not hard enough to damage. Taking a deep breath to say this as quickly as he could, Katsuki asked his parents his question, each word punching the air as he yelled, “How did you find out that you were ‘the one’ for each other?! Or whatever?! And I don’t mean the cheesy soulmatey lovey dovey crap you say all the time too! I mean serious stuff!”

The rare, hesitant words from Katsuki caught Mitsuki and Masaru’s attentions like the first little sparks and tendrils of smoke from their son’s once tiny hands.

Putting down her 2H pencil, preliminary sketch forgotten on the kitchen counter where she sat, Mitsuki stared at the back of her son’s head. “What brought this on, Katsuki?”

Their son remained silent.The back of Katsuki’s head slowly slid down to rest on the couch armrest in a drawn out groan. The groan sounded like annoyance, but Masaru knew better and walked towards the living room to almost rest his charcoal hands on the back of the couch. He caught himself before staining the couch and decided to sit on the other armrest, hand shaking Katsuki’s ankle. “Katsuki? What happened?”

Turning away from his dad, Katsuki let his head slide off the armrest to bury his face in a pillow instead. His reply was too muffled by the pillow.

This is a walking on eggshells moment that must be handled well – delicately and with an open mind. Whatever their son says, they’ll see it through and talk. Their son needs to talk more, talk to them, talk to… the boy they all know is constantly on Katsuki’s mind during good and bad times: Inko’s kid, Midoriya Izuku.

Joining her husband and son in the living room, the forgotten tv show still playing on mute with the Heroine and Hero romantically kissing each other as the sunrise rose over the ocean horizon, Mitsuki sat on the other arm rest now. A teasing smile crept onto her face when she said, “Sorry, Katsuki. Can’t hear you through that pillow.”

Face red in anger and frustration, Katsuki spun around on the couch, his UA blazer crumpling even further when he crossed his arms over his chest. He looked just like his little five year old self that used to sulk when things didn’t go the way he wanted or when he was in trouble for staying out too late with Izuku in the woods.

That’s when their son finally came out and told them in a stream of quickened words, voice dull and bored sounding, but face contradictingly scrunched like he was in pain:

“I kissed Deku today and I don’t know why. I ran here without notifying UA and almost forgot to text everyone I’m home and not dead. Now, Aizawa gave me my second detention at UA ever since first year, but I couldn’t be in the dorms tonight after I, after I- not after that!”

“I think you’re lying about one thing though-”

“I stuck my TONGUE down Deku’s THROAT AND RAN OFF, DAD!!” Jumping up to sit on the couch instead, Katsuki threw his hands in the air and screamed, “WHY WOULD I LIE AFTER SAYING THAT SHIT!?”

“No! Not that!” Shaking his hands in front of him, Masaru felt his glasses skew when he leaned forward and corrected himself. “I meant to say that I think you’re lying about not knowing why you kissed little Izuku! You know and when you accept that, the better you’ll feel, no matter what happens with Izuku!”

“WOW!” Looking up at the ceiling, praying the heavens to fall and end him, Katsuki yelled again, making his mother sigh. “WOW!”

“A-ah! Oh, I’m sorry, son! I didn’t want to put you on the spot, but-”

“Katsuki, a discussion ago you said you hated it when we talked about bullshit instead of being blunt, so here we are doing exactly that. It’s like ripping off a bandaid, yes?” Grumbling his agreement, Katsuki slouched and glared at his mother stating the truth at him. Shaking her head, Mitsuki reached out and ran her fingers through his hair when she gently suggested the next step he could take with Izuku. “Now, have you thought of calling him? He’s probably worried about you, Katsuki.”

“If I didn’t stick around to analyze Deku’s face after kissing his mouth off, I don’t think I want to talk to him about it either!!”

Masaru and Mitsuki, in unison, both retorted with another serving of truth, “But you should!”

Katsuki closed his eyes and counted down to ten. He made it to five.

Avoidance solves nothing and Katsuki yelled a short battle cry because, yes, he knows this! He knows that he needs to talk to Izuku and not avoid him like what he just did after classes today, while heading towards the dorms. He should have held Izuku, kissed him and fucking stayedddd to at least let him say something.

Katsuki remembers Izuku’s eyes though- he always remembers those green eyes always watching him with worry, admiration, and all sorts of interest - but…

He should have allowed his nerd to say something!! He should have allowed himself to say what he wished to say to Izuku’s face. Kissing Midoriya Izuku happened and there is no running from it because, he chose to do it. This is the path he chose and even if Izuku would give him a rejection…

It would fucking hurt, but…wow, he’s a coward-

“You’re not a coward - the furthest from it.” Mitsuki kissed her son’s cheek when she moved to sit at his right side.

“You’re the bravest hero we know, Katsuki, so don’t think anything of running here. You’re always welcome here. And there is always another day to face Izuku. Always. Just don’t take too long…okay?”

Katsuki would say he hates it when his parents are right, but that would be a lie.

“Yeah. I…fuck, I won’t take too long. And damn it, Deku won’t bite my head off…”

Maybe.

“He won’t, but…I’m curious,” Masaru gave his son a hesitant smile when he asked, “How did you kiss him? The way you described, with the tongue in mouth-”

“Don’t. Repeat. That.” Burying his face in his hands, Katsuki imagined the floor killing him if it turned into fire, just so he could escape the situation he put himself in. Where’s the IcyHot half n’half when you need him. Still, killing himself via floor fire is still avoidance and avoidance solves nothingggg and now he’s repeating. Stupid. “I asked him to explain his new flying kick technique near the cherry blossoms at the south side of the main building, and then he said something stupid about thanking me for my advice, then I kissed him. Ran here. That’s it.”

Taking off his glasses when he sat on Katsuki’s left side, incase they break during the struggle that is about to happen like usual, Masaru moved in first. He knows that his troubled son needed a hug right now. He caught his son’s elbow predictably aimed to his chest and leaned forward, going in close with his wife before they could get shoved away.

Grumbling and wiggling, Katsuki shows his normal level of hugging resistance. “Nope! No! You stupid old, annoying, mushy-”

“Oh just- just…here, let me - get in here, stop struggling, you Brat! Accept this!” Katsuki stopped smacking his parent’s arms when they both pulled him into smothering hug, tight and warm, but still annoying to the littlest Bakugou. “See! First steps are always the hardest!”

“Your kiss-Ow, my knee! Son, ow ow ow, Katsuki- Accept what you did! You kissed him and ran. But there’s still time! Breathe!” Hearing his father tell him to breathe, Katsuki took a big deep breath and then huffed, fight dying thanks to their tranquilizing hugs.

In a way, Katsuki knows he came home for shit like this too. Not that he’ll tell his parents that…

Eventually, Katsuki relaxed in his parent’s arms and let out a big sigh at being squished from both sides of the couch in a hug. The smell of his dad’s comforting cologne and his mother’s perfume, lulled him enough to let his burning red eyes close. His arms that were slumped to his sides soon moved to pat his parent’s shoulders. They stayed there a minute longer and then released the half-sulking boy. Subdued from his previous frustration Katsuki only rolled his eyes, cheeks burning in a blush, when his dad laughed.

“See, son? You accept our hugs, so you can openly accept your feelings for Izuku and tell him how you feel soon. You can! I believe in you. We both do.”

Flicking Katsuki’s nose, Mitsuki smiled and giggled, “We both know Izuku has a soft spot for you too, so I believe in the two of you to work this out. And your father and I will be here to support you when you do. And soon, right?”

“Don’t push it, old hag. I am this freakin’ close to sleeping in the backyard in my tent if you two continue drowning me in your sappy feelings-”

Then the doorbell rang, making the entire Bakugou family freeze and look to the door. Before Mitsuki even finished cheerfully saying, “Ohhh, I wonder who that could be,” Katsuki ran…again.

Masaru took pity on his son and made no move to stop him from running up to his room, when his wife opened the door to their home to greet Midoriya Izuku.

After thundering up the stairs, the prince reached his ivory tower and slammed the door to his chambers.

A hand held in a shy wave, Izuku’s pink face smiled up at them and respectfully greeted, “Hello, A-Auntie Mitsuki! Uncle Masaru! A-Aizawa-sensei sent me to check on Kacchan?”

The slight inclination of a question revealed uncertainty, and told Bakugou Mitsuki and Masaru that was a badly told lie. But they feigned ignorance and welcomed the young boy into their home. Masaru rubbed his hand on top of the boy’s fluffy green hair and offered him something to eat and drink. The overly polite boy denied and asked them what they expected - to see their son.

Gesturing with a thumb pointing at the stairs, Mitsuki leaned on the kitchen counter and smirked. “He’s up in his room, Izuku. Now, you two play nice, okay? I’m rooting for you.”

“Y-Yes of course, Auntie! Um, sorry. Excuse me!” Waving at them once and doing a quick, tiny bow, Izuku walked backwards, bumped his butt into the fridge while trying to escape the kitchen, and then turned to bolt up the stairs. Hand cupping his mouth, Izuku called for their son confidently..tripping only once, before standing outside his door. “Kacchan! Kacchan! I’m coming up the stai-AHH! Kacchan?”

So, Bakugou’s parents gave Midoriya Izuku their blessings and remained patient with them.

It took almost an hour, but seeing Katsuki hurriedly say something about seeing them next weekend and that they’re heading back to the dorms together, was the positive resolution they wanted. And the happy Bakugou Mitsuki and Masaru were kind enough not to draw attention to Katsuki holding his Izuku’s hand the entire time.