#sure it was reckless. one could even say senseless (that's how you know it was meant to be. they were all in without reservation)

[youraveragecatastrophe]

At the end of the episode, Carmen has known Ivy and Zack for 2 hours top and she's like 'sure I'll put two randos on my crew, they seem nice :)'

And Zack and Ivy have known this weird lady for 2 hours top and are also like 'yeah we'll follow her no questions asked'

I love all of them for that.

[hiraethwrote]

just wanna say im in love with your loner!megumi x popular!reader series. you write it so well and i can’t get enough. i wanted to drop in and ask if you’d ever consider doing a jealous!megumi, rather than reader 👀 im curious to see how you’d characterize that!

an aaah tysm bby, means so much to me that you enjoy it 🫶🏻🫶🏻 sorry it took me so long to get to this. i wanted to write a little drabble for it but have been so prioritised in this one fic. to answer your question, yes, ive been wanting to do jealous megumi for some time, and the next fic will include more of it. here’s a little snack in the meantime

loner megumi x popular reader masterlist

loner megumi is all too familiar with the feeling of jealousy. i mean you are you after all! you’ve had admirers at your feet long before he had the privilege of putting his arms around you. and that doesn’t stop just because you are in university — contrary to popular belief, people do not necessarily grow more mature with age.

also being in the biggest sorority on campus, you are closely affiliated with a lot of the obnoxious fraternities around. you do, under no circumstances, go unnoticed by an array of characters.

sadly, he is more than aware of the guys who surround you, trying to get your number or your socials. he knows the attempts some of these guys try to convince you to let them take you out — you always decline harshly.

but megumi is a reserved guy, and will rarely let his jealousy get the best of him. he would never succumb to any drastic or reckless actions.

he would, however, bother his small social circle senseless by his seemingly endless negativity.

“this is pointless anyway. i’m never going to need any of this shit, so why bother to study?”

that’s yuji’s cue to start looking around. when megumi suddenly decides to come with a somewhat aggressive comment out of the blue, there’s usually only one reason — he’s jealous.

sure enough. yuji spots you with a few of your classmates, one of them a particularly handsome guy looming behind you. you don’t pay him much attention, but he has a look in his eyes with clear intent.

“you know she doesn’t care, right?” yuji says, trying to defuse the ever growing agitation in megumi, whose if looks could kill, would be a man behind bars.

“neither do i.” king of denial.

“sure dude, you’re real casual,” yuji rolls his eyes.

eventually you join your boyfriend, just as chipper as they had observed you moments ago. megumi keeps a close eye on the guy, chewing the inside of his cheek when he sees him continuing to look at you.

for the rest of the day, he is almost unbearably clingy. when leaving campus, he will loosely intertwine his fingers with yours, and you best believe he will not let go until he absolutely have to.

megumi isn’t opposed to physical affection. when it’s you, he even loves it — he is just not very good at initiating it. especially not in public. so when you’re stood waiting for the train, and his body is gently pressed up against you, a soft hand resting on your hip, you get a sneaking suspicion something is off.

“you okay, baby?”

“hmm? yeah, why wouldn’t i be?” he answers casually, gaze directed on the opposite platform.

curiosity gets the best of you, following his gaze and landing on one of your classmates who is already looking in your direction. once you make eye contact with him, he throws you a wave and a smile.

as you return the wave, you feel megumi hug himself closer to you, pressing the side of his face against your temple — he has now exposed himself.

because megumi isn’t nearly as in control of his reactions as he thinks he is. his irritation for lingering gazes resting on you are very evident, but he just does not sound his frustrations.

as mentioned, he will never make a big deal out of it. but you know. neither to you mind the subtle possessiveness. it’s nice to see he has it in him — to let people know you’re his.

©hiraethwrote 2024 . all rights reserved. reposting, translating and otherwise plagarisim is prohibited

[silvfyre-writings]

What Don't I Know? (BSD Fanfic)

Welcome back to another Fukudad and Ranpo fic and this time, we're in for the long run! No, it's not another longfic haha, but I have a sort of AU (I guess?) regarding ideas I have about the found family dynamic we've been gifted. Some of them are a little darker themed, so of course they will be tagged appropriately (I still have to write such fics lol)

But anyway! Ranpo AND Fukudad, what more could you want? May you enjoy, and don't be afraid to leave a kudos or a comment telling me what you thought! I love hearing you all get excited over these stories I write :D

What am I doing? Fukuzawa asked himself as he scolded Ranpo, shouting at the boy for the reckless behaviour that had would’ve gotten him killed if he hadn’t shown up in time.

He’s not my kid. Fukuzawa continued to think as tears welled up in the teenager’s eyes and began to roll down his cheeks, one hand clutching the red mark on his cheek from where he’d been slapped just seconds ago.

I’m in over my head. Fukuzawa sighed as Ranpo clung to him tightly, the boy’s face buried into the fabric of Fukuzawa’s yukata, as he cried and wailed out senseless apologies that were barely coherent into his chest.

This wasn’t how he’d expected his day to go. Not in the slightest. In no way, shape, or form, could he have predicted that by the end of the day, he’d have a fourteen year old boy hugging him and crying like his entire world had just been upended. Well, for all Fukuzawa knew, it had, but he knew he wasn’t going to get an answer anytime soon, not until the tears stopped.

“I’m sorry!” Ranpo wailed, his loudest one yet that had Fukuzawa wincing at the volume, but it finally triggered him into moving, and he dropped his arms from where they’d been hanging in midair since he hadn’t any idea of what to do with them in the first place, to rest on Ranpo’s shoulders and draw the boy closer. This only made Ranpo cry that much harder.

“It’s fine.” Fukuzawa said, doing his best to maintain the calm persona he’d managed to show all day—all day up until he’d seen a gun pointed at this child’s face—but he was pretty sure he failed. He didn’t know what to do, whether he should take Ranpo and go elsewhere, or simply wait for the tears to stop. If they ever did. Instead, Fukuzawa found himself running a hand through choppy black hair, something he recalled from his own childhood as a way to comfort another. He could only hope it would work on this child in front of him.

Ranpo shuddered underneath the palm of his hand, but finally, the wails quietened down, and the tears slowed until there was nothing but sniffling as his nose continued to run. And even though the tears had stopped, Fukuzawa kept moving his hand, kept running his hands through hair that desperately felt like it needed a wash from how oily it felt. He didn’t let that bother him though, as the motion seemed to soothe Ranpo even more, and eventually, Ranpo became still and quiet, but he still clung to Fukuzawa.

“The police are on their way to arrest these people.” Fukuzawa explained, and even though he knew that Ranpo wasn’t injured, he still wanted to be certain. “Are you injured?”

Ranpo didn’t say anything, only shook his head in response to Fukuzawa’s question; but Fukuzawa felt as his arms rose and then fell with the sigh that came out of Ranpo, and waited for the boy to gather his words. It didn’t take long, and Ranpo soon spoke, albeit quietly. “What’s going to happen to me?”

“What do you mean?” Fukuzawa asked, because he genuinely didn’t know what Ranpo meant. He knew that, back at the theatre, he’d offered Ranpo his home, but that had been a spur of the moment thing, something he’d done for a reason he did not yet know of. And despite what had just occurred in the warehouse, Fukuzawa had still been under the assumption that Ranpo was still coming home with him. Had he been wrong?

He received a look that could only be shock as Ranpo looked up at him, eyes showing a hesitance that Fukuzawa had never seen before in the short time he’d known the boy as they scanned his face, almost as if he was looking for a lie that didn’t exist. It was a strange expression to see on Ranpo’s face, because if there was one thing he’d learnt in recent hours, it was that Edogawa Ranpo did not hesitate. Ever since that first moment, where Ranpo had first appeared in that office, he’d exuded a kind of confidence that Fukuzawa had never seen before.

And right now, there was none of that confidence. Right now, Edogawa Ranpo looked every bit the fourteen year old boy that he was, one that is scared about where his future lies.

“The offer to stay with me is still there, if that is what you wish to do.” Fukuzawa offered when it was clear that Ranpo wasn’t about to speak anytime soon. “Otherwise, I can help you find shelter elsewhere.”

Ranpo continued to remain silent, but from the way his grip became almost suffocating, it was obvious that the boy didn’t want to go anywhere without Fukuzawa. Which was reasonable after the night’s events. “Alright.” Fukuzawa said after he’d patted Ranpo’s head a couple of times. “I have a spare futon you can use, and tomorrow, we’ll talk, okay?”

“Okay.” Ranpo murmured, letting go of Fukuzawa and scrubbing his hands across his face, wiping away as much evidence as he could that he’d been crying only moments ago. It was still obvious, from the way Ranpo’s eyes were splotched with red, and puffy eyes, but if Ranpo didn’t want to draw attention, then Fukuzawa would simply follow his lead and pretend—at least until they were behind the safety of closed doors.

It didn’t take long for the police to arrive, frantic and apologetic since it was one of their own that had kidnapped Ranpo in the first place. Fukuzawa let the apologies wash over him, instead pointing their attention towards the criminals that he’d knocked out, and watching as they were all rounded up and loaded into a single police van. One of the officers had approached to apologize again, but Fukuzawa merely raised a hand.

“It’s fine. If there is nothing more you need from us, we’ll be going.”

“Yes, of course, I understand.” The officer said, bowing at the waist towards both Fukuzawa and Ranpo. “We’ll still need statements from the both of you about the events at the theatre and the warehouse, but we’re more than happy to wait until tomorrow to gather those from you. We understand it’s been quite a night.”

“It has. I’ll make sure to stop by the station in the morning then. Until then, good night.” Fukuzawa gave a slight bow before he placed a hand on Ranpo’s shoulder and guided the boy out of the warehouse. The entire time, Ranpo hadn’t said a word, hadn’t even looked at the officers as they’d moved about and tried to engage with him. Fukuzawa wanted to put it up to exhaustion, because who wouldn’t be exhausted after such a night? But he knew better, could see the gears turning inside the boy’s head as he processed what was going on around him, probably already deducing everything about everyone that was there.

Fukuzawa wondered if the boy ever stopped thinking.

The walk to Fukuzawa’s apartment was just as quiet, but now, instead of having Ranpo in front of him, the boy was behind him, footsteps tired and slow as he followed Fukuzawa. It appeared that the night’s events were finally catching up with Ranpo as exhaustion grew on his face. The moment he’d started to lag behind, Fukuzawa had taken hold of Ranpo’s hand, making sure to not walk so fast that the boy tripped, but not so slow that he grew even more tired.

“It’s small.” Fukuzawa said as they came to a stop outside the door to his home on the third floor of the building. “But it’ll do for now. And it’s better than sleeping on the streets.”

Ranpo nodded, lifting his head a little as Fukuzawa opened the door for him and allowed him to step past. Fukuzawa watched as Ranpo stepped inside and stopped, looking around the apartment as he toed off his shoes, and removed his cape and hat, carefully placing them where they’d be out of the way.

At least, despite his arrogance and disregard for social etiquette, Ranpo still had some manners.

Fukuzawa flicked the light switch, blinking as light flooded the apartment, revealing the rest of it to the boy standing beside him. The apartment was simple really; one bedroom, one bathroom, a kitchen, and a living room. He felt a little self-conscious as Ranpo stepped further into the apartment, coming to a stop in the living room; it wasn’t often—never, actually—that Fukuzawa had guests over, so it felt a little odd to be sharing his living space with someone else, let alone a teenager that he’d only met that morning.

“Are you hungry?” Fukuzawa asked only once Ranpo had been standing for several minutes, not saying, or doing anything.

“No.” Ranpo said, and then sighed. “Are you sure…?”

“I wouldn’t have offered if it bothered me, Ranpo.” Fukuzawa moved over towards the kitchen, and opened the freezer, rummaging through it until he’d found what he wanted; an ice pack. He wrapped the block in a towel before he returned to stand in front of Ranpo, and offered it to the boy.

Ranpo frowned at him, but reached out and took the ice pack anyway.

“For your cheek.” Fukuzawa explained, and understanding dawned on Ranpo’s face as he brought it up to rest against the red mark that had swollen a little on the walk here. A bit of guilt ran through Fukuzawa at the sight of it; he really shouldn’t have hit the boy, even though he’d seen no other option at the time. He would apologize for it, but not right now, not when Ranpo seemed so lost and confused, and uncertain. No, he would do it in the morning, after they’d both had a chance to rest. “Right, there are a few things you can do now.”

“What?” Ranpo asked.

“You can take a shower if you’d like before getting some rest.” Fukuzawa said. “Or I can just roll out the spare futon I have and you can sleep.”

“Or?”

“Or we can talk now.”

Ranpo dropped his head, his bangs falling forward to hide his face from view as he thought over his options, for which Fukuzawa was more than happy to give him the time to do so. Honestly, he wanted nothing more than to sleep, an exhaustion that he hadn’t felt in years, settling deep into his bones. But he knew that right now, what he wanted wasn’t important; it was what Ranpo wanted that mattered.

“I don’t have anything else…” Ranpo said quietly. It sounded like the boy was trying to argue, but whatever was running through his mind was too distracting for him to form a proper argument, not that Fukuzawa could figure out what Ranpo was trying to argue in the first place. As if he’d invite the boy into his home and not have something for him to sleep in that wasn’t that uniform of his.

A uniform that’s probably been his only clothing for the past year. Fukuzawa’s mind supplied unhelpfully, bringing with it a pang of sympathy at the idea of Ranpo having to sleep on the streets in just that uniform; he couldn’t even begin to imagine how Ranpo had handled the winter months in that uniform. It certainly didn’t look warm enough. “I should have something you can wear for now. It might be a little big, but it’ll do for now.”

Ranpo nodded and followed Fukuzawa down the hall as he opened the door to his room and crossed over to his closet, once again rummaging until he’d found what he was looking for. Fukuzawa emerged with a hoodie and a pair of pants in hand and held them out towards Ranpo. “The bathroom’s on the other side of the hall. I’ll get the futon ready while you change.”

“Okay.” Ranpo took the clothes from Fukuzawa and disappeared into the bathroom. Once the door clicked shut behind the boy, he moved to hunt down the spare futon he knew he had. He’d never used it of course, because he hadn’t had a reason to use it before now, but he distinctly remembered purchasing one when he’d moved into this apartment, all because the store clerk had told him it wouldn’t hurt to have a spare.

Fukuzawa was so glad he’d listened to that clerk now.

He found the futon tucked into the back of the storage closet, and it was as he unrolled it beside his own futon, that he heard footsteps behind him and turned to see Ranpo standing in the doorway in clothes that absolutely drowned the boy. The hoodie alone fell down to Ranpo’s knees, and the pants had been rolled several times to avoid being stepped on.

Fukuzawa shook out the blanket and then turned to face Ranpo. “Is there anything you need before bed?”

Ranpo shifted uneasily with a frown on his face. He shook his head after a moment before pausing and then nodding. Another second passed with another shake, before he finally whispered. “Can we leave a light on?”

“Of course. I’ll leave the hall light on.” Fukuzawa said, and moved to turn on that light and turn the others off, darkening the room, but not completely. He caught a glimpse of Ranpo’s surprised look as he moved to lay on his futon, as if he couldn’t believe his request was even being considered in the first place.

“You don’t think it’s weird?” Ranpo asked as he lay on the futon beside Fukuzawa, crawling under the blankets and tugging them until only the top of his head was visible.

“Not at all. You went through something traumatic today, so if having the light on helps, then we will leave the light on.” Fukuzawa explained. “Good night, Ranpo.”

A few moments of silence, then. “Goodnight, Fukuzawa-san.”

The morning brought with it, a tiredness that Fukuzawa felt deep in his bones, and a teenager drooling onto his chest, said teenager having abandoned his own futon at some point during the night to glue himself to Fukuzawa’s side. Fukuzawa sighed, but didn’t make a move to get up or wake Ranpo as he continued to sleep peacefully. A quick glance at the clock in his room showed that it was ten in the morning, and he had to do a double take to make sure that he’d read the clock right; yesterday’s events must’ve weighed on him more than he’d realized since usually, he was up before the sun.

Or maybe, it had something to do with the stray he’d picked up during yesterday’s events.

With another sigh, and some careful manoeuvring, Fukuzawa managed to crawl out from underneath Ranpo without disturbing him, and slowly shut the door behind him as he left the room. And then he paused. What am I supposed to do now? Fukuzawa asked himself as he walked to the kitchen. Sure, he’d offered Ranpo a place to stay, but that was only for the night; he wasn’t nearly well enough equipped to have the teenager stay with him long term, yet… he couldn’t bare the thought of throwing the teen back onto the streets after seeing how attached Ranpo was to him. He tried to picture it in his mind, but even then, couldn’t bring himself to say the words, nor could he bring himself to imagine the tears that would follow if he even dared to say them in the first place.

Whether he liked it or not, Fukuzawa knew that he was stuck with Ranpo now, and that meant, he needed to think. It’d been over eighteen years since he himself was a teenager, but he distinctly remembered being rather low maintenance; never requiring much more than the basics, and never really wanting more than what he’d already had or was given. It didn’t take a genius though, to know that Ranpo was not the same as him, that the boy sleeping in his futon was pretty much the exact opposite to him.

What do teenagers even need in the first place? Fukuzawa frowned as he moved about the kitchen, grabbing some eggs and rice to make a simple breakfast for him and Ranpo. As he moved, he allowed his mind to drift back to the question he’d asked himself; clothes were a given, since it appeared that Ranpo only had one set of clothing, that being the dirty uniform Fukuzawa would need to wash before he let Ranpo wear it again. Toys? As far as Fukuzawa knew, teenagers didn’t play with toys, but Ranpo was rather childish compared to other teenagers he’d run into from time to time, almost as if he’d never quite managed to escape the clutches of childhood. He pushed that idea to the side for now; he’d ask Ranpo when he woke.

Basic necessities were also something he’d need to pick up, unless Ranpo had some of his own in that satchel of his. And even if he did, it couldn’t hurt to have more on hand. Food was another thing he’d need; his fridge had food, but it was filled with basic stuff that didn’t take all that long to prepare. A growing teenage boy would need protein and more sustainable meals, especially since Ranpo was already on the small side for his age. Fukuzawa couldn’t help but frown as he cracked the eggs into a frying pan; he hadn’t noticed it before, but Ranpo was rather scrawny. That assassin had been younger than the boy—only twelve, Fukuzawa’s mind supplied unhelpfully—and he’d already been taller, and bulkier, than Ranpo was.

He could only imagine that life on the streets hadn’t been particularly kind to the orphaned teen.

Speaking of life on the streets… a doctors visit would be necessary. And that was the most terrifying task yet. Fukuzawa didn’t go to the doctors himself often, but whenever he’d needed to, the offices had always been filled with wailing children begging their parents to go home, and something was telling him that Ranpo was one such child. But it was a necessary task; Ranpo had gone for over a year without proper healthcare—at least, as far as Fukuzawa knew—and depending on where the boy had taken to sleeping at night, it certainly wouldn’t have been a cleanest of environments.

Clothes, necessities, doctors. We’ll start there. Fukuzawa nodded to himself as a plan of action formed in his mind. That way, if Ranpo decided he did want to stay, they’d be able to get everything they needed. And if, by some chance, Ranpo didn’t want to stay, then make a note of what Ranpo needed and give the boy some money so he could do it himself.

Something told him that would be unnecessary, but it always paid to think ahead.

“Fukuzawa-san…?” A quiet voice sounded from behind him, and Fukuzawa turned to see Ranpo standing in the hallway, rubbing sleep out of his eyes. Despite sleeping as deep as he had, Ranpo still looked exhausted. His eyes were red as they blinked open once, and his hair was all over the place, even more than it already was. And although Ranpo had made it sound like he was going to say something else, his voice trailed off and he said nothing.

“I made eggs and rice for breakfast.” Fukuzawa said as he turned back to the stove to check on the eggs, finding them to be suitably cooked, and dished them onto the bowls of rice that’d finished cooking moments before Ranpo had appeared. “If it’s not to your liking, I plan to do groceries today. Just tell me what you would like.”

“It’s fine.” Ranpo shuffled over to the dining table and thanked Fukuzawa as he was handed one of the bowls. He sat there in silence, as Fukuzawa sat from across him, and didn’t move to touch his food. Instead he pulled his hands away from the bowl and they disappeared under the table. There was tension in the teen’s frame.

“Is something wrong?” Fukuzawa frowned after he’d taken a bite of his own food. Were the eggs not cooked enough? Was it too plain a meal? Or was it not sweet enough for the boy’s liking?

“You wanted to talk when we woke up.” Was all that Ranpo said. He still refused to look up and meet Fukuzawa’s eyes.

“I did. But we can eat and talk, or we can talk after eating.” Fukuzawa tapped Ranpo’s bowl with his spoon. “Eat. You must be hungry.”

Ranpo did as he was asked, and finally picked up the spoon, managing a few mouthfuls before he broke the silence. “Why are you doing this?”

“Doing what?” Fukuzawa asked. He paused in eating and placed his spoon beside the bowl in order to give Ranpo is full attention.

Ranpo gestured towards the food, and then gestured again to the rest of Fukuzawa’s apartment. “All this. I’m just some kid you met yesterday.”

“It’s called being kind, Ranpo.” Fukuzawa lifted his spoon again, and finished off the rest of his meal before he continued speaking. “You needed a place to sleep, so I offered one. You needed food, so I cooked some. It doesn’t matter if I met you yesterday, or if I met you weeks ago, I’d still do the same.”

“But why?”

“I don’t know.” Fukuzawa admitted, and truthfully, he didn’t know. He didn’t know why he felt such a strong need to care for the kid sitting across from him, why he felt like it was his responsibility to make sure that Ranpo was safe and looked after. And he certainly didn’t know when that had happened; he’d spent almost the entirety of yesterday wanting to be rid of an annoying, know-it-all teenager, yet the moment Ranpo had been in danger, he’d gone to all lengths to protect the kid.

He couldn’t explain it.

“I don’t know.” He repeated. Slowly. Carefully. “You tried my patience and you drained my wallet, yet something changed to make me go from wanting to leave you tied to a pole to wanting to make sure that you were safe and cared for, and that is something I am unable to put into words right now.”

Ranpo remained silent, eyes focused on the table as he ate, but Fukuzawa could tell that he was listening to his every word. Fukuzawa was content to wait, and pushed his bowl to the side while he waited for Ranpo to find the words he needed; if he had any to say. After maybe five minutes, Ranpo opened his mouth. “What do you want from me?”

The question is shaky, and there’s a look on Ranpo’s face that Fukuzawa doesn’t like. He can’t name it, but he’s seen it before—never on a teenager’s face before now though—and he can’t say that he likes the conclusion that he’d drawn from it. A part of him wanted to ask Ranpo, wanted to reassure himself that he was coming to the wrong conclusion, but he doesn’t, because he knows that if he does, it’ll destroy the current atmosphere and it’ll drive Ranpo away.

“I don’t want anything from you.” Fukuzawa said instead. He laced his fingers together to rest his chin on them as he watched Ranpo fidget in his seat—still with no eye contact. “All I want is to see you thrive, because I believe you can do great things with the gift you possess—if that is what you want to do—and you cannot thrive without the proper support.”

“And you’ll… offer that support? To me?” Ranpo lifted his head, and he looked at Fukuzawa, although his eyes were still closed as he did so, so it wasn’t quite direct eye contact, but that was fine. He was quickly learning that Ranpo was filled with quirks, and he was sure that there were still many that he wasn’t aware of yet.

“If you want it. I can offer you food and shelter in exchange for simple chores around the apartment. We can enrol you into school so that you can finish the education that you started, and we can find you work so you can make some money and not need to rely on the government.”

“And… what if… I didn’t want to stay here…?” Ranpo asked, although he sounded uncertain as he did so, like it wasn’t a scenario he wanted to follow the path of, but would do so if Fukuzawa gave the slightest inclination that he didn’t want Ranpo to stay. It was so obvious that it made Fukuzawa’s heart clench, but he didn’t let it show on his face, keeping his calm and collected self so that he didn’t scare Ranpo away.

“If you didn’t want to stay here, I would help you find work, and somewhere stable to live. But you don’t want to do that, do you?”

Ranpo shook his head and hunched in on himself, drawing his knees to his chest and hiding his face into them. “I’d like to stay here. With you. You aren’t like the other adults in this strange world I don’t understand. You aren’t a monster, and you understand me… well, sort of. So I’d like to stay… if that’s okay?”

“I wouldn’t have offered if it wasn’t okay, Ranpo. You are welcome to stay. We’ll just have to get you some things first.” Fukuzawa said, standing from the table to clear the empty bowls and place them in the sink to be washed later. He watches Ranpo begin to unfurl from his position. “Now, I intended to wash that uniform of yours today, but maybe you’d like to wear it while we go out and get you some new clothes? Since you haven’t mentioned having anything else to wear.”

Ranpo’s face scrunched up before he’d even finished asking the question, and there’s red blooming across his cheeks. “My bag is only so big…”

“I’m not poking fun at you.” Fukuzawa looked over at Ranpo, finding the boy curled up again and hiding his face. “I understand your living situation has not been ideal, so you will not receive any judgement from me. We will go out and get what you need, and that is that. Alright?”

A few beats of silence, and then, “Alright…”

As it turned out, shopping with Ranpo was not ideal. Well, clothes shopping specifically. After the two of them had washed up, they’d left the apartment; Fukuzawa somehow managing to find a pair of pants and a shirt that didn’t immediately frown Ranpo, but were still far too large for the scrawny teen. Ranpo had immediately complained about being seen out in public like that, but when Fukuzawa had suggested that Ranpo remain behind—because he could simply take the kid’s jacket to help with buying the right sized clothing—Ranpo had kicked up an even bigger fuss.

So yeah, Fukuzawa was already tired, and it was only midday.

The mall they’d gone to was busy; not terribly so because it was a weekday, but there was enough people to bring discomfort instead of enjoyment. Not that Fukuzawa was particularly fond of crowds to begin with in the first place. He found himself watching Ranpo closely, keeping one hand on Ranpo’s back whenever they had to walk through a crowd, and just making sure the boy didn’t get lost. From the small number of things that Fukuzawa knew about the boy that was, well, his ward now essentially, he knew that Ranpo had grown up in a small town or village, one where everyone had known each other. So to go from that to a city as big as Yokohama, that had countless shopping districts filled with shops and people, it had to be a bit of a shock.

But Ranpo seemed fine, if a little tense, as his head swivelled from side to side, taking in his surroundings. He never said anything, only speaking to ask where exactly it was that they were going, or for Fukuzawa to slow down—he hadn’t even realized he’d been walking too fast until Ranpo had first asked him and he’d realized the teen was having to jog to keep up with him.

“Here.” Fukuzawa came to a stop outside of clothing store on the top floor of the complex. Why the people who’d built this mall had decided the main stores needed to be on the top floor, he didn’t know, but he did not appreciate it, not when he’d had to listen to Ranpo complain about the amount of stairs they’d had to climb. “We should be able to find some clothes for you here.”

“This is a children’s clothing store.” Ranpo pointed out.

Fukuzawa raised an eyebrow. “And? You are a child.”

“Yes, but, I’m nearly an adult!”

“Unless you plan to grow taller or put on weight in the next two months, you won’t fit any of the adult clothes right now, Ranpo.” Fukuzawa explained, feeling a little bad at pointing out how small Ranpo actually was right now, but he didn’t want to waste money on clothes that wouldn’t even fit the boy for some time. It wasn’t as if they were buying an entire wardrobe right now anyway. All they were doing was buying a few pants, some shirts, and whatever else Ranpo needed to get him by until Fukuzawa could afford to buy more.

He may have had enough money to buy Ranpo nine bowls of red bean soup, but he certainly didn’t have enough to buy an entire wardrobe plus whatever else they needed to buy that day.

“Ugh, fine. But don’t be surprised if there’s nothing I like here.” Ranpo huffed as he dragged Fukuzawa into the—thankfully—quiet store. All the other shoppers must’ve been on the lower levels, because there was only ten other people in the store, plus the workers. And it was quiet, which was a nice change to the rest of the building.

“You’re going the wrong way.” Fukuzawa pulled Ranpo to a halt and pointed to the right of where they’d been going. “Boy’s clothes are that way.”

Ranpo looked up at the sign that showed they’d been heading towards the girl’s section of the store. He blushed an impressive shade of red and pouted, turning his head towards the ground. “What if I wanted to go to that section?”

Fukuzawa blinked, not having expected that response. He suddenly felt like he was being tested, but what for, he wasn’t quite sure. He thought over it carefully, as the last thing he wanted to do was upset or offend Ranpo by saying the wrong thing. Fukuzawa considered himself supportive of people regardless of how they presented themselves, correcting himself as needed if he was wrong, and correcting others when they were wrong. But not once had he considered that Ranpo might fall under that category. A little bit of guilt ran through him at that. He should’ve asked before they’d come to the mall. “Do you want to shop there?”

Ranpo shrugged. “I’d like to look.”

“Alright. We can look there and see if there’s anything you’d like.” Ranpo’s eyes opened, revealing bright green orbs as the teen stared at him in poorly disguised shock. Fukuzawa couldn’t tell if Ranpo had actually wanted to shop in the girl’s section or if he’d just been trying to save face because he hadn’t realized he was going the wrong way, but Fukuzawa wasn’t going to bring it up. He’d ask Ranpo about it when they were back home.

Ranpo was silent as he browsed the clothes, so Fukuzawa remained silent as well as he followed behind, observing as Ranpo occasionally reached out and ran his hands along the fabric, either withdrawing quickly like the fabric had burned him, or visibly relaxing as he felt the fabric. Fukuzawa didn’t understand the reactions, but he took note anyway of what fabric caused what reaction. It seemed important.

“Excuse me, do you need a hand?” Fukuzawa turned to see a staff member standing just behind him, a friendly smile on her face. Yukino, her name tag read, and when Fukuzawa merely blinked at her, her smile grew wider. “Sorry, I noticed you both looked a bit lost, so I wondered if I could be of assistance?”

Fukuzawa glanced over at Ranpo, who wasn’t looking in their direction, but was coiled with tension. He turned his attention back to Yukino. “We’re fine thank you. Do you have change rooms though in case we’d like to try some things?”

“Yes, of course.” Yukino gestured to the left of them where, Fukuzawa could now see, had massive lettering labelled ‘change rooms’ plastered across the wall. “We only ask that you take five things at a time if you plan to try a lot, and that anything you don’t like, you leave at the counter there.”

“Thank you.” Fukuzawa gave a slight bow, and turned back towards Ranpo as they were left alone once again. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine.” Ranpo frowned up at him and put back the shirt he’d been holding. The teen then looked away, before he looked at the ground and tensed even further. “You don’t think it’s weird?”

“What’s weird?”

“Being in this section?”

“Not if it’s what you want to wear.” Fukuzawa shrugged, stepping closer to Ranpo, and looking at the shirt he’d been looking at; it was a simple white shirt with a cat printed on the front. To be honest, he couldn’t see what made it a ‘girls’ shirt to begin with. “Clothing is all about what makes you feel comfortable. It’s why I mostly wear my yukata, although I do enjoy wearing other clothes at times.”

Ranpo hummed, and went back to browsing. A couple of minutes later, he piped up. “How much can I pick out?”

“Not too much, we have a lot to acquire today. Five shirts, three pants—or skirts if that is what you’d prefer—and we’ll get you some underwear which should be enough for now. We can always buy more once you’ve had a chance to settle in.”

Ranpo nodded, and didn’t respond as he continued to browse, slowly wandering from the girls section over towards the boys section. He was yet to actually pick anything out, but there were some items that the teen lingered on more than others. Fukuzawa tried not to become impatient, but when, after an hour, Ranpo still hadn’t picked out, he found himself losing a little patience.

“Why don’t you get something simple for now?” He suggested, pulling a shirt off of the rack and holding it up.

Ranpo studied the shirt for less than a second before he turned his nose up at it. “It’s the wrong material.”

“The wrong—Ranpo, it’s a shirt! It’s just like all the other shirts here.” Fukuzawa exclaimed in disbelief.

“No it’s not!” Ranpo snatched the shirt form his hands and threw it back on the rack carelessly. He stepped away from Fukuzawa and curled his arms around himself. “It’s the wrong material, okay? It doesn’t feel right!”

Fukuzawa sighed, and reached over to take the shirt again, replacing it onto the hanger before putting it back where he’d gotten it from. This was why he’d been unsure about taking Ranpo in in the first place. Already, they were hitting their first obstacle and it was clothes of all things. He closed his eyes and took a breath to bring back his patience since snapping wasn’t going to get them anywhere. When he opened them, Ranpo was still in front of him, tense, and head lowered.

He reached over and placed a hand on Ranpo’s shoulder, giving it a squeeze and waiting until Ranpo looked up at him. “I apologize for snapping. Tell me then, what is an appropriate shirt for you?”

Ranpo’s eyes opened wide at his words, and it took a few seconds for Ranpo to reach back into the rack, touching most of the shirts there before he pulled one out. “This one. It’s soft, not scratchy.”

Fukuzawa ran his hands over the material before he did the same to the shirt he’d placed back on the rack. He thinks he’d understood what Ranpo meant, but he knew that he still didn’t quite get it. Still, he nodded. “Alright. I think I understand now. If I pick out some shirts like this one, will you try them?”

A pause, and then a nod. Finally, progress had been made.

Fukuzawa turned to walk to a different aisle before he paused and looked over his shoulder. “Would you like me to pick you something from the other section?”

A longer pause this time, and a wary look before he’s given a slow nod.

Alright. Fukuzawa walked away after telling Ranpo where he was going—not that the boy wouldn’t be able to see him since he towered over most of the racks anyway—and began to browse the shirts. Every shirt he picked out, he held it against the one he’d taken with him, one that Ranpo had approved of, to make sure that it was the same material; a task that was surprisingly harder than it looked. It took some time, but eventually, he managed to pick out some shirts that he thought Ranpo might look; three from the boy’s section, and three from the girl’s.

He'd also grabbed something else, but he was still hesitant on whether or not it was something Ranpo actually wanted.

Upon returning to Ranpo’s side, he discovered that the boy had also picked out a few articles of clothing for himself—thank the heavens—and seemed happy with what he had chosen. From what Fukuzawa could see, they were just plain shirts, which was completely fine. Ranpo didn’t really strike Fukuzawa as the kind of kid to wear extravagant clothing.

“Do you want to try these on?” Fukuzawa asked, offering out the shirts he’d picked out.

Ranpo nodded, and looked through the shirts, placing two of them off to the side that he didn’t like. Fukuzawa felt a warm feeling grow inside him at that, pleased that he’d managed to at least guess correctly for four of the six things he’d grabbed. That warm feeling disappeared the moment Ranpo came upon the other article of clothing he’d brought over.

“You don’t have to try it, but you lingered on it before we moved on, so I grabbed it in case you wanted to, but were too shy.” Fukuzawa explained, feeling a little stupid to have to explain his decision, especially since Ranpo probably had already figured out why he’d grabbed it in the first place.

Ranpo didn’t say anything to begin with, and just held the clothes close to his chest. After a moment, he hummed. “I’m going to go try them on.”

“Alright, I’ll wait outside.”

What’s taking him so long? Fukuzawa glanced towards the room that Ranpo had disappeared nearly fifteen minutes ago. From his position, he could hear Ranpo shuffling about within, but the boy hadn’t made a sound for the past ten minutes, and Fukuzawa was starting to get worried. Another minute passed without a sound, and he finally gave up and approached the door. “Ranpo?”

“Yeah?” Ranpo’s voice is shaky and Fukuzawa swore he could hear sniffling. Is he crying?

“Are you alright?” There was no response to his words, but he heard a click as the door was unlocked, and that was as much of an invitation that he was going to get; Fukuzawa pushed the door open and stepped inside, eyes immediately falling towards Ranpo, who had his knees to his chest as he tucked himself back into the corner of the change room, avoiding eye contact. Fukuzawa sat on the ground next to the teen, and took note of the skirt that was currently in a death grip in Ranpo’s hands. “What’s wrong, Ranpo?”

Ranpo glanced at him. His eyes are red again from unshed tears. “I’ve never picked my own clothes before.”

Fukuzawa couldn’t help but frown. “I don’t understand what the problem is.”

“My parents…” Ranpo’s voice trailed off, and there was a pained look on his face, the same one he’d worn when he’d last brought up the topic of his parents to Fukuzawa back at the restaurant. “They used to get upset if I didn’t wear what they picked for me.”

What do I even say to that? Fukuzawa thought as he scrambled to find an appropriate response. Time began to tick by, and Ranpo started to look more apprehensive, so Fukuzawa just spat out the first thing that came to his mind. “That seems like a poor reason to get upset at you.”

Ranpo snorted and shrugged. “Maybe. We grew up in a small town, so I guess they didn’t want the neighbours to think I was weirder than they already thought I was.”

Again, Fukuzawa was left unable to figure out an appropriate response. He wanted to offer words of comfort and reassurance, but it just didn’t seem right when he didn’t quite understand what the problem was. In his mind, teenagers should be allowed to wear whatever they wanted and not be judged for it, but he understood that his way of thinking wasn’t exactly commonplace in society, despite how much progress had been made over the years. What would’ve been considered taboo when Fukuzawa was a child was now somewhat accepted, and he’d seen many of the younger generation expressing themselves in various manners.

“If…” Fukuzawa began and looked down at Ranpo, and waited for Ranpo to look up at him. “If you want to wear the skirt, you will receive no judgement from me. If that is what is stopping you in the first place. And if you don’t want to wear it, that is fine as well.”

“You want to ask something else. I can tell.”

“I do, but I don’t think you want to talk about that in a change room.” Fukuzawa said, which drew another laugh from Ranpo.

“Yeah, not really.”

Fukuzawa soon found himself being herded out of the change room, and the door slammed shut in his face; a reprimand was on the tip of his tongue, but he bit it back. It was still far too early in… whatever dynamic this was between him and Ranpo, to scold the boy when he did something wrong.

But you slapped him.

Yes, and I will apologize for that. Fukuzawa argued with himself as he returned to his seat to wait. He’d already forgotten about the way he’d slapped Ranpo the previous night, and regret ran through him at the memory of it. He really should’ve controlled himself better; Ranpo clearly was a bit different from other teenagers, and he’d looked so stunned when it had happened, like he couldn’t understand why he’d been struck in the first place. It was something they should’ve talked about that morning, but Fukuzawa had had so much on his mind that he’d forgotten.

“Fukuzawa-san?”

“Yes, Ranpo?” Fukuzawa looked up to see Ranpo standing beside him, with the clothes he’d just tried on in his arms. “Do they fit well?”

“Yeah, they do. But…” Ranpo trailed off, one of his feet kicking against the ground since his hands weren’t free to fidget with.

“What is it?” Fukuzawa asked.

“If… I wanted the skirt; would it count towards the pants limit?”

Fukuzawa let a smile form on his face, a small one, but still a smile. “No, you can still get the three pairs of pants. Although, is there a specific material you want for the pants?” He really didn’t want to spend another hour in this store trying to find the right kind of pants. He’d do it, of course, but he wouldn’t enjoy it.

“Pants are easier. They just need to not be tight.” Ranpo said. “It won’t take as long, so you don’t have to worry so much.”

And true to his word, selecting the pants had been the easiest part of this trip so far; Ranpo quickly finding the pants that suited him best. He also returned with a pair of leggings, stating that while he liked the skirt he’d tried on, it showed off too much skin, so Fukuzawa added it to the pile without a second thought.

After pants came the rest of the clothing; underwear and socks, which was also an easy affair and before he knew it, they’d finally left the department store—with a promise to never return after the cashier had dared to give them a dirty look upon seeing what they were purchasing.

Fukuzawa had seen the thought building behind the man’s eyes, had seen his mouth opening to speak that thought, and had seen is slam shut when he’d stood up to his full height and unleashed the intimidating aura he was known for on poor cashier.

Meanwhile Ranpo had chattered on happily about finally having more than one outfit to wear, and begging Fukuzawa for some sweets.

And Fukuzawa had caved, returning to the sweet shop that was on the level below them and buying Ranpo a few sweets—along with something substantial from the café two doors down—to keep him occupied whilst he purchased the rest of what they needed. The one benefit of taking so long to finish shopping for clothes, was that by the time they’d made it to the grocery store, the crowds had already died down, which meant that there were less shoppers in the grocer, which meant peace.

Well, peace from strangers, not from Ranpo.

First, Ranpo had insisted on being pushed, sitting on the front of the cart. Then, he’d insisted on more sweets than were healthy, which Fukuzawa had had to argue against; that hadn’t stopped Ranpo from sneaking some into the cart whilst his back was turned. Then Ranpo had wanted to push the cart, and at first, Fukuzawa had been pleased that Ranpo was offering to help, only to have to chase the boy down the aisle as he took off, laughing his head off and nearly running over several shoppers as he shot by them.

If Ranpo had been any smaller, than Fukuzawa would’ve just forced him into the child’s seat and been done with it.

Alas, he couldn’t, so he’d made Ranpo hold onto the side of the cart and not let go, with a gentle threat of no sweets being all it took to get the boy to obey him.

Apparently, that was all it took for Ranpo’s mood to turn sour, because then the complaints started. It started with it was too loud with all the beeping and chatter, then it was too bright because of the ceiling lights, and then there were too many people, because the longer they’d walked around, the more shoppers had arrived; all the complaints were uttered within a few minutes of each other, and Fukuzawa was almost at wits end. Yet, despite the cracks forming, Ranpo continued to complain and whine, the teen becoming more agitated the longer they walked.

“Ranpo, please.” Fukuzawa wasn’t begging, not yet, but all he wanted was for Ranpo to just be quiet for five minutes. “We’ll be done soon.”

“Well, I want to be done now! We have more than enough food!” Ranpo huffed tugging the cart to a halt and letting out a whine as he looked up at Fukuzawa. “I’m tired, I want to go home already!”

“It’s only been—”

“I don’t care!” Ranpo interrupted with a shout, and Fukuzawa fought the urge to shrivel up and die when head swivelled to look at them. “I’m tired and I want to go home! I don’t like it here!”

“Ranpo—”

“No!” Fukuzawa winced as Ranpo shoved the cart into his stomach and sat on the ground with a whine, curling up so small, his head wasn’t even visible. Fukuzawa looked around helplessly, face burning in embarrassment as he tried to quickly come to a solution. But he couldn’t think of something, because he didn’t know what this was, and it didn’t help as the other people in the aisle

“Ranpo—” Fukuzawa tried again, only to be cut off by a loud whine and what sounded like a muffled sob. What do I do? How do I handle this?

“Get him somewhere quiet.” A soft voice drew Fukuzawa’s attention, and he looked behind him to see a mother with a toddler attached to her hip giving him a sympathetic look. “He’s overwhelmed, so if you get him somewhere quiet, he’ll calm down.”

“I—” Fukuzawa glanced between the cart of groceries and Ranpo. He knew what he needed to do, he needed to help Ranpo like he’d promised to do that morning, but for the first time in his life, he felt rooted to the spot, unable to move while Ranpo fell apart at his feet.

The mother places a hand on his arm, and he looked back at her. “Go. I’ll watch your cart for you.”

“Thank you.” Fukuzawa breathed out as he reached down and pulled Ranpo to his feet before he quickly began to guide the boy towards the exit, quietly hushing Ranpo as he whined. Was it harsh? Probably. Was it necessary? Absolutely. Later, he’d research what it was that he was supposed to do in such a situation, but for now, this was the best that he could do.

The moment they left the grocer behind, along with all the sounds and crowds, the tension left Ranpo’s body and he stumbled over his own feet, Fukuzawa’s grip the only reason the teen didn’t fall to the ground. Fukuzawa tightened his grip on Ranpo’s arm and pulled him down to the side of the building, only letting go once Ranpo was leaning against the building.

“Breathe.” Fukuzawa instructed. “Keep your eyes closed and just breathe.”

Ranpo gave a single nod and slid down the wall. He took a few breaths before he whispered. “Go.”

“No, it can wait.” As much as he wanted to finish the shopping, he wasn’t about to just leave Ranpo on his own when he wasn’t well.

“Please.” Ranpo pleaded, opening his eyes to stare at Fukuzawa. “I’ll be fine. I just—just need a moment.”

“Then take that moment. I will wait with you.”

Ranpo continued to stare at him for a moment before he sighed and buried his face into his knees. The two of them sat in silence for another ten minutes before Ranpo lifted his head again. “I’m okay.”

Fukuzawa hesitated. “Are you certain?”

“Yeah. I’ll wait here… if that’s alright?”

“That’s fine. I won’t be long.” Fukuzawa promised as he turned away, pausing to watch Ranpo carefully just in case the boy was just acting strong, but it truly seemed that Ranpo was feeling better, and with that in mind, he hurried back into the grocer. He quickly tracked down the aisle he’d abandoned his cart in, and was surprised when the mother was still there, entertaining her child. “You’re still here.”

The mother looked up at him and stood, a gentle smile on her face; her child moving to hide behind her legs. “Of course, I promised to watch your cart for you after all. Is your son alright?”

He’s not my son. Fukuzawa wanted to say, but he also didn’t want to delve into an explanation about how he’d technically only been Ranpo’s guardian for a day and a bit, and that he’d met the boy at a murder scene, and that Ranpo had latched onto him like a leech. “He’s calmer now. Thank you for your assistance.”

“That’s alright. You looked a little lost and it reminded me of the time when my eldest went into overload for the first time when I took him grocery shopping. He’s old enough now that I can leave him at home thankfully.”

“Overload?” Fukuzawa frowned, unsure of what the woman meant. “Could you explain it to me? I’ve only… had him for a day, so that was the first time I’d seen him like that.”

He was given a sympathetic look before the mother reached into her purse and pulled out a notebook and pen, quickly scribbling onto a page. “It’s easier if you research it, so I’ll tell you what you need to look up, but basically, it’s sensory overload when one’s senses become overwhelmed by external stimuli.”

“I see.” Fukuzawa didn’t really, but he figured that was why she was going out of her way to write down what he needed so that he could figure it out. “And when it happens… you just take them somewhere quiet.”

“If you catch it early, then yes, but if it’s a more severe episode, it’s usually just easier to go home where they can be comfortable in a familiar environment.” The mother tears a few pages from the notebook and holds them out towards Fukuzawa. “Here, this should help. I hope everything goes well for you.”

“Thank you. I appreciate you taking the time to help as well. You didn’t have to.” Fukuzawa said as he looked at the paper, seeing a list of websites along with a very small list of what looked to be the names of a few clinics within Yokohama.

“Of course I had to!” The mother huffed, although she was smiling. “Parenting is hard, so you shouldn’t be afraid to ask for help if there’s something you don’t understand. Good luck mister!”

Fukuzawa watched the mother walk away with her own child before realizing that Ranpo was still waiting outside for him and that he still had to go through the checkout and pay for the groceries. He sighed, pushing the cart towards the entrance; maybe going on a shopping trip the day after acquiring a child he knew nothing about wasn’t the smartest of ideas.

“Apologies for making you wait.” Fukuzawa said as he approached the spot he’d left Ranpo at. The teen was still sitting on the ground, fidgeting with the hem of the shirt, but he did look up at Fukuzawa’s approach.

“It’s fine.” Ranpo mumbled, dropping his head. “I’m sorry.”

“What for?”

“For overreacting.”

Fukuzawa blinked, and then frowned, before he moved to crouch in front of Ranpo. “You don’t need to apologize for something you couldn’t help. I should be the one apologizing for not realizing sooner.” He paused for a moment. “May I ask you something?”

Ranpo lifted his gaze and nodded.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Green eyes looked away from him, and shoulders raised in a shrug. “Dunno.”

“Has it always been a problem? The sensory issues I mean?” Fukuzawa tried to be gentle in his wording, sensing that it was a sensitive topic, and was proven correct when Ranpo visibly tensed.

“Yeah…”

“Alright.” Fukuzawa stood and offered a hand to Ranpo, and pulled the boy to his feet when he took it. Fukuzawa turned on his heel and picked up the shopping backs before he set off in the direction of home.

Ranpo stared at him as he followed close behind. “That’s it?”

“Yes?”

“You don’t think I’m… a problem?” Ranpo whispered, and the uncertainty in his voice made Fukuzawa stop and turn to look at the boy.

“Not at all. It’s simply an obstacle we will have to adapt and overcome together. You aren’t alone anymore, Ranpo, you can rely on me when you’re struggling.”

Ranpo hummed and fell silent. And while Fukuzawa should be bothered by such a response, he wasn’t. It didn’t come as a surprise to know that despite Ranpo having faith in him, the boy didn’t trust him. Not yet anyway.

But in time, that trust would come.

He was certain of it.

[neeralinayee]

I Think I Love A Boy... Again.

But this time it just feels, different.

I know I say this all the time, but this one is different.

Granted I do this often, wear my heart on a sleave, hoping that you would never leave, but the truth is that I'm scared to even tell you that I like you, because you never could do what I do!

Which is to love like there is more tomorrow, having this feeling of constant sorrow. I can't eat and I can't sleep without you being there in my mind, and while I don't mind, the way you held my hand was so ever so kind, you. are. one. of. a. kind. do you mind if I just called you mine... maybe just for the night, because that is the only acceptable time that you could ever be mine.

Rumbles and flutters in my stomach, I could've spent hours just kissing you, but that would have been havoc! I so badly would have just spent the entire evening dancing with you in the rain, just so I wouldn't now have to experience this pain, of not getting to see you for another minute more, and it eats me up to my core.

I am in love, no I love, no I desire, no I want! I want this soul that has traveled through time and space, just to tell me "I'm nervous"!

Listen love, do me the service, pop my back on a mattress. Let me be that canvas that you can leave breathless, I mean I'm sure it would be much more fun if we were senseless, 6 points on that record, bit reckless, maybe that makes you anxious, you seem calm on the surface, but inside of you hold a deep darkness, not necessarily heartless, but do you blame me for being cautious.

and they ask... "Am I nervous?"

Not as nervous as sending a text, just to be left on read.

In circles, my mind goes, I can't believe I'm back here, your face glows! In my thoughts, you are just constantly there! Countless of times, just imagining what I would do to those thick thighs, that would be my prize!

Faces full of kisses, I can't focus, you're so damn gorgeous! Asking me stupid questions about my gut, with absolutely no disgust, to which I reply "and what?"

If I can't have you in this lifetime, please find me in the next, write me a text, telling me how all you want to do is see me sweat and you wanna lick my neck, and make me melt, because all I would have felt was your heart next to mine while we slept and a love we would have kept.

[kallistcs]

"Helen---"

Paris flinched when she dug her foot down and he reached out, brushing over her knuckles with one hand's thumb and and her arm with his other hand.

"Bleed as red as any peasant or reckless animal caught by the neck in the teeth of a lion," he said, shaking his head and swallowing down the grief thickening his throat. Wiped away the wetness still clinging to his eyelashes. Paris knew exactly what Helen was saying, but it was senseless. "I tried to shoot him, you know."

Paris smiled tightly, clinging to Helen's hand as he lifted it up and kissed her knuckles.

"When he was driving away from Troy, Hektor tied to the chariot. Apollo---" Paris closed his eyes, exhaling against Helen's knuckles. "Apollo said we weren't allowed, yet. I think I will kill him, and Apollo will be at my side for it, revenge for Hektor, for Troilus, because Achilles bleeds as red as my brother, as the deer and wolves a hunter can take, no matter how he acts."

There was for a moment a burning edge to his words, an anger hot in his chest even as Paris teared up again.

"But Achilles bleeding, Achilles dead won't get us Hektor back," he whispered, gaze dropping to the floor, to their feet, to the shards scattered about their feet. He winced again, sure he could see some blood spotted on the floor and staining some of the shards. "What does blood pay for, except pain? And it's hard to do anything at all, if you're in pain."

Not that Helen would ever admit to being in pain. She was a pillar and a sword, a blade keen as one forged by Hephaestus himself, surely.

"Even the sharpest sword, never faltering and never resting, aside from when the soldier puts it away at the end of the day, need to be rubbed clean and honed," Paris added, smiling hopefully at Helen.

Hoping she might relent now, though it'd be less for his begging and more because of what he'd said about Achilles and Apollo, he knew.

[ @kallistcs / cont. from here ]

Her words were useless. 

After ten years, it didn’t surprise her anymore. She could read the response through his silence when he looked away from her. The way he covered his mouth with a tremulous hand revealed more than anything he could have said. A decade of war had not made him tougher, nor had this marriage taken away his softness–and all the worse it was for Paris. The more he clung to it, the more he’d suffer.  Yet Helen stood quiet and dignified on her spot, watching her Trojan husband struggle through his sobs to regain his speech, observing his every move with a studious glance.

She answered him only with her eyes until he was done. Her knowing stare read through his tears and his denial, facing those sides of Paris that he himself would not dare to look into. His speech was foolish, but he was not. More than mere grief over the loss of a brother, the death of Hektor had come as a bitter reminder of a harsh truth from which he’d been flinching for a long time. Troy was doomed, but they’d known it since the very first day. Paris refused to admit it, but he himself had told her of Aphrodite’s promise and the prophecy in his birth–it was only a matter of time before the city would fall. He could pretend not to know this, but some part of him did. 

“There is no sooner, Paris”, she told him, ever so stoic. You cannot hide from the cut of Atropos like you hid from the cut of Menelaus' spear. “There is no shouldn’t”. The temptation behind his thinking was obvious. It was sweet to imagine that there might have been a different reality where his brother wouldn’t have had to die the way that he did; a world where Paris could rely on safety and comfort to sustain his poin of view. Tempting… and pointless. There was no such reality - and the indulgence of this kind of thought was what had brought him back to their chambers when he should have been dueling her other husband, as it now left him clueless on how to deal with his grief over Hektor.

There was only one way, but he wouldn’t like it.

“Only blood can pay for blood. Not tears. And this—”, she told him, pressing one foot harder against the shards to make a point. A faint tension on her jaw was the only glimpse of pain that crossed her face—otherwise her eyes and her posture showed only strength and fierceness. “---is how royalty bleeds.”

[the-pale-goddess]

How is Miss T spending her 30th birthday?👀✨ Does she celebrate it? How does she feel about the 3 and the 0?

Anon, my beloved! Can’t thank you enough for this question and your interest in Tiffany! You’ve made my heart so full 🥹❤️❤️❤️

The big 30 deserves a triple celebration, and that’s exactly the gift I’ve given to my girl 🥂 I went a little overboard with this response, sorry 😅

Warnings: we’re discussing E&T, so expect references to some adult activities jsvksvskvs

Actual birthday

Tiffany insisted that reaching 30 is not a big deal, so she chose to work on August 22nd.

Waving her twenties goodbye wouldn’t make any real difference in her everyday life, but it was symbolic, and this seemingly irrelevant detail put her in a weird, reflective mood.

Ethan knew it was a pretty big deal for her after all. For weeks prior, he watched her stare in the mirror looking for new wrinkles (there were none, but she would always find a reason to shake her head at her reflection and sigh) or plucking out stray gray hairs.

He could tell she’s got a lot on her mind, but she put her brave face on, covered her melancholy with a thick layer of humor and tried to deal with it on her own without burdening others as per usual.

The prospect of entering thirties made her feel a bit lost and confused. Usually confident and fearless, Tiffany suddenly didn’t know which path to choose and how to do it. But the reckless times of irresponsible youth, even if she rarely acted that way, were over. She lost access to that gray area of life where mistakes were allowed. She had to make some life-shaping decisions, and she had to make them soon.

With no hesitation, Ethan decided to be the distraction and support Tiffany needed while her self-searching quest continued.

You bet that E&T were late to work that day 🤡 Tiffany’s ever-caring and thoughtful partner made sure her day started on a high note: with a hearty breakfast in bed and morning sex.

He got up early to spoil her with her favorite Italian style omelette, freshly squeezed orange juice and delicious coffee.

Though he tried his best to be as quiet and sneaky as possible, T woke up anyway. Careful not to ruin the surprise, she pretended to be asleep, but Ethan saw through her act.

Then fucked her senseless just the way she likes.

The afterglow snuggling made it impossible to simply leave the bed and get ready for work, so they stayed in a little longer, enjoying each other’s company and engaging in pillow talk.

Inspired by the occasion, Ethan felt the need to verbalize some of his thoughts.

„You’re well aware that I’m not fond of birthdays, but…I’m immensely grateful for you, and I want you to know how special you are. How important you are to me.”

Tiff (being Tiff) joked in response, saying that Ethan’s advanced age made him sentimental. The truth, hovewer, was evident; her heart filled with overwhelming happiness—she was exactly where she wanted to be: loved, in love, and accomplished, with bright future ahead of her. The thought brought her comfort and boosted her confidence. Little did she know that in a few months her world would turn upside down 🤰🏻ksbksbskbs

Edenbrook celebrated Doctor Addams with a lot of noise—slightly embarrassed and deeply moved Tiff received many wishes and small gifts from fellow doctors and her favorite patients.

After work, E&T had a low-key dinner in one of Tiffany’s favorite sushi restaurants, then drove home to get the finest dessert on the menu 😏

Speaking of desserts…Ethan almost forgot about the most important part of his plan, the birthday cake—a criminal offence, really. After they finished each other They finished the day eating the fancy cake on the balcony, their spent bodies loosely wrapped in the sheets.

Tiffany was obsessed with the choice: vanilla supreme made with custard sauce and Bourbon vanilla, homemade blackcurrant jam, hazelnut dacquoise. Devouring this deliciousness under the stars, comfortably seated in Ethan’s lap as they watched Boston twinkle at night, was definitely worth the wait.

Of course Ethan received a rich reward for his efforts: T went extra with her dinner outfit and new lingerie. She’ll do anything to make him speechless 💅🏻

Birthday party

The gang wouldn’t let Tiffany say goodbye to her youth without a proper party, so she accepted her fate and decided to give in: a fun celebration for her friends takes place on Saturday. One of her sisters, Cynthia, is coming over from San Francisco.

It’s even more special because she organized it with Sienna (whose birthday I HC to be in July)—Miss Trinh waited a month just to have a joint birthday bash with her bestie.

Birthday trip

Last, but not least: a special gift from Ethan! In two weeks, he’s taking Tiff to Ireland where she’ll finally have an opportunity to explore her roots.

Their sightseeing focuses on Galway (her grandparents’ hometown) and the country’s most beautiful natural wonders such as the Cliffs of Moher or the most scenic routes of The Ring of Kerry.

The most exciting part of their vacation, the Galway trip, was meticulously planned by Ethan with the expert help of Tiffany’s Nanna offering some bits of their family history. Unrelated fun fact: Mrs Byrne adores Ethan to bits—she was actually the first and only person in T’s fam to give him a warm welcome.

Initially, they intended to mix Tiffany’s thirty with Ethan’s fourty (30th December for my Capricorn King 🫶🏻), but in the end decided to use his birthday as an excuse for another Eurotrip around January/February (*coughs* remember The Tape?).

I posted a little peek into T’s bday trip shenanigans, you can find the ficlet here ❤️

[bi-bard]

I’m a Reckless Lone Survivor - Alana Bloom Imagine (Hannibal)

Title: I’m a Reckless Lone Survivor

Pairing: Alana Bloom X Reader

Based On: Lone Survivor

Word Count: 944 words

Warning(s): near-death experience, mentions of murder

Summary: (Y/n) tries to warn Alana about Dr. Lecter's true nature. Alana doesn't take the warning seriously until it's almost too late.

Author's Note: We got through the writing challenge!!

Y'all... I interpreted this song as the "she" and the "you" being separate people... now I'm not quite sure.

SONDER - THE WRECKS WRITING CHALLENGE

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

I don't know why I lived.

I could remember him looking at me. I held onto my stomach, and he just watched me struggle. A blank expression on his face. He didn't care. I wasn't even human to him anymore. Just another thing to kill. Like livestock.

Maybe he meant to leave me alive. Some weird kind of message for me or whoever found the scene.

Maybe he had just gotten messy. Too caught up in the fun of the murder that he lost focus on completing the job. He thought I'd die later.

I don't know and- in the end- I really don't care.

All I cared about what that Hannibal tried to kill me and did kill everyone I cared about.

And I could not let that happen to anyone else. I had two goals: stop him and protect those that he was trying to hurt.

I continued tracking him. Movements, events, anything I could get my hands on. After the arrest of some guy named Will Graham- a patient of Hannibal- it all seemed to fall into place.

The first person I found with a strong connection to both was someone named Alana Bloom. She had been teaching a class when I first met her.

"Alana Bloom," I asked, falling into step with her.

"Yeah, who's asking," she replied.

"My name's (Y/n) (Y/l/n) and I need you to listen to me," I explained quickly. "It's about your safety."

"What?"

I looked around, making sure no one was listening. "You're friends with Hannibal Lecter, correct?"

"Why are you asking?"

I tensed up for a moment, "Because he tried to kill me."

She shook her head, going to walk away.

"He got away with murdering my sister and her husband. He tried to murder me. Now, he's gotten another man arrested and he's going to kill more people once he feels cornered."

"I don't appreciate these senseless accusations."

"Senseless? I was almost gutted-"

"Go to the police-"

"I already have," I stepped in front of her as she went to walk away. "I... Listen, I am just trying to give you the tools needed to be safe. Please. Just... don't forget what I'm telling you. If you have more questions, you can call this number."

I handed her my card.

"I can't force you to do anything, but I can help you."

With that, I walked away.

I was expecting her to ignore me. I couldn't make her listen and believe me. At the end of the day, I tried. That was all I could do to help her.

I ended up getting a phone call a few days later. It was Alana. She was asking more questions. Not about the murder itself, but how Hannibal had acted leading up to it.

I answered all of her questions. She listened, but she didn't say if she was going to do anything with that information.

We continued talking after that.

She would ask a few questions, but she would mostly give me answers. She did a lot of looking into the progress on my case, which was far too kind considering I was just someone who waltzed into her life and accused her colleague of murder.

A few weeks after our first interaction, my phone started ringing.

I had been sitting at my desk, trying to work on something. My phone had been sitting next to me. I saw Alana's name on the screen. I furrowed my eyebrows and answered the call.

"Alana," I asked, only hearing her breathing on the other side. "Alana? Did you mean to call me?"

"You... You were right," she muttered, breathing short and panicked. I froze. "Hannibal... he's..."

"Hey, hey, stay on the line," I said, sliding on my shoes and grabbing my keys. "Alana, I need you to stay on the line for me, okay. Keep talking. I'm coming. I'll... I'll find a way to call an ambulance-"

"One's... coming," she replied.

"Okay, good," I made it out to my car. I didn't know where I was going. "I need you to stay on the phone with me. I'll meet you at the hospital... hopefully."

"(Y-(Y/n)," she whispered.

"I'm right here."

I heard sirens in the background of the call.

"I'm going to be right here, Alana."

When I got to the hospital, they made me sit in the waiting room for hours. No updates or information. I just had to sit there. I despised it. All I needed to know was that Alana was okay. I couldn't even get that.

I almost fell out of my chair when someone called my name. I walked over quickly.

"She's asking for you," the nurse explained quickly.

I just nodded and followed her.

When I got to her room, my heart sank. The big device holding her bones together made me sick to my stomach.

"(Y/n)," she said, not moving her head. "Please tell me that's you."

I walked over quickly, "Yeah, yeah. It's me."

She grinned up at me, "You made it."

I nodded. "Of course, I did."

"I... I should've listened to you," she muttered. "I'm such an idiot."

"No. You aren't. You wanted to trust someone you cared about. It's human."

"You warned me-"

"You had known Hannibal longer than you had known me," I stopped her. "Please. Don't blame yourself for something he did. He made you trust him. That's what he does. All that matters now is going forward."

She didn't say anything.

"I'll be there," I promised. "If... If you want me to be."

"I'd like that."

"Good," I nodded. "Good."

She grinned at me.

Forward.

I think we both liked that idea.

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

Masterlist (Includes links to All Writing Challenges)

What I Write For

Some Original Characters

[maschotch]

Warm Colors, Cold World

day two: changing leaves

significantly shorter, slightly darker. i’m picturing teenage hotch, maybe first year of high school? shortly before his father’s death. i wanted to hint at hotch taking every opportunity to not be at the house, but idk if it really came across lol. no direct references to “has he started hitting you back yet” but just know that was playing in an endless loop in my mind while writing this

mentions of child abuse, 600 words

Fall was a complicated season. Sweltering summer days were tampered, slowly but surely, by the night’s chill. The cold crept towards the day, transforming into brisk mornings and cool nights. Warmth followed the sun and dissipated in its absence. Mild afternoons turned all too quickly to frigid evenings, times when the wind blew right through you, like it was its mission to freeze your very bones. Nights outside meant a shivering chill with the possibility of a cold the next morning.

 Opportunities to hide away were whittled down by portents of winter.

With fall came school. Aaron liked school. Books and homework kept his inquisitive mind busy. The judgmental stares and hushed whispers behind his back in school hallways were preferable to drunken raves and the constant threat of violence in the hallways of his house.

 Lately, he noticed how the town gossip aligned more and more with his father’s insults. “Scrawny,” “hollow,” “queer,” “lifeless,” “worthless,” “nothing but trouble,” “wild-eyed,” “better off dead.” He could shrug it off easily enough. They weren’t saying anything new: these were truths he’d learned about himself at an early age. That pain was a distant memory. He had more to worry about.

 He didn’t really resent anyone for saying it, but it was encouragement to fulfill their expectations. Not all the bruises came from home anymore: he got into plenty of fights on his own. He even started winning some of them. There was a little pride in being able to deal as much as he was dealt, but having a reputation for violence meant injuries went unquestioned. When asked, he’d say he broke his wrist in a fight. It’s also how he got his black eyes, his broken nose, his dislocated shoulder, shattered ribs. He was a reckless kid. It comes with the territory. Makes a better excuse than falling down the stairs every other week. One can only be so clumsy, but no one thinks twice about a belligerent teenager.

 Fall was complicated. With school came its own set of problems, but at least school was safe. The most savage beating from a group of high schoolers paled in comparison to what waited at home. No, no. School was safe.

 During the weekends or the few hours of sunlight after school, Aaron liked to walk around the woods. “Exploring” or “adventuring” were fantasies left behind in childhood—or where his childhood should’ve been. He was old enough now to accept these woodland wanderings for what they were: a means of escape.

 Illusions aside, he still enjoyed walking through the trees. There was a limit to the amount of nights he could stay out in the cold, and he grieved for the passing summer nights of warmth and fireflies. But there was a special beauty in fall that bred colors without parallel. Bright yellows and deep maroons could be found littering the forest floor, ornamenting the weakening trees, and sometimes exploding in the sky of a setting sun. The vibrant array of color came with its own kind of warmth. Maybe not as effective as high temperatures or heat waves, but it stirred his heart nonetheless. A senseless, fading beauty in the looming shadow of winter.

 Maybe the bounty the trees had to offer in fall was meaningless in the face of death, but there was something about the futile declarations of life that Aaron identified with. Screaming against fate, “I’ve survived this long! I’ve made it this far!” 

 So Aaron enjoyed his days outside, kicking up scattered leaves and admiring the trees, pretending he wasn’t counting the days until the dreaded snow arrived. Instead he tucked away a particularly striking shade of orange into one of his books and dared to hope he’d survive the upcoming season.

 He realized long ago that it wasn’t a guarantee.

[captainlevisteacup]

Perhaps you could do some SFW Fluffy & some NSFW headcanons with the brothers in a relationship with a Shapeshifter MC who frequently changes their form?

Like, they keep their natural/signature features to be recognizable, but they do regularly change their gender, height, & sex organs 😏 (Why? Because they can and they find it fun) They’re also total Dom no matter what form they are in, and will happily talk about the various ways they used their abilities to make sex more..exciting (Ex being Tentacles, two huge dicks, a big dick AND a vagina, forming a tongue designed specifically for their partner so they can perfectly give blowjob/eat them out, things like that)

This MC also uses their abilities in some way on the brothers when they are having sex, wether that be fucking them with a dick while pressing their boobs against their back/front, or doing something more..hentai related

On the fluff side of things, MC totally regularly turns into the Bros favorite animal whenever they are stressed and just lets them pet them, or if the brothers are feeling overly worried they might hurt Mc she just turns into a demon. (Which MC does whenever they want to do an activity with the brothers a human can’t do)

This also works out for them aswell, as this Mc is essentially gender fluid and just changes their form to whatever they want to when they are feeling dysphoria (Though they typically go by they/them because of how confusing it can get to go by specific pro-nouns fitting the form they shift into when they rapidly change forms throughout the day)

Sorry this was so long!

*cracks knuckles*

AAAAALLLLLLLLRRIGHTTTTTTT LET'S GO!!

No need to apologize for the long ask, I absolutely LOVE requests and this gives me a lot to work with!

The brothers with a Dom! Genderfluid *Shapeshifter* MC

***WARNINGS: HEAVY NSFW, 18+ ONLY***

Lucifer

Slightly wounds his pride that try as he might, he just can't dom MC

Something about them just renders him helpless against them

He loses his usual confidence and natural leader abilities around MC

Speaking of abilities

The things MC can do to him; the things they can make him feel

Mc can access any and every end of any possible spectrum

His favorite thing they can do is shifting themselves into having a truly impressive cock, complete with a set of plump breasts and a very, VERY long tongue

Impressive as that alone is, what MC uses it for is even more so

Pegging him mercilessly from behind, breasts bouncing and scraping against his back while that damned tongue snakes around his waist to pleasure his own member

He never knows just how to focus on any one thing when everything feels so incredible; Their dick ramming into him with reckless abandon, those globular tits bouncing onto his back, or that tongue with a lewd amount of saliva dripping off of it and onto Lucifer's body, massaging his throbbing member

MC'S gifts aren't JUST used for sex, though

They'll often use their abilities to calm him down when he's stressed

They'll make their hands impossibly soft, and run them lightly all over his body in soothing motions

Light circles on his arms, lazy lines on his face, and light massaging through his hair

Mammon

Has no problem whatsoever with MC domming him

Absolutely loves their abilities

Comes completely undone when MC stands right behind him, whispers about how they need him to be their little slut in an alluring feminine voice, and presses their intimidating member against his ass

He knows what comes next

MC ripping his shirt off of him, and pushing him down onto the bed.

Mammon takes this time to admire them; their pert breasts, their smooth skin, to their thick cock, perfectly accentuated with smooth veins, and the beautiful, somehow always moist pussy right below it

This was a skill that had startled Mammon at first. Shapeshifters aren't that common, so for it to be used sexually like THIS? Oh, Mammon was in euphoria.

MC had experimented with many different positions, but the one that drove Mammon over the edge was the one they used the most

MC on top, riding Mammon as if he were a prized mare, their dick slapping harshly against his chiseled abs, the lewd sound echoing throughout the room

Once MC came, not only was Mammon's dick enveloped by their wet vagina, but their hot seed sprayed onto his toned stomach.

Outside of the bedroom, MC would shift their hair to match Mammon's whenever he wasn't feeling well. It never failed to cheer him up, seeing MC with the same white hair made him so happy.

Levi

The biggest bottom to exist

MC takes FULL advantage of the otaku

Shifts to have the exact same body as Ruri-chan

Huge tits, exaggerated waist, and slender legs

Shifts so that their pussy is unbelievably tight, and during sex they tighten and loosen it to provide further stimulation

MC shifts to have slight fangs, so that they can drag them along Levi's skin

Often turns into a snake and rests on Levi's shoulders, sometimes they do this during class if MC doesn't want to attend their's that day

MC can stretch or shrink their vocal cords to mimic certain Anime characters

Occasionally, MC will do this doing sex and moan Levi's name

This drives him insane

If the two are in public and MC wants to tease or arouse him, all the have to do is adopt the anime girl voice and say something along the lines of "Gomenezai, Oni-sama"

Levi immediately gets hard

Mc then drags them off to relieve him *wink wink*

Satan

Cat ears.

CAT EARS

MC knows damn well what this does to him

Satan prefers rough sex, so MC will shift into having chiseled, muscular arms capable of holding him down, with a chest to match, all topped off with a well-built cock complete with subtle ridges all along the shaft

MC will pin Satan's arms to the wall with one hand, and harshly jerk his chin towards them with the other while rubbing their cock in between his legs, teasing his sensitive balls. Then, as a cue, MC would make the cat ears appear

In a flash, Satan would be shoved onto his hands and knees and roughly taken from behind, the ridges on MC'S dick creating deliciously painful friction

Mc would knot their fingers into his hair and yank his head back, often earning a yelp from his lips

Outside of sex, MC is almost always either fully a cat or has some aspect of a cat (cat ears, subtle fangs, or sometimes a tail that he loves to play with

This is because it really helps suppress Satan's temper for some reason

Since MC likes to change up the color of their fur when they go into a full cat, Lucifer becomes convinced Satan has snuck multiple cats into the House of Lamentation, because he keeps finding the fur

Satan refuses to let MC tell him, because he finds it hilarious how irritated it makes Lucifer

Asmo

As SOON as he found out MC could shift their body, had a whole list of things he wanted to do with them

The first on that list was being fucked by two dicks, both belonging to MC

MC made him agree to being stretched out first, so as not to hurt him

Every time MC fucked Asmo, they would use a differently shaped and textured cock, each ever so slightly larger than the last

After Asmo took an unfathomably large member from MC, he was deemed ready

Asmo watched in awe as MC shifted to possess two large and vastly different cocks.

One was girthy, with a perfectly smooth shaft and a bulbous head

The other was more slender, with diagonal ridges, almost scale like, running all along it's length.

MC slid them in one at a time, allowing Asmo to adjust

Once both of their dicks were fully in Asmo, they slowly began to pull back

Their dicks dragged painfully slow along the insides of Asmo, creating a brutal friction that threatened to make Asmo crumble right then and there

Outside of sex, MC was Asmo's dream come true

Well, inside of sex too, but that's besides the point

MC often shifts their body to mimic different body types, and Asmo styles their outfits based on how they decide to have their body that day

Same thing goes for hair, as MC can adjust their hair to any length, color, texture, and width

Asmo loves trying out and practicing different styles

Beel

Face fucking.

His favorite. No arguments.

MC shifts into having a cock even bigger than Beel's (a true feat), and a tight pussy just beneath it.

Beel loves it when they shove his head onto their cock, fingers fisting into his hair

Forcing his head to move onto their cock, tears pricking in his eyes and they fucked his mouth, his throat, mercilessly

MC doesn't allow Beel to sit and do nothing, oh no

Beel fingers their wet pussy as they fuck his face senseless

If Beel isn't moving his fingers fast enough, MC shoves their dick even further down his throat

Huskily whispers into his ear "Come on, Avatar of Gluttony, surely you can swallow more than that"

Outside of sex, shifts into a demon so they can play with Beel and the brothers.

At first, the brothers wouldn't let MC play any sports with them (mostly Beel), out of fear for MC getting injured

So, MC proceeded to shift into a whole ass demon.

Shocks everyone and utterly destroys all the brothers

Belphie

Cowboy

Like cowgirl...but not.

MC shifts so that their body is substantially bigger than his

This makes Belphie small enough in comparison to easily fit in MC'S lap

Ironically, MC shifts to have a cock roughly the size of a bull. They would never dream of making Belphie take it all....

But they can try

Belphie sits on their lap, legs spread, facing MC so they can see the fear and pleasure mix on his face

MC slowly teases him with their tip, entering one inch at a time before pulling out, pausing, and suddenly shoving back in, an inch deeper each time

Their hands holding Belphie up by the hips the whole time

Outside of sex, will shift to have a very soft stomache for Belphie to lay on

When Belphie is feeling depressed or lonely, MC shifts into a very, VERY soft wolf for Belphie to stroke the fur of as a grounding technique, and to sleep with on the nights he feels alone

This happens so often that MC just relaxes around the house in a wolf form

This never fails to scare the shit out of Mammon, which, in turn, brings a rare smile to Belphie's face

[marcspectrr]

Moon Knight color symbolism thoughts part 2!

Some of @sparklingbinjuice and @ragnell 's comments on my last post have motivated me to get my thoughts down on Jake's color, and because I could probably talk about this show for three days straight without breathing, I decided to attempt a coherent post about it. No promises but to do so, there'll be some references/elaborations on Marc and Steven, but only to illustrate what I'm trying to get at with Jake. Here we go :)

It's easy to understand why having red as Jake's color can be dismissive of the actual depth to his character, diminishing everything we get of him down to just 'violent' and 'aggressive'. I'm not denying that and I'm sure that's the perspective some people have/will have on him. Red is a tricky color because of this; its connotations are ones that are well recognized and ingrained, imbueing widespread interpretations of mostly negative feelings -- danger, blood, "seeing red", etc.

However, much like how Marc and Steven's colors allow for more than the conventional read on their characters, Jake's should be no different. I love how Marc's wardrobe wasn’t dark and broody like him; it was unexpected and yet still made perfect sense. And with Steven, his wardrobe didn't consist of innocent and non-demanding colors to mirror his arguably simple life, it was the opposite, but again, made perfect sense. Having Jake's color as red is, yes, a little more obvious at first, but that doesn't ultimately disregard the ambiguity it can have.

Connecting white/khaki with Marc means recognizing the negative AND positive allusions. With white, there's the innocence he's lost throughout his life AS WELL AS the virtues he remains to live by, (loyalty, perseverance, etc). With khaki, there's his level of reserve (to the point of isolation), its connection to the military and perhaps his need to be directed and almost 'used' to feel purpose, AS WELL AS the strength he possesses despite all of the trauma in his life.

Steven wearing black/blue shows us a wide range of symbolism as well. Black is perhaps the grief that's left from being without a meaningful connection for so long, something we see Steven ache for, and grief for parts of his life that were 'taken' from him without even knowing, the seemingly eternal struggle for searching for happiness in a life with so much missing, AS WELL AS his depth and nuances. Blue is the loneliness AS WELL AS his intelligence and sincerity ("Being honesty.")

So it's the same with Jake, and here's why.

The red in terms of his character is anger and revenge AS WELL AS life and vigor, all of which are evident at some point, all of which require passion, which I think should be the main takeaway when characterizing him. Passion underlies all of his actions (I guess some of it depends on where you deem he was present), and I feel that that is the quality that aligns with red and most resonates with Jake.

HOWEVER. Failing to acknowledge that there is more to Jake than just the violence is the most harmful aspect with 'assigning' Jake with the color red, and I'm optimistic in hoping most of the audience doesn't/won't think that way. Because there is so, so much more to him, despite his screentime.

Anger, because it doesn't negate his development with the way it's implied (I'm gonna say implied here even though I want to say shown, only bc we do get very little of him that's explicitly canon). It's not senseless or aimless, it always has precise intent. And it's not a reckless show of violence, it's always the result of a threat -- not so much a physcial threat but a mental one.

I think Jake is often assigned to be 'the hands' out of the three, the one that takes over in response to physcial trauma. And I don't necessarily disagree with that, there's just a lot of evidence suggesting more of a different role. First, Marc is very capable with killing. We've seen it, we know his background, and even though he might not enjoy it, he's not by any means incompetent, so I don't think it's fair to disregard that.

Also. Some of the implied and canon instances where we see Jake (the aftermath of him, really) follows after a trigger of Marc's, specifically any mention of his brother, but also just any threat against Marc's psyche, when he becomes self-destructive. We get Marc at the end of ep 2 in a drunken haze just after he leaves the room in shambles, after fighting with Steven, which clearly dug up some unwanted thoughts. This one's more implied, I know, but I'm dying on the hill that Jake steps in here, if only just for a second. We got gloves on the bedside table, we have Steven confused, as if he'd been pushed away from witnessing it and we know Jake is still managing to stay undetected at this point, and then the covering over the mirror, the RED covering....

Then there's ep 5, when Harrow mentions "before you got upset, you were talking to me about a boy. Do you remember that boy? You think you could tell me about that little boy?" Something happens here, whether it's Jake trying to front or impersonating Marc, it's something. It reeks of SOMEONE trying to protect Marc from thinking about his brother if you ask me :'). And thennn we have ep 6, during the climax. "Had Ammit been allowed to rule, young Randall's life would've been saved, your family would've been happy." Next thing he knows, Marc is about to kill Harrow. This was canon Jake, 'nuff said.

Revenge, because. Ahem. The very last scene, anyone? "Hoy te toca perder."

Also life, because Jake is just as invested in protecting the system as the others, if anything, the most invested. You think Marc has discipline but then you look at Jake, who's gone undetected for how many years now? I firmly believe he's still with Khonshu for a very good reason.

Also vigor, because although most of it goes without say, there's no denying he can be violent. It doesn't inherently subject him to the evil alter stereotype once you see everything else^.

So. Red on the collar of Marc's shirt as a kid, red covering during one of Jake's first 'appearances', a red sarcophagus, red interior in the limo, (technically) a red eye ahdhdjkfkf I just can't unsee it okay lol.

[swanlings]

a soft(er) epilogue for ankh and eiji, set during and after heisei generations final. 

all of my speculation about ankh’s eventual revival is gonna get retconned in a few months when the tenth anniversary movie is released, so i decided fuck it. this is what would have happened in heigen final if all the major plot beats stayed intact but i was the one writing ankh and eiji’s reunion. 

meet me on the bank of the amanogawa river

when the last of ankh’s consciousness dissolves, he and eiji are falling. he lets go, secure in the knowledge that there are other hands reaching out for eiji, strong and sure and gentle enough to bear him back safely to earth. that will have to be enough. 

then, for a time -- he doesn’t know how long -- there is darkness. the dark is warm somehow, and peaceful, and for a while he is content to drift, unthinking, untethered to existence. after what might be an eternity, he notices something. something which he dismisses at first as a trick of the mind. 

there, flickering faintly in the endless blackness, is a light. 

the light, faint and barely there at first, like a distant star, seems to glow brighter the longer he stares at it. it pulses gently, as if it were a beating heart. instinctively, ankh reaches toward it, and as he does so, realizes that the light -- impossibly -- seems to be moving closer. even more impossibly, for one wonderous instant, he could swear he feels fingertips brushing against his own, and he knows with a certainty that crashes into him like a physical blow: eiji is reaching out to him, eiji is in danger, eiji needs him. 

gripped by a sense of frantic urgency, ankh reaches with all his might toward the place where he knows eiji is waiting for him, and the light expands in response, engulfing him. 

he comes to in free fall, eiji’s hand clasping his tightly. 

it takes less than a second for his instincts to kick in, wings bursting open in a shower of iridescent crimson feathers, to slow their fall and deliver his reckless, idiot human safely to solid ground. 

eiji gazes at him for a long moment, tearful and awestruck, until ankh can’t take it anymore and snarls “what kind of imbecile jumps out of a building when he can’t fly?!”

the lack of self-preservation shouldn’t come as a shock anymore, but it galls him all the same. eiji, for his part, at least has the sense to look abashed. 

“i, uh. i didn’t -- there wasn’t time to think.”

unbelievable. ankh wants to grab him by the shoulders and shake him until his bones rattle. then eiji smiles sheepishly at him, and ankh wants to grab him by the shoulders and kiss him senseless. 

eiji interrupts him, however, before he can do either of those things. 

“anyway, you can scold me later. we’re short on time right now.” 

ankh huffs and rolls his eyes, but a lopsided smile threatens to escape confinement. 

from there it’s easy to fall back into the rhythm of fighting alongside eiji, either supporting him from the sidelines or fused with him as part of the tajador combo, but as the battle wears on, ankh starts to feel weak and overextended. it dawns on him, inexorable, that whatever power brought him back won’t be able to keep him here indefinitely. he wonders if eiji feels it too -- that their time together is limited -- if that’s what’s pushing him to fight so hard, to steal one more moment of peace for both of them in the aftermath. 

then it’s over, and he’s standing face to face in front of eiji again. eiji, beaming at him, dimpled smile like the sun, and ankh can feel the void slowly eating away at him. their time together will be up soon. 

“i’m sorry ankh, it’s been so hectic today that i haven’t had time to buy the ice cream i promised you.” 

the apology is genuinely contrite, as if ankh could be angry that eiji hadn’t had the forethought to buy ice cream during the apocalypse. as if ankh had been thinking of ice cream at all before now. his chest aches, right where his heart might be if he were a human, and he’s struck by the need to say something, or do something, in the little time they have left. 

it must show on his face, because eiji takes a hesitant step forward and carefully lays a hand on ankh’s shoulder.

“hey, ankh, is everything alright? are you --”

he never finds out what eiji was going to ask, because ankh throws all caution to the wind, seizes the front of eiji’s shirt in his clawed hand, and pulls him into a desperate kiss. 

eiji makes a muffled noise of surprise against his lips, and then he’s kissing back with a tender yearning that makes the ache in ankh’s chest all the more acute. 

he kisses eiji until he can no longer feel the softness of his lips, and then pulls back. touch and taste were always the first senses to go. 

“eiji...” he starts to say something, but the words form a painful lump in his throat. saying goodbye seems at once like too much and not nearly enough. 

“ankh,” eiji’s expression is stricken “you’re fading away again.”

he smiles wanly as the colour begins to bleed out of the world. 

“hey, ankh, listen to me, okay?” eiji’s tone is forcedly even, as if he’s trying to convince himself as much as he is ankh. “we’ll see each other again, i know we will. there’s a future for both of us, together, someday...”

“i’ll meet you there.” says ankh, as he drifts away. 

[itssuppertim3]

Lean (Miraak x Reader):

Contemplating on writing for Pyramid Head every once in a while since I can't get the thick bastard off my mind but we'll see what the future brings

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

"Do you like winter, Miraak?" I asked the man strolling quietly beside me. "Not necessarily. However, I remember a time when I did. My temple always felt a bit warmer-- more enjoyable during that time." I snorted at him in amusement, to which he wasn't fond of. "I just imagined you stringing up holiday decor." He merely scoffed in denial, though we both knew it was true.

While searching for another conversation topic, my foot slid against the mud beneath me. "Careful," Miraak warned as his hands clasped firmly around my shoulders. My breath was trapped in my throat from the sudden startle, but somehow he only made it worse. Once my voice came back to me, I said, "uh...-- yeah. Thank you." Damn, his hands were so warm. I could feel the heat emitting from them even through my armor. Alas, the soothing feeling dissappeared as soon as he retracted his arms.

"Honestly, I'm surprised you hadn't already cracked your skull before I came along. It seems that you are always tripping and stumbling wherever you go." I scratched my cheek and chuckled sheepishly. "Ah, you know me so well."

"That is only because I stand witness to it," he uttered. We continued onward to Morthal in silence. A week ago, Jarl Idgrod sent me a letter of assistance; "potential murdurer on the loose," it had read. She noted that she wasn't one to fall victim to senseless gossip, but over the last several days she had been growing paranoid of the situation. Thus, she requested us to investigate. "I wonder why the jarl wants two dragonborn to take care of a killer instead of the guards? Gods, I feel like most of the soldiers are just using this pitiful war as an excuse to be lazy," I grumbled with my arms crossing.

"I agree. Though as far as I'm concerned, she wants you to handle it, not I." I perked up at his remark. "What do you mean? Everyone should know by now that you're just as powerful as I am. We've been traveling together for three months." Miraak diverted his gaze from me and pointed it straight ahead. "Perhaps, but you and I are still very different from one another. The people of Skyrim view you as a hero to be remembered for ages, whereas I will forever be remembered as a traitor-- if I was even remembered at all." The atmosphere around us suddenly became very dim. For a moment, the only noise that could be heard was the mire sloshing under our boots.

"That's bullshit," I retorted finally. Miraak was taken aback by my sudden change of attitude. "Excuse my language, but it is. Look at all of the good you've done since we've been together! We took down a vampire lord for crying out loud! And yeah, we weren't thanked for it or anything--"

"Y/n."

"But that doesn't matter. What does matter is that you put in a lot of effort to make the world safer, and I think that deserves respect."

"Y/n." By now, Miraak was no longer walking at my side. "What is it?" Before he was able to respond, the muddy ground had fallen loose beneath me and I plummeted into a brown socket of water. Oh yeah, I forgot that we were trudging through a swamp. The filth shot through my mouth and nose as I was completely sumberged. To make matters worse, the water was also incredibly frigid, making it even more difficult to sort through my panic. A pair of arms dove into the murk and proceeded to yank me up by my collar.

I gurgled, spluttered, and heaved strong breaths once I was dragged out of harm's way. Miraak shook his head at me all the while. I could practically feel the smirk hiding under his mask. "Oh, yeah. Real funny. Please continue... to remind me of how much... of a klutz I am," I rasped, still trying to flow air into my lungs. "I did try to warn you, you know. You were about to walk straight into the pond," the man defended. "Ok. I'll give you that." Miraak helped me to my feet after I finally regained my composure. "Oh, great," I sighed at the muck covering me head-to-toe. "I look so unprofessional." He skimmed over the grime coated over my outfit before scooping a clump of mud and smearing some over his robes. "I suppose we'll both have to look unprofessional, then." My cheeks tainted a dark pink at his actions, but I decided to blame it on the nip in the air.

My arms hugged my body when I started to shiver. Going for a dip in late autumn definitely wasn't the best of choices. Miraak scanned over the map and pinpointed our distance from Morthal. "We won't be able to arrive there before nightfall. We still have an hour left to go," he informed. I groaned to myself in reply. "Guess we'll have to make camp, then." He nodded, gesturing me to follow him.

In a matter of minutes, he had already secured a decent campfire and was now assembling the tent. Meanwhile, I was sitting on a nearby log with my bedroll enveloped around my trembling body. I was enjoying watching him, though. "I'd say you're a natural. When did you get so skilled at camping?" I inquired once he took a seat next to me. "By learning from you," he stated simply. Gods, how could he be such a jerk yet act so charming?! I avoided saying anything more and began scrubbing the dirt from my armor with a wet rag.

It was freezing, tonight. There was no comforting glow from the moon and stars due to the thick layer of clouds overhead, which only made it feel colder. I shuddered when a breeze travelled through the area and tormented my body. I was still wearing my undershirt and trousers, and even those were still damp. The cloth made my fingers sting the more I used it, until I felt Miraak's hand take ahold of my own. "Your fingers are red," were the only words that left his mouth before he grabbed my other hand and squeezed them both gently. I was so shocked by this that I couldn't even so much as blink. "Are you cold?" I had forgotten about the prickles climbing over my skin. "Um--uhh, kind of." How did my voice become so small?

Before I could protest, I was pulled closer to Miraak. And now that I left exposed, he felt even warmer than he did earlier. I wasn't even touching him! Not to mention how nice his hands felt. He was like a portable smelter! I stayed more silent than a moth as he continued to caress my fingers and palms. There was no telling what was going on inside of that brain of his.

"You may lean against me, if you like."

Oh.

Oh!

My heart was thrashing around inside of my chest. He wanted me to just... slide even closer and lean on him?! Just like that?! By now, my mind was spiraling in both confusion and embarrassment. Still, I was very cold. There wasn't any harm in doing it, right? He was the one who offered. I ultimately accepted his proposal.

It started off with our knees touching awkardly, and then with my head attempting to rest against his shoulder, which failed due to the golden scales protruding out from his sleeve and jabbing me in the side of the head. Miraak eventually lifted his arm, inviting me to scooch under it-- to which I did. As soon as I got situated, he let his hand ease onto my shoulder. I was so flustered that I could barely breathe. It was suffocating, practically unbearable, yet I only felt myself nestling further into him. "You're really warm," I mumbled.

Oh, dear.

Why on Nirn did I say that? I sounded like a pervert!!! What if he thought I was creepy?! My heart dropped as he held me still and turned to look at me. "Y/n, how do you feel?" It was made to be a question, but it sounded more of a demand. I sat tense for a long while, lips parted yet unmoving. "About...?" I gulped when he slowly placed my hand flat against his chest. I could feel his heart throbbing at a rapid pace, as was mine. "Me."

Miraak's voice was low and sounded on edge. Perhaps he was more nervous than I thought he was? My next movements were reckless. Recklessness seemed to be my only sense of courage, right now. I carefully drew his hand towards me and slipped off his glove. He didn't stop me, however his muscles twitched under my touch. I stared at his pale skin for a long while. It was decorated with veins and had a scar stretched over his knuckles. Thanks to the protection of his gloves, his fingernails were in prestine condition. In short, his hands were utterly glorious.

I tilted my face down and pressed my lips against his scar, leaving him breathless. "Does that answer your question?" I asked Miraak with a flushed grin. Without responding, he brushed his thumb over my cheek and felt the entirety of my features. His hand was so calloused and smoothe! I cupped my own against it, keeping it there for as long as possible. Once again, I was pulled into another embrace, this one being much tighter and affectionate. Neither of us decided to speak, and somehow it felt more befitting that way.

With my head resting against Miraak's chest, I could hear his heartbeat quite clearly. It was much slower compared to earlier, more soothing than anything. He wasn't very sure where to place his hands, so he kept one firm on my waist and the other rubbing my hair. Sure, my face was hotter than a bonfire and there was still panic fresh on my mind. Then again, I also felt so calm in his arms. This may have been the first time in my life where I actually felt normal. Everything around me simply fell into place. It was selfish of me to inwardly beg for this moment to never end. As a dragonborn, I had my responsibilites, but for now I kicked those responsibilities aside. I had the right to be selfish every now and then.

"Maybe I should go diving into swamps more often," I teased, breaking through the comfortbale silence. I felt my heart flutter in the midst of him vibrating a soft chuckle. "That would certainly be an entertaining idea. Though I might not get the same reaction from you each time." I peered up at my new love interest with a quirked brow. "What kind of reaction?" In one swift motion, Miraak nudged up his mask to his nose and blessed me with a kiss. It was quick and simple, hardly lingering over my lips in time for me to process it. It was as if I had just imagined it!

Even so, the blush stained on my cheeks was already spreading to my ears. This man was a complete menace. His mask was already tipped back down, but the coy smile he was holding was evident. "You bastard," I hissed. He only shrugged his shoulders at me. "If you fall into the swamp again, I may even give you another kiss," Miraak jested. I proceeded to whack his bicep.

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

I bet Miraak got those plump ass lips :^3

[nothing-more-than-hot-leaf-juice]

Hi fren! Been following ur blog for a while and honestly I love it! I was wondering if I can get ur thoughts on something :)) remember in sozins comet when Iroh refused to fight ozai becuz “history will see it as more violence, a brother killing a brother to gain power” but then cue to Azula and Zuko who are fighting for the throne and it’s fine?? with them?? doesn’t that count as more violence as well? Thank if you ever come across this :D

Okay, first off, I think it needs to be clarified what Iroh actually said in that scene in regards to sending Zuko to defeat Azula because the two situations are very different and everyone involved knew that. The exchange went as such:

Zuko: Uncle, you’re the only person other than the Avatar who can possibly defeat the fatherlord.... we need you to come with us. 

Iroh: No Zuko, it won’t turn out well. 

Zuko: You can beat him. And we’ll be there to help. 

Iroh: Even if I did defeat Ozai, and I don’t know that I could, it would be the wrong way to end the war. History would see it as more senseless violence: a brother killing a brother to gain power. The only way for this war to end peacefully is if the Avatar defeats the Firelord. 

(dialogue, etc.) 

Iroh: Zuko, you must return to the Fire Nation, so that when the Firelord falls, you can assume the throne and restore peace and order. But Azula will be there waiting for you. 

When I see the argument that Iroh sending Zuko after Azula was hypocritical, I think it ignores the reality of the situation and the pragmatic approach. Because Iroh was absolutely correct throughout this whole exchange. Here were the facts as of this point: 

1. Iroh and Zuko were declared traitors and could not legally assume the throne once Ozai was defeated, meaning Azula would assume the throne by default.

2. By this point in the series, Azula had shown at every point that she was just as enthusiastic about waging war and had shown no remorse for the suffering of the Earth Kingdom at the hands of the Fire Nation. She was particularly enthusiastic about the two major affronts against the Earth Kingdom: conquering Ba Sing Se and using Sozin’s Comet to burn down the Earth Kingdom. 

3. Azula was the one who had the idea for the ‘let’s use the comet to burn down the Earth Kingdom’ plan in the first place and was proud of that plan. If Ozai was defeated, she would have used her position to go through with the plan anyway.

Realistically, this situation is in no way ideal, but the reality is that Azula did need to be stopped from assuming the throne. Make no mistake, if she had the opportunity to do so, she would have been at Ozai’s side burning down the Earth Kingdom instead of staying in the Fire Nation. She was dangerous and needed to be stopped and that was evident from her actions throughout the entire series. 

And the situations of Zuko defeating Azula and Iroh defeating Ozai are completely different, mainly because it was never Zuko or Iroh’s intention for Zuko to kill Azula like everyone else was planning with Ozai. The intent with Zuko going after Azula was to stop her from being crowned, which was a thing that needed to be stopped, otherwise, the war would have continued. And Iroh was absolutely correct in his assumptions: Zuko and Katara arrived in the Fire Nation just before Azula was crowned Firelord. And in the end, as we all know, they didn’t kill her, they just removed her as a threat so Zuko could assume the throne. There is a difference between taking out an actively harmful force in a position of absolute authority (Ozai) and stopping a harmful force from taking a position of absolute authority (Azula). 

There’s also the facts that 1. Iroh had his own history as a general who held siege on Ba Sing Se for 600 days, allegedly committed war crimes, and wasn’t exactly well regarded in the Earth Kingdom. 2. Like he said, a fight between Iroh and Ozai was not one that had a clear victor. Iroh was not the right person to defeat Ozai, Aang was, for many reasons. (There’s also the fact that Iroh’s arc came full circle as he freed the city he once laid siege on, but that has less to do with the pragmatic rationale behind the match ups and more to do with thematic purposes.)

And this is a thing that also bothers me. There’s an argument that Iroh failed Azula and that part of the reason she was how she was fell on him and I don’t think that’s fair. And this post by @withyoutilltheendofthecredits articulates why: 

the ideas “azula was a victim of abuse who was manipulated and hurt by ozai” and “azula had a hand in a lot of trauma for zuko due to her awful treatment of him” can and should coexist

I think it’s important to keep in mind whenever we talk about Iroh, Azula, and Zuko how their dynamic was in season 2. Firstly, Iroh’s priority through this show was to keep Zuko safe. In season 1, he wasn’t so much there to actively help Zuko find Aang (and on multiple occasions seemed to work against Zuko’s mission), but rather was there to stop Zuko from making stupid decisions that would get him killed while offering emotional support and training him to be a better firebender. Does he actually want Zuko to kidnap the Avatar and return to his awful, abusive father? No. But he does want Zuko to have something that gives him hope, something that keeps him going. And Iroh’s priority is to be there to make sure this kid doesn’t do anything too reckless. 

 In season 2, Zuko technically no longer has his mission as he’s deemed an enemy of the Fire Nation and Iroh more explicitly works to help his nephew mentally and emotionally extricate himself from the family members that hurt him. At the beginning of the season when Zuko is excited about going home after Azula lies to them, Iroh voices his suspicion because unlike Zuko, who’s still holding onto the idea that he can win his father’s love, Iroh is able to look at the situation objectively and knows that if Zuko goes home, he’s not going to be safe and he is not going to be met with any sort of love. 

Zuko: Did you listen to Azula? Father’s realized how important family is. He cares about me. 

Iroh: I care about you!

And through the rest of the season, Iroh tries his best to take advantage of their new freedom by showing Zuko that he does deserve control of his own life, happiness, and unconditional love. He’s trying his best to help him through this difficult time because part of Zuko’s emotional struggle in this is reconciling with the fact that no, his father doesn’t want him, at all. When he was banished, he had the ‘if I get the Avatar I can go home’ thing to cling onto, but Iroh and everyone else knew that Ozai never actually intended for Zuko to succeed or return. So Zuko has to deal with that in season 2 and doesn’t get to that point, he still tries to capture Aang and he still joins Azula in Crossroads of Destiny because he’s not ready to let that little bit of hope that he could return home go. It isn’t until he takes a stand against Ozai with the “it was cruel and it was wrong” speech that he really discovers who he is and what he wants and the main reason he’s able to come to that conclusion is because of Iroh’s treatment of him in season 2. 

In season 2, Iroh not only protects Zuko from physical harm and takes care of him in regards to sickness, food, and water, but tries to drill into his head that he didn’t deserve the treatment from his father and shouldn’t throw his life away trying to please him. That he can have and deserves a peaceful life. And Zuko keeps going down the self destructive path because he’s been convinced for so long that him proving himself to his father is more important than his personal safety or happiness. Iroh just wants him to put himself before the man that abused him. He hates it that Zuko almost gets himself killed multiple times for the sake of Ozai. There’s their talk in The Avatar Day and their fight in Lake Laogai that bring this to the forefront: 

Iroh: Even if you did capture the Avatar, I’m not so sure it would solve all our problems. 

Zuko: Then there is no hope at all 

Iroh: No Zuko, you must never give into despair. 

Iroh: And then what?! You never think these things through. This is exactly what happened when you tried to capture the Avatar at the North Pole. You had him and then you had nowhere to go. 

Zuko: I would have figured something out. 

Iroh: No! If his friends hadn’t found you, you would have frozen to death! 

Zuko: I know my own destiny. 

Iroh: Is it your own destiny? Or is it a destiny someone else has tried to force on you? 

And as Iroh acts as Zuko’s protector and tries to break him away from his self destructive mentality, how does Azula fit into that? Here are the interactions between Azula, Zuko, and Iroh in season 2: 

Azula trying to take Zuko and Iroh as prisoners to the Fire Nation with no remorse 

Azula attempting to shoot lightning at Zuko in the first episode of season 2 and Zuko only being saved by Iroh redirecting it at the last second 

Azula shooting Iroh and seriously injuring him (it could have been lighting, but I think it was just fire) 

Azula trying to capture Iroh and Zuko in Ba Sing Se and succeeding 

Azula manipulating Zuko into going back to Ozai 

Objectively, Azula is a threat against Zuko’s safety and there’s a good chance she would have killed him in the first episode of season 2 if Iroh hadn’t stopped her. He knows exactly how dangerous she is and made the decision that he was going to do what it took to keep Zuko safe, which he did. With this exchange in Bitter Work. 

This isn’t Iroh saying ‘I have no sympathy for my niece whatsoever and am choosing to ignore her’. This is Iroh saying ‘Azula has proven herself to be an objective and real threat and I need to keep Zuko safe from her.’ And he was correct. I feel like this stance is reasonable when the last two times she saw them she tried to shoot Zuko with lightning and actually shot Iroh. 

And the reality of the situation is that Iroh shouldn’t have had to be the one to raise Zuko or Azula. He wasn’t their parent and he shouldn’t have had to be responsible for them. Ideally, Ozai should have been the one to do that, but that wasn’t the reality of the situation. And Iroh was faced with a choice: go with Zuko who was banished, injured, and lost, or stay with Azula who was not in a good home with a good influence, but who was still the favored, prodigy princess. He had a choice of which kid to stand behind and I think it’s fair to say that Zuko needed Iroh more when he was banished. 

Ideally, there shouldn’t have been a choice for Iroh. Ideally, Iroh shouldn’t have had to raise his nephew. Ideally, Azula should have had a better parental influence who didn’t encourage her violent streak. But it was by no means an ideal situation. Azula was dangerous and remorseless and Iroh was entirely correct when he saw her rising to power and realized ‘if she isn’t stopped now, there is no telling what she’s going to do’. Because he knows exactly who raised her.

[yongtxt]

hundred [johnny]

word count: 4.5k words

characters: boxer!johnny x doctor!reader

genre: fluff

warnings: blood/wound/stitches mentions, johnny hates hospitals but he likes the pretty doctor, [im not a doctor nor a boxer pls dont say that i have info wrong because I Know]

author’s note: i know this isnt long to some of u but to me it is and i havent written this much for so long im so proud of myself for finishing this:( it isnt that good but this is the first long fic ive written in a while and shhsdjk also i needed to get this out of my system ive thought about this au since that jcc came out where johnny and hyuck was doing muay thai plssss (i couldnt find a better gif tho) ok this is getting too long / feedback is appreciated tysm

Johnny Suh hated hospitals with a burning passion.

It wasn't from a past trauma nor was he afraid of it, it wasn't that serious. He wasn't exactly sure what the cause of it really was. If he had to make a guess, it was probably from the accumulation of the little things, the insignificant factors people would usually dismiss but bothered him enough that it contributed to the big hatred he built for hospitals.

Maybe it was the distinct smell of hospitals, it reeked of death and old people. Maybe it was the atmosphere of the fluorescent-lit hallways, always gloomy and heavy. Maybe it was also the fact that the fees were so expensive and yet the food they provide tasted horrible, even the coffee was a hit or miss. The only upside he could think of was people get better in hospitals, but even that wasn't assured.

Despite how much Johnny despised hospitals, he always finds himself coming back. If he wanted to get better, he had no choice but to go. He would endure the gruesome process over and over again whether it be to treat his wounds or to stitch his cuts.

With his jaw littered with small bruises and his lips busted at the corner, he sat impatiently on the hospital bed as he waited for his doctor. He was fiddling with his fingers, knuckles bruised the same way his face was. He looked beaten up, he always did.

The clothes he wore contradicted the state he was in, they were fresh and laid back. He looked like a college student from the way he dressed. A delinquent more like, if one considered his cuts and bruises. Before heading to the hospital, he always makes it a point to shower and make himself appear presentable to the public. Although no one really bothers to take notice of his effort, only him.

The sliding door opened and Johnny's attention shot up from his phone, his gaze meeting with yours. Your head popped in, peaking through the small crack you made. Your eyes lit up in recognition as it always did whenever you see him.

"Youngho-ssi?" You spoke almost as if it was a question, voice barely above a whisper to make sure you were in the correct room, about to tend the correct patient.

Johnny didn't understand why you always did that, call out his name as if this was the first time you were seeing him. At that point, you've been already acquainted with him enough due to his numerous trips to the hospital. Either way, he nods every time.

You gave him a small smile, widening the door enough so you could enter. You wore a white lab coat, a name tag pinned to your chest and a stethoscope hung around your neck. You were small, although anyone compared to him was bound to be comparatively smaller – that wasn't the point, you looked young and that never fails to astound him every time you go through the door.

You had a clipboard in your hands, scanning through what he assumed to be his condition that a nurse had written earlier after a quick checkup and disinfection of his open wound. Your lips were formed on a tight line, eyebrows furrowed. He continued to stare at you with such amusement.

"You don't have to answer my question, Youngho-ssi, but why are you always here?" You finally broke the silence, startling him in the slightest. You never bothered to ask before, always just offering smiles and small talks while you did your work; maybe his sudden regularity of coming to the hospital recently made your curiosity peaked.

He couldn't blame you. Anybody would be curious why a 24-year-old man keeps coming back to the hospital with no clear explanation.

He cleared his suddenly dry throat, he never liked saying his job. He said, "I box for a living."

"Ah, that makes sense!" Your eyes visibly glimmered, absentmindedly jotting down notes on his medical records. "My coworkers and I thought you were in a gang or something."

"I don't think I would be allowed to be here if I was." He chuckled, making you giggle as well.

"Seo Youngho, 24, minor lip laceration in need of immediate suture." You read of his data from the clipboard, almost comically. It was medical terms he was unfortunately already too familiar with, to him, it basically meant that he had a busted lip that needs to be sewed shut.

"You can just call me Johnny. Youngho sounds too formal to me." He said nonchalantly. You nodded your head to his simple request; it probably was best if you got to know him better since he frequented the hospital so much.

"Alright, Johnny. We'll start the process now, okay?"

With keen eyes, he watched you slip on a pair of surgical gloves. You grabbed a tissue from the metal tray that sat beside him and began folding it into squares. He felt his heartbeat quicken, he hated getting stitches or any form of medical treatments for that matter, but as morbid as it was, he thought of it as punishment for his recklessness in the ring.

"Isn't boxing just, I don't know, senseless violence?" You asked, tone dripping with pure innocence and unadulterated interest as you gently dabbed away the remaining dried blood the nurse failed to clean earlier.

"It's a sport, it's how I bring money to the table." He pursed his lips, ignoring the twinge of pain that surged through his nerves. He visibly relaxed when you placed a hand onto his shoulder to reassure him.

Ever since the first time you got assigned to him, the first thing he took note of was the softness of your hands. You handled him as if he was fragile glass, despite how he easily towered over you. He felt pathetic as a 24-year-old but your gentle touches would greatly help put him at ease.

"I guess. I didn't mean to be rude." You were hesitant, Johnny could tell but he was glad you didn't push on any further. He couldn't handle explaining his occupation when you were about to pierce his skin. "Okay, Johnny, now that your lip is clean and the anesthesia had seeped in, we'll start. I think you know how it goes by now."

"Make it quick, please." He nodded, squinting his eyes shut at the mere contact of a surgical pen grazing over his gaped lips. You were relieved that his cut wasn't too big, you couldn't stomach the idea of putting him in too much pain for longer.

As you picked up the tweezers and string of nylon, you couldn't help but laugh at the six-foot boxer in front of you who was clearly petrified of getting stitches, "This will be done as soon as you know it. You won't really feel it because of the anesthesia, remember? Now count to a hundred backward for me."

Once the numb feeling of nylon dragged through his lips, he swore he saw white spots flicker in his vision. His eyes immediately watered and he tried his best not to squirm under your hold, beginning to count to a hundred backward like you had instructed him to. You admitted it to him the first time you stitched him that it was a trick that you learned from your pediatrician friend. Despite it being for children, it helped to get him distracted while you focused on your job.

Minutes felt like hours, Johnny had been fighting the urge to punch something, anything, to release tension and nerves. Swallowing the lump in his throat, he took a peak and tried to take his attention away from what was currently happening on his lip. His gaze landed on your pretty eyes, how it was narrowed in focus and how your lashes perfectly framed it.

This wasn't the first time he'd observe you up close, there had been many occasions in the past that you had been too close for comfort in order to tend his wounds. It had been too many that it was almost as if he was close to memorizing your features. You were not only beautiful but you were also a smart and capable doctor.

Eventually, you finished and started to rub ointment on his sore lip — the finishing line.

"Try not to eat anything spicy or hard. You know the drill." You grinned at his suddenly pale features, ripping off your gloves as his eyes adjusted to the bright lights of the room. "You're good to go. Be careful next time."

He let out a shaky breath, clearly still winded up from the procedure, "I'll try. Thanks again, doc."

-

The punching bag felt great against Johnny's fists. There wasn't a feeling in the world that could compare to the impact of leather slamming against his skin. He could last hours mindlessly pummeling the bag if his stamina just allowed him to.

Hyunsik, Johnny's manager and personal trainer, drew away from the punching bag he held in between his arms. He let out a breath and held out a hand to motion that Johnny has done enough.

Johnny was hurting, Hyunsik could see that much. The bandages he had wrapped for the boxer's fingers were turning into a shade of red that they were all too familiar with.

Hyunsik clicked his tongue, "You should've used your gloves."

"How can I grow stronger if I keep relying on them?" Johnny rolled his eyes. His muscles needed a boost and this seemed to be the only logical way to strengthen them — a little blood never hurt anybody.

"Someday you're gonna fracture your hand and you'll be forced out of the ring. Remember that." Hyunsik huffed, his voice stern. "Take them off, I'll clean the blood off."

Johnny reluctantly did as told, unfurling the bandages wrapped around his fingers. The pain was excruciating when the fabric grazed along his tender skin, he winced at the unsightly view of his reopened wounds.

Hyunsik led him back outside of the ring to the benches where the first aid kit was. He made the boxer sit down so he could start cleaning off his wounds. It looked horrific, more so than it usually did and he had no choice but to break the news to Johnny.

"It looks really bad. You need to go get that checked in the hospital and have it sewed back." Hyunsik said, taking a wet towel and carefully dabbing it across Johnny's bloodied knuckles.

He didn't want to go to the hospital. Going to the hospital to have his wounds treated meant that Johnny would be medically required to take days off work to let his hand heal. Johnny frowned, "Don't you have an ointment or something that could help? I can't afford to lose a day of practice."

"Don't you think I know that?" Hyunsik rolled his eyes. "As your manager, I want you to be in top shape for your match next week, even if it means sacrificing a day or two for you to heal."

Johnny could only nod. He sat through Hyunsik's lecture on the changes he should make to his dietary plan and the exercises he should do during his temporary break. It infuriated him that he couldn't do anything about it but nod along.

The incoming match that was set next week would make or break his career as an underground boxer. He didn't have the option of missing it because of some measly reopened wounds. If he had to rest to get better, he had no choice but to suck it up. This was his fault anyway for pushing himself too much.

Johnny showered in the locker rooms and changed into nicer clothes that didn't reek of blood and sweat. His hands were stinging but he shook it off.

He ignored the concerned looks other boxers were giving him and begrudgingly made his way to the hospital to get himself checked in. You wouldn't be happy to see him all bloodied again, he thought.

-

Much to Johnny's surprise, it wasn't you who was assigned to him. It was a much older doctor with graying hair and a nose stuck too far up in the air. She was rude and condescending, her lack of politeness to her patients was quite appalling. If Johnny wasn't in such a bad mood, he might've complained already.

God, this day couldn't get any worse.

With a meek voice, Johnny asked where you were and at the mention of your name, his doctor gave him a narrowed look. She sneered, "She's handling much more important cases. Does she know you?"

"I think so." Johnny gulped, unsure of the answer himself.

The doctor's grip was tight and she was hasty. It was as if she was trying to speed through the process to just get it over with. Johnny wanted to cry because he was starting to get traumatized by this doctor's procedure, he didn't want to hate the hospital more than he already did.

He internally screamed for your name as he watched the doctor pull on the gloves. The sliding door harshly whipped open and there you were in all your glory, like an angel sent from above to save him from the devil incarnate who was about to pierce his skin.

You were panting and the sheen on your forehead made it obvious that you ran your way to his room. Johnny's heart leaped with glee.

"Unnie, I'll handle him." You said, unable to catch your breath as you made your way inside. "I think the ER needs you more than me."

The doctor seemed hesitant at first but you tried to convince her otherwise. She eventually agreed and left you with Johnny who had a cheesy smile on his face the entire time since you've arrived.

"So Johnny, what happened this time?" You asked, picking up the clipboard that sat next to him on the bed.

"I overdid the punching during training and it reopened some old wounds on my knuckles. It hurts like a bitch."

You pulled a face, "That's a bit intense."

He chuckled, "It's normal."

"Can I please see it?" You opened your palm so he could place his hand on yours. You observed his cuts and the scabs that were beginning to form around it, it was too deep to let it heal on its own so you made the verdict that he needed to get it sewed back together ⁠— as unfortunate as it was since he was a boxer and he needed his hands to box.

You tugged on a new pair of gloves and began the painful procedure, Johnny started counting down even without you instructing him to. You quickly got to work and stitched back his wounds with your lip in between your teeth

Johnny felt squeamish, he could never get used to the feeling of stitches. His eyes were glued shut and he mumbled numbers like it was mantra.

Once you were done, you smiled fondly at your work. You managed to get by with fewer stitches and you felt pride swell up in your chest. Johnny noticed and, as lightheaded as he was, couldn't help but smile as well.

"You're pretty good."

"At stitching?"

Johnny nodded with his cheeks flushed, he made a mental reminder to smack himself in the head later for such a crude comment. You probably thought he was an idiot now.

"I sure hope so." You chuckled, making him blush even deeper if that was even possible. "It's part of my job."

Johnny shook his head in embarrassment, his dark hair bouncing from how vigorously he did it. He mumbled, "That sounded really lame and not smooth, I'm sorry. Please forget I opened my mouth."

You could only chuckle as you apply the ointment around his knuckles. He wanted the ground to open up and just swallow him whole.

"Please let this heal completely, Johnny. Don't apply any strain on your injuries for a couple of days and refrain yourself from carrying anything heavy so that the stitches won't rip." You said, carefully placing down his hand back on his knee. You were gentle as ever, Johnny swooned. "Absolutely no punching for a while."

"I have an important match at the end of next week. Is there any way to speed up the healing process?" Johnny asked, his eyes were almost pleading at you and you blinked at him in surprise.

"Apart from what I just said, there's really nothing else you could do." You pursed your lips, watching his expression visibly deflate. "If you want to have even a sliver of a chance at winning your match, I suggest you do as I say. Your stitches won't take too long to heal, I promise."

If Hyunsik was there with him, he would've probably already scolded him but the point would be the same. He had always prioritized Johnny's health above winning.

"Okay, doc. I'll do my best." Johnny said, defeated.

"You know, I always see the aftermath of your matches and your training. I want to see you in the ring next time when you're not bloody and beaten up yet." You smiled at him and you swore that all the color that was previously drained from Johnny's face came rushing back. "If it's okay."

"Are you serious?" Johnny asked, almost dumbfounded. Did the pretty doctor he'd been crushing on for months really just asked if she could watch his match?

You nodded with the same hue of red now tainting your cheeks.

"O-Of course! It's on Saturday next week! Please come and cheer me on!" Like a little kid, he excitedly rambled on about the details about the upcoming match and you nodded with the same enthusiast as you wrapped bandages around his hands.

You weren't from his world so everything he said sounded foreign to you. The terms he said, the infamy of his opponents, the prominence of it all — you were eager to learn it if it meant seeing him this happy.

You've always known that he hated hospitals. It was clear from the way he acted during your first meeting. He was stiff and tense, the body language he exuded just screamed that he wanted nothing more than to get the hell out of there. As he visited the hospital more and more, you noticed the hatred never faltered. He only became better at hiding it from you.

To see him so relaxed and carefree within the four walls he hated with all his being, it was a breath of fresh air and the feeling you had in your chest grew stronger.

"You're good to go. I promise to see you in your match." You were jotting some last-minute details on the clipboard and you missed the way Johnny kept grinning like an idiot. "As much as I love seeing you here, I hate that you keep getting yourself injured. Keep out of trouble for me, Johnny."

You left the room without letting Johnny say another word.

Fuck, Johnny realized he hadn't asked for your number.

-

Johnny's match started in ten minutes. His heart was pounding in his ears, he almost couldn't hear what Hyunsik was shouting to him.

The underground stadium was filled to the brim with people, he felt more nervous than he did during his first boxing match. A lot was at stake for this win, he needed the belt. He was desperate for it.

"Johnny, are you listening to me?" Hyunsik raised his voice, aggressively slapping Johnny's cheeks together in his hands so he could focus on him. The boxer's mind was fleeting and it was his job to pull him back to reality now.

He hadn't seen you since last week and as much as he wanted to go back to the hospital to see you, he refused to badly hurt himself in the days that led up to the match. Johnny scanned the crowd for your face but he couldn't see it. You weren't there.

At the lack of your turnout, he failed to mask his disappointment. Hyunsik let out an aggravated groan and pulled the boxer on his feet to berate him further.

"Johnny, please for the love of all things holy, look me in the eye."

"I'm sorry. I'm okay now. I'm listening."

"Good because your match is starting soon and I need you to win this. All your hardships and sacrifices boils down to this match, you hear me?" Hyunsik bellowed, trying his best to keep his voice louder than the cries and chants of the audience. "Show them what Johnny Suh is capable of!"

Johnny nodded fervently, forcing himself into a state of serenity of peacefulness. He let out heavy breaths to even out his breathing as his team surrounded him, prepping him for what was about to come.

Hyunsik raised his hand at Johnny. He had five minutes left until his match started and he wasn't calming down.

"Can I please have some water?" Johnny asked and his medic stumbled on his feet to fetch him a bottle from the nearby cooler. He couldn't help but let out a shaky chuckle, his team seemed tenser than he was.

He downed the bottle as soon as it reached his hand. His hand was shaky. Goddammit, why was he so nervous?

At the corner of his eye, he saw Hyunsik making his way over to the barricade that separated his corner to the rest of the stadium. He arched his neck in a way that would let him take a peek what was so important that Hyunsik had to leave his side when the match was starting in a few minutes.

It seemed like Hyunsik was trying to stop a girl who was forcing her way in through the barricade. His stomach lurched at the sight of her familiar face.

As if he was acting purely on instinct, Johnny shot up from his seat and ran towards you. Hyunsik held up his arm to stop him from going any closer to you. You could've been a deranged fan, for all Hyunsik knows.

"Johnny-"

"I know her."

Hyunsik was startled at his response and started to profusely apologize to you. You looked nothing but smug and Johnny let out a breathy laugh that helped unravel the knots in his stomach. The boxer quietly motioned for him to take his leave and Hyunsik hesitantly did as told only after tapping his wrist as a sign that time was ticking.

You bowed at him apologetically, "I'm so sorry I'm late! There was this damn patient-"

"It's okay. You're here now." He cut you off, a cheesy smile on his face. You easily reciprocated it back.

"I just came down here to wish you good luck." You said with the usual confidence in your tone gone and now replaced with a sudden timidness and bashfulness. "Not like you need it or anything."

"Where are you sitting?" Johnny asked, noticing that you were struggling to keep your attention on his eyes. He peered down and realized that he didn't have a shirt on, he chuckled.

You pointed near the walls of the stadium and he strained his vision to see so far away. He pursed his lips and let out a noise of discontent. You said that it was the only seats available because you were so late.

"Why don't you sit here with them? They wouldn't mind." Johnny said, jutting his thumb over to his team who was furtively watching his interaction.

"Oh no, it's okay."

"I insist. I want you to see me win up close."

You blushed a deep shade of scarlet and Johnny grinned at his successful attempt at a flirt. Was it even a flirt or was it an ego stroke? Either way, it didn't matter because you were smiling at him. You were easing his nerves and you didn't even know.

"I got out of my shift early so I wouldn't be in the hospital later to stitch you up." You teased, softly prodding his shoulder blade.

Johnny playfully puffed out his chest, "I don't plan on getting too injured today, I wanna look cool in front of you."

"Whatever you say, Johnny."

"But I'm nervous. I'm actually really nervous today." Johnny mumbled as if he didn't want anyone else in on your conversation, gone all traces of his cockiness as his heart thudded erratically against his chest when he heard Hyunsik's call of the last minute until he has to go inside the ring.

You gingerly reached for his taped hands and gave it a gentle squeeze, "Just count back from a hundred like I always tell you to. You'll do fine."

"Wait for me after the match, okay?" And so you did.

Counting down the numbers, Johnny clambered inside the ring and the bell rang to signal the start of the match. Being in the medical field meant that you were against all forms of violence so you couldn't really watch the entirety of the match without feeling sick to your stomach. Johnny didn't care, he was just happy that you kept your promise and was cheering him on.

It was hectic and everything was happening all at once. It was loud and everybody was screaming. This wasn't your world, it was Johnny's and your heart fluttered at the thought that he was willing to let you in it.

Eventually, the match ended in Johnny's favor and the next thing you knew, you were being hoisted up in the air. You had the biggest smile on your face, similar to Johnny's who now had a shiny belt slung over his shoulder. All his hard work and all his trips to the hospital paid off.

"Congrats on your win!" You exclaimed, placing your palms on his chest to steady yourself.

"I wanted you to see me get the belt." He admittedly sheepishly, reaching out to hold your wrists in his bruised hands.

"Aren't you hurt in any way? We can drop by the hospital if you want." You asked, checking to see if he had any major injuries but true to his word, Johnny was inflicted little to no injuries during the match, exclude the few bruises on his jaw and a busted lip

"Actually, I'd rather we get some coffee instead." Johnny said, the small smile on his lips making you chuckle.

"I'm sorry, I don't date my patients." You smirked at Johnny's crestfallen expression, softly shoving his side to make it known that you were only joking.

Johnny pulled a face, releasing a breath he didn't realize he was holding once he realized your joke. He played along, "I think you can make me an exception, I don't usually invite people to my matches."

"So this is about getting even, huh?" You were teasing him and now your faces were merely inches apart but before Johnny could even think of leaning in, you spun around and grabbed his hand once more. "C'mon then, my treat!"

Johnny let out a laugh. A boxer and a doctor, who would've thought?

[infinitesundrop]

Read Chapter 2:  Perks of Being a Civilian on AO3 | FFN

Banner Credit to the Amazing @the-dream-team​​

Fic Summary:  They say time heals. It’s been nine months since Lily lost her mother and sister, but she still feels their absence every day. The only thing getting her through these difficult times has been the masked hero, Spider-Man. With the attacks on the city getting worse each day, and with the growing animosity towards London’s only hope, Lily has no choice but to act. After all, we all have powers of one kind or another, in our own way. (Spider-Man AU) 

Chapter Summary:  No one ever said doing the right thing was easy.

Rating: T

Fic Warnings: Grief/Mourning/Survivor’s Guilt, Violence, Referenced Character Death (minor character) | Chapter Exclusive Warnings:  Street Harassment, Mass Panic, Gun Violence (lasers), Destruction of Property (building collapse),Violence (hand-to-hand combat), Mentions of Explosives, Premature Acceptance of Death, Car Accident, Self Endangerment

Read from the Beginning on AO3 | FFN

When she finally tore her eyes off the skyline, she found that Spider-Man was staring over at her again. She ducked her head to hide her blush behind the curtain of her hair. “What?” she mumbled. 

“Nothing,” he replied, shrugging slowly. “It’s only...what’s your name?”

Her name. Spider-Man wanted to know her name? “Lily,” she said, turning back to face the hero directly and sitting cross-legged with her back resting against the stone railing. Lily tilted her head up to see him, a shy sort of smile on her lips. “My name is Lily Evans.”

“Lily Evans,” Spider-Man repeated, and she had to admit she quite liked how it sounded coming from him. Lily heard him suck in a breath. “You know, Lily, what you did today...it wasn’t smart.”

Clutching her house keys in her hand, the metal bits poking out from in between her fingers, Lily kept her head down as she made her way into the dimly lit London streets. As young as five years old, Lily had been taught never to walk the streets alone, especially at night. Now, with all the attacks on the city, Lily couldn’t help but wonder what she was doing. 

If something happened, her father would have no idea where she was. To be completely truthful with herself, Lily wasn’t exactly sure where she was headed either.

The road and sidewalks glistened with the fresh coating of rain from the afternoon, but in the night, the air felt biting and cold. A scuffle behind Lily made her jump, but it was merely her neighbor taking out the trash. 

Granted, it wasn’t like Snape was the most savory figure either. They had been something close to friends as kids, having grown up next door to each other. When they hit secondary school, something had changed him. Whether it was his mother’s death or something else, he had gotten into some really shady stuff. One day, she remembered him walking into chemistry and laughing about all the various dark uses the chemicals had if mixed a certain way. 

Ever since then, Lily had made a point to stay very far away from the man. 

Feeling his sullen eyes on her, she swallowed back the lump in her throat and nodded in his direction, wanting to make it perfectly clear that she saw him.

Of course, he seemed to take that as an invitation to come talk to her. Lily was really not in the mood. Seeing him almost sent her straight back into the house, but there were more important things she needed to do tonight than sit at home because of Snape. 

The sooner she returned home and saved her father from the worry he was undoubtedly experiencing, the better. 

Picking up her pace would surely send him away, right? 

Wrong. The greasy man had quickly caught up to her, reaching out his hand to grab her elbow. As his fingers brushed against Lily’s jacket, she ripped her arm forward and swung around, fist balled in the air. “Don’t ever do that.”

Whatever Snape was expecting, that was not it. He stood there, his mouth opening and closing as if he were a fish out of water. As Lily turned to run off, he cried out, “W-wait, Lily! You looked...lost!” 

“Not lost,” she hissed, clutching her keys tighter, backing up away from him, but not daring to turn her back yet. “Don’t touch me. Don’t follow me.” 

“It’s just,” he continued as if Lily hadn’t already made it extremely clear she wanted to be left alone, “It’s dangerous at night. I don’t want to see you get hurt.” 

Narrowing her eyes, Lily pulled up her polaroid, snapping a photo. The flash lit up the whole block. It was only the two of them out right now. “Okay, well, you lay another finger on me, this will be your wanted photo. Leave me alone.” 

Snape said something, but Lily didn’t catch it as she darted in the opposite direction. She didn’t think about where she was going; she just needed to get away. 

Maybe she shouldn’t have come out here tonight. 

Lily sucked in a shuddery breath as she reached a crosswalk a far enough distance away. Puffs of condensation filled the air as she took a moment to breathe while the cars drove through the intersection. 

As much as she wanted to help Spider-Man, she had to admit her plan was a long shot. She wasn’t even sure if the hero would trust her enough to talk with all that was going on.

Lily pushed those thoughts from her mind, turning to the present. 

She was already several blocks away from home, and even if she wanted to turn around, the idea of running into Snape again turned her blood cold. No. She had to see this through. 

Taking stock of her surroundings, Lily realized she was no longer in the more residential districts. Passing a few shops that had closed up for the night, Lily wondered if maybe she was being reckless. She had no idea where she was going. While this part of town was familiar, Spider-Man had been spotted all over London. 

Who was to say that she would actually find him? London was a massive city, and it was just as likely that Lily would end up somewhere unknown and in danger without anyone by her side, let alone a masked hero.

Where was she going? 

She was torn from her thoughts by a loud bang, and Lily whipped around, nearly slipping off the thin piece of sidewalk she was on in between the two sides of the street, to see a gaggle of 30-somethings stumble out of the pub door that had been flung open. Starting to stagger down the street, the group roared with laughter. She placed her hand over her heart to soothe its hammering. 

It took a moment for Lily’s breathing to calm down before she turned to continue walking. Her nerves were already frayed from that encounter with Snape. 

Feeling herself become more grounded within her body, Lily reminded herself that she was on a mission. No backing down. Where would Spider-Man be? 

She had to think about this logically. Spider-Man usually showed up around heavily crowded areas. The Bridge, Gringotts, the attack last month by the zoo... they were all bustling areas. That made sense, he wanted to protect the most people possible. Perhaps it would be a quiet night, and Spider-Man would only have to watch over the city. If they were lucky, he could stick to the skies without having to fight a second time today. 

She’d heard people talk about that in classes. Some claimed that there were sightings of him on the rooftops even when the city was calm. She’d even heard some of them insisting that Spider-Man lived on the rooftops of London.

Glancing over to make sure the intersection was clear, she hurried the rest of the way across. Halfway through the crosswalk, she was hit with the realization that she was already taking her usual route to school without a second thought. Why hadn’t it occurred to her to go this way before? 

Lily supposed when she first left the house, she was too worked up about the whole Spider-Man thing to do much thinking at all. For the first time since April, she'd fought with her father. And how had she handled it? She stormed out on him. 

He barely let her go out for a drink at the pub with some friends after dark anymore, let alone go off wandering by herself. Not since her mother and sister...

Still, it wasn’t like she was going to any unknown parts of the city. Lily was only headed to school. 

It was nighttime, though. While students did stay late to work on classwork, there wasn't usually much danger there. The worst thing that happened was students getting too drunk at the pub or arguing in the dorms.

Perhaps going to school wasn’t the best idea, but staying at least on the walking part of her commute provided her with the familiarity she needed to keep her from turning back and heading home. Once underground, she’d decide her final destination. 

A familiar bright blue and red light signaled her tube station, and Lily continued on her daily commute. She descended to the Underground, scanned her Oyster card, walked down to the platform, and stood with her camera held close to her chest to await her train. 

Time passed slowly and all too fast at the same time. What she was about to do was senseless, and once she boarded, it would be much harder to turn back. Lily recognized this but was still worthwhile to her. 

Boarding the first car that arrived, she took a seat across from a sleeping man with facial hair. It was only Lily and the dosing passenger in their section. Normally, with so few people on the train, she’d take a seat somewhere farther away, but it was oddly comforting to be near someone else right now. 

She felt bad for him.  He looked exhausted, like he had come straight off a long shift. Based on his uniform, he was a subway operator. Squinting, she thought she could make out the name ‘Stan’ on his nametag. 

Above the entrance, the little timer ticked down until the doors closed. What stop was he waiting for? Lily held onto the upper railing in case the train started moving, stepping forward towards the tired subway worker. She shifted her hands to brace against the seat beside Stan and leaned down to shake the worker gently. “What’s your stop?” she asked. 

Stan barely responded, peeking one eye open lazily and muttering, “Piccadilly Circus”. 

Of course. One of the most populated places this late would be the middle of the West End. It was always lined with tourists and locals alike. 

She nodded her head, looking up at the map to see where she wanted to get off on the line. “That’s where I’m going too,” she decided aloud. “I’ll wake you when we’re there, yeah?” 

Stan let out a little ‘hmmph’ in response, shifting his body so his face was squished against the subway seats with his back turned to Lily. The pleasant robotic voice announced the doors were closing, and Lily made it back to her seat right in time. The train lurched forward again mere moments later. 

Studying the map above the man’s head, Lily saw she only had two stops until her own. Soon enough, the announcements declared that they had arrived, the doors gliding open. Lily stood, stepping closer to Stan and giving his shoulder another gentle shake. 

In return, he grumbled something she couldn’t quite make out then turned in his chair again. It looked like there was no rousing him. Although she wanted to help, the overhead voice called for doors closing. She didn’t want to miss her stop, so she ran off the train quickly. The doors slid shut behind her with an audible click. 

Once out of the car, Lily was immediately struck by how empty and quiet the place was. Usually, on a Friday night in London, people crammed onto the platforms, fighting for a place on the next train. Tonight, it was eerily quiet. The only person she saw was a janitor humming to himself as he swept. 

She climbed the first set of stairs quickly. If anything, the theatres should be getting out soon, and the Circus would be filled with people going home via the Tube. 

When Lily had left home, she had been sure she’d heard the weatherman call for clear skies the rest of the night. As usual, he must have been wrong, because the thunder from above the station was almost deafening the closer to the ground floor she got.

Lily climbed another set of stairs, the roar almost deafening at this point. Reaching the top of another flight of stairs, she thought she saw shadows growing larger and larger on the tiled wall towards the exit. Lily had to blink a few times to make sure she was seeing correctly. The pit of her stomach dropped with the realization that she was right. 

And it wasn’t thunder.

She had been hearing a stampede of footsteps, and they were coming her way.

Turning a corner into a long hallway, all Lily saw was a horde of people flooding in, barreling towards her as if they didn’t even see her coming. The crowd ran straight into her. 

Lily gasped as people shoved her aside, trampling on her feet and knocking her against the tile. Her camera crunched loudly with the impact. She braced herself for the rest of the onslaught, making herself as small as possible against the wall. 

Screams of terror echoed along the tunnels. Well, at least she’d been right about where to find Spider-Man. 

Hopefully, she was.  

Filled with purpose again, Lily pushed against the crowd, trying to wedge her way through. She had to find Spider-Man. She had to. This was what she’d come out here for, after all. Camera or not, she had to warn him about the police and the press. 

A pair of hands wrapped around one of her wrists in a vice-like grip. 

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” the woman demanded as Lily tried to shake her off. The woman yanked back in return, Lily’s feet sliding along the floor towards her. “Lily!”

Hearing her name, Lily’s head snapped up. A familiar face stood in front of her, trying to tug her back towards the Tube. “Hestia, no, I can’t!” 

“What’re you on about?” Hestia’s dark eyebrows furrowed together for a split second before she shook her head. It was as if she already decided that trying to sort out whatever Lily wanted to stick around for was not important. “Lily,” she pleaded desperately. “You have to come with me! Now! You can’t go up there!”

Lily had never seen her friend this way, so frantic and terrified. Hestia Jones was not the sort of person to scare easily‒or at all‒in the time Lily had known her. Whatever waited up there must have been dangerous. 

If she turned back now, it would save her father and her friends the heartache and the fear of not knowing if she was all right. Looking into Hestia’s eyes, she almost did turn back. 

But she couldn’t. Not with everything at stake. If they took down Spider-Man, who would be here to save all these people? Even if it meant sacrificing her own life, Lily would do everything in her power to help Spider-Man protect the city.

It was the right thing to do. 

Everything happened so fast. One moment she was resisting Hestia’s pull, the next the two of them were running along with the chaos. Hestia had loosened her grip on Lily’s wrist, so Lily took the opportunity to slide her hand into Hestia’s instead, giving her friend’s hand a tight squeeze. 

The gesture seemed to have alleviated Hestia’s worries as her friend breathed out in relief. It made what Lily had to do next so much worse.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, quickly dropping her hand and disappearing into the crowd. 

When Lily turned back, her friend was being pulled along by the undertow of the crowd, her arm outstretched for Lily to grasp like a life preserver. Hestia looked distraught, and Lily was certain if she were any closer she’d see tears on her face. 

This had better work. 

-

James webbed from building to building, quickly weaving his way towards the scream. It wasn’t long before he found its inspiration: two masked terrorizers perched on the base of the statue in the middle of Piccadilly Circus. 

He felt a sense of familiarity as he stared at the two. It was a man and a woman, but they looked so similar. They were both childlike in stature, but their shoulders sloped inwards, making them appear hunched over. Their faces were partially covered by masks, but the features that showed through were familiar. 

He’d seen them before. He just didn’t remember where exactly. 

The man had a lopsided sort of leer, and through the holes on the skull mask he was wearing, James spotted beady little eyes. The woman had less distinctive features, but like her counterpart, her skin was pallid, and she bore the same wicked expression as her counterpart.

A building on the other side of the road exploded James he landed atop the flashing billboards in the junction. The rubble scattered across the road, joining the rest of the debris the two had created. Screams echoed through the streets, people in the traffic circle abandoning the cars and buses in favor of an escape through the Tube as the two culprits cackled, taking great pleasure in the mayhem they were causing. 

The woman’s wheezy giggle was what made James realize who they were, the noise bringing him back to all the times he’d heard it previously. They called themselves the Carrows: a brother and sister team. They didn’t look dangerous at first glance. 

They had been there, though. At the Millenium Bridge collapse. They had been the ones who took down the rest of the bridge with the same weapons they were using now. 

Both brother and sister were equipped with some kind of laser, allowing them to bring any structure to the ground with a simple push of a button. The sister, Alecto, shot a theatre close to the Circus, the building wobbling more and more until it crumbled to the ground.

It appeared as if they were searching for something as they decimated each structure, but what, James wasn’t exactly sure. The buildings all around the junction had evacuated; he’d watched them flee via the Tube with the rest of the civilians from the traffic circle, so he didn’t have to worry about saving people from the collapsing buildings. 

All James knew was that he needed to stop the Carrows before they moved on, before they found a building full of people to destroy somewhere else.

But, how? 

He did wonder if they had any real power without their laser guns. The easiest way to test it would be to simply grab one. It seemed too easy, but sometimes, the easiest strategy was the one overlooked. 

So, he did it. 

Turning his wrist, James aimed his web-shooter at one of the Carrow’s laser guns. Silky webbing shot out, traveling at lightning speed from James and attaching to the side of one of the guns. He grinned widely under the mask, grabbing hold of the web with his other hand. 

He reached to grab the webbing with his other hand and pull, but a sharp tug from the other end of the web made him stumble on the precarious ledge. Another tug sent him flying to the ground. 

James grimaced, shooting his webbing towards the building he had been standing on only moments ago. Suddenly, the building began to crumble around him, chunks of concrete and shards of glass raining onto him as he webbed onto a double-decker bus abandoned in the road. 

So sometimes the easiest option didn’t work out. 

“Good to see you two again,” he said conversationally as he jumped off the top of the bus. Their guns pointed straight at him. “Haven’t seen you two out much lately. I was afraid maybe you got busted.”

That earned him a green beam shot right at him. He probably deserved that after such a terrible joke, honestly. Still, James ducked, sliding out of the way with ease. 

“Is that the best you’ve got?” he asked. He needed to find another way to take their guns from them, but at least the Circus was empty. It gave him time. Usually, he’d have to finish things as quickly as possible so that no one died. The lack of innocent civilians to worry about afforded James more time to be thorough. Tonight, the Carrows would be caught. 

Still, it was two against one, and he had to keep moving to dodge the onslaught of laser beams coming his way. Usually, his best course of action was to web onto a building, but that wouldn’t be such a good idea when they had the ability to destroy whatever structure he was webbed onto. 

As he passed by the Tube station, another beam shot right past him, hitting one of the walls. Too busy trying to come up with a plan, James didn’t even notice the civilian who ran out of the station’s entrance as it crumbled. Instead, he just looked at the Carrows, a smug smirk on his face as he said, “You guys really can’t hit anything that’s not stationary, can you?”

They had their guns pointed right at him, and James knew it was the perfect time to web onto the guns. They were too distracted by the idea of taking him down, both wearing wide grins under their masks. 

This was it. This was his chance. All he needed to do was web both the guns and get out of the way without any of the lasers hitting him. 

“Say goodbye!” Alecto cackled, but before she could shoot, a small chunk of concrete landed by James’ feet. 

“No!” James heard someone cry, another piece of concrete hurled into the middle of the Circus. “Don’t hurt him!”

James glanced around to see who was senseless enough to be out here at a time like this. Why hadn’t they run screaming like everyone else? 

And then, he saw her.

Lily. 

As his heart leapt into his throat, body freezing mid-fight, his only thought was: Not her. Anyone but her. 

He stood, frozen, as Lily ran closer, the obviously broken camera around her neck swinging wildly with her movement. Luckily, it seemed as if she’d also distracted the Carrows with the disruption. 

At least, James had thought so until he realized that one of the laser guns was pointed at him and the other at Lily.

“Now!” He heard Alecto cry, and the lasers came shooting towards them. 

Knowing he didn’t have much time, James webbed onto Lily and tugged to bring her to his side. He heard her frightened gasp but didn’t have time to reassure her. All he could do was hold onto her and dive out of the way as the building that had been behind them crumbled down. 

James grimaced as the two of them roughly slid to the ground. He scrambled up, yanking Lily up with him. In any normal circumstance, James would never manhandle anyone, let alone Lily, the way he was right now. But this wasn’t a normal circumstance. 

 He needed to find her a way out of here. It wasn’t as if he could leave the Carrows and take Lily to safety. As much as he'd like to, there were other things he had to worry about. 

Namely, the fact that the Carrows were shooting at them again. 

Without thinking, he tugged Lily across the circle with him, ducking between two piles of rubble. They didn’t get very far before having to dodge the laser beams shooting at them. There was no way they’d be able to cross the junction without stopping to duck for cover every few paces, but their options were slim at the moment.

When he heard the sounds of the guns stop for the moment, he pulled her along, running again to find cover under another pile of debris. While it was safe for the moment, they had to get moving again soon. If they stuck around, the two masked villains would find them again. 

He refused to let them be caught and cornered, not with Lily beside him.

She couldn’t be here. Keeping her by his side put a target on her back. As risky as it was to send her out there with all these toppling buildings, James wasn’t sure he had a choice. Yet, looking at the devastation around them, he knew he had to think of something to give her a fighting chance. 

Anything. 

Despite the fact that he knew he shouldn’t leave the Carrows alone in the Circus - after all, what if another unsuspecting citizen happened upon the scene in his absence? - Lily’s safety was taking precedence at the moment. 

“How’d you get here?” he asked suddenly as they dodged the lasers. If it was safe, he’d send her back the way she came. 

“I was in the Tube,” she said, panting as she tried to catch her breath while they ran through the junction. Well, that was unfortunate since the station’s entrance had been decimated into a pile of rubble. He’d have to think of some other way to get her out of here. For starters, they needed to get away from the Carrows.

“T-there was a stampede,” James heard her say, and it seemed like she was just rambling to keep from panicking. He only hoped she wasn’t too focused on her words to prevent herself from stumbling. “Everyone was running towards the train, but I-you needed help. You’re fighting for the city on your own. It looked like you were in danger, and I-” She was talking so quickly James wasn’t sure she’d have any air left in her lungs, and he’d never seen those green eyes as wide as they were in that moment. “I had to do something!”

James froze, staring at her momentarily. Had she really gone towards the danger when everyone else fled? It was dangerous to dwell on her blatant lack of respect for her own life right now. “I need to get you out of here somehow,” he muttered more to himself than to her as he looked around the junction.

She had to get out of here. The Carrows were going to destroy every building in range, and Lily couldn’t be there when they did. The Tube couldn’t be her escape route. There had to be another way out. 

That was when he noticed dim light coming from behind them, casting their shadows on the pavement in front of them. There was a car - an abandoned but still running car - behind them. 

A blast from a few feet away reminded him that the Carrows were still shooting at them, and Lily was looking rather worn from being dragged around Piccadilly Circus. Having her drive off in the car would be the easiest getaway, but with all the lasers shooting off at random, James thought better of it. If the Carrows hit that car with Lily in it, she’d be done for. 

He needed to find a way to make it safer for her. 

“Stay,” James commanded, leaving her behind a tall pile of crumbled concrete. She was huddled underneath the rubble, peeking out from behind as if keeping watch, but he saw her mutely nod her head. At the very least, he was certain that she wasn’t going to move from that spot, so he swung up onto a building, trailing along his webbing. 

“Aww, no more puns? What? Not as confrontational when your little girlfriend’s around?” Alecto cooed. 

Gritting his teeth, James tried to work faster, jumping around from building to ground to building and back, sticking his web to every surface he reached. Each time he landed, he glanced towards the wreckage where Lily was hiding. Thankfully, the two didn’t seem too interested in her. At least, not when they realized what James was up to. 

“A spider web,” Amycus said, looking at his sister with a raised eyebrow. “How quaint.” 

James heard Alecto’s wheezy giggle again before she cried, “Let’s see how well these webs work to protect your beloved from our lasers.”

Seeing their distraction as his opportunity to get Lily to safety, James dropped back down to the ground, racing back to Lily. They didn’t have much time. 

He grabbed her hand tightly, tugging her backwards to the awaiting car, her escape. “Get in. Drive away. Just...just stay in the car until you’re safe, okay?” He had to know she was going to be okay, that she’d be safe one way or another. Sure, this wasn’t how he wanted this to go, but this was the best option he had. 

He watched as she got into the driver’s seat, her hands shaking as she clutched the wheel. “But what about you? You can’t get hurt. We need you. London needs you.” The panic in her voice made James almost want to stay with her. He could climb into the car with her or, better yet, take her back home by webbing building to building. It would be so easy to leave with her and not deal with any of this right now. 

But as she said, London needed him. 

He just nodded his head to her. “I know. I’ll be all right. All in a day’s work of being Spider-Man, yeah?” He knew she was trying to hide it, but he saw the corners of her lips twitch up at that. “You need to go.”

When she gave him a shaky nod in return, James gave himself one final moment to look at her before turning on his heel and webbing back into the fight. 

“Miss me?” he called as he swung back. 

Upon seeing Amycus wound tightly in his barricade, much like a bug trapped in a real spider’s web, James broke out into a stupid grin. Maybe this wouldn’t be so difficult after all. 

Alecto’s eyes narrowed and she lined up her laser not at James, who was still behind the indestructible webbing, but at a building holding it up. It wobbled precariously, like the others had done earlier, and then crashed to the ground, leaving a cloud of dust in its wake. With it, fell a section of webbing. While it wasn’t enough to tear down the whole web, it was enough to surpass his barrier he’d set up. 

“Are you mad?!” Amycus cried from inside his web cocoon. “You’re going to crush-” Without concern for the rest of his sentence, or apparently the well-being of her brother, Alecto shot at the other building. As the building toppled, tearing the remainder of the web down with it, James knew it was time to move. 

He wanted this over with. The Carrows might’ve gotten away on the bridge, but he wouldn’t make that mistake again. 

One down. Amycus’s laser gun was laying on the ground, but it looked damaged. There was a flashing red light on the side, and a blue and green glow peeked through the cracks along the barrel of the gun. James didn’t want to risk picking it up only for it to backfire on him. Besides, James only played offense in football. He'd stick to the defensive; he preferred his webs anyway.

One more to go. 

Alecto Carrow seemed to be more competent than her counterpart given that she hadn’t gotten trapped in the web, and her actions were always a bit more calculated. Despite her intelligence, without her brother, the fight was now one-on-one, and James had the upper hand.

He landed in front of Alecto as she scurried back to her safety atop the base of the statue. It was a good vantage point for her since she’d be shooting down at him.  He still wasn’t quite sure how to take down Alecto, but if the web had taught him anything, they were easily distracted. 

Lily was tucked away in that cab and on her way to somewhere safe. Amycus was a bit preoccupied at the moment. A lazy smirk slid across his features, looking at the Carrow while stretching his arms behind his back languidly as if he were bored. 

“What did you call my web again?” he asked somewhat tauntingly. Until he figured out how to take her down physically, this was his best course of action. “Quaint, was it? Seems like a good place for your brother to hang out. Bit of a sticky situation, really. Care to join him?”

Alecto swiftly pointed her laser at James, firing without a moment’s hesitation. As he’d assumed, Alecto thought he wasn’t paying close enough attention. 

Except he was. 

James shot back, his webbing threading around the barrel of a gun. He grabbed onto the silky web with his other hand, tearing the gun out of Alecto’s hands. He heard her rabid shriek as she hurled herself at him, landing on his back with a violent thud. 

James tried to throw her off, but she clung to him desperately, kicking and screaming for her weapon. Right when he thought he’d lost her, she started digging her long, sharp nails into his shoulders as she clawed for her gun back.

He knew he had to get her off—the pain made sure of that much—but he needed to figure out what to do with this gun too. It wasn’t as if throwing it far enough away would actually help, even it was far enough to keep out of the Carrows’ clutches. Not if it gave anyone the power to decimate the entire city. The webbing blocked anything firing from it for now, but he knew the web weakened as its chemical composition deteriorated from the elements. Far faster than James liked to admit, it became no more than glorified silly string. 

He needed to act fast. 

With a fierce elbow to her gut, Alecto’s grip on James’s back weakened slightly. As he began to deliver the final blow, the circle was illuminated in a green-blue light, and a feverish laugh filled the streets. James’s blood turned cold.

Amycus had escaped. In his hands was the damaged laser gun, sparking and shooting in random directions. 

Alecto hopped off James’s back and ran towards her brother. Apparently, she had bigger fish to fry than fighting for her gun. With that weapon in both of their hands, ready to explode at any moment, they would be nearly unstoppable. 

Not on his watch. James whipped a web around Alecto’s ankle, gripping the web and yanking her into the air. With his other hand, he webbed her to a nearby billboard. There. Even if she did get free...good luck coming down from there. 

With Alecto taken care of, Amycus grew even more violent. He began firing his gun in every direction. Sometimes it went off and other times, nothing happened. The sparking was getting worse with every misfire. 

Luckily, it was compromised enough that none of the shots directed at James actually hit him. The shaking of the gun from the sparks made Amycus’s aim haphazard at best. Simply blocking the lasers from coming too close was working for now. 

That gun was going to be a problem. James wasn’t sure he was even equipped to deal with the aftermath if it did explode. 

Amycus’s aim was getting worse, barely able to hold onto the weapon anymore. Maybe this was James’s chance. The second Amycus let go of that weapon, he could get close enough to finally put an end to all this. 

Just as James thought this all would be over, Amycus had climbed back onto the statue, attempting to maneuver the gun to point in James’ direction, using the statue as a base to keep his grip on the device as it jerked about. His target line was so much better with the statue stabilizing the gun. 

 The Carrow was done playing bulldozer on the city. His target was set on Spider-Man.

James knew this wouldn’t be good. His options were: get shot, grab the gun and have it blow up, or, possibly, both. None of it sounded very promising. Sure, he’d been in scary situations in the past, but he’d never dealt with an unstable weapon with this kind of power in the hands of someone like Amycus. 

There was a real possibility that he’d die here. That fact hit him so hard that it was almost as if one of those buildings had crushed him. 

He could die right now. 

There were so many things he hadn’t done, things he hadn’t said. 

He had regrets, sure. He wished he’d stayed as close to Remus Lupin as they had been before he became Spider-Man, but he’d decided months ago to keep Remus out of this for his own protection. 

Now, he regretted not telling Sirius how much he appreciated all his help with this Spider-Man stuff, even if he hadn’t wanted Sirius to know at first either. James wished he’d told him how he was the best friend he could’ve ever asked for, the brother he’d always wanted. 

More than that, he wished he hadn’t fought with Lily at the Prophet. She didn’t know he’d seen her again tonight. Unless she found out he was Spider-Man, her last memory of him would be of their fight. He wished he’d told her how he felt. 

James swallowed thickly as his mind wandered to Aunt Minnie. More than anything, he wished he could give her a proper goodbye. He knew how devastated she’d been when James’ mum had died without saying goodbye. Minnie would be crushed again, and she’d be downright furious with him for being Spider-Man. 

But he couldn’t think about any of that right now. Not when Amycus Carrow was prepared to end this at any moment, his finger on the trigger.

Like Lily had said, London needed him. He needed to be there to save the people of the city. He needed to save London because that was where Remus Lupin lived. Where Sirius lived. Lily. Aunt Minnie. 

He had to save them. Even if saving them meant losing himself. 

Resigning himself to the fact that things were probably about to get very, very messy, he raised his hand, shaking slightly as he moved, to shoot at the gun before Amycus shot at him. 

Amycus’s eyes lit up with a devilish delight in what he was about to do. 

A screech from the distance caused both parties to pause for a moment. When James looked to where the noise was coming from, two bright lights from some sort of car blinded him. As he blinked away the lights, he’d seen enough to know what had happened. 

The taxi careened past him, slamming into the statue in the middle of the junction. The heavy bronze figure swayed for a moment before toppling to the ground with a deafening clash, its motion bringing Amycus down with it. 

The gun soared through the air, alight like a meteor. He hoped this worked. 

James used both web-shooters to catch the gun, twirling it with one web, and wrapping it like a bandage with the other. Fully covered now, James webbed it to hang from a pile of rubble well lit by the street lamps, somewhere the authorities would easily find it. 

He heard their sirens now, coming from a distance. Figured that as soon as things finished up, the cops arrived. 

Amycus was out. The statue must have knocked him unconscious. He might’ve checked to see if the Carrow was still breathing if it weren’t for his unexpected hero. As James approached the black taxi, his heart pounded in his chest. 

Lily. It had to be Lily. No one else disregarded their own safety enough to do something so stupidly brave except her. 

The car was crushed in at the front, the wheels bent at a strange angle and steam billowing out of the grill. He couldn’t see her through the windows since the whole cab was filled with the deployed airbags. 

Please be okay. 

When he looked inside, ripping off the door of the crushed cab, Lily was heaving, and tears were rolling down her cheeks. She had a bruise purpling along the side of her cheek but otherwise appeared okay. As he opened his mouth to ask if she was, Lily cut him off. 

“I-I stayed in the car,” she gasped, looking at him, her green eyes wide. 

James swallowed his initial response as she stumbled out of the destroyed taxi, and he reached out, grabbing her hands to steady her. “Be careful,” he murmured, worried her injuries might be worse than what was visibly apparent. He’d gotten too used to the luxury that was self-healing. Lily, on the other hand…

She looked relatively okay though. She wasn’t too pale - well, not any paler than she normally was - and she appeared to know what was going on at the very least. Still… “I think you should let me take you to the hospital.”

“Take me home,” she said, rubbing at the bruise on her cheek. It was swollen a bit, and she had this look of exhaustion on her face that made James’s stomach flip. Maybe she was more hurt than he thought. 

James shook his head slowly. If something happened to her, it’d be his fault.  “Err...No. I think you need to go, really,” he insisted. “You need to get checked out at the hospital.”

Lily scowled at the suggestion this time, and it was a welcome sight. That was the Lily he knew, the one that crashed cars into famous landmarks. “Look, Spider-Man. If you won’t take me home, I’ve already committed grand theft once today. I can do it again and get home by myself, but I’m bruised and tired and I really don’t care to deal with the traffic this fight has no doubt caused. So, I’ll ask you again. Take me home.”

“That wasn’t a question - more of an order, really. You sure you didn’t hit your head too hard?” She was fine; that, he was sure of now. She was talking normally, didn’t seem too confused about where she was or what she was doing, and though her walk hadn’t been all that steady when getting out of the car, he knew she’d been shaken up. She seemed stable now. 

Besides, she’d told him off, so that was an encouraging sign. 

James watched with a bemused smirk as Lily narrowed her eyes and then swished around, apparently giving up on travel by web. Her walk was definitely more steady again, which, James supposed, was good. Still, he couldn’t let her drive home. Not when she’d already been through so much that night. Not with that big bruise forming on her cheek. Not with her complete disrespect for her own safety.

Lily had already spotted another taxi and was marching towards it purposefully. James, not wanting her to go off by herself and get in more trouble tonight, ran to catch up with her, leaning on her cab of choice when they got close enough. “So, tell me,” he said conversationally, “do you commit grand theft often? Should I be worried about you?”

That broke through her wall she was building up. He wished he could say the way her eyes lit up, her nose wrinkling slightly at his words, didn’t make him feel anything, but he’d felt this way since he first met her. It didn’t seem like the sort of thing that’d change anytime soon.

“Oh, be very worried,” she teased, leaning against the taxi as well. “Planning to be an accessory to my crimes, Spider-Man?” 

“Sorry,” he sighed, crossing his arms as he smirked underneath his mask. He knew they needed to get out of there soon since the sirens from earlier sounded far too close for comfort, but he was having too much fun teasing Lily. “No can do. That sort of thing is bad for my image.”

“Ah, yes. Your image, which as we all know is already so good.” Lily let out a soft little laugh, more of a breath than anything, and looked down at the ground. Her smile faded rather quickly, and he knew she was thinking about the paper. As she pushed off the car and examined the wreckage they’d left behind—piles of rubble in and around the streets, the statue toppled, a destroyed cab—her eyebrows knitted together in worry. 

It probably wasn’t the best thing to mention his image to her. She’d want to go and fix it, and he’d seen how reckless she could be. Reckless enough to save his life. 

And she didn’t even know she knew him. He was glad that in all the chaos, he’d remembered to lower his voice a bit so it wasn’t as easily recognizable for Lily.. If she had known, James knew she’d want to help more. He could only save her from herself so many times.

Thinking back on the events of the day and watching her with that worried look on her face, he wanted to reach out and tell her it’d be okay. They were just buildings. Sure, his reputation might suffer, but he didn’t care about that. No one had died today, and that was the biggest relief, especially with Lily being involved. He didn’t even want to think about something happening to her on his watch. Of all people, hadn’t she suffered enough from his failures as Spider-Man?

He’d wanted to tell her he was sorry for all that had happened tonight. He wanted to apologize for what had happened at work too, despite the mask. He wanted to plead for her to put herself first for once, to stop being so reckless, but the authorities were rounding the corner now, red and blue lights flashing against the facades of the remaining buildings.

James took a deep breath instead. They had to get out of here. “Let’s go,” he said suddenly, offering her a hand. 

Lily looked down at it as if it were a foreign concept to her. “What?” 

“I’ll take you home,” he said, trying not to sound too impatient, but he needed to dodge the cops. She knew that. He took her moment of hesitation to shoot a web at an intact building, getting ready to leave whenever she was ready. “You’re far too reckless to get home safely by yourself.”

“Right.” She looked nervously over her shoulder before taking his hand. “What if I slow you down, though?” 

As she said this, the tires of the police cars and ambulances squealed as they screeched to a stop. Behind them, a few dozen media vans, including Daily Prophet 24/7 coverage. Their time for questions was over. 

Reporters scrambled out of their vehicles. They had to leave, now, while James still had a clear view of his escape route. He wrapped his arms around Lily, tucking her in close to his side. “Hold onto me,” he murmured, kicking off the ground and swinging onto the top of the building his web was on. 

As they flew through the air, the flashes of reporters’ cameras filled his vision. Looked like the Prophet got their picture after all. 

-

The city was absolutely breathtaking at nighttime. From within the dark, the soft glow of the streetlamps and the lights inside the different apartments was a warm and welcome sight. At a distance, they almost looked like fireflies. 

High above the ground, the people and the cars all looked so small. It was as if all the problems of the world were the same size. Up there, it felt like you were untouchable, undefeatable.

Of course, Lily didn’t know this because her face was smushed against Spider-Man’s chest as they fled the scene. She felt the wind whipping around them, stray pieces of hair tickling her cheeks, but she was not going to look around. Her arms wrapped around his torso tightly, and her fingers clung around the fabric of his suit as if it was the only thing able to save her if she fell. 

Most certainly not the webs the superhero was soaring through the sky with. 

From above her, she thought she heard Spider-Man chuckle. Lily furrowed her brows but figured she must be hearing things. What was so funny at a time like this? 

Then she felt his laugh, his chest shaking with every little chortle. Terrified to look down, Lily moved her head up the slightest bit to peek at the man above her. 

Problem was, it was really hard to read his facial expression with the mask situation. From the way his head was angled, it looked like he was laughing at her, watching her. “What’s so funny?” she asked, burrowing her face back into his side. 

“Oh, nothing,” he murmured back to her, the two of them dipping down as he webbed onto another building. “I just think it’s funny that you were so...so reckless and brave earlier with everything you did, but you’re frightened of heights. You can run into a stampede. You can crash a car into a statue-a national landmark, mind you. But heights, that’s what does you in.” There was a beat as he thought this over before Lily heard his laugh again. “Honestly, this is probably the safest thing you’ve done tonight.”

But it didn’t feel like the safest thing, not to Lily. She felt like she was moving through the city at a very fast pace, very high off the ground while being held up by a couple of little strings. That felt like a very unsafe thing to do. She was sure her father would agree, but he wouldn’t have approved of anything she’d done tonight. 

Besides, he’d done this tons of times. At this point, it must’ve been as natural as breathing for him. “I’d bet you were scared the first time you did this,” she replied somewhat bitterly. 

“Sure,” Spider-Man said in return. “I couldn’t close my eyes though. Something tells me that wouldn’t have worked out for me too well.”

A smile tugged at Lily’s lips, but she didn’t dare look up. “Perks of being a civilian, yeah?” 

“I suppose,” he sighed, and Lily felt him hold her a little closer. She tried to ignore the blush creeping up her neck when, suddenly, he jerked to a stop. She opened her eyes to see what had happened only to find they were hanging on the side of Big Ben. Lily gasped, tightening her grip on his suit for dear life. 

“Spider-Man,” she cried, her eyes trailing down the clock tower to the streets below of their own volition. The buses and cars directly below them looked so minuscule. She felt like she was going to be sick, her skin turning clammy and her stomach churning at the sight. Her heart was beating so hard against her chest she was positive Spider-Man felt it. 

“Relax,” he insisted, shifting to place her feet on a close-by ledge. “Li-Let’s breathe, okay?” He tugged her closer, shuffling so she was closer against the tower and more securely on the ledge. “You’re okay. You’re safe.” 

Lily did as he said, breathing in, but it came in as a shudder. Spider-Man nodded encouragingly and she thought she heard him say something like, “good, keep going,” but she wasn’t really paying attention to his words. He was holding onto her with one arm wrapped around her in something of a hug, and Lily was very aware of his hand on her back. His other hand was gripping onto his suspended web, only his toes touching the ledge she stood upon. 

She tightened her hold on him, not able to think clearly when she was terrified that now he would fall. It didn’t seem to phase him in the slightest, his head tilted upwards into the open air, looking at something high above them. 

Her breath must have evened out with her distraction because Spider-Man looked to her suddenly and nodded his head in approval. “Good. See, you’re alright.” Lily only nodded slowly. “Hey, I don’t want you to be scared, but I think you’d think the city is really pretty right now. Can I take you up a little higher-” 

“Are you joking?” Lily snapped, looking at Spider-Man with disdain. “I’m terrified, and you want to go up higher?”

 He seemed amused by her outburst. “Are you done?” Lily opened her mouth to speak again, but he cut her off. “As I was saying, can I take you up a little higher where there’s a railing and a real floor? You can calm down before I take you home. Does that sound okay?” 

That didn’t sound too bad, Lily had to admit. When she nodded her agreement, Spider-Man scooped her up and began scaling the side of the building. From over his shoulder, she saw tourists pointing them out amongst themselves from the London Eye. 

As far up as they were when he first took her to the tower, Lily didn’t realize how much farther up there was to go until she was carried up to the top. The white light from the clock cast their shadows on the city below. 

Soon, they reached a railing, and Spider-Man pulled them over it. Finally on solid ground, Lily let out a deep breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. 

“Better now?” he asked, and she nodded quickly. She’d never been so happy to have her feet on the floor, even if the floor was much higher up than she preferred. As she glanced out over the city, she had to admit that it was rather pretty. The river Thames looked like glass from so far up, its surface calm and dark other than reflections from the surrounding lights and the moon in the distance. Across from them, the London Eye ticked along at a slow, leisurely pace. 

“Yeah,” she breathed, unable to take her eyes off the city. It seemed so strange that the city felt so calm and quiet in one place, and yet, in another, it was filled with destruction. 

When she finally tore her eyes off the skyline, she found that Spider-Man was staring over at her again. She ducked her head to hide her blush behind the curtain of her hair. “What?” she mumbled. 

“Nothing,” he replied, shrugging slowly. “It’s only...what’s your name?”

Her name. Spider-Man wanted to know her name? “Lily,” she said, turning back to face the hero directly and sitting cross-legged with her back resting against the stone railing. Lily tilted her head up to see him, a shy sort of smile on her lips. “My name is Lily Evans.”

“Lily Evans,” Spider-Man repeated, and she had to admit she quite liked how it sounded coming from him. Lily heard him suck in a breath. “You know, Lily, what you did today...it wasn’t smart.”

Her heart dropped to the pit of her stomach. Did Spider-Man call her dumb? Even though she had just sat down, she scrambled back to her feet so she was on his level, looking into his eyes-well, eye markings. “What I did today was I saved your life.”

“And you could’ve lost yours,” he shot back, crossing his arms against his chest. 

“So could you!” she exclaimed, throwing her arms out. “You know what you do for a living right? You’re at least a little self-aware? Spider-Man, your job is putting your life at risk. I don’t think you’re in a place to lecture me about safety.” 

She crossed her arms too, looking him over. He was tall, but his voice sounded young. While it was hard to tell if he was younger or older than her, he seemed like he was at least around her age range. What was a university-age kid doing sacrificing his life for the city? Lily’d had enough lectures this evening for the both of them. If he wanted to lecture her, fine. Two could play that game.

Spider-Man began shaking his head. “You don’t get it. I didn’t choose this. This was put on me, and like you said, London needs me. But you...you need to stay safe. Surely you have people that worry about you. If you don’t do it for yourself, do it for them.”

Guilt washed over her like a tidal wave. Her father would be so furious when she got home. Surely by now, the news had aired. She knew the reporters had gotten a photo of her. She didn’t know if her face was visible, but with her luck, everyone would know she had met Spider-Man by tomorrow morning. 

But Spider-Man was wrong. No matter what her father said, Spider-Man saved people. And no matter how angry her dad was, Lily knew she did the right thing. She set out to help Spider-Man and she did. 

He was alive because of her. He’d go home to the people who cared about him tonight because of her. 

For all she knew, the whole city was alive because of her. What would have happened if the two masked villains had gotten away? What if that sparking laser gun had exploded like it looked like it was going to? 

Because Lily risked her life, so many more were safe. She refused to apologize for that, no matter what anyone else said. Even if that person was Spider-Man. 

Besides, she was fine. 

He did raise a good point, though. Her father was probably worried sick waiting for her to come home. 

Lily felt Spider-Man’s gaze through his mask, and she was vaguely reminded of an ant under a microscope. He must have been waiting for her to respond, but she was so caught up in her thoughts she hadn’t noticed. 

What did she even say to that? Did Spider-Man not want to be Spider-Man? If she could, Lily would trade places with him, take the weight off his shoulders. “I’m sorry,” Lily murmured, taking advantage of the fact that Spider-Man probably thought she was talking about risking her life. She wasn’t, but at least her words placated him. She wasn’t sorry for what she did. 

She was sorry that he had to carry this burden for the city, sorry he had to be responsible for keeping people who didn’t appreciate him safe. 

“It’s fine,” he mumbled in return, and Lily watched as he paced for a moment before he stared back at her. “Look, it’s not… I’m grateful that you saved my life and all.”

“Then-” Lily started, but Spider-Man cut her off, looking down at her in a way that she practically felt the intensity through the air. 

“But I don’t want you to go risking yours for something like that again.”

Lily nodded slowly in return, even if she didn’t mean it. Something like that. They weren’t talking about saving a couple of buildings or a famous landmark. She’d saved his life. It was worth the risk. If she had to do it again, she would. But Spider-Man needn’t know that. 

“Anyway,” she heard him sigh as he stepped closer to the ledge again. “I’d better get you home. Where might that be, Lily?”

She knew she needed to get home before her father went out and started looking for her himself. She’d be surprised if he hadn’t already. Lily murmured her address, joining him at the edge and grabbing his outstretched hand. 

This time, she didn’t close her eyes. Whether she had grown used to the sensation or if she’d grown numb, Lily wasn’t sure. Granted, she was keeping her eyes on what was in front of her, deliberately ignoring the ground below them. 

Instead, she watched as Spider-Man webbed from building to building. Every time a bit of web was released, he pressed this mechanism built into his suit. As she first noticed it, she had to blink a few times to be sure of what she was seeing. 

All this time, Lily had thought Spider-Man had special supernatural abilities, and the webs were only one of them. Although she didn’t understand how Spider-Man would be able to shoot webs from his skin, she’d just assumed he was some type of mutant. 

But those web-shooters were man-made. He must have engineered them somehow. Or maybe he’d commissioned someone to or something. Either way, they looked complicated. 

Spider-Man must have been really intelligent to figure something like that out, but engineered web-shooters meant he was really just a regular guy. 

She did wonder who was truly behind the mask. Not because of any desire to expose his identity to the world, and certainly not to turn him over to the cops. No, Lily was simply fascinated by the mystery. 

Plus, it didn’t hurt that this man had sort of saved her life tonight too. 

She had so many questions for him, but she was afraid that if she asked, he wouldn’t tell her. Or worse, he’d get upset and think she was trying to discover who he was. So instead, Lily kept quiet the entire way home, watching Spider-Man use his web-shooters. 

How did they work? What substance inside that tiny mechanism created those near-indestructible webs? They were strong enough to resist lasers. They pulled both his and her body weight through the sky. Forget their weight, that day at the bridge, Lily watched on the telly as Spider-Man stopped a bus from falling into the river. 

And it all started with those little web-shooters.

Far too interested in the web-shooters, she hadn’t realized that Spider-Man had gotten her back home until her feet were placed firmly on the ground. She glanced around, realizing that most of the lights in the building were dark now as people had gone to sleep for the night. Her own home was still lit brightly, and she was sure her father was waiting for her. 

Lily turned around to thank Spider-Man for bringing her home, but by the time she did so, he’d already disappeared into the darkness. 

She sucked in a deep breath, reaching out for the front door’s handle and turning it until she heard the click. “Dad?” she called, stepping inside. “I’m home…”

[tahitianmangoes]

Pairing(s): F!Reader x Micah Bell

Summary:  You had always liked rougher men. Bad men. The wrong men.

Tags/triggers: NSFW Word Count: 1750

We All Like a Bad Boy, Don’t We? (Not A Fucking Outlaw Though, Chris)

After a lucrative morning in Valentine, you returned triumphant to the camp, your pockets heavy with money and items swiped from unsuspecting townsfolk. You made a show of putting what you’d earned into the camp’s donations box.

Dutch of course didn’t let it go unnoticed, always with one eye on the box he came over when he saw you filling in the ledger. 

“Three pocket watches, two wedding rings and $68! That’s my girl. Everyone needs to take a leaf out of your book, my dear.” He said loudly so that everyone took notice. 

Arthur was standing by the campfire and turned to Dutch’s booming voice. You’d been running with the Van Der Linde gang for the best part of a year now and you’d be lying if you didn’t say that you didn’t think that Arthur was probably the most handsome man you had ever met. He was gruff but kind, rugged and handsome but damn, did he not have a clue. He didn’t notice how women and men alike would stop to gawk at him - he was statuesque in his beauty.

“That’s a lotta money for a little lady,” he said teasingly, “where’d you get all that?”

“That’s for me to know and for you to find out,” you replied with a wry smile. 

“Were you followed?” Arthur asked, he still smiled but he looked at you in earnest.

You rolled your eyes at him, “what do you take me for?”

“Good girl.”

You left Dutch and Arthur, heading to the treeline at the edge of the camp for some peace and quiet for a little while, maybe you could even take a nap before someone came to find you to ask something else of you…

You sat down initially, looking out over the Dakota River. The camp boasted some of the best vistas you had ever seen. It was then that you heard a rustling in the bushes behind you and you jumped back to your feet. 

It was Micah Bell. He leaned against a large oak tree just behind you. You hadn’t noticed him but it didn’t surprise you to see him there, he often spent a lot of his downtime on the outskirts of the camp. 

Micah’s ice blue eyes peered out at you beneath the brim of his off white hat, his face framed by this dirty blond hair.

Micah hadn’t caught your attention at first when you had joined the gang. Not even second but he grew on you, slowly and steadily like moss on a rock.

You understood exactly why everyone else resented him - he was past gruff, he was rude and often chauvinistic and sometimes downright repugnant. 

Why in the hell did that get you so hot?

There was something about the way Micah Bell sneered and smirked so smugly. There was something about the way he leered at you when you leant forwards sometimes to reach something to get a better look down your blouse - it sickened you but simultaneously, it was exciting.

You had always liked rougher men. Bad men. The wrong men. You weren’t one for romance; you liked to see and feel it for yourself. Raw passion meant more than followers or empty words. 

Even the notorious Dutch Van der Linde was too tame for you. Micah on the other hand… He sure was untameable. 

“Is that what you like?” He scoffed, “the likes of Morgan pattin’ you on the head like a little dog an’ callin’ you a good girl?”

You squared up to him, not missing that his eyes were sparkling as he held you in his gaze.

“Surely you know me better than that, Mr Bell. I ain’t no one’s pet.”

“What a shame…” Micah breathed and you shivered. 

Maybe he saw that and saw how your cheeks were flushed now because his smirk only darkened. “I don’t think we’d be missed for a short bit, would we?” You found yourself shaking your head. “Why don’t you come here and tell me what you do like?”

You went to him as if possessed by him, bewitched by his suggestion. Before you knew it you stood before him, close enough to feel the heat radiating from him on this warm, spring afternoon. 

You couldn’t deny that you had thought about this more than maybe you should have. Sure, you’d imagined what most of the people in camp would be like to lie with - Arthur would be tender, Javier intense and Charles… well let’s just say you’d seen him bathing once before and wouldn’t mind trying out what he was hiding under those clothes...

But you always returned to thinking about Micah; you knew he’d fuck fast and reckless. He’d talk dirty and have you in positions that would make a whore blush. 

And god did you want to live that fantasy…

“Cat got your tongue?” Micah asked you, voice low and borderline seductive, “come tell me what you want.”

As soon as you inched closer to him, the pair of you were kissing hard. You wondered whether Micah had thought about you was much as much as you had him. 

His kiss was rough and left you breathless, his beard scratched against your soft skin and he wasted no time in pawing at you through your blouse, fingers deceptively swift at undoing the fastenings so that he could free your breasts and  knead them. You trembled into his touch, the hardened skin of his fingers dragged over your already erect nipples and you had to stifle a whimper. 

He chuckled into your mouth. He was enjoying this.

Bastard.

You felt him shift, pushing his thigh between your legs and your whimper turned into a groan, your eyes fluttering shut at that delicious pressure he had introduced.

“You like it, huh?” He said breathlessly letting you ride his thigh while he stooped to let his tongue swirl your nipple and bite playfully at your breasts.

The material from your skirt and drawers was preventing you from feeling everything as you rutted against him. You let out a sound of frustration and pulled away, panting, sweat starting to pool at the base of your neck. Swiftly you removed your drawers, letting them fall into the mud at your feet. Micah clicked his tongue at the sight of your naked pussy. You would have been embarrassed had you not been so wet and uncomfortable - you could see where your juices had left trails on his beige pants. He didn’t seem to care. 

He wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you back to him with ease and with one hand, he reached down and let his fingers dip inside your slick folds.

You gasped at the feel and he growled, fingers knowing exactly what to do- circling your clit so you bucked in his grip and whimpered his name.

“Tell me what you want, little miss,” Micah whispered, his hands on your were hot but his breath was hotter as his teeth grazed the sensitive skin of your neck, “You know what you want, you just don’t know how to ask for it. Don’t be shy.”

“F-fuck me, Micah.”

“I thought you’d never ask, darlin’.” 

He flipped you around so that you faced the tree he had been leaning against and hitched your skirt up. You heard a rumble from his chest, his fingers traced the slit of your pussy and circled your asshole making you squeak. You could hear the material of his pants being undone. “So pretty and wet, just for me...”

He pushed into you without warning, eliciting a low groan from you at the sensation of being filled. You rocked back against him instinctively, needed the motion and the friction but Micah thrust slowly, almost lazily until you whined at him

“Micah… Please…” It wasn't fast enough to to relieve you; you needed it faster, needed him to ram into you and fuck you senseless.

Micah chuckled again. That damn laugh of his. You could imagine the look on his face now, vainglorious. 

“What would Morgan say about his good girl now?” Micah cooed,  “Takin’ cock so nicely and beggin’ for more… If someone were to look over they'd see you and what you really are…”

You cared not one bit if Morgan or the whole camp saw you. The pit of your stomach was coiled and you needed him to move, needed to feel that release.

You pushed back again harder and he growled, hands reaching around to cup your breasts. You pushed back once more desperately, you could feel his breath on your skin. 

“Mmm, that’s right sweetheart. Why don’t you do the hard work for me?”

You pushed back then brought yourself forward in his cock repeatedly, slow at first so you could feel the length of him. You picked up the pace once comfortable, could feel his cock brush up against your sweet spot but knew you couldn't come like this so your hand dipped between your legs to give you some relief as you rubbed your clit.

Micah's chest rumbled at the sight and he placed his hands back on your hips so he could continue to plough into you.

Your breaths filled the clearing: your stifled moans and Micah panting.  You clung to the tree, the bark under your nails and your head foggy with lust. 

Micah wrenched your head back, one hand on the tree trunk to anchor him and the other around your throat. He squeezed ever so slightly but that was enough to make your eyes roll back, your tongue go slack in your mouth and your legs tremble as you came. You could feel yourself soaking him but couldn’t stop. Micah didn’t stop either, pounding into you at a faster pace now, the sound of squelching and skin slapping against each other seemed louder than gunshots but you were spent, leaning into him and moaning at each new thrust, pushing you ever the edge  until he cussed and grunted.

You felt warmth seeping down between your thighs as Micah let your skirt back down. The pair of you caught your breath, Micah tucked himself back into his pants and you buttoned your blouse back up. 

Micah offered a cigarette to you and lit it for you. 

“Don’t worry,” he said to you, his cheeks flushed and eyes bright, “I won’t tell Morgan.”