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mermaidxatxheart · 3 years

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Better Together Chapter 6

ok, I know it's been a while. I'm sorry for the long time in between posts. I'm working on several stories at once, or at least trying to, while also trying to get accustomed to a promotion and new job responsibilities at work. Thanks to everyone who's stuck with me. I really appreciate you all. My work is no to be reposted anywhere without my permission.

Pairing: Poe Dameron X Reader

Word Count: 4.9k

Warnings: Violence, panic, Poe being soft, Bryce being a dick. I think we can just assume that will be a permanent tag.

Series Master List

Chapter Five

You try to sit up with a strangled scream, but you end up bouncing your head off the plastic dome monitoring your vitals.

“Hey, it’s okay.” A voice to your left says. The voice is… familiar, but it’s not the one you really wanted to hear. But at the same time, you’re grateful you don’t hear that voice.

You roll your head to see Bryce, your boyfriend. He’s your boyfriend. He won’t hurt you. You can relax.

Why aren’t you relaxing?

“You’re safe now. Back home where you belong.” He says gently, reaching for your hand. You flinch away and he frowns, pausing.

“S-sorry.” You rasp, closing your eyes.

“It’s cool.” He lifts the dome and moves to get your clothes at the foot of the table. “Come on. Get dressed, we’ll get you something to eat.” He says, setting them next to you.

You try to speak again, but your voice is just as rough, only this time you don’t know if it’s from being quiet for so long, or the raw emotions destroying you. You clear your throat painfully. “H-how’s Poe?” You ask, nearly stuttering over his name.

“Dameron is fine. Been annoying all the women ever since he got back.” Bryce rolls his eyes. He doesn’t catch the way you shrink in on yourself as you sit up.

So, Poe doesn’t...want to...see you. The words struggle in your mind. He’s… he’s probably trying to forget what you did to him. No wonder he doesn’t want to see you.

“Can you step outside so I can get dressed?” You ask quietly.

“Babe, it’s not like I haven’t seen it before.” He says and you lower your head. “Fine. Just, don’t take too long. I’m starving.” He says, walking out and shutting the door loudly behind you. You jump at the sudden snap of it and squeeze your eyes shut.

You can’t handle the commissary right now. It’s always packed full of people, loud, claustrophobic. You carefully get dressed, trying not to notice all the new marks on your body. You’re careful of the fresh stitches covering your arms, legs, stomach, and back. Careful not to pull the bandages holding you together.

You’re dressed faster than you want to be, stepping carefully out of the room. It still doesn’t feel safe, it feels like you should be hiding. You tug the long sleeves down further, wishing you had more to cover you.

“Come on.” He slings his arm around your shoulders and you tense as the weight settles on you. “I missed you.” He says softly, but you don’t feel comforted by his words. They turn to ice in your veins. He practically has to drag you along, your nerves stretching and spiking with each step, with every noise.

“I-I’m not hungry.” You protest, trying to dig your heels in. You can hear the loud room from here.

“Y/N, you have to eat.” He says firmly.

“N-n—“ you stammer, trying to push away from him. He sighs and scoops you up over his shoulder, carrying you along easily. Pain flares through you as your stitches pull. He’s not careful with you. Either he doesn’t know, or he doesn’t care. You try to struggle, you don’t care if he drops you. At least then you could get away.

“Y/N, I swear to the Maker, stop struggling. These are your friends. They want to know you’re okay.”

“What if I’m not?” You snap, the fear boiling over. You want to go to your room. You want to hide. You want to be alone. You want Poe.

He stops and considers for a minute before continuing on. “You can’t hide forever, Y/N.”

“Bryce, please, please!”

He walks inside and sets you down none too gently in a chair at a table full of people. “Look who’s finally awake.” He says loudly. Your teeth jar, biting down on your tongue from the abrupt impact.

There are five whole heartbeats where everyone is just staring at you. Something claws its way up your throat in the eerie silence, and then everything just explodes.

Voices, chairs moving, hands touching you, patting you on the shoulder, or touching your leg. The lights get too bright, you can’t see anything. You feel like they’re all climbing on top of you, too much weight. You can’t breathe. You try to suck in a breath, but it’s like your lungs won’t expand.

You bolt.

You’re not proud of it, but you shove through all the people and fly for the door. Blind twists and turns down hallways you don’t remember seeing, and couldn’t remember in the moment. You can barely hear your name being shouted behind you, but you can’t stop, can’t look back. You just know you’ve ripped stitches in your thighs, and stomach. You don’t care. Your only thought is escape. Hyper flight mode.

A hand grabs you from the darkness, pulling you in and pinning you against the wall. You fight, slapping and hitting against your assailant as you sob, gasping raggedly.

“Y/N! It’s me, stop it!!” Poe shouts, grabbing your wrists. “It’s Poe, it’s me. Stop.” He says, holding your hands against his chest until you stop fighting him.

You think you gasp his name, your legs give out on you and you sink to your knees in front of him, sobbing. He doesn’t let go of your wrists, just loosens his grip. Relief washes through you as you realize who it is.

“Breathe. Just breathe. Big, slow breaths for me, sweetheart.” He whispers, slowly kneeling in front of you.

“P-Poe—“

“I know. Sh, it’s okay. I’m right here.” He wraps his arms around you tightly, hugging you to him.

He shouldn’t be doing this for you, not after everything you put him through. Guilt roils through you, choking off your air. You start to pull away but he doesn’t let go. His fingers braid in your disheveled hair and you can’t help but sink into him a little more.

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I’m so sorry I wasn’t there when you woke up. I wanted to be.” He exhales in a rush, burying his face in your hair.

“Why—why would you want that?” You hiccup, keeping your face away from him.

“Because you’re my best friend? Why would you think I wouldn’t want to be there?”

“B-because,” you try taking a deep breath.

He seems to realize that you’re shivering on the cold ground. “Let’s get out of here. Do you wanna go back to medbay or your room?” He asks, easing you out of his arms and standing up.

You hesitate, suddenly not knowing how to ask him to stay. It’s selfish, you know it is, after everything you’ve put him through, to want him to suffer even longer.

“I don’t think I was actually discharged.” You mumble, pulling yourself to your feet on your own. It’s a massive effort.

He makes a noise in the back of his throat and steps to the door. He looks up and down the hallway before looking back at you. “It’s all clear.”

“I don’t even know what part of the complex I’m in.” You admit, dropping your head back. In the forest, you knew exactly where to go. But on a planet you’ve called home for how long? You’re lost.

Useless.

“Okay. Come on.” He holds out his hand and you’re so tempted to take it. But you don’t. Instead, you walk to the door with him and carefully slip out without touching him. You’ve done enough damage.

He follows after a small minute and leads you down the hallway. “You never answered my question.” He starts suddenly and you look up at him. His face has too many cuts, a deep bruise under his eye, a split lip. It hurts you to look at him. More guilt.

It’s your fault.

You could pretend to be ignorant. Not remember the question to stall for time. Claim sudden hearing loss. But you never could lie to him, and you don’t want to start now. You know exactly what question.

“I didn’t think you would want to be there. Not when this whole thing is my fa-fault.” You mumble, your voice cracking on the last word. You hate yourself for putting him through this. You hate yourself for feeling like a damsel in distress and not being able to fight back the way you should have.

He stops walking and stares at you. His forehead crinkled in confusion.

“You think—“ he starts, his voice incredulous, but is promptly cut off by a medical droid beeping angrily at you.

“Yeah, got it. Back to bed.” You mumble, taking one last look at a stunned Poe before following the droid the rest of the way.

The droid gets you back into a medical bed, looking almost as if it wants to restrain you to keep you there. You clutch your hands to your chest, not wanting to be restrained.

“I won’t go anywhere.” You promise. The droid beeps and rolls away, the door sliding shut behind it. You cross your legs and lay back, wincing at the pull in your ribs. On the list of things that hurt, the ribs are kind of low. But they’re drawing the most attention at the moment. The droid comes back after a moment, making quick work of fixing your stitches, hopefully for the last time. It rolls away and you’re left in agonizing silence. You stare at the ceiling, counting the cracks.

The door opens again and Leia walks in. You freeze, wondering what she could possibly want from you. Poe’s words flash through your mind. Do you think Leia is sobbing uncontrollably right now? She certainly looks tired, but not necessarily like she was heartbroken that you were gone for… for… you can’t remember how long you were in that place. You break out into a sweat. What else have you forgotten?

“Y/N,” she starts solemnly. “I’m so glad you’re back with us and awake.” She sits on the edge of your bed and you don’t know if this is protocol or not. Is it normal? You don’t say anything, you simply wait for her to continue, she’ll get to her point eventually. “Poe told me about what happened, I’d like your report as well, whenever you feel up to it. I know you must still be exhausted.” She says.

So, all business.

She probably didn’t even notice you weren’t there.

You nod once. You can be all business, too. “I’ll have it for you by tomorrow.” You say and she blinks.

“I didn’t mean—“

“You need it. You’ll have it.”

“Poe told me you were incredibly brave.” She says, watching your face as she speaks. She’s clearly looking for something.

“He—“ you cut off. You had been about to say that he exaggerates, or was lying. But then she would think that she can’t trust her most loyal commander. She slowly arches an eyebrow as you struggle to think. “He’s too kind. I was terrified. Did more harm than good.”

“Hmm. Well, in any case. I know you’re still healing. Bacta is useful, but it can’t heal everything overnight. Get some rest.” She stands up. “And,” she pauses and turns back to you. “If you need to talk, about anything at all, I’m here to listen.” She says pointedly. You nod once and she heads for the door, stopping only long enough for it to hiss open.

You slump back against the pillows, gritting your teeth against the sudden pain. It’s odd how sometimes you don’t feel it at all, and other times it’s all you can feel. You feel like you’ve been going nonstop for days and days. You need to think, to rest. You need to stand up to Bryce next time. You’re not just a scientist, you’re a damn good pilot-only second to Poe, and you’re one of the best shots on base. He can’t just push you around like he did.

You need to think, sort out what was real and what was panic. You close your eyes and try to hold as still as possible. The faces are the faces of your friends, this isn’t some First Order trick. They aren’t trying to hurt you.

But… then… Why was Poe shouting when he got off the ship? Something was wrong. Something was very wrong. Maybe you really are losing your mind.

The door hisses open and you jerk upright, instantly grabbing your side. Bryce tosses his jacket onto the chair next to your bed and crosses his arms, turning slowly to glare at you.

“Was that fun for you? You made me look like an idiot out there.” He snaps and you want to hurl something heavy at his head.

“I don’t want to talk to you right now. I’m tired.” You say, wishing there was a more final way to say that, like shutting a door in his face.

“You just slept for three days!” He shouts, throwing his hands up.

“Get. Out!” You shove yourself off your bed, ignoring the screaming pain in your ribs and back. “Get the fucking fuck out! I told you I wasn’t kriffing ready but you didn’t fucking listen. You never fucking listen! I just want some peace. Maker!” You shove him backwards through the door, bouncing it off its track. You feel the pop in your wrist, burning hot pain flares up your arm. “For once in your life, try to see things from someone else’s perspective.” You snap, going back into your room.

“Whoa, hey. I’m sorry, okay?”

You pick up the heavy decoration on the side table and throw it as hard as you can. If he hadn’t moved his stupidly perfect head, it would have hit him right in the face. Unfortunately, he does move and it crashes into the floor behind him, breaking into pieces. Good, more ammo for next time.

“I don’t want to hear your apologies! I want. To be. Alone!”

He holds up his hands and backs down the hallway. You walk around to the other side of the bed, sinking to the floor so that no one will see you. Your hands are trembling as you try to breathe. Your sides begin to ache for another reason altogether, and you realize you aren’t even breathing because you’re trying not to cry.

You let out a ragged gasp, covering your face in humiliation. Rocking forward, you rest your face on the ground, letting yourself hurt with every silent sob. You deserve all the pain. A curious beep reaches your ears and you cover your mouth, forcing yourself to keep quiet. You know, somewhere in the back of your mind, you need to get your new injuries checked out. You definitely did damage to your wrist. You feel a droid roll to a stop next to you, but you're not under control yet.

They beep softly again and nudge you with their big round base. You lift your head to see the familiar orange and white pattern of Poe’s droid, BB8. He rotates his lens up to look at you, and somehow, despite being metal and made of parts, he shows sympathy, worry, concern. He wants to know if you’re okay, if his friend is okay. Your vision goes blurry as your eyes flood with tears all over and he rolls forward, nestling right against your chest. You grip his headpiece, lowering your forehead against it and resting there, shoulders shaking and stomach cramping from the uncomfortable position. But you can’t bring yourself to move just yet.

***

Your head slips to the side and you jerk up, hitting your head against the edge of your bed. BB8 looks up at you, bless his circuit board. He would have stayed there with you for hours if you hadn’t woken yourself up. You wipe your tears and drool off his head.

“Sorry, buddy.” You whisper, voice not wanting to go higher than that. “You should get back to Poe. I’m sure he’s looking for you.”

His head tilts, question unasked in the quiet air.

“I’ll be okay. Thank you, for checking on me, I mean.”

He beeps a rapid-fire and rolls away in search of his master, or is friend a better description at this point? You twist, pulling yourself up and seeing Bryce sitting on the floor in the hallway. His eyes are closed as he rests his head against the wall.

With a sigh, you page for a med droid to come in and check on you. You lay back on your bed, closing your eyes while you wait. You didn’t mean to fall asleep on the poor droid.

Your wrist is checked out and bound. Already on the edge of breaking, shoving your stupid boyfriend pushed it over the edge. The droid tsks about not getting it taken care of right away before wheeling away.

“Can I come in now?” Bryce asks from the hallway.

“No. I’m still mad.” You reply, rolling over. It’s cool in here, settling in your bones in an unfamiliar way. You reach towards the end of the bed for a blanket before you realize there isn’t one there. With a huff, you get up and look around for one with no success.

“What are you looking for?” He asks, pushing himself up with a quiet grunt.

“A blanket. I’m freezing.” You reply, digging through the supply locker in the room.

“I’ll go get you one.” He turns around and disappears, leaving you to settle back down. You can hear those familiar beeps coming down the hallway and that voice you’ve come to depend on since you were taken follows it.

“Yeah, buddy, I know. Always rubbing it in.” Poe sighs.

Bryce comes back, spreading a heavy blanket over you before stepping back awkwardly. “Thanks. I’m sure you have something you need to be doing, Bryce. I’ll be here.” You say, more gently this time and he presses a tender kiss to your forehead.

“I’ll come see you after my shift. We’ll talk then and you can yell at me all you want, okay?” He promises.

You nod, laying your head down on the pillow as he leaves. You can see his shoulders tense as he sees Poe coming towards him. You can hear the little droid beeping in outrage but Poe shushes him.

“Is she awake?” He asks.

“She’s resting. You shouldn’t be here, anyway. Haven’t you done enough, Dameron?” Bryce snaps.

What? No. He’s not to blame! You are!

“Bryce. Go to work.” You call and he looks over his shoulder at you, unable to get rid of the coldness completely before he turns on his heel and storms off.

Poe waits until he can’t see him anymore before coming into your room. “Hi.” He says after a minute and your lips twitch.

“Hi.”

“Have a good nap?” He asks as BB8 chirps next to him.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to keep him here for so long.” You mumble.

Poe snorts. “He’s not sorry, bragged about it for at least ten minutes.” He rolls his eyes and you scoot over on the bed carefully. He eases himself down and takes your newly bandaged hand. “What happened?” He asks with a frown.

“I wasn’t careful. Typical me.” You scoff derisively.

He’s quiet for a long time, his handsome face going through a wide range of emotions as he traces the outline of your fingers. The feeling of it is relaxing, soothing you. Everything about him is comforting, just like he’s always been. Even though you don’t deserve his compassion, his forgiveness.

“Poe,” you start, capturing his hand, even though you could conceivably let him keep doing that forever.

“I have so many things I want to say to you.” He starts, his voice crumpled.

You take a deep breath and nod, steeling yourself for the inevitable. It’s going to hurt, it will break your heart, but he should say it. Tell you he hates you for kissing him, for distracting him, for getting him caught, and all the terrible things that came after it.

“You sa-said before that this is all your fault.” He starts, his eyes very firmly on your hands wrapped around his.

“Because it is.” You answer and his beautiful brown eyes squeeze shut.

“How can you even think that?” His voice cracks and you’ve never seen him so close to tears before. This is the man that’s perpetually in a good mood, everything is an opportunity to make you laugh. Even in the face of certain harm, he’s making jokes.

“Poe, I distracted you. I—“ you glance at the door to look for potential eavesdroppers. “In the river, I ki—“

He covers your mouth softly. You could easily pull his hand away, but you don’t. “We were on a planet where the most dangerous thing was supposed to be a giant butterfly. There was no way to know, no indication of anyone else being on the planet. You didn’t do anything wrong, sweetheart.” He says. You can hear the sincerity in his voice, but you can’t stop the feeling that he’s wrong. You did everything wrong. “And… we don’t have to… to talk about that thing in the river… if you don’t want to.” He stammers, scratching at the back of his neck.

You want to. You want to do it again. But you can’t. Your fingers flex in his before pulling them back against your torso, cutting off all touch with his warm body.

“Leia came to see me earlier.” You change the subject without giving him an answer. You’re not ready to close the book yet, but you can’t open it yet, either.

“Yeah. I gave my debrief.” He says, sounding a little deflated.

“You lied.” You correct and his head snaps up.

“What?”

“You told her I was brave. That was a big, fat lie.” You say and he rolls his eyes.

“You’re impossible.” He takes your hand again. His touch is feather-light, soft, and delicate as he strokes the back of your hand, following the length of your fingers.

“I don’t think she cried.” You say suddenly and he looks up at you.

“Come again?”

“You asked if I thought Leia sobbed uncontrollably while we were gone. I don’t think she even got a stuffy nose.” Your voice turns dark, your secret angry thought slipping out before you can stop it.

“You think she didn’t care?” Poe asks.

“Did you find out how long we were gone?”

“Yeah. Three weeks.” He says, practically choking on it.

“Two weeks over what we were supposed to be gone. You don’t think that’s odd? She didn’t send anyone after her best pilot?”

“Y/N, she has a lot of different responsibilities, to more than just us. We had no contact with anyone prior. How would they have found us? They didn’t have our information yet. They would have been just as lost as we were.” He reasons.

“Ground exploration on a new planet should have more than two people. No matter how good one of them is.” You pull your hand back, angry now.

You don’t want to be angry, not with Poe, of all people. But you can’t stop yourself. He’s rolling over and playing lapdog for his perfect princess, same as he always does. Your cheeks burn with anger.

Hurt crosses his face, his hands suspended where they were. “Both. She sent two of her best people. She sent you, and me because we work so well together. Because we could get it done much faster, quieter, better than anyone else on this base.” He says and your heart wavers.

You don’t want to cause him any more pain. You take a shaky breath. “I’m sorry, I think I just need sleep.” The words sound stiff, forced.

“Do you want me to stay?” He asks, but you shake your head.

“No. I’m just gonna catch a few hours and then get to work on the report for Leia.”

“No, I already did that.” He corrects.

“She asked me for one.”

“I debriefed so you wouldn’t have to go through it again.” He clenches his hands. “I’ll take care of it.” He promises.

“I don’t mind. It might give her a better idea of what a rotten liar you are.” You say, trying to joke.

“I didn’t lie.” He huffs, leaning down and pressing the softest kiss to your forehead. “I’ll leave BB8 with you if you need anything. Come find me when you wake up?”

“Promise.” Your voice cracks at just the wrong moment and he stills, looking down at you.

“I can stay. Just like in the cave.” He offers.

“Go away.”

He gives your hand a gentle squeeze and stands up. “What happened to the door?” He asks.

“I shoved Bryce through it.” You admit and he breaks out into a grin.

“That’s my girl.” He praises before walking through it.

You have to stop yourself from calling him back, from begging him to stay with you. It’s not that you don’t trust anyone else here, they are your friends. But, Poe would understand. He knows what you went through, he understands what it was like. He won’t judge you for being upset. When you lost your temper with him just now, he didn’t get mad, he talked you down.

No, Poe Dameron understands better than anyone what emotions you’re going through right now. He goes through them on a daily basis and has for a long time.

***

You can’t look at him. Every time you do, another wave of guilt threatens to drown you. You kissed him. You kissed him. You have a boyfriend back home, missing you and you went and kissed your best friend. And worse, got said best friend captured by the enemy.

Now, he’s furious with you. Hasn’t said a word in hours. You can’t remember the last thing he said. Did he shush you? Was it your name? You can’t remember. Tears blur your vision as you try to twist your face away from him.

“Shit. Y/N,” he starts. “Hey, it’s gonna be okay. I’ll get us out of this.” He promises.

And just the fact that he thinks that’s what you’re upset about is blindingly frustrating. And that he feels the need to fix your fuck up.

“Why don’t they just kill us?” You ask, forcing the tears not to fall.

“They probably want information on the Resistance.” He clenches his jaw. “Y/N, I never wanted to have to say this to you, but no matter what they do to you, you can’t talk. You can’t tell them anything.” He pleads.

You nod. “Okay. I won’t say anything.” You promise weakly. The idea of being tortured is so out of your realm, you don’t know what to expect. But Poe seems to know something at the very least.

He curses again and you look back at his face. “I promise. I promise I’ll get us out of this.” He thrashes against the metal restraints on the upright table and you worry he’s going to hurt himself.

“I’ll be okay, Poe.” You whisper, but he squeezes his eyes shut.

The door behind you opens and a StormTrooper walks in. You can’t tell if it’s one of the same ones from the forest, but it doesn’t matter. This one is carrying a tray with a cloth covering it.

“Ready to begin?” He asks, voice modulated to fit your nightmares. “Where is your base of rebel scum?” He asks, slowly removing the cloth and picking up a thin blade. He turns towards Poe, sliding the knife under the silver chain around your partner’s neck. His mother’s ring, beautiful as it glints in the light, slowly rotates into view. Poe struggles slightly, giving his restraints another hard yank, but he gets nowhere. The stormtrooper curls his fingers around it, tugging and popping the chain free. He tosses it into the dank corner and it disappears from view. Poe snarls until the trooper lifts the glittering knife again and turns his helmet towards you. You can feel him studying you, sizing you up.

“I said, where is your base of rebel scum?”

Poe looks over at you, and you can see the worry in his eyes. Will he start with you? Or with Poe? When neither of you answers, he turns and slashes out at your best friend. You cry out, thinking he cut his throat, but instead, there’s a small cut on his cheekbone.

“I haven’t got anywhere to be. Let’s begin again.” He says evenly and your stomach clenches uncomfortably.

***

You sit up with a ragged gasp, clutching at your face. Blindly, you find the medical droid and sign yourself out, grabbing the blanket and heading through the halls for the one person you want to see. BB8 rolls after you, chirping quietly. You feel for the chain in your pocket, the weight of it is comforting.

You knock quietly on the door. It’s so late, you shouldn’t be here. The door slides open and he's there in front of you, exhausted and very much alive. He holds out his arms and you step easily into them, heartbeat finally settling.

Poe.

He walks you back inside and lays down on his bed without a single word. No teasing, no jokes. Just him being there for you like always. You wait until he’s comfortable before crawling into bed next to him and laying down, your head resting against his chest.

“I’m sorry.” You mumble.

“Sh. Go to sleep. I’m here.” He says gently, his big, warm hands rubbing your back.

Chapter 7

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sweater-daddiesdumbdork · 3 years

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Attack Of The Winter Wolf: Reality Takes Over

Summary- 8.6k Alpha Steve x Little One Reader. Visiting the reformed Pierce Pack, now under a new Alpha’s leadership, Caine. The young Alpha has a few questions for Steve. You and Steve seem to have finally found them at peace, but it still reaffirms that now your home is with your mate. Unfortunately it all comes crashing down in a matter of moments. Divider made by @firefly-graphics

Warnings- Dominating Sex, violence, swears. This is an 18+ Blog

A/N- A friend sent me a GIF that inspired the sexual scene in this fic. If any should want to see the GIF, send me a DM as I wont be posting it on my page due to the content of it. Thank you so much for continuing reading The Packs journey in this next stage. Thoughts and Questions are always welcome. Happy Howling. 🐺💙

Chapter One / Masterlist

Steve had to admit that Caine had really changed it all around in the months he has taken over. His pack was more relaxed and open, no longer living with the fear of a crazy Alpha. Steve watched his Little One pausing every now and then to greet a former pack mate while he simply stayed nearby watching You interact with your old pack mates. Even though he knew You still carried connections with them, it wasn't the same because now you were his. You constantly danced back to him, your body seeing his reassuring touch, either taking his hand once more to weave your fingers with his or slipping under his shirt to press your palm to his back. It was all about the connection, You and the Little Wolf always establishing that bond. Steve felt a calmness wash over him at your desire to remain close. Every time a soft praising rumble would rise from him making you pleased.

Soon Caine and Kat found the two of you “Welcome back, thinking about staying here Y/N?” The woman teased as she loped her arm through yours on the opposite of Steve. You scoffed with a shake of your head.

“And give up all the work I did with him? Hell no.” You joked, patting Steve's chest and smirking up at him. He growled in a mock warning and nipped at your nose before letting You go with a nudge, which you split off with Kat, going to catch up. Steve and Caine watched the women for a moment till Caine broke the silence.

“This is a side I have never seen of Y/N, it's good.” Caine observed in which Steve turned his attention from You leaving him and cleared his throat.

“Well I'm sure she has the same observations as all of you. Not living in fear will work wonders. The whole pack looks pretty good. While we were walking around, everyone is so content here. Have nothing but to say how good an Alpha you are.”

Caine gave almost a youthful excited look at the comment before clearing his throat to gain his composure in the other Alphas presence.

<I like this kid.> The Wolf yipped in Steve’s mind and Steve had to agree, knowing just how dedicated Caine was to his pack, even when he was nothing more than a captive.

I do too, and Y/N trusts him.

“Well thank you Steve, that means a lot. We deserve to just be a pack, a real and proper one. That was actually kinda why I sent Y/N a text inviting you two over. You see Ross has been sending members here, trying to talk to me about the Accords.”

Steve rumbled slightly at the mention of Ross. He hadn't seen the council member since you ran him off last fall. And that was just fine by Steve, he already made it known that he wanted nothing to do with the Accords nor would be signing them to give up part of his control of his pack to the council.

“And what do you think about them Caine? I’m sure they left a copy for you to read over.” he questioned, and Caine gave a slight wrinkle of his forehead considering how to answer the question.

“Well, part of me wants to, as all of this to take care of seems almost overwhelming at times. I want nothing but the best for my Pack, but giving up the rights to finalize choices, letting the Council be able to override my decisions? Seems dangerous to give it up. They claim it's to further protect our safety, especially if an Alpha loses his sanity. Ross claims that is what happened to Pierce, was corrupted by Hydra and that nothing could be properly done, as Pierce had every right to do what he wanted being the Alpha.”

“Yeah fucking bullshit. Pierce never should have been an Alpha. I don’t know how he managed it.” Steve growled out angrily at Caine’s words. “And that supposed Council had everything they needed to step in, they just didn’t. They were waiting to see where Pierce could lead them, at the innocent wolves expense.” Steve shook his head, the Wolf now pacing in agitation for his human counterpart. Caine nodded in agreement.

“What I thought as well when the Senator was trying to feed me this. I told him I would think about it. But I don't think that this is the best thing for us. We are still trying to recover and it's just hard to trust anyone right now. Giving up as Alpha, it just seems to go against our very nature.”

“Go with what you feel in your gut Caine.” Steve said. “You know what is the best thing to do for your wolves, they trust you for a reason.” The new Alpha looked relieved at Steve, that he was actually doing the right thing after a lifetime of his family being mistreated.

Soldat jumped out of the van Clint managed to hot wire, switching vehicles every couple hundred miles in case they were being followed. The Alpha they had collected groaned as Soldat yanked on the chain, Pietro pushing her forward from behind. Soldat never even bothered to learn her name.

Her name didn't matter, she was just the mission.

The White Wolf licked his muzzle hungrily, eyeing the Alpha, feeling the challenge her Wolf’s presence brought. But she was subdued, after killing her mate, all fight in her left. It broke her. She followed behind Soldat obediently as Brock unlocked the door to the warehouse, dragging her in.

“A female this time.” Brock gripped her face, twisting it so she had to look at him, his sneer growing wider as it roamed up and down her, Alanna rolling her eyes from behind him.

“Not much of a looker if you ask me. How did she get to be Alpha?”

Brock ripped his fingers away from her face, jerking her head back. “Not all Alpha’s are built on strength. But they are weaker, easier to control. Isn't that right Sweetheart. Put her in the back... there's a free cage back there for her. Oh and Soldat, enjoy yourself with her… she's a fine piece of tail.”

Soldat didn't say anything, just grabbed the chain he was using to lead her and tug her away with him, the rest of the team dispersed to unload the van of their equipment and dispense of it.

Alanna cocked her head as she watched Soldat leave with their latest Alpha. “Why do you do that? Offer him those Alphas like he will actually take you up on it. If you want him to get laid, why not just order it?”

Brock watched before he turned to Alanna. “He’s programmed to only fuck his mate, if he ever chooses one, then we know. Another way to control him.”

“You really believe in that crock of shit? Soulmates?” Alanna snorted out and Brock snapped his teeth at her.

“I see Rogers was quick to drop you without a regret and he went halfway around the world leaving his pack behind to save his new mate.” He challenged her and Alanna snarled at him, her rage flaring at the mention of her former partner.

“Fuck you Brock.”

“Later Sweetheart, I got more important shit to do.” His hand whipped out and snatched her by the back of her neck, twisting till Alanna yelled in pain. “Don't you forget who owns your ass now Bitch, you got the pretty scar to prove it.” He dropped her to scramble at his feet while he stepped away, leaving her wiping her face dry from the tears of pain he caused, composing herself.

Brock whistled a cheery tune as he followed along after Soldat to see if he was going to take him up on his offer or not.

When Soldat shoved the Alpha in, Brock came up next to him, pulling out his phone to snap a picture of her to file away for later.

“Good work, I have another one for you to go for. Coordinates are already pinged to your device. This one should be easy for you, he is fairly new and you’ve met him before.” Soldat dug out his own device and pulled up the file, a picture of a younger man paired along with a black wolf, both man and beast shown. “Collect him and bring him here, kill off as many of the pack as you can.”

Soldat frowned a bit looking at it, studying it when he felt a haze of a memory rise up. Several people mingling in a hotel room, people he didn't recognize and a voice coming from nearby.

“If Natasha and Bucky hadn’t come… Thank You, to all of you.” The Black Wolf he was looking at right now laying on a bed looking like he had just been through a fight, panting heavily.

“It was the least we could do, I’m sorry we didn’t know earlier.” The same voice he had heard calling to him days before when retrieving the Alpha. The White Wolf shook his head aggravated and Brock's voice sharpened suddenly.

“Soldat! ANSWER ME.”

“Yes Sir, we will head out right away.”

It was much later when you returned with Kat. Caine and Steve were sharing beers with other wolves, talking about general stuff, Steve doing his best to answer questions, explaining how he made his pack an asset to the community, bringing in income to the sleepy town below there mountain. It all felt like back at home, that you quickly settled back in. You sidled up to Steve's side, which his hand rubbed at your side and he dropped a kiss to your temple. “Thought I was going to have to go look for you, Little One.” He chuckled and you grinned up at him, taking his beer from his hand and sipping from it.

“Like you didn't know where I was the whole time.” You scoffed and Steve shrugged, it was true. With your bond, as long as you two were nearby, it wasn't hard for either of you to find the other. The wolves easily slipped back and forth along that shared bond, tangling together in greeting and breaking out in play as you lightly nipped at Steve’s chest when you turned into him, pressing against his chest as he tightened his arm around you.

“Sure I did, doesn't mean I didn't want to go find you and drag you away all for myself.” His voice husked in your ear, a flattening of his palm against your lower back pressed your hips into his and you could feel exactly why.

Your hand smoothed against his pecs as you turned around, leaning back against his chest and taking another sip of the beer before giving it back to him. Steve's arm slung around your waist loosely while he nipped gently against your mark, making you tilt your head for him with a satisfied sigh before focusing once more on the small group milling around.

“Would you consider coming back Y/N?” someone asked, a woman named Tess that you knew vaguely from the short amount of time she was for sale. Steve growled lowly at the question and you chuckled while pushing your hair back to flash your neck.

“Most certainly not. You all will always be family, but I’m bonded with Steve now. My home is with him and where we decide to go together. Right now as Alpha, we’re staying in the mountains.” You stated and you felt Steve shuffle behind you, speaking up as well.

“As long as your Alpha is fine with us visiting, Y/N will come back whenever she wants to. I know you all are her family and wouldn't ever ask her to push that away.” You could feel your Little Wolf howling to her mate, the satisfied warmth of her happiness flooding through you and you couldn't feel more content then you were right now.

Caine was nearby, nuzzling up to Kat in a sneaky way. The two of them teasing at the edge of the group when suddenly Caine seemed to realize that the attention was on them from the others in the group.

“Of course, Y/N, this is your home whenever you want to come. As well as any of your pack.” He cleared his throat. Kat hid her face a bit, trying not to give them away.

“Thanks Caine.” You are quick to answer, deciding then that it was time to pull you and Steve away for the night, which made you twist to face him. “What do you say Alpha, ready to call it a night? I got something I want to show you.”

Steve arched a brow at you, seeing how you were biting your lip and giving him a playful look. He gave a wave of his hand as you ran your fingers along his stomach through his shirt, pulling away from him, making him choke back a growl at the loss of your touch. “Nice meeting you all, see you tomorrow.” he said before walking stiff legged away. The rest of the wolves chuckled among one another at him trying to not be obvious.

You sprinted ahead while Steve was saying goodbye, well away from the group now and sliding into the darkness of twilight quickly taking over and making the shade under the trees almost dark as night now. You could hear Steve quickly catching up to you, which made you put on a burst of speed. You weren't going back to the little cabin you two were calling home for the night. You wanted to play, wide awake and ready for your Alpha. Darting into the woods, you picked up speed to put more distance between you two and cupped your hands together around your mouth to give a soft howl, enticing him to come find you, hunt you down. The Little Wolf filled your mind, your eyes glimmering yellowed in the low light as you darted away from where you could hear Steve.

Well that is the point.

The Little Wolf’s laughter filled your senses as you darted around a tree trunk, your hands pressing against the rough bark as you peered around, looking for any sign of movement. All your senses flared as you listened carefully for anything. Then to your left a snap made you jump, and the Little Wolf pounded her front paws, yipping. <Run! Run!> Turning the opposite way you raced off, panting as you picked up speed.

When Steve first followed, he thought you would make straight for the cabin. But you had veered off, following your honeysuckle scent that he picked up and took the first step into the darkening woods. Inhaling deeply, it was filled with new scents. The sharpness of the pines, the fresh crushed needles where you passed through. The wolves who lived here mingled scent, and it was somewhat reminiscent of you when he first met you. But now… He drew it in deeper when he found yours, it was different, it was his. Warming in his lungs as he plucked it loose from everything else clashing his senses. It was the one that had that honeysuckle undertones, but now it was more intimate. It was a scent he was surrounded with when you pressed in against him, especially when you were just about to go into heat. A welcoming desired scent that left him aching hard and a smirk spread with a slight possessive growl rumbling through him now that he smelled it. Knowing that the sweetness would be dripping from you, his own honey pot.

“Little One, you better run, because you certainly can’t hide.” he whispered as his footfalls were heavy at first. He could hear a giggle that you tried to muffle as you darted around trees and swiftly turned into trails that you found. The ferns growing under the forest swayed with your movements, some leafy fronds getting crushed in the process. Your howl echoed and bounced around, but Steve was hot on your trail, not being deterred.

He saw you ahead, when you went around a particularly large trunk and Steve went to the right, quiet in his footfalls till he happened to finally managed to get around where you were trying to hide. You peered the opposite side, stretching a bit to look. Completely unaware of where Steve was. His fingers itched now to grab a hold of your waist, pull your ass back to grind against his hips, hear you shriek in surprise and fall back into his chest to look up at him with a grin. He knew how you would play this, trying to escape him with sweet kisses and wriggles to bolt again. As Steve attempted to sneak in closer, the pad of his foot happened to press against a twig and snapped it, making you twirl around on your toes wide eyed in surprise and Steve lunged forward to catch you, your back against the tree that was shielding you earlier and his arms caging on either side of your head.

A surprise growl rolled through you when Steve pressed himself against you, catching you efficiently between him and the tree. Your hands fisted in his shirt and your eyes flashed yellow up at him. Flops of his hair fell forward on his forehead as his head dipped to yours, teasing lust filled kisses nipping on your lips, tugging at each other hungrily with groans. “Gotcha Little One.” Steve whispered, trailing his nose against yours, and his eyes closed while he inhaled against you.

You dragged your teeth against your bottom lip while running your hands up his chest and fingers pressed through his beard to follow the sharp angle of his jaw. “You did Alpha, now what are you going to do about it?”

Steve let your warm honeyed scent arouse him further, a sticky sweet honeypot of a mess his Little One was and he wanted to get his mouth on you, wrap himself around you till the whole world fell away. A cheeky grin crinkled the corners of his eyes, his grin turning wolfish in nature as he growled at you. “The Big Bad Wolf will eat you up.”

Your head fell back as laughter burst out sharply, disrupting the quiet of the night. “Smooth Alpha.”

He nipped on your mark, turning that laughter into a distressed needy moan as Steve's hands smoothed the back of your thighs to lift you up and wrap your legs around him. Pressing his erection against your core. “I ain’t nothing if I ain't smooth ‘Mega.” He stated before claiming your lips and pressing the length of his chest into yours, stealing your air from your lungs, and making you fist a hand at the back of his head, getting lost in him.

Soldat scanned the small pack. Some of it felt familiar, but not enough for the Hydra Soldier to consider what it meant. This was just another hit on the list Brock had for his team to overtake. These wolves were lazy in the night time warmth. Lulled to think they were safe in their packs boundaries. The White Wolf flexed in Soldats mind, licking over his jaw in anticipation of hunting them down. Soldat tilted his head in the air, searching out what the scents could provide to him.

The only thing out of place was the scent of two Alphas here. One was young, still new in leading the pack, the one he was after. His control would be iffy at best over the wolves unless their loyalty was already cemented to him.

But the other stirred the White Wolf in Soldat. Making him flex anxiously a moment at the sensation. Another time, another place he knew this one. It lingered in his senses and he didn't like that. Making him clench his jaw as the White Wolf shook his fur in agitation, unsure of how he knew it. Brock's voice came over the comm in his ear, snapping out. “Is the team set Soldat?”

Soldat moved from his crouch, retreating back to where the others waited. “You all know what to do. There are two Alphas this time, go for the younger one, get the other if you can.” he told his team. Silently as always they dispersed. None of them questioned the fact that there were two Alphas. They had their orders, nothing else needed to be considered. Clint going one way through the trees, and the twins another. Wanda started to simmer red where her powers took an unnatural form, solidifying to cause harm instead of heal. Soldat shoved knives in various places in his kevlar and fitted a mask to his face for protection. That other Alpha, it still left Soldat and his Wolf unsettled for reasons he couldn't place while he prepared himself.

“Set and dispersed, starting extraction.” Soldat said into the comm, and not even thirty seconds later Pietro's snarls and howls started on the other side of the packs compound, Soldat came out of the trees, sniper rifle lifted aiming right for the sleeping group by the nearby bonfire.

Steve ground himself into you, his chest rumbling as his hands rubbed at your sides and cupped your breasts to squeeze and tease. Your head was tilted back against the tree, drawing in air best you could as your mate sucked on your neck, tracing his mark on you with his tongue, his dirty talk making you ache, and rolling your hips to create that friction. “Gonna fill you Little One. Stretch you open and leave you dripping my cum till you're pregnant with my pups.”

God that made your heart race, knowing that he was going to knot you against that tree. His hands kept tugging and making you arch your back, wanting him to get rid of your clothes now and really lay claim to your body. It was a whirlwind of sensations prickling your skin in a heated way.

But then you heard it, at first it barely registered when Steve sunk teeth into your collarbone. You almost ignored it, but the Little Wolf couldn't. She stirred through your hazed mind, making you focus again outside of your Alpha. Another howl, distressed. “Steve… wait.” You tugged at his hair to lift his head away, and he growled in warning at you that he didn't want to wait, but you pulled again.

He lifted away from where he was tasting your skin, stilling his body and frowning slightly while panting. “What's wrong Little One?”

“Listen Steve… something isn't right.” You loosened your hold now that you knew Steve was focusing on you and he tilted his head to listen. Inhaling deeply for any change in the air. He stepped back, letting you loosen your legs around his waist and slip to a stand. Cold chills laced up your spine, looking around as the night seemed to turn silent and dangerous.

<We gotta go back to Caine and the others.> The Little One pressed against the Alpha, who was rigid next to her, searching himself for what she sensed.

But did we actually hear anything? You looked around you, but Steve's hand shot out and caught your wrist in his hand to keep you from moving away from him. His eyes wide as he found what he was looking for.

“Bucky… he’s here.” The Alpha rumbled out and that's when the yells rang out, the sharp rings of gunfire.

“The others… we have to get back to the others Steve.” You tugged your wrist loose to sprint away and Steve lunged to catch you, but you were too quick, already streaking through the woods.

“Y/N! Come back!” Steve yelled as he took off after you. Shedding clothes as you raced, the urge to listen to your Alpha made you falter, but not enough to make you stop. Soon you were falling to all fours, faster to make it back as the Little Wolf and you put on a burst of speed that had everything a blur around you. Soon at your side was a streak of silver as the Alpha attempted to keep up with you on unfamiliar ground. Your twists made him skid heavily into the trees and brush, but he was never far behind as he tried to over take you and before you could burst into the chaos just out of sight of the tree line, he snatched your ruff and jerked you off your feet.

The Alpha twisted you underneath him, his jaws pinning you to the ground while you struggled, but he wouldn't loosen his hold until you stilled and your eyes rolled up to look at him, willing him to release you. He couldn't let you charge into the attack like this, and he loosened, nudging you to creep forward to see what laid beyond out of sight. Both of you stayed low to the ground slinking till breaking out from the forest to the underbrush to see what was going on.

Bodies, your old pack littered the ground and your whine echoed so loudly in distress that the Alpha flattened his ears and pressed against you before slinking along the edge, trying to find the attackers.

A heaviness filled Steve's chest because he knew exactly what he would find. His muscles coiled when he finally caught sight of Bucky, who was taking aim at Kat. She was unaware of him while trying to help the injured to their feet.

You crouched next to him, quivering in shock and anticipation at seeing the missing members of the Pack. The Alpha growled out an order, demanding you help the others. As well as stay away from Bucky, the danger to great to risk letting you go near him. Bucky obviously wasn't in control right now. Once the Alpha was sure you understood, he nuzzled you quickly and split away, leaving you to wait till he had the soldier distracted.

Soldat just happened to see the other Alpha coming at him before he could take his shot. Barely. He spun to block the large wolf from hitting him. Teeth sank into his meatal protected arm, the shield plates clinking together to hold up against the pressure of the bite and he heaved back, sending the wolf sprawling back. A smaller one bolted from their hiding spot, to reach the people he was just about to end. It didn't matter, one of the others would take care of them. Soldat turned his attention to the Alpha he had scented earlier, the one who didnt belong here.

The Silver Wolf pushed back to his feet, his chest rising and falling with each inhale. Soldat knew he was scenting him, assuming it was for the animal to figure out what he was. Swinging the rifle over his shoulder to move it out of the way, he grasped for his belt to pull out a collar. The Wolf's ears flicked forward to what was in his hand and turned wary, stalking out of Soldat's reach. A low growl rippled through him, and the White Wolf ached to submit for just a moment, but it was easy to brush it away.

Why did you stall?

The White Wolf shook himself off, snarling out. <We have our orders.> Soldat heard the waver in him but started towards the Alpha. The Alpha matched his movements, picking up speed in his gait to collide back with him. <This ones got some balls.> Soldat heard the White Wolf remark.

All the more reason to get him collared and under control.

And just before they reached one another, the Alpha darted around him, making Soldat spin just to have the Alpha tackle him once more, teeth sinking into the kevlar of his suit. There was enough force to feel the bite, but nothing that could do damage. Fistfuls of fur was grabbed trying to wrestle him away and attempt to maneuver the collar around his neck. The Alpha managed to twist out of his hold in time and Soldat yanked a knife from a hidden spot, swinging it in an aim at the animal, trying to sink it into a vulnerable spot. Instead it grazed him, a spurt of red following the blades descent through its fur. A furious snarl demanding him to submit filled the air before man and wolf collided again.

You were busy helping Kat try to get the others away, stalling for a moment when you saw Clint emerging from out of nowhere, his aim sighted on you and the others. He was just about to let loose when you saw Caine get dragged towards him, collared now. Seeing that they had that packs Alpha, he dropped his bow and followed along with Pietro and Wanda. Unsure of what to do, Steve had demanded you only be to help and stay out of the actual fighting before breaking from cover earlier. The Omega in you wanting to obey her Alpha, keep pushing others to go into hiding like Steve wanted.

But these were your missing pack mates, and they were causing all the destruction. Everything in your senses screamed at you to go for them, as well as go back into hiding with Kat and the other survivors. Then the hot scent of blood hit you, your Alphas blood. All other thoughts left you as your nose lifted to find him.

It was being hit in the worst way possible, stinging your senses with fear as you broke from Steve's earlier command. Long leaps ate up the ground as you sought him out. You found him trying to bite at Bucky's neck before being thrown to the ground in a way that vibrated the ground, a knee dropping to his ribs while Bucky collapsed full force on him, a flash of silver in his hand let you know. Steve was just about to be collared.

The whole world just zeroes in on that moment, if you can't get there fast enough, you might lose Steve. He might be able to break free from Bucky's hold before the collar is attached. But you can't take that chance, and you make a grab for Bucky's wrist, closing fangs around the metal plates and wrenching back. Catching both of them by surprise, your back paws dig in for traction as you whip your head back and forth in a move meant to snap an animal's neck. It's enough to surprise Bucky and make him fall off the Alpha, the both of you tumbling away. It did earn you a well placed kick to your skull, which caused you to yelp while stunning you.

The Alpha pushed himself up once Bucky rolled off him, unsure of what caused him to let go, but the Alpha wasn’t going to let him get the chance again. The yelp made the hair raise on his back, now seeing the reason Bucky released him.

You disobeyed him, which resulted in your head getting kicked at and you crumpling to the ground in shock. The Alphas rage at your expense caused him to roar in fury, a whirlwind of fury attacking his best friend.

The Alpha managed to back Soldat up, covering your smaller form with his body. The Alpha bristled, his muzzle rolling up to show fangs and ears pinned back flat against his skull, warning him back. Soldat stalled again with the sensation he was supposed to listen to this Alpha, shaking his head to clear the impulsion.

“You got one of the Alpha’s, leave him.” Brock's voice screamed in Soldats ear, clearing it from the impulse. Soldat took off at a run, leaving the two of them behind.

You push yourself back to a shaky stand, having the wind knocked out of you and the kick disoriented you when the steel toe boots connected to your skull. The Alpha watched Bucky race away with perked ears, the shiver rolling through him controlling his urge to follow him, but he turned away from his best friend back to you. Padding over, the Alpha was quick to check you over, his muzzle pressing against your side to make sure nothing was broken till he nudged at your shoulder, getting you to move. When you started towards the injured, he growled sharply, making you falter and lower a bit in submission, unsure of what he wanted.

Coolly he pressed you the opposite way, towards the cabin you two were staying at for the time being. The Alpha didn't let up, keeping you heading away from the others and back to the safety of the cabin.

Steve had never had to quell such scared anger in his life, far more than when you had gone off the road that winter. It was raging hot that he could have lost you to Bucky, so easily. After he told you to stay away from Bucky, in that state the White Wolf would have easily snapped your neck if he got a hold of you. Because that wasn't Bucky, their packmate, his brother. Something happened to him.

You darted into the cabin and Steve was right behind you, the both of you racing up the stairs to the bedroom where you both shifted back almost on cue with one another. You grabbed at clothing, starting to tug them on. “We have to go back out there Steve, find them and the others.”

Steve was doing the same, but he was quick to turn towards you, his eyes still glinting hints of burning yellow while he ground out.

“You are staying here.”

You straightened and lifted your chin a bit when you heard Steve's command. The Little Wolf lowered to the ground hearing her Alpha’s command, but you simply weren’t going to accept that without finding out why you couldn't go help your former packmates. “I’m sure as hell not staying here Steve.” You hiss a bit while heading for the door. Steve was quicker though, his hand circling around your upper arm and tightening enough to pull you to a stop and back into the room. “Let me go Steven!” You try pulling out of his hold, but his hold tightened until he backed you onto the bed.

“I told you once Little One. Stay the fuck here.” His teeth snapped at his words and there was just anger in his features hiding his fear.. Fear that he could have lost you was clouding his mind with jagged memories of Pierce sticking you with that needle and he was that close to losing control and attacking Bucky then. Steve knew that if Bucky hurt you this time in any way, he wouldn't be able to control himself. No one would be safe.

You protested though, going to push against him while your voice raised in your own anger at trying to be controlled, unable to help the others. “Steve you can't-”

This time he roared out, the tendons in his neck rigid and his tone going deep and snarling at you in a way you had never seen before and you shrunk back suddenly from him. “As your Alpha I am, if you know what's good for you Y/N, stay in this cabin. That's an order.”

You hissed at him in anger from between clenched teeth. “You are going to have to make me submit Steve.”

If he had to, he would. Steve almost lost you once, so close… and that was all before you two even bonded. He was ready to lose himself back then and let the Alpha take over. It was an overwhelming sense of loss that sunk in his chest. Needing to push it away, he closed the gap between you two, pressing you back onto the bed in surprise while his lips claimed your own, searing them heatedly, and the shock made you growl against him, grasping his hair to hold on.

Steve kept the pressure, ready to make you submit to him completely. Hands grasped at your thighs, still clothed but he didn't care at this second. Wrapping them around his waist as he kissed you senseless, he easily maneuvered you up the bed, growling harshly when you tightened your hold, pulling his hair at the roots when you grabbed onto his head.

It all happened so suddenly that you could only hang while he maneuvered you to where he wanted you, blinking up at him in shock for a second when he pulled away to pant above you. Locked gazes, you arched up to meet him again, pulling at his shirt to rip at it, his hands doing the exact same to you. Shreds of clothing got tossed away as you both withered against one another. You bit into Steve's shoulder when he rutted himself against you. “You will listen Y/N, You have no choice in this.” he snarled out against your neck.

It was a heated spiral in your limbs, burning in your gut. Echoing in your mind was the Little Wolf snapping and yipping at the Alpha. You pushed against Steve to rub yourself into him, snarling against his ear. “Then do it!” It was animalistic the way he bit at your mark, making you gasp between pleasure and pain while dragging you closer till you felt him everywhere except where you needed him. Slick coated your thighs while his cock dragged against your thigh. “You want to make me listen so badly, here I am.” Another roll of your body and he pulled away to run his hands up your withering body, palms covering your breasts and marking the swells.

Before you knew it, you were flipped to your belly, Steve snapping your hips up in the air, the curve in your back sharp as you clutched at the bedding to scream your frustrations into the mattress, you were furious at Steve for commanding you to stay, and the way your body betrayed you. You could break it, but you didn't want to defy him. You had spent a lifetime going against your instincts protecting yourself, now it was time to trust for once. Steve was different, it was because he loved you to keep you safe, not use you.

He growled above you and you pressed back against him, feeling his hands wrap tightly around your hips and rock you back into position. “I couldn't live with myself if anything happened to you.”

You clenched at his words, lifting your head enough to speak without being muffled in the bedding. “Fine Steve, I'm not going anywhere.” You felt yourself finally give into him, not because you couldn't break that bond, but you didn't want to. It ached too much to defy him when it meant so much to him even though it infuriated you to do so.

His hand circled to dip between your thighs, teasing between your folds as he bit your shoulder, holding you still with his other hand while thrusting his cock into your weeping entrance and spreading you open in a sharp sting that made you cry out sharply. His thrusts were quick and dominating, leaving you withering in his hold while fingers strummed your clit and his chest crushed against your back. Grunting growls and slapping skin filled the room, words becoming meaningless between you two.

It was such a primal moment, one complete with trust as neither of you could do anything but seek connection and pleasure from one another. You felt the rush of your orgasm wash over you, crying Steves name with tears in your eyes.

Steve wasn't ready to slow down, feeling you break apart under him just made him go faster, his hand covered in your arousal flushed up your body to fondle your breast, pulling at your nipple and squeezing while he pulled you both up to your knees. It just solidified for him that he needed you, just like this all for him. You arched before him, one hand reaching behind you to grasp the back of his neck, and the other covering his hand clasped over your chest. He still rutted into you, biting your shoulder enough to keep you still while he pounded himself into you.

For You, you had never felt him so entangled in you, holding you to him so that not only did you feel him physically, but mentally. Everything he felt, feared, and needed was just an overflow of information in your bond, and it took such complete control that rational thought was impossible. All you could respond to was the way he dragged out your moans and cries, his grunts into your skin as he slapped against your backside, and punched the air from your lungs when your next orgasm turned the edges of your vision black.

“Steve, I can't…” You begged and he groaned against your mark, his tongue sweeping over the sting of the bite he left, sure you were scented with him.

“You can Little One, I have you.” He assured you as his hard thrusts turned into heavy drags through your sensitive walls that were clenching and trying to hang onto him while he so easily pushed through you to bury to the hilt.

You pushed back into him when he ground into you, the two of you falling back so you were sprawled against his chest, his arm latching over your chest to keep you in place while his feet planted against the bed. Able to leverage himself into filling you so complete, your nails dug into his forearm stretched across you and tears streamed down your face. Your body felt wrung out, not able to give him that last one he wanted.

There was no denying in this moment no matter what way Steve took you, he was in control of you, and you were just able to hold on.

You felt his knot swell, stretching inside of you while he filled you with himself, warm against your aching channel, your body milked him, claiming every burst Steve gave with a growl of your own till it all stopped. Underneath you he calmed, his arm still heavy across your chest, but he was still except for heavy dragging breaths against your neck and your own pants as your head tipped back into his shoulder, staring upwards.

“I promise, I won't leave.”

“Good Girl.” He muttered, still hints of dominating presence in his tone, but it wasn't fear now, but acceptance. Steve managed to roll you onto the bed and his hands rubbed at your side to lull you into closing your eyes to relax in the aftermath. When he pulled out, you whimpered into the pillows, clenching your fingers into the fabric.

“Just rest… I will be back soon.” He nipped at your neck, with that he moved off the bed to grab at his clothing and get dressed while you curled up on the mattress. Your body was tired and is fogging your mind trying to pull you into sleep. The last thing you felt was the scrape of his beard against your cheek as he kissed your temple and left you, his boots heavy thuds down the stairs and the slam of the front door left you alone in the bedroom, slipping finally into a fitful sleep.

The Little Wolf whined loudly after a while, leaving it echoing through your body, distressed that the Alpha was going out on his own, leaving you locked here and had been angry at your defiance. It also effectively woke you back up after a quick nap.

He will be okay. You assured her as you stretched back to a stand and went down the stairs to look out the window, watching for Steve to come back. He must be following Bucky’s trail. What happened to them?

<Hydra… Didn’t you see the collar around Bucky's neck? He's being controlled. If he's being controlled Steve isn't safe going after him alone.> The Little Wolf paced back and forth, anxious with wanting to obey her Alphas command and going to help her Mate in his hunt.

Your fingers curled around the front doors handle a moment, the internal battle making your throat close and eyes well up as you turn away from the door. You would respect your Mates order, as much as it left you scared to do so.

Steve jogged in the forest following Bucky’s scent, quickly picking up the other members of his team as they all met back up at some point. There were also many other scents where other Wolves had passed through, probably in their bid to get away from his missing packmates. Steve pulled out his phone, dialing Natasha as he came stumbling out to a dirt road, and that's where the trail ended. Fresh tire wheels showing where a heavy vehicle sped off.

The ringing of the phone was soon cut with Natasha's voice. “Steve? What’s wrong, why are you calling so late?”

“Nat are you near Y/N’s old pack?” He questioned as he leaned down to look at the tire marks, looking for anything distinct to go on, but he was quick to straighten back up. They were long gone, with Caine he suspected. Just like the other attacks Steve had heard about. For some reason they were taking the packs Alphas.

“Not too far off, why? Where are You and Y/N?” Natasha asked then and Steve confirmed where they were. “I will be right there.”

“Just come right in, Bucky and everyone just hit this area, took off with Caine.”

“Are you guys okay?” Her first concern being for you and Steve.

“Were fine, Y/N is back at the cabin we were staying at and I followed Bucky’s trail to where it ended. They must be holed up somewhere nearby.”

After hanging up, Steve took one last look around the area, and then headed back towards the compound. It would be a bit until Natasha showed up, and he knew he would have to talk to you now that his temper had calmed somewhat.

That wasn't Bucky… or Clint, Wanda, Pietro… Steve thought, and the Alpha growled softly in agreement. They did something to them, controlling them.

Steve’s chest tightened, knowing exactly what the Alpha was talking about. Back in his days working with Howling Commandos they ran into a similar instance before. A group of renegade wolves making their way across Europe destroying not just other shifters, but humans as well in the most vicious way. They managed to disband most of them.

The one that got away, he was the only one to break the control Hydra had on him. Steve recalled.

It was something to consider Steve thought to himself as he made his way back to the cabin, easing the door open to the quiet of the cabin. The Alpha quieted in his mind as Steve let his senses open, feeling for you. He was quick to hear you shifting in the bed upstairs, rolling to your side and not actually getting any rest. An outward exhale of relief you were still safe escaped Steve as he started up the stairs.

You heard Steve come into the house and pushed to sit up when he appeared in the doorway, his eyes roving you up and down, making you feel a bit small after the earlier altercation. Your legs curled up under you at the edge of the mattress, your hands folding into your lap as your head tipped, a typical submissive pose for either your mate of Alpha. “Oh Little One…” Steve started as he came into the bedroom, moving to kneel before you on the floor, his hands sliding along your folded knees and easing up along your bare thighs. “I only did it because I had to.”

Your eyes lifted and a frown fluttered across your face.

“Had to? Steve I’m your mate and partner, you can't just keep me safe all the time.”

A soft growl rose up as he pressed his mouth to your knee, his eyes lifting with a tint of yellow in them, the Alpha so close to the surface while discussing your safety. “Can’t I? As your mate and Alpha, it's taking everything in me now not to bring you back home.” Your hands reached to cup his face, scraping slightly through his beard and spreading against his cheeks. A swipe of your thumb under his tired looking eyes.

“You know I wouldn’t go Steve.” You wrinkled your nose at him slightly and he shifted to nip the top of your thighs, you moved to unfold your legs and let them drape off the edge of the bed, your foot rubbing against Steve's ribs gently. “I can’t just leave them.”

“Still doesn’t change how I have the drive to keep you safe.” Another inhale against your thigh, light bite as Steve tasted you with a press of his tongue. “All I could think of is how I almost lost you with Pierce. Bucky is not Pierce, he's strong, more efficient, and dangerous because he’s being controlled.”

Your knees pressed against his sides and your hold tightened on his jawline to lift him from your lap so he would look at you. “And what about you Alpha? What do you think it does to me when you rush off into danger and I can't be there with you?” You felt Steve's fingers dig slightly into your hips while your words sunk in, the yellow tinge backing away as his Alpha retreated and the crystal blue sharpened. You knew it would pain Steve to think that he had caused you any distress. The Little Wolf whined, her ears flattening while seeing all this being processed.

Steve could feel the Alpha try to keep calm, respect the bond by waiting to be invited before going to his mate. Steve could imagine what you would feel being told to stay while he went into a dangerous situation.

He knew what it did to him, the bile of fear raising up in his throat once more, it wasn't something he was familiar with. Fear didn't live in Steve’s body, not till he had you, then suddenly he really did have something to fear, losing you for good. That all was sunk down deep into him from the first time, maybe he had a problem he never knew he had. That worried him to be so irrational, he couldn't let it control him, because it would just end up pushing you away.

Taking a dragging breath, he pushed up from where he was kneeling on the floor and sat next to you on the bed, you twisted to face him and crawl onto his lap till you were straddled, your arms around his neck, knowing that you had just ripped off a bandaid of sorts. “I’m sorry Little One, I put your safety first in my mind and nothing else. It will end up happening again.”

Your forehead tipped to lean against his, sighing softly as your fingers trailed down the back of his neck and back up.

“Steve, I'm not just your mate, I'm your partner. Where you go, I go to. You can't always keep me out of the way of what you deem dangerous.”

The silence stretched between you two, unable to give each other what the other wanted entirely here.

#attack of the winter wolf #alpha steve rogers #steve rogers x you #steve rogers au #steve rogers x reader #white wolf #bucky barnes #winter soldier #the pack #amber writes #sweater writes #marvel au #shifter steve rogers #shifter bucky barnes #a/b/o

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ynsimagines · 3 years

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Tonsillitis Part 3: Lena Luthor x Daughter!reader

The ENT wasn’t able to get you in as quickly as Alex thought she would due to the fact she was all booked up. The closest available appointment she had was in a month and within that time you managed to get two more bouts of tonsillitis.

You had unimaginable pain, and raging fevers. You were pretty sure you missed more days of school than you attended.

“Baby, you look awful,” Lena said when she saw you the morning she was scheduled to leave for a business trip.

You didn’t have anything to respond with. You knew denying was useless at this point so you just nodded in agreement. Lena got the thermometer and ran it along your forehead, “103.1, I really don’t like that temperature. You’re not going anywhere, and neither am I,” Lena said as she moved some matted hair from your forehead.

“What about the trip?” You asked weakly as Lena walked into your bathroom she got your usual cocktail of medications that you took when your tonsillitis flared up along with a washcloth she ran under cold water.

“There’s no way I’m leaving you like this,” she said sitting down next to you she helped you sit up to take your pills and then you laid back down where she pulled the covers back over you and placed the cool cloth on your forehead.

“But Alex could watch me. She’s a doctor I’d be okay, besides I know this trip is supposed to be really important,” you sad.

“That isn’t something you need to worry about love, I just need you to focus on getting better.”

You sighed, “ok.”

“Do you want anything to eat?”

“A Frozen yogurt bar?” You asked.

“Of course babe,” Lena went to the freezer to get your requested treat along with more Gatorade for you to drink.

“I want you to keep hydrated sweetheart,” she said sitting down on the bed as she looked at you sympathetically. “I’m sorry you have to go through all this,” she said rubbing your arm.

You shrugged, “I just hope i’m able to get my tonsils out soon so I can have my life back,” you rasped.

“Me too sweetheart,” she said. “Now try to get some rest and try not to talk so much I don’t want you to strain your voice”, she said kissing your forehead. “I’ll be right outside if you need anything.”

You sighed closing your eyes. These last few weeks hadn’t been easy for either of you. Your mom spent so many days trying to work from home to take care of you, but she was so worried she rarely got any work done. She also missed several dates with Kara and now has to miss out on getting potential investors for L Corp. Lena would never complain about that because you always came first. but it killed her to see her baby in so much pain.

Lena took care of everything that had to do with the business trip Lena and was satisfied Sam would be able to take her place.

“Y/N? babe?” Asked Lena when she went back to your room you were still awake with tears in your eyes whimpering.

“It hurts so much mommy,” you said as your mom made her way over to you. She picked you up and brought you to her room laying you down on the bed, and went to get some ice for your neck. There wasn’t much she could do since it was too early to take more meds so Lena got in bed next to you and gathered you in her arms, she held the ice to your neck and despite being in pain you were eventually able to fall asleep.

It was six days after you had finally gotten your consult and you and your mom were currently prepping for surgery the next day. Lena stocked up on all the foods you could possibly need or want while you were recovering. Ice cream, chocolate pudding, juice, gatorade, applesauce, jello, popsicles, and mashed potatoes.

“Alright babe, we should get some sleep we have to be at the hospital by 5:30,” you nodded and followed her your mom into her room since you didn’t want to be alone that night. And just like that you were in surgery by 7 that next morning.

Luckily Lena wasn’t alone in the waiting room Alex and Kara had come to keep her company during the procedure. “She’ll be fine Dr. Briggs does a tonsillectomy every day,” assured Alex as Kara rubs her back.

Lena nodded, she knew Alex was right this was a very simple procedure. She still just wanted everything to be over soon so she could take you home. All she wanted was to cuddle and take care of her baby.

About 90 minutes after you went in Dr. Briggs came into the waiting room to tell Lena that you were out of surgery, “she did great she’s currently in post-op, the nurse will come and get you once she’s moved to recovery.

The three women thanked the doctor, and before they knew it were being led back to you. “Here she is,” the nurse pulled back the curtain to reveal you still asleep in the bed.

Unfortunately as soon as you woke up you were in tears. The nurse said it was a mix of the anesthesia still wearing off and that you were in pain. Kara and your mom were by your side trying to comfort you. “It’s alright, baby I’m right here.”

“You can get in bed next to her if you like. I’m going to get some juice what kind would you like?” Asked the nurse, but you didn’t answer your throat hurt too much.

“Apple,” Kara answered knowing its your favorite kind.

“Tell me what your feeling babe?” Asked Lena.

“Sore.”

“I’ll see if the nurse can up your pain medication,” said Alex.

“Its not so bad,” you tried to say.

“But you’re in tears love, and it’s going to get worse, we want to try and stay ahead of it,” Lena said kissing your forehead.

After a couple hours the doctor deemed you ready to go home. Alex grabbed the meds for you while Lena and Kara wheeled you out to the car. Alex had to go back to work, but Kara was going to come to you and your moms place for a little while to help Lena and keep you both company.

Lena made sure you were staying on top of your meds, you slept a bit throughout the day, and cuddled between your mom and Kara while you were awake watching Harry Potter. You had a hard time getting down the soup Lena tried getting you to eat. So Lena held the straw of the smoothie Kara went and got you up to your mouth which did feel much better on your raw throat.

“Good job babe,” she said kissing your forehead. Kara eventually had to head out to patrol as Supergirl, but that next day she came back along with Alex and Maggie who came to visit and brought dinner along with a teddy bear and get well card.

Recovery was rough you were in so much pain, and even threw up a couple of times. Thankfully mama bear Lena always held your hand, and cuddled you until the meds kicked in. She took the time off completely from LCorp knowing Sam had everything covered. Speaking of Sam her and Ruby your best friend also came to visit several times.

On the 3rd night of recovery Lena was tucking you into her bed it was hard to see you like this, but she knew it was all up hill from here. “I love you honey, so much.”

#supergirl #kara danvers #lena luthor #alex danvers #maggie sawyer #sam arias #ruby arias #cw #DC comics #Daughter #daughter!reader #OC

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batarella · 3 years

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3 birds 1 stone - chapter 12

‘Dick, Jason, and Tim. Supposed brothers 'till the end, until all three fall in love with you. Who wins your heart?

The man who earned it, the man who stole it, or the man who always had it?’

A/N: We continue the three perspectives!!! AND we got special appearances from a few characters today eeeeee we’re so close to the finale. Hope you guys enjoy this one!

WORDS: 12,068 WARNINGS: violence, arm dislocation, muscle injuries, alcoholism, mentions of coffee addiction and insomnia

MASTERLIST | 3 BIRDS 1 STONE MASTERLIST

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Dick:

That day, this all ends.

Telling himself he got into this mess because he hadn’t a choice, that he hadn’t already stopped because it was all just too riveting and captivating and not at all within his control, was nothing short of a lie.

He had every say in it.

But not even his fucking conscience could convince him to stop. He wanted this mess. Dove right into the lava. He knew every bit of the heartbreak he’d have to endure and he willingly brought it to himself. To get lost into the deep dark woods, with nothing more than an oil lamp, to be pricked by the many thorns and suffocated by the leaves and trees that crowd about much like a bush. To get lost in her, and never want to climb out of any of it. He knew how slippery the road ahead of him was and still he kept going, kept driving, sped up a little even when he thought he’d actually get to where the stars pointed him to.

But so profoundly was his loss of himself, without much effort at all to escape from those grasps even when he told himself he did; going to another woman, wanting the same arrest of his heart to hopefully take him away, but without halting those thoughts of Y/N and how her smile that he’d seen earlier that day would last until dark, maybe even beyond that. Those flares of her face and her voice and how he let them speak to her every night, change them into burning whispers against his ear when he’s memorized her voice too much to make her say anything he wanted her to, even when they only last in his head.

Dick never tried to stop her from taking her heart like that, even when he had to watch her be with another.

Tonight, it all ends. Every bit of this torture that he brought only to himself, it all comes to this sorry halt.

Dick, standing atop a roof of an office building in Dresher, knew that at that moment, he had to sit this one down. He had to be alone and in the darkness to make this as painful as it possibly could, hoping that if all that pain were to be felt now, compress them into this little tub of static blackness, then perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad the next day, and the day after that. Even when he knew this would backfire, he had to.

No one, especially not Y/N, would want him to end up with her. Tim deserved her. Hell, even Jason’s done a lot more for her sake than he had. He can't hope anymore. He can't let this go on.

All this would have gone better if he’d known this sooner.

So with him on that rooftop, sitting on the ledge fifty stories above as if not at all was he a push away from death, Dick let his finger scroll across his phone’s screen moist from his sweat. The battery was going to run out soon. He’d been there for hours, staring at that same picture of her from the day in the nursery, when the sun had been kind to her, touching the surface of her skin so perfectly, it showed more of the little details that he’d already memorized. Those exact images would be thrown out by the end of tonight. Pack their bags. Scram them out the door.

It had, as expected, proven to be difficult.

The thirty-seven pictures he took that day, he’d already heartly remembered by the end of it. Countless of times, he pulled them out of his pocket just to take a second to look, even at the worst. Another month had passed and nothing had happened much since, nothing out the ordinary, which meant their friendship was back to how it used to be. They were friends.

And that was why it ends tonight. Because if he doesn’t fight these thoughts, if he doesn’t fight her, he loses her. He loses this friendship.

Are you sure you want to delete this photo?

Confirm.

Thirty-six times, he let his finger do the talking. Not his heart. Not even his brain.

At the last one, the screen was too distorted by a fallen tear that had seeped out of his domino mask for him to go on. It was the only hindrance he needed to give up and stop. At least for a second.

But he couldn’t even dwell on it too much, or let himself cry, let it burn his skin off enough so it wouldn’t hurt any more afterwards. He couldn’t even let himself have that luxury when he heard the thudding noise of his brother’s boot-cladded feet, a Bo staff that hit the ground, and a black cape that enforced a gust of wind to blow against the back of his head.

Dick just closed his eyes, and just after that, Tim walked over to stand right behind him.

Greatest Detective in the World. But even an idiot would know what he was up to, sitting in the darkness crying while his feet dangle off a rooftop’s ledge, eyes to his phone like he was reading the saddest sob story in the whole world or that he’d just received a text that one of his loved ones’ lives had been taken away from cancer.

The way Tim was silent, he knew.

And Dick just let him believe it, without even a word to explain himself, he did. He let Tim’s mind do the figuring out and the explaining because not even his own words would be half that truth.

Tim’s voice that night wasn’t the kind he heard often.

“You think this is the right time for that, Dick?”

A crack on his knuckles, his throat sounding rough and beaten, Dick didn’t know what to even say.

“We called you fifteen times over at the bridge. We needed you-“

“Sorry-“

“And it turns out you’ve been at your phone the whole time-“

“You handled it without me.”

“That isn’t the fucking point.”

A month of silence, since that deathly night after they took Y/N home. Several minutes, together in one car, had proven to be one of the most insufferable moments of his life. And not surprisingly, it went on for even more days after that.

Dick turned off his phone, but Tim snatched it away from his hands and walked away so Dick couldn’t grab it.

He stood from the ledge. “Come on, Tim. Not cool.”

“Hmm. Cute,” Tim faked a smile and swiped around the screen, at the last picture of Y/N he had. “Could have sent it to me. And Jason.”

“Tim-“

“But it’s cool,” Tim said. He threw the phone back at Dick and he caught it just before it hit the ground. “All good. Finally, you have something of her all to yourself, right?”

Tim was Tim. Not this. Not someone so angry and grievous and someone who was looking at him that way with so much disgust when he used to be that young boy of fourteen who looked at his older brother like a god. How long, he thought, must he have kept all this frustration bundled up inside, where not even he could reach into. Someone who’s so calm, so in control of what he says, had finally given in and let his annoyance flourish about. He wondered, as anyone would, at what point Tim had finally had enough of all of this.

“Tim, please-“

“You,” Tim pointed his gloved finger right at Dick’s face.

“You were supposed to be my brother.”

Tim:

Of course, he’s had enough.

He’s had enough of all this a lot longer than anyone else, even he, would have thought.

It might have been since that day Y/N was crying over an argument they once had, over something he can't even remember, that almost pried them apart, only for Dick to come along and console her without telling Tim where he was, and he only knew because Y/N told him what happened. If she hadn’t, Tim wouldn’t have known.

He wouldn’t have known Dick had long been pining over the love of his life, never mind how she was in his arms and kissing his lips and calling for his name.

Dick, who could have literally anyone he could possibly wish for, just had to want her.

“What do you want me to say?” The asshole started after a moment’s silence, of nothing but a helicopter’s whirl from far above, the lack of light from everywhere around them, and their footsteps against the empty cement.

He couldn’t even look at his brother in the eye with his mask on, but he knew enough to know what he felt. It didn’t matter if he was sincere. It didn’t even matter that he cried.

“Nothing,” Tim said. “You’ve done your damage.”

“Damage?”

“You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

“Enlighten me.”

Tim scoffed and faked yet another laugh. It annoyed himself at that point.

“You are unbelievable-“

“I’m not trying to do anything with her anymo-“

“Don’t even start with that, asshole.”

Tim’s hands were shaking, and subconsciously he tried to repress those tremors, hoping they’d go away if he clenched them enough, but they only got worse.

“She was mine,” he cried. “And you just couldn’t handle that-“

“I never tried anything with her when you were together.” Dick tried to step closer to him but he just backed away.

“So you weren’t just waiting for us to break up so you’d swoop in and be the hero?” he scoffed. “I asked you to make sure she was okay, not take advantage of her hurting just so you’d have your chance.”

“And why did you break up, Tim?” He had the audacity to ask. “You didn’t love her anymore-“

“You knew I still did-“

“Then why hurt her?!”

“Because I was hurting her anyway!”

Never. He’s never been this angry. Not that he could recall.

“I was 17. Everything about me changed. Wayne Enterprises. Red Robin. Fucking Bruce dying and coming back to life. She was there but I was about to lose my fucking mind. I thought she didn’t have a place in all that mess anymore so I broke it off.”

Finally, he stepped close enough to Dick, almost to leveling with his height. His brother had his lips hidden, hands falling to his sides.

He looked terrified.

“Two seconds after that, I never regret anything more my whole fucking life. I thought talking to you would make her feel better, but you just couldn’t help but bat your pretty little eyes at her when she was vulnerable. I wanted to go back but I couldn’t ‘cuz you were already there!”

He was snarling, and a growl escaped his throat by the time he backed away. Tim didn’t even get to hear himself until he saw his own reflection in the white of Dick’s mask.

But Dick. He didn’t even take it as a hint to just shut up and take his rambling.

“I never meant to keep her away from you-“

“I went to you, Dick.” Tim wiped his lips with the back of his gloves, watched over to the next building to avoid his brother’s face. “I always went to you for help. With her. You know how long I’ve wanted her. And I went to you because I thought you were my brother and you’d help me.”

“I did help you!”

“You were helping yourself!”

His hands slammed against Dick’s chest, and it was a good thing he didn’t fight back. He would have just taken that as an excuse to keep hitting.

“Tim,” Dick held his hands up. Tim backed away. “Just go to her-“

“THIS ISNT ABOUT HER ANYMORE, ASSHOLE!”

Hands shoving his chest once again. This time, Dick had caught them, held them by his wrists enough so Tim couldn’t pull them away.

“THIS IS ABOUT YOU AND ME, GRAYSON!” Tim screamed. “WHAT HAPPENED TO HAVING EACH OTHER’S BACKS!”

“YOU THINK IT WAS MY CHOICE TO GET IN BETWEEN YOU!?”

It was from a whip of strength not even he had known prior, but it hurt when he finally could take his hands off of Dick’s grip, and with that, he backed further away, though his eyes couldn’t stray from looking straight into his brother’s.

“IT DOESN’T FUCKING MATTER IF IT WAS-“

“THEN I’M SORRY!’ Dick swallowed. “IS THAT WHAT YOU WANTED TO HEAR?!”

“No,” Tim’s knees hit the railing and so close did he fall, but he kept himself up, rubbed the bottom of his chin with his gloved hand. “You're not sorry…”

Dick’s silence. Even more so did he want to just lunge at him and strangle his vocal chords. No matter how far-fetched, Dick was supposed to tell him all the things he wanted him to say. So far, he’s said none of that.

Dick just watched when Tim turned around to rest his weight onto his palms, looking out into the open seeking for just about any kind of help there was that he could call out from the wind, but there was nothing.

“You're right,” Dick said, and Tim felt the cement crack from beneath his palms. “I’m not sorry.”

“Fucking bold of you-”

“What would have happened to her if I hadn’t stepped in?” He heard Dick’s voice louder and clearer, which meant he was walking closer towards him.

“I would have come back. I always wanted to come back, but by then she was all over you. I couldn’t-“

Tim looked at his own hands. “I had it coming. I can't blame her.”

Another whiff of air, and it blew the strands of his black locks right onto his eyelids. They stung, but he didn’t push them away. He just kept his eyes locked onto the blankness of the gray, the dark that went all the way into his spirit.

“But I do blame you-“

“Tim, you hurt her-”

“AND YOU HAVENT?!”

Dick caught his Bo staff, which Tim had thrown right at him as swiftly as he turned around. His mouth was as dry as his palms were sweating. His teeth were close to breaking. And his eyes dangerously drifting off into some unknown nowhere just so he wouldn’t have to look at such betrayal.

“Tim-“

Tim was shaking, or at least his hands were, when he gave into his impulses and moved so fast, grabbing Dick by the collar and standing him down.

“You stand there blaming me for all that hurt when here you are-“

“What the hell do you want me to say to you?!”

He was strong, stronger than any one of them would have thought. Dick couldn’t even move, much less out of shock than it was out of his hold on him too overwhelming to counter.

“Tim, this isn’t like you-“

“You have no idea what I’ll do,” Tim growled. “Why do you think I became Red Robin?”

To separate himself from the likes of what it used to be. To not be Robin anymore. To stray away from his ideals, ideals and morals no longer his.

Because he was, in his truest capacity, capable of much darker things than people seem to know. Even his own brother.

“I hate you-“

Dick, who took that second to take advantage of weakness, grabbed him by the wrists and pushed him off with the soles of his feet, not enough to send him to the ground but enough to almost topple him. And when he looked up, immediately, Tim’s fist headed for his brother’s head, but again it was caught by Dick’s palm.

“HEY, HEY, HEY, ENOUGH! BOTH OF YOU!”

A much deeper, louder voice, the third one to be heard that night. It was that, and two strong arms that grabbed Tim by the shoulder and Dick by his suit’s back. Even when it wasn’t even to much effect, they stopped.

At least, for a second they did, before Tim started for Dick’s neck and he had to be held back with a strong hand right against his chest. “Let me go!”

“What the hell is going on with you two!?”

“Stay out of this Jason!”

It was easier for Jason to stand right in between, just to stop either of them from going after their skin. Dick had stopped. Tim, on the other hand, had to be held back by the shoulders. “Tim, calm down!”

“I said stay out of this!”

Jason:

“One of you pinheads tell me what’s going on!”

“Are you really gonna let Jason fight your battles, Dick?!”

Tim tried to push Jason out of the way. He was lucky, in fact, that none of them could see the irate look on his face hidden behind the safety of a red helmet. Otherwise they might have started for him too, just at how disgusted he looked at them both. And he had every right to be. He knew exactly why they were fighting. It was the devil in him who felt like asking.

Jason held him back with his cape. “Hey, KNOCK IT OFF-“

“Let go of me!”

“You don’t think I wanna bash this asshole’s brains out everyday, Tim?!” Jason hauled him to the floor. “Trust me. You can hold back.”

“Oh, fuck you, Todd.”

“You shut up.” Jason pointed at Dick. “If this is about Y/N I know exactly why Tim wants you dead.”

“And why am I the one you two’re ganging up on?!”

“If I was, Dick, I’d just let this one have at it with you. Thank me later.” Jason said, nodding over at Tim. Tim shrugged off his brother’s hold on him and frowned.

“You were never the one to trust, Dick,” Tim gulped. And Jason knew Dick would have thought the same. His flaring eyes, the burn that was almost never there from someone so usually calm. It was unnerving seeing Tim this way. “Look at everyone you’ve hurt. Y/N. Kori. When are you going to stop?”

“Don’t you fucking start with me, you little-“

“Hey! Knock it off!” Jason pushed Dick again with a shove of his hand. Dick stepped back.

“Jason, just get out of here -“

“I don’t know, man; Feels like I have to be the responsible one. For once.”

Tim grabbed Jason’s hand and hauled him to the side so he could step closer to where Dick was standing. “You don’t want to be a part of this.”

Jason, if not at all wanting that to be true in the slightest sense, didn’t fight back and took Tim’s shoving. But, as he’d thought, Dick was the one who looked at him so slyly he wanted to grab his lips and use them to haul him over the building.

Suddenly, every part of his skin wanted to burst, blood beating through every inch of vessel and flesh so much it burned him. His mouth sewed shut, ears hurting at the redness. Again, if not for the helmet, it would have been a dead giveaway.

But Dick wasn’t having it.

“Trust me, Tim. He already is.”

“What the hell do you mean-“

“I said, enough. You two settle this at home.”

Jason tried for Dick’s shoulder just to push him to back away, but he threw his hand off.

“Don’t fucking act like the good guy between the three of us,” Dick said. “What are you gonna say next? That this isn’t what Y/N would want?”

“You think it is?!”

Dick chortled and he turned away. Tim still wouldn’t let his glare away from his brother and if Jason would let him, he’d have mauled him to death.

“You always did think you knew what was best for her, didn’t you?”

“Jason, what the hell is he talking about?”

He never told him. The bastard never told Tim when he was so sure he would, when he basically told him that night outside Y/N’s doorstep that by the end of the hour, Tim would know what he’d done and he’d have found Jason by the next, even when he tries too hard to disappear, which he had tried to do for four months, hiding from his brother, and not long after he’ll never be welcomed into the manor as so much as a guest. It did surprise him, after many months, that Tim hadn’t so much as acknowledged it. Part of him wanted to believe Tim didn’t care, or had already forgiven Y/N and in turn forgiven him.

But, of course, Dick hadn’t told him. The asshole wanted this to drag out as painfully long as he possibly could. Make him carry that burden himself just because he thought it was right, as Tim’s brother, even when he wanted no part of those niceties.

“You wanna tell him?” The blue leotard wearing ass said. “Or should I?”

“Don’t fucking bring me into this shitshow-“

“Brother, you walked right into it yourself.”

“I will kill you,” Jason growled. “One of these days.”

“Tell me what?”

Tim’s voice, the softest it had been since the start of that night.

He shouldn’t.

His little brother, one whose relationship had proven far too difficult to build, if there was ever a chance at a good relationship at all. His brother. An established brotherhood he once despised so much, took too many years just for it to be something tolerable. His little brother.

He never had a little brother like Tim. Perhaps even now, he wouldn’t. Not once he knows.

“Tim, I-“

“Jason, tell me what’s going on.”

Dick no longer even had that smirk on him. He just looked sad for the both of them, as he should be. As anyone should be.

“Just tell him.”

So much did his fist want to just fly and land straight at Grayson’s perfectly chiseled cheekbones, break his face so much he wouldn’t live to stand a day.

But Jason had grown too silent, too guilty.

He couldn’t even take off his helmet and look at either of them in the eye.

Tim stepped right in front of him and on his face kind of worry that often lingered prior to it being the worst rage to ever engulf into.

Was there a way out of this? To counter the impact? Make it so it didn’t hurt so much?

If Grayson had just told him, it wouldn’t have to be this way.

“Jason-“

He looked up, and through the slits of his visor, he knew Tim wanted to look at him in the eye, to find something out of this truth.

“I…”

His throat, it hurt to even breath. And when this happened, he usually takes the helmet off. This time, however, he couldn’t do that. Not when he had so much to say despite him not wanting to.

“I slept with her…”

It was a shame Dick didn’t look too much like an ass right then. If he did, he’d have a reason for himself to just jump at him with a knife. But all he could even see, all he could bring himself to watch, was his feet.

Nothing else. Not when Tim was looking at him that way.

“What?”

“I slept with her-“

Tim.

Was it even Tim anymore? The boy in front of him? Who never looked at him with so much betrayal?

“When?”

“A few months ago…” he said. “Lasted about a month.”

Then, it wouldn’t even have mattered if it were him who broke the news, the asshole that Dick was, or the Gotham Times.

Tim.

No longer his little brother. Never will be again.

Right for the neck. That’s where Tim pounced a second less than he was smart enough to move away.

Dick:

That asshole deserved it.

But if anyone deserved it more than Jason did, it was Dick.

Was it to divert Tim’s attention from himself? Give him a breather and a while for Tim’s anger to mellow down taking it out on Jason so he doesn’t take it out on him so much? Possibly.

But the moment Tim’s hands squeezed the living daylights out of Jason’s neck, he knew he shouldn’t have brought it up. It was wrong. This was all wrong.

He started for Tim’s arms, grabbing them both just to at least give Jason enough time to breath, but this newfound strength certainly wasn’t one he’d expected. When he did manage to pull them off, Tim swung his fist right at Dick’s face.

Then, he went back for Jason, who then took that short time to grab both his fists and stop them for hurling him over the roof.

This was his fault. This was his doing.

And all the more did he want this to end when Jason held Tim strong enough to make him scream, and with that, he threw another punch right for his helmet, shattering the visor beneath his bruised knuckles. Jason tried to kick him away with his knee, but Tim was pushing him.

Jason, who should have been a lot stronger, was not doing much to fight Tim. And instead, he tried talking him out of it.

“Tim!” he coughed. Tim still holding both fists went on to push him. “Tim, stop!”

Head slam against his helmet, and it broke, enough for a part of it to be chipped off and expose his forehead.

Jason finally hurled Tim over to the ground just so he could wipe the blood stain off from seeping down his eyes, but that wasn’t much of a good idea. Not when Tim took that as a chance to jump for his brother, grabbing him by the shoulders, and with the forces of their own bodies flying across the wind, the railing wasn’t enough to stop their fall.

Tim and Jason fell over the building, down fifty stories with one’s hands wrapped around the others throat, and Tim went on to strangle him even as they fell.

Dick, without even thinking much, dove into that same abyss. Did he have a plan? No. Was this going to work anyway? Probably not. But he had to try.

At least, it was all he had to do. When Dick leapt, head soaring straight down for a car so miniscule that wouldn’t be so small the more he wastes time, his brothers thrashing bodies that broke the speed of their fall worked to his sorry advantage and Dick managed to catch up.

He grabbed Tim off, thankfully with the fall lessening his grip but not at all did it change the murderous look on his face. This wasn’t his brother. This can't be him. This was someone who had all his frustrations bottled up in the form of coffee addiction, insomnia, and workaholic tendencies, someone who hadn’t vented out his hurt and anger at him, who he apparently had been hating for a while.

When he had him in his grasps, Dick grappled up to the next building. “Jason, hold on!”

It was, in actuality, the worst idea he’s ever come up with. Other than the fact that Tim weighed a good 170 pounds, Jason was no lighter. Not even in the slightest. And carrying both of them? He might as well be hauling up a whole tank.

That one single grappling hook showed them no appreciation despite it holding on the best it could. And it was to no help that the hook landed on a building too far.

They were just yards up the ground when the rope tightened, and the impact on Dick’s arm he was sure had the bone dislocated. A scream was all he could muster at the shooting pains that went all the way up his neck, but still, he held on, and even when it lasted no more than a few seconds, it was all too agonizing not to feel like it lasted hours.

All it took was to at least break the fall, but that was all he could handle. Dick let go of the grapple gun and they were falling across the whole block, across the street over to an abandoned lot with junkyard cars and probably some broken glass scattered across the ground.

Tim landed on top of one of the cars, breaking the windshield under his weight. Jason wasn’t so lucky, rolling across the cold cement with it hitting his helmet, enough to expose his face.

And Dick, with it not helping his arm at all, landed right against the fenced border and fell to the ground. Some wire sticking out might have impaled his skin.

He was breathing. Was he still breathing? There was throbbing. Redness. Blood that went to his eyes, most probably. He could hear his heart and basically the rest of his senses going haywire.

When he looked up, already Tim could stand, right on top of the cars.

Now lacking his Bo staff, Tim smashed the broken metal beneath his feet and pulled out a slab hard enough to break bones.

Tim:

If Dick were smart, he should have let him die.

This was always how he was, how this was all going to boil down to. His so many ways of dealing with loss, heartbreak, and stress, it was never going to hold him back enough if he hadn’t an outlet. And this, tonight, this was all part of the inevitable. He did what he promised Y/N. He kept off the coffee and had eight hours of sleep every day. But did it mean it warded off his thoughts on her? On his brothers? On their betrayal and how much he’d been holding that all off for months? Not even close. In fact, they grew worse.

Who does he start with?

Dick was all the way over at the fence. Wounded. Dislocated arm. He pulled himself up and went for a wall he could smash his shoulder against just to pull back the bone.

And Jason.

Shit.

Should have went for him first.

Two glocks in his hands. This man wasn’t afraid in the slightest.

“Jason, don’t!” Dick cried. Too late. He already shot one of the cars.

Tim spun about just to dodge at least the shattered glass. He was aiming for his legs, at all the parts of his body that wouldn’t be so lethal. How kind of him.

Which meant, that if it were the vital parts of him exposed, Jason wouldn’t shoot.

So he didn’t even try to hide himself, his chest especially, when he hurled himself over the many car hoods and roofs. Jason kept going, and this time he went to shooting the glass on purpose. Probably to hit him with the shards.

Tim reached the wall and pushed his feet so he’d roll on the ground. Cape up, he looked through the many places to hide, but he didn’t want to hide. What he wanted was to grab one of them, any of them, by the shoulders, pin them to the ground, and have his fist have at it with their stupid faces.

He ran up to Jason, cape protecting his legs and arms, and just as he did Dick had crept up behind him, grabbing Jason by a headlock. Elbow to Dick’s chest, he took that as a chance to grab his guns and throw them over to the side. So close did he miss one of the bullets, if grazing his shoulder was ever a miss. But he ignored that hiss and landed a hit on Jason’s stomach.

But not even that could last long, with Jason practically subdued. Dick set Jason aside to block Tim’s fist from landing anywhere near either of them. He kept hitting, swinging, it was all a blur after the third time he felt his shoulders hurt. And Grayson’s was no better. So he aimed for it.

What was he doing?

Foot landing on Dick’s pelvis. It was enough for his body to skid across the ground. He looked up at his brother, teeth gritting so much that it hurt, Tim didn’t move fast enough before he could move away from Dick’s fist, which landed a good one right to his teeth.

Jason:

This was the most ridiculous fight he’s ever been on. No different from a fucking pellet gun war over at the gardens that one time they were drunk and stupid. This was a game, one he really didn’t want to play. He should have known, and what he thought that time was that somehow, she was worth going through all this chaos for. That moment of bliss, that month of beauty and serenity and peace, was it worth this? With his own brothers?

It wouldn’t have been if it was just a month of beauty and serenity and peace. But it wasn’t just about that anymore, was it?

So this had to be worth it. In every way. With Dick and Tim over a few yards away, Dick holding his shoulder and trying so hard to avoid being hit there and Tim so unruly and angry and being so taken over with his rage, not at all was he anything like this before tonight.

He had the choice. To grab the gun that had skidded over to his side, shoot them both in the shoulder to put everything to a stop, or join in on their rumble to drag this out as long as inhumanely possible. Three different men who knew exactly what the others’ moves will be, this wasn’t going to last very long if it were to be a good way.

But, if this were to be dealt with bullets, he can say goodbye to either of them of ever being his brother again, to never be a part of this family so hard to love but love nevertheless.

He stopped his hand from reaching for the gun, and with that, he started for the two.

Jason grabbed Tim’s ankle just before it would have landed on Dick’s chin, threw him to the side so he’d land on the floor.

Dick’s fist, which would have hit Tim, instead hit Jason right at the nape of his neck. He almost toppled over to the ground, and with that flash of rage, he struck back at Dick right at his bad shoulder. Might have been too far. But he didn’t care.

Tim hit his back, right up against his sharp knee. He cried out at the unnerving bellows that went straight to his head, picked himself up just before he hit the ground.

Another hit for his head, but Dick had stopped it with his own hand, twisted Tim’s ankle so he’d once again lose his balance and fall.

Three different men.

Three different fights.

Three men who knew each other far too well to be beaten so easily.

They jostled and rolled about, around the junkyard over so many of the cars and the broken glass and even the fence that had long blown over. This wasn’t at all supposed to be what they’d spend the night on, but with the slabs of metal being thrown, the cars almost hurled up with their peak human strength, their limbs flailing, some barely missing a nerve on their head and some wrecking a whole tooth out of their mouth, it was not, to even some capacity, ever going to end as well as any of them hoped.

And with them at the middle of the barren empty grounds, Jason dodging Dick’s fist only to meet Tim’s knee, Dick being absolutely smothered by Tim’s head smashing against his, and Tim being pinned to the ground by either of his brothers larger than him that he hated so much.

It all would have ended in death, after the kind of blur that clouded so much of their moral thought and any kind of sense at all to remind them of what they were doing, if not for something far too strong for them to easily swerve from.

Or, better yet, three things too strong for them to swerve from.

At a whiff so quick for any of them to have possibly even sensed, a flash of purple was the first to wave off that blur from their eyes. And it went for Tim.

Stephanie was first to subdue him, holding Tim down with her knee landing right at the small of his back. He cried out both at the shock he hadn’t expected and the pulsing pain that probably went all the way up his spine, but he was done. Steph had grabbed Tim’s head and pinned him down right against the floor.

The next one was Dick, and before any of them could even turn, something so brightly blinding, a figure of yellow, fell from one of the cars’ hood and grabbed Dick by the neck. Duke was smaller, but not at all was that some disadvantage. His huge armored arms, locking Dick enough for him to just flail his hands about, it was enough to make him stop.

And, just as he expected, the next thing he saw after that flash of a second he was spared, was a blur of black so silently creeping up on him, Jason couldn’t move even when he knew it was coming. No one could have seen it. Not even him. By the next second, he was bent over one of the cars, hands to his back, and Cassandra had a taser stuck to his hip.

“NO, NO, NO, CASS DON’T-“

Barely enough to fry him unconscious, but enough to fucking electrocute his skin off so his muscles could barely move.

Dick:

This should all have ended sooner than it even happened.

And the shame crept in, not even when he stopped struggling against Duke’s hold on him, but when Barbara, the last to come into the scene, flew in from the window right across.

She looked like she wanted to murder all three of them by a rope around their necks. One single rope. Having three just wouldn’t be worth it.

She took off her cowl and let her red hair fall to her back, so they’d easily see just how disgusted she looked at them all, at the look on her eyes, at the look on all their eyes.

“Duke, let me go-“

“I’m sorry, Dick.”

“Please.”

“If we could, Nightwing,” Babs swallowed. “I’ll have you tied to that streetlamp for the rest of the night.”

Jason tried to reach for something in the car just to kick Cass away, but she tased him again. Some smoke flew up from his flesh.

“Cass, that’s enough,” Babs said.

Cass glared at them all, then settled to just holding Jason down with his arms.

“Is anyone going to tell me what the hell is going on with you three?”

“Maybe if you get your foot out of my head, Steph, I’d actually get my brain back and answer her question,” Tim said.

“You lost your brain when you fell down that building.”

“You saw that?”

Steph snorted. “You’re lucky I didn’t jump in until I had all of us on call.”

“Lucky?!”

Steph twisted Tim’s arm and his cries could be heard over to the next block.

Jason tried, again, to break free from Cass’s hold, but her fist wasn’t one to welcome when it landed much like a bat would’ve right up against Jason’s head.

And Tim, who almost pried Steph’s knee from against his back, was just pinned down again not even a second after breaking free.

They were too tired to go up against any of them.

So Dick, knowing there was no other, prettier way out of this, let go of his hands from gripping too hard on Duke’s arm. He didn’t let go, but it had loosened, enough for him to properly talk. Babs went over to him. That dagger-infested glower stuck through, but at least there was some appreciation for his lack of resistance.

“It was a misunderstanding-“

“Was it?!”

Babs clenched her jaw.

“This is about her, isn’t it-“

Tim’s voice echoed. “No!”

Tim:

He growled and shoved Steph’s hand away, but they kept on his arms, pushing them down against his spine. She was strong enough to subdue him, stronger now that he was exhausted and his muscles were all strained, but that didn’t mean he was, in any way, going to back down from this fight. This wasn’t over.

He could crane his head up enough to look at Babs.

“This is about these two traitors who lied to my face for months!”

Steph was having too much trouble keeping him down. “Tim!”

“Are you really going to take their side?!”

“No one is taking anyone’s side here.”

Babs eyed Cass at least to make her loosen her grip on Jason’s twisted arms. Cass rolled her eyes, sighed, and still without a word, she grabbed Jason by the back of his collar to make him stand. But it wasn’t without her taser stuck up to his side.

“Cass, I’m not gonna fucking fight you-“

“Just shut up, Jay,” Dick said, and with that, Duke tightened his arm.

“They wanna know,” Tim panted. “Tell them all why we’re in this mess.”

His voice, all broken and rageful and so unlike what anyone would have thought. It turned the heads of everyone around. Steph loosened her hand around Tim’s neck much out of her own disbelief.

“Stabbing me in the back the way you did…”

“Tim, you don’t have to-“ Babs went on, but Tim’s screams were too much.

“Tell them! Say why you’re all a bunch of ass-“

“You’re the one who wanted this to be some shitshow!” Jason’s teeth shouldn’t last long with how much he was gritting them when he hissed and snarled at Cass, who poked the taser just beneath his hip.

“Cass, enough with the taser.”

“Yeah, Cass,” Jason said. “Where the hell did you even get that?”

“Some douchey police officer over at Chinatown,” Duke said to him while still keeping his hands on Dick.

Something so foreign, so unruly and aggressive, it was taking too much control over him. Tim’s eyes were burning, and there weren’t even any tears. His blood pulsed through every vein, strong enough for it to hurt, and loud enough for him to hear it through his bloodied ears.

Tim pushed Steph away and for a moment, he was free. He wasn’t even thinking anymore. He just wanted his hands squeezing the voice out of Jason’s neck.

Babs grabbed him by the cape just as Steph caught up, and again he was on the floor. Still, he screamed, thrashed about because everything within him just yelled for him to finally let it out. He was done being the nice guy, done being the brother they both pushed around, took advantage of, lied to, and picked on because they knew he’d never fight back.

“Tim…” Babs helped Steph holding him down. She looked up at Dick. “What the hell did you do to him?”

“Nothing we can't sort out!”

“Jesus, Dick,” Jason snorted. “You haven’t said one smart thing all day.”

“Like you're any better, you asswipe.”

“Enough!”

Babs stood right between them, otherwise they’d have lunged for each other even if they had a missile launcher aimed for their heads.

“Let me go. Duke,” Dick said. “I’m not gonna fight any of you-“

“Yeah, three seconds ago you were close to running Jason’s head through a windshield.”

“Just let me go and we’ll all calmly-“

“Calmly?” Duke laughed. “I saw you fall down that building from where I stood. None of you know what calm is.”

Duke’s voice was stern and not at all did he sound like he’d trust him enough for that, no different than Steph’s or even just the look in Cass’s eyes. Because, if anything, other than the utter disgust, disdain, and disappointment, everything before them was something not to easily believe.

Not long after, before anything even happened, before Tim heard that first trace of a large black cape and the heavy soles that would have broken the cement floor underneath if he hadn’t purposely landed so swiftly, with the shadow that wasn’t in fact a shadow, but a suit so terrifying, dark, and so close to invisible, it was the night in a physicality no two people could similarly describe.

Tim knew he’d get here first, before anyone else even turned their heads. Because he stopped with his cries and faced his untimely doom. Face to the ground, quiet and unmoving. Everyone else followed but that was after he’d already appeared.

Not even anyone from the likes of the worst villains had seen the look on Bruce’s face as close to the one he had right then.

Jason:

If he were alone, he’d just have snorted. The look on Grayson and Drake’s face. Couldn’t be drawn.

He’s seen that same frown on Bruce every time he shoots a damn gun, which was every night. He could paint it by memory and he wouldn’t miss a detail. The squinted white of his eyeholes, his lips forlorn and flat. His hands, clenched enough for it to hurt, hidden beneath his cape. Oh, Dad. Did I do that?

These guys just needed some getting used to.

And he shouldn’t be amused at the fact that at least, for once, he wasn’t the only one in trouble this time. Tim looked ashamed. Dick looked like he’d seen a ghost. Dick should have known this, at least. He’s steered up a few times of trouble himself. Nothing like what he’s done, that’s for sure. But he shouldn’t be so stricken. Still, he was, which made it all the more inappropriate if he were to smirk right then.

Damian was right beside him. He wasn’t entertained, or intrigued, what he usually was watching his father tell off his brothers. In fact, he looked bothered. Like they’d just taken so much of his time away from what he’d rather be doing, which apparently was more interesting than this.

Ah. Of course. An out-of-town mission. Just Batman and Robin. They left Babs in charge. Probably why she looked just as horrified as Dick, hands to her side and keeping the slight shake of her palms hidden. It seems she prepared for anything to happen on patrol that night, anything Bruce prepared her for being the boss. What they hadn’t prepared for, apparently, was them.

“Batman, I-“ Babs swallowed. “We have this under control. You can go back to-“

“Let them go.”

Chills down everyone’s wobbly spines at his growling voice proved more terrifying under the filter near his neck. Everyone except Jason, of course. But he can't be so relaxed. Cass was getting suspicious. He just felt her hands tighten even more around his wrists.

But perhaps, he should be afraid. He’s gotten into mounds of trouble, but it was never anything like this.

He snorted again. They hadn’t hurt anybody. It was just them three and their lack of brain. They’ll be fine.

He hoped.

“Bruce, they’re trying to kill each other-“

“They can try.”

Babs, right then, might be the one to kill them right after. Maybe with her bare hands. Maybe with a truck. With a deathly, silent scowl at all of them, she nodded.

Duke was first to let go of Dick, and with that a pat on the back. Dick rubbed the back of his neck, stayed put and didn’t even step away. He was relaxed. Ashamed, but relaxed. He just stretched out his limbs and already everyone was satisfied.

Next, it was Jason. With a reluctant Cass finally letting him go, and the taser, Jason tumbled over to the nearest car hood just to keep himself up. That fucking taser robbed him of his knees. How many volts was that thing?

Finally, Steph swung her legs over from holding down Tim’s body and helped him up. She dusted off his back, apologized under her breath. He probably had a lot to say if it weren’t for the seven other pairs of eyes on him, watching him from letting out so much as a twitch.

Tim didn’t shove her away so he could go back to poking Jason’s eyeballs out. He just stood there and stared at him like Jason and Dick were lucky everyone else was around. Which, he probably was. He wasn’t going to deny that.

The last people to be so afraid of Bruce were the three of them, the perpetrators, the reason for this little reunion. So instead of letting out something so cocky and unapologetic, something so at the borders of causing Bruce to have an aneurysm, not one mouth resisted from being kept shut. It was the kind of silence that wasn’t often expected from such an unusual family.

And Bruce looked at the three of them not with anger, or dismay, or even annoyance.

He looked disappointed.

Which, arguably, makes it a whole lot worse. Hell, even for him. He’s been yelled at since the day he came back and all of a sudden a little fight with his brothers is what brings him to shame.

Bruce was unmoving, so his voice startled and shook.

“All this…” he said. “For her…”

No one spoke. Not even a cricket. Even with the horns and sirens from afar, the bustle they couldn’t care less the only noise there was, it was deafening.

“Don’t you think you’ve disappointed her enough?”

Jason ignored the shattered edges of his helmet that poked on his cheek, ignored the blood it drew or the strain on his arms. Everyone did, perhaps.

“Go back to patrol.”

Batman left, as quickly as he’d come. Robin followed right behind him.

Batgirl turned around, nodded at her team, which was all there was out of her, out of anybody. They could see her fists clench, her eyes down and avoiding the others. The Signal flew out of the scene, Spoiler grappled up to the next rooftop, and Orphan disappeared out of thin air, without a word or even a grunt.

Nightwing, Red Robin, and Red Hood left that junkyard lot, and as the brothers they were, and dreadfully still are, they kept out of each other’s ways for the rest of that quiet night.

-----

What was so different about that night, and the many more nights that followed, was how they no longer had each other to turn to, even more now that it seemed they needed their brothers the most. Jason was, in the worst sense, used to the kind of isolation he was forced into after the matter. Dick had to learn to be alone, but it always had been better to have another’s shoulder to lean on and talk to. Tim, not so much. Not when he almost always turned to Y/N. And if not her, Dick. His older brother. One he once looked up to like a being unreachable, now a traitor he’d scoff at if he dared to show up.

So what they did, and what they were forced to do for several nights, was to deal with the cosmos and the whirlwind of thoughts all by their sorry selves. Dick usually could be found in training, spinning about in the uneven bars set up for him at the manor, have the sweat and the strain in his muscles force out whatever it was that bothered him into some physical outlet, how it often had been for many years as he appreciated himself for the care it brought. For the others, however, it wasn’t so much the same. Tim would spend all hours in the office and wouldn’t so much as nap even when his whole body tortured him to at least stop his back from being crouched so much. And Jason, well, had already drowned himself in booze, even more now that the reasons had faded clearer.

Alone in his apartment, over at the nook by the window where he usually spent the day with a book, now his mess of a hair would be plastered against the cold glass and the many bottles that surround him would block the surfaces of the cushion. It never actually got out of hand. He only ever drank to get rid of that noise blaring into his ear the way it was now, the way it was for all three of them.

And Tim couldn’t turn to that same comfort, or whatever it was that caffeine, stinging eyelids, and an unhealthy staring into a computer screen with an all nighter at the office would bring him. That night after the fight, he couldn’t sleep, even when he tried to. Which led to no one’s knowing, a cup of coffee when the day had risen and he was forced to go on with that said day like nothing happened. That cup would turn to two. Three. Eventually it dawned on him that he’d slept what he should have in a single day in a span of three.

Dick’s training, as it turned out, wasn’t so healthy at all. The strain in his wrists began a little over two hours ago. He’d been at the grounds for quadruple that time. For that day alone. Would it kill him if he didn’t stop? Probably not. Would it almost kill him? Probably. But he went on. Kept his hands busy. Forced himself to feel that exhaustion that should be taking his mind out of everything and not amplify it.

But this was only the beginning of what eventually would be that highway to descent, to some slope with no ladder to climb back up to, no guide for them to reverse and no light at the end that would eventually bring some alternative to the truth. They only had the truth to hold on.

Their brotherhood. One so strained. So complicated. One that took far too much time to build and rebuild. They couldn’t, not even if they wanted to, be apart from this family, deny that they were a part of it. They couldn’t escape each other’s presence no matter how many times they’d change their numbers or block out their trackers or find another city to live in. They couldn’t lose something that had grown too strong for them to fight against. That night, they tried. Or rather, the forces tried. The forces run by their bitter rivalry or the want for the same woman.

It was the fifth night after that fight, when Dick let go of the bars, finally giving his hands that rest too many hours overdue. He wiped his sweat, drank from his bottle, and pulled out his phone. That night, he thought it was enough, that this silence and bitterness and sheer negligence over their bond would eventually break for permanence. He knew that this coping was only just the beginning, and that it will, for everything he was certain about, would it become so much more, something so dark, that it would pull the whole family apart. He didn’t want that. For any of them. So that night, he sent a text to Tim and Jason.

Tim’s first account wasn’t on his brothers, though it had crossed his mind many more times than he would have hoped. His first thought, if anything, was how Y/N would have thought if he let himself fall. It’d be in his rule this time, that he wouldn’t let the caffeine get to him or reach to such extremes he’d never otherwise control. But Y/N wasn’t going to believe that, as nobody should. Hell, he probably shouldn’t place that much faith onto himself at all. Even if he does so much as lose an hour of sleep, one for every night until there wasn’t any hours left, if he allows himself one more cup when he had one just half an hour before, he knew it’d be just the beginning.

So, when he got that text from Dick, he realized it wasn’t worth much the risk.

He hated them both like he’s hated no one else, wanted them to realize just how much of a wreck their doings have imprinted on him and Y/N, how the consequences that followed weren’t nearly what they deserved at all. But if he doesn’t fight that hate, if he doesn’t find peace, it’ll be that darkness for him, that same life he hadn’t learned to control, one where he once lost himself to. and in turn, made him lose Y/N. And he’ll lose her again if he won't listen to that conscience. He texted Dick back and told him to meet him at Pauli’s.

Jason, on the other hand, acted as was expected of him. When he saw that text the first thing his lack of conscience told him was to get another phone and forget it all happened, disappear for another few months, show up when it was convenient, and hope that this all blows over before his escapism backfires.

But he never did get to bring himself to throw out his phone and get a new one, much less delete the text before he’s even seen it. A few days after, he let that daft little voice in him to open the text, allow himself a few seconds just to witness its premise. But he’d read through everything in that split second he allowed himself to. Dick didn’t really have much to say. And what else was to come next other than the few days of tussling and fighting and the many more bottles of booze that were not at all helping with those same voices that just wouldn’t shut up.

Was this all worth it? Was anything worth this at all?

Because those few years it took just to have any sort of a conversation with Dick, much more with Tim, certainly wasn’t a few years of a bond rebuilt that he wanted to go through again.

He loved them. In his own, twisted little way. He loved his brothers and actually would go out his way to save them from whatever horrors he’d been forced to face. That love didn’t have to be from occasionally hanging out in the holidays or spent an hour or two in a bar.

At least, in his conscience, if he were to die one day like he’d realize would happen again, knowing life wasn’t exactly his alone to spend and control, he’d know he did whatever was best for the people he loved.

So, despite Dick and Tim not at all expecting so much as a text back, they still had it in them to wait a few hours. In that dimly lit corner of Pauli’s, the aroma of freshly backed pancakes distracting them from their otherwise bland pickup from the rest of their senses. They waited, not hoping for the best.

Jason went into the diner and saw them, ordered a cup, then took a seat across Tim, with Dick in between.

That silence, the same for everyday for the past five, it was haunting and eerie, disturbing, uncomforting, one they knew they’d all have to settle if they wanted to move on and actually bring some light into whatever it was they’ve caused.

Jason didn’t take off his hoodie. Tim warmed his hands with his cup of hot chocolate. And Dick, knowing he’d have to start, cleared his throat and looked up.

Dick:

Seeing Tim walk through that door was a surprise enough, much more Jason coming along and not even was he three hours late. Fuck. Fuck. What does he even say? Where does he ever start? Should he even start?

Giving in to his impulses certainly was bad an idea. This was, in every way, what he should have expected when he picked up his phone and thought to call his brothers hoping it was the right thing to do. And, perhaps, it was the right thing.

But was he the right person to start it? Lead this conversation to the direction he wanted so they’d get to a better place? The one that pushed his impulses in the first place?

They were all too awfully silent. Tim’s had his second round of hot chocolate. He doesn’t even like hot chocolate that much. And Jason looks like he’s hiding himself from the cops with his hood down and neck craned to the table’s surface. He’s never been in anything more awkward and uncomfortable in his years. This was just humiliating.

But, he was sure, humiliation should be the first thing they’d have to go through. Setting their prides aside, talk with the other’s stories in mind and hope that by the end of this, it’ll at least be a bit better.

So he started, in the most bland, uneventful way, he tells them both.

“Thanks for coming,” Dick said.

Tim momentarily bit onto his lip, and Jason stayed motionless without so much as a nod. At least Tim glanced over at him, even when it was just a second.

“How are you, Tim?”

Tim’s finger traced over the brim of his cup. He’s finished it. Didn’t seem like he wanted to order another one.

“Alright. I guess.”

“Good. Jason?”

God, this was awful. He doesn’t even ask how their broken bones are healing after a life-threatening encounter in patrol. Hopefully this greyness wasn’t too weird, not when it should be the start of something even more difficult to overcome.

Jason’s order of coffee came into the table and it made Tim shift in his seat, leaning to the back to stay further away from its aroma. Jason took a sip. “Fine.”

As quiet as they possibly could. Dick wished he had something to order, even when it was just a piece of pie they’d displayed over at the counter. But he didn’t want to get up or even call a waitress.

He was, in the most obvious sense, ashamed. Ashamed that he wasn’t either of them, which he wished nothing more to be. He wished he was them so he wouldn’t have to be the man who’d hurt Y/N the most, when he was supposed to be who she’d turn for comfort, because they weren’t the man who’d been in love with her for so long, never thinking he’d have a chance. And when he did finally have her, even for a just a moment, when he finally got to kiss her that one time he’d been waiting for so many years, it all broke down and nearly diminished what he took years to build. Their friendship. Something so great yet so fragile, when their love never could be so easily set aside to make way for a friendly bond.

“I’m sorry,” Tim said, and his voice had gone softer. “I’m sorry I started a fight. And for being so angry. That was uncalled for.”

He did want all this to be right with them. Both of them. Two of his brothers he’s learned to love. And with that love comes many sacrifices.

“You don’t have to be sorry for being angry.”

“Would you like more hot cocoa?” The waitress came in with a pitcher. Tim declined, and she left.

He stared at the empty cup and rolled his lips.

“Yeah, I… I kinda do.”

Further into the day, the less people there were in the diner. And with that came more silence. There were half the people in there than when they’d first arrived. Soon enough, they’ll be the only ones left.

“I’m sorry, too.”

Then, without even a word, Dick and Tim turned over to Jason.

They didn’t expect him to apologize, or even say anything for that matter, possibly for the rest of the night.

But Jason shrugged, looked up at both of them in the eye, and he nodded. It was enough for them both to know what he meant.

Jason:

Get this over with. As quick as they possibly could. But he should know by now that this was going to take time. With how difficult it was. This wasn’t going to end any better than when they’d started if they rush through.

Jason took a sip out of his coffee and leaned his arms over on the table. Still, he didn’t take off his hoodie, as if he was going to take off not long from then.

“I don’t exactly know where to start,” Dick said. “But I think we should put this out there now.”

Neither of them looked him in the eye. He and Tim both stared at their cups as if it were any interesting.

“I’m sorry if I’m doing this wrong. I’m just saying what I think is best.”

“It’s okay,” Tim said. “Just go on.”

This was harder than when they had to help out the League face Brainiac. And that certainly was something.

“I love Y/N.”

Okay. Wasn’t what he thought Dick would say. But okay.

“Tim loves her, too.”

Shit. Alright. So that’s what this motherfucker thinks he’s doing.

“And I for sure as hell know, that you love her as well, Jason-“

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Jason’s voice was deep, controlled, and as monotonous as he forced it to be. Without a flick of a lie or a speck of truth, as they both would have easily picked up if they listened to him hard enough. That is, if it worked. Which it probably hadn’t.

“We don’t know who she wants…” Dick said. “And frankly, I don’t think she does, too. At least for now.”

“It could be any of us.” Tim didn’t take his sight away from the blankness of the white table’s surface.

He can't take this. No. He never should have opened that text. This was a bad idea.

Y/N will choose one of them. Not him. Not when he was the one who fell in love with her far too late, realized just how perfectly imperfect and how she managed to be this little bundle of happiness for him that he never could find in another. Someone whose presence he yearned for on the days when he thought nothing could be okay. He realized all that when too late, when his brothers already cemented their places and have already gone out of their way to win her love. And, on top of all that, he was the one he didn’t have a close friendship as a ground for something to lean onto. They weren’t close. Not like she was with Tim. Not even with Dick.

“This is ridiculous,” Jason stood up from his seat with his cup half finished. “I’m leaving.”

“Jason-“

“Dick, I want no part of this-“

“You can deny it all you want, but what if she chooses you?”

“She won't choose me. That’s the point-“

“Everyone knows that’s just as much of a possibility than everything else. It didn’t even take much time, and already you’ve wooed her. You think we didn’t notice that?”

Jason stopped and faced the counter, away from his brothers.

“Just sit down.”

“Dick-“

“I know this hurts but what if she actually does choose you-“

“I don’t love her.”

“You do. And she might love you back.”

No. Don’t bring his hopes up like this. This fucking-

“And if she does, are you really going to turn her down?”

Jason closed his eyes. He had nothing to say.

“No matter what Tim and I do, if it’s you she wants, then it’s you who’ll make her happy. Do you honestly think I believe you won't at least take that chance?”

Nothing. No voices whispering into his conscience to fuck everything and leave. Nothing that told him what to do, much less what to say.

He just knew that whatever he was, it wasn’t nearly as strong as that one pull that forced him back on his seat.

This shitshow already hurts as it is. What’s a little more?

Tim:

There’s a chance for all of them.

That’s what has always been so hard for him to understand. Never would he have thought it to be true, but it was.

They were both good men, good people, and if he were honest, he’d admit to Y/N being lucky if she were ever to choose one of his brothers in the end. He never, ever wanted to admit that. Not even now.

But for so long, he’s ignored the fact that those choices might be for her happiness, for what she deserves, and that might not always be about Tim. That whatever it was he wouldn’t admit to himself didn’t mean it wasn’t true. Y/N smiles like no other with Dick and no one else understood her like Jason. Even if Tim were her best friend, even if they had together from the very beginning, even if he probably loved her the most. It won't be about that.

So he has to accept all this.

And if it meant her happiness, then that hurt will be a lot easier to deal with.

“He’s right,” he said, and his two older brothers looked up at him.

“I’ve always thought you two… Well, I wish I was in your place. Not always. But, right now I do.”

They were confused to say the least. They didn’t look like they understood. Tim was the one who got to be with her, had years of calling her his love, had her love in return and have her actually show it the same way he did.

But that was just that. He had her. And now he didn’t. Because of him. Because he had her and was stupid enough to let her go, something neither of his brothers would have done if they were him.

And he wanted to laugh at the looks of both their faces. They didn’t have to say anything at all, but he understood. They envied each other in so many other ways, too complicated to map out. Because they’ve all done their own grievances, done so much that they regret.

Which is why this had to happen. Because no one knew what was going to happen next.

“I know it’s hard for all of us…” Dick said. Tim stared out at the window to see the start of the cold evening. “But we’re brothers. I don’t know about you both, but I don’t want this to tear us all apart.”

It already did, he wanted to say.

But it might not be true. It might not be too late. This brotherhood could still be salvaged. And in a way, it might be worth all that hurt.

“The last few weeks have been hard… for all of us… taken its toll on the rest of the family. And we’ve worked too hard on each other. I don’t…” Dick swallowed. “I don’t want to lose Y/N, but I don’t want to lose both of you either.”

It was easier for him to shut his eyes closed.

Neither do I, Tim thought.

“But… Y/N deserves to be happy… We’ve put her through too much.

“And if it means being with the one she loves, one of us, then so be it. We’re done making her decisions. We don’t decide between the three of us. If she wants to choose, then she gets to choose. And we won't have a say in any of it. She decides if it’s one or none of us at all. She deserves this.”

Jason finished his coffee. He no longer sat so stiff.

Tim sat back on his chair and stared out the window.

“And whatever it is, we’ll deal with it. As brothers. We’ll have each other. It’ll be okay. We’ll make it okay.”

That cold night of late November had the first snowdrop of the year. It was light, subtle, and one would have missed it if they weren’t looking out for too long. But they saw it, and never had something so gentle calm what used to be this rageful storm, not since Y/N.

They hadn’t spoken another word in that diner. But for many hours, they stayed.

They continued to wait for many months. They were patient.

October. November. December. January passed.

And on that day of the second week of February, a day Y/N once loved and hated at different times, they put an end to that waiting.

-----

MASTERLIST | 3 BIRDS 1 STONE MASTERLIST

-----

A/N: I honestly can’t wait for the finale. AHHHH

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gingeralepdf · 4 years

Text

A Little Love

A/N: here she isss!!! this is the piece that i wrote for the Pick Your Poison Fic Challenge that was set up by the amazing @andwhenshesays @for-fucks-sake-h and @oh-honey-styles (thank you for organizing all of this!! you’re all legends!!)

extra big thank you to lydia @youresogolden-h and brailey @daydreamsofh for being such sweet beta readers <3

this is my first ever attempt at writing fic, so i hope you enjoy it!

****CONTENT WARNING**** alcohol consumption

Harry is your best friend and your coworker, but you see him as more. Maybe you both just want a little love.

word count: ~8K

**April 25, 2020, 11:15am**

It’s a comfortable spring day in San Francisco. The windows are cracked, letting in sweet smelling fresh air and the moderate bustle of people out and about. Despite the perfect weather to be out at the market or taking a walk in the park, you’re currently at your neighbor’s apartment, slouched on the couch in the living room and in the midst of a New Girl marathon. Or rather, you are in the midst of a New Girl marathon, but your friend has not looked up from the guitar he is restringing for the past fifteen minutes.

You’ve been stealing glances at Harry from the other end of the couch. He has the guitar laying across his lap. He’s able to take all of the strings off and put three new ones on without a problem, but something about the fourth string seems to be giving him a lot of trouble. Every time he gets the string wound up on the tuning key, it snaps loose, like it can’t hold the tension. After several attempts with the same result, Harry sets his string winder on the coffee table and lets out a frustrated huff while scratching his forehead.

Although you know it’s probably best to not make a comment while he’s annoyed, you decide to make one anyway.

Just as he grabs the winder from the coffee table and goes in for another attempt at the string, you blurt out, “I thought the whole point of watching Netflix at your house instead of mine was so you could work and watch at the same time.”

Harry rolls his eyes and slowly cranes his head to look in your direction, “I am watching.”

“Right, so tell me what Miranda has been up to,” you challenge.

Harry lowers his head in concentration, making another attempt at winding up the string on the tuning key, “She’s like… going on a date or something.”

“Miranda isn’t even a character in the show!”

The tuning key once again snaps loose. Harry’s nostrils flare and he mutters a quick “Fucks sake.”

A moment passes where the only sound in the room is the TV. You’re trying to gauge whether or not you’ve actually pissed him off a bit. You decide to bite your tongue and see what he is going to say next.

Harry finally shifts his eyes from the guitar to you, “Obviously I can’t work and watch at the same time.”

You give him a pointed look, “You think?”

“I promise I can finish this project pretty quick, and then I’ll watch, like, four episodes, uninterrupted. I just need to go get some parts so… would you mind pausing it?”

Once the show is paused, Harry gets up from his spot on the couch, gently sets the guitar on the floor, and turns to exit the living room. However, he is stopped short since your legs are making a barricade between the couch and the coffee table. With a mischievous grin on his face, he uses his shin to slowly push your legs away from him so that your feet slide off the end of the table and onto the floor. Your jaw drops in exaggerated offense. Giggles erupt from both of you as he narrowly avoids your attempts to trip him while he steps over your legs and then jogs across the room to his workspace.

A huge benefit of living a couple of buildings away from your best friend is that any given day of the week can be spent like this. The both of you can always be found at either one of your apartments watching hours of Netflix, working on projects, or sharing meals.

Just as you were enjoying the moment of silence that fell onto the room, your phone and Harry’s phone buzz on the coffee table. With a quiet groan, you slowly sit up from the couch to see a text from your boss, sent in a group chat with yourself and Harry.

Would either of you be able to work the closing shift tonight? Sarah called in sick and the rest of the shift leads can’t work today.

Although you and Harry were both looking forward to having a Saturday off, you knew the bar was a little short-staffed this weekend, so you both kind of saw this coming.

“Is that who I think it is?” Harry asks.

“Yeah, Adam’s asking one of us to work the closing shift tonight. Sarah called in sick and I guess Charlotte can’t work today.”

Harry groans as he makes his way back to his previous spot on the couch and plops down with a screwdriver and a plastic bag containing what looks to be a new set of tuning keys in hand.

Harry takes a moment to look around his living room, taking in all of the instrument cases stacked around the small apartment, scratching his jaw in thought. “I mean, I would take it, but I’ve got a lot of projects that have to get done this weekend.”

“I guess that just leaves me then,” you say flatly, sinking further into the couch and staring straight ahead out of the window across the room.

“‘M’ sorry,” Harry says with a light chuckle at your dramatics, “I’ll owe you one.” His offer comes out more like a question.

You look back in his direction to see him with a wide, dimpled grin staring back at you. You know he’s just trying to make you feel better, and it works.

After sending a quick text to your boss letting him know you would be there tonight, you sit up straight and grab the remote from the coffee table. “That’s a really tempting offer. I’ve got a lot of sick days saved up, you know?”

“Heyyyy,” Harry draws out in a playfully offended tone.

You chuckle before asking, “Can we just finish this episode so I can go home and get some rest before work?”

“Yeah I think we can do that.” He sets the screwdriver and plastic bag on the coffee table and leans back on the couch, folding his hands together to rest on his stomach.

You press play on the remote and settle into another day with your best friend.

**April 26, 2020. 1:47am**

About ten minutes until the bar closes, and there are still three large, lively groups hanging around. You and your coworkers have done as many pre-closing tasks as you possibly could, aside from taking the drink glasses straight out of the customers’ hands. Now it just seems to be the longest waiting game ever until you’re officially allowed to kick everyone out.

While you’re all busying yourselves with wiping down counters and straightening chairs, the front door swings open.

Just as you’re about to put on your best customer service face that you can muster, you see a familiar blue and white plaid jacket and fluffy brown curls. Harry is strolling in, surveying the crowd of customers as he’s making his way to where you’re standing at the bar. You see that he is donning a form-fitting grey t-shirt with a bright yellow smiley face on it, light brown high-waisted pants, and a delicate looking pearl necklace. He always seems to be able to effortlessly look put together, even when he is making bold choices.

You look at him with raised eyebrows and ask with exaggerated charm, “Come here often?”

“Oh god.” He laughs at your ill attempt at comedy through a pained expression.

“What are you doing here?”

He shrugs, “Same as always.”

Harry has made it a routine to walk home with you when you’re working the closing shift. Even when you insist that there’s no need for him to stay up so late when he’s not working.

He glances around before looking back at you, “Is there anything I can help with right now?”

You shake your head. “Just waiting for them to leave so we can clean everything.”

“Bollocks,” he mutters before puckering his lips.

You decide to go around the corner of the bar to the prep area where the music controls are. Hopefully the customers will take the hint that it’s time to leave once you lower the volume.

After a few minutes, all of the staff are breathing a collective sigh of relief when one group makes their way to the door and the other two groups shortly follow suit.

By the time you follow the crowd out and you lock the door, it’s 2:05 a.m. Considering how busy it was tonight, you’re counting this as a small victory.

Harry and your other coworkers are going around cleaning up glasses and bottles and taking them back to the sink while you make your way to the register to start your shift lead duties.

Once the tips are divided, you take a look around and see that your coworkers are steadily making their way through the cleaning checklist. With Harry’s help, things are moving along pretty quickly. You pull the first bundle of cash out of the drawer and start counting.

After getting the cash drawer sorted out, and counting out a new one for Monday, you hear your coworker saying your name. “I think we’ve done everything on the cleaning checklist. Is there anything else you need help with?”

“Actually, all I have left to do is inventory. I’m not gonna hold you hostage for that, so you guys are free to head out if you want to.”

Your coworkers are saying goodnight and clocking out shortly after. Once they're gone, you’re left with the faint buzzing of the refrigerators and the light music over the speakers. You turn around to face the shelves of bottles and notice a few that are running low and need replacing. You go down the ‘employees only’ hallway to the back stockroom and grab all the bottles you need. Hugging them to your chest, you make your way back down the hallway. You walk about halfway when a figure jumps out of the supply closet to your right, causing you to jump backwards and let out a scream.

Harry’s howling laughter echoes through the hallway as you try to catch your breath and will your heart to stop racing.

You finally regain some composure and turn to fully face Harry. His laughter has reduced to occasional soft chuckles falling past his pursed lips. If your arms weren’t full, you would most likely be smacking him for scaring the shit out of you.

“What the hell were you thinking?” You do your best to give him death glare, but your voice is now shaking with laughter as well. “You’re lucky I didn’t drop any of this stuff, you idiot.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry but you should have seen your face. Holy shit.” He opens his arms and slowly steps toward you to bring you in for a hug.

“Well if you’re so sorry, put these on the shelf for me.” You say as you thrust the bottles into his chest, making him grunt out a laugh.

You walk to the front with Harry trailing behind you. All you have left to do is make a few notes for Adam before finally clocking out. You’ve never been more excited for your head to hit the pillow when you get home.

As you’re making your notes, Harry is pacing about behind you, straightening out all of the bottles on the shelves. He lets out a long observant hum.

“What?”

“Just noticed this guy’s almost empty,” he holds up a bottle of tequila and swirls around what little liquor is left in it. One corner of his mouth turns up before he looks at you, “Enough left for two more shots, probably.”

“Is that so?”

“Y’ wanna find out?”

“I don’t know,” you say as you tilt your head up and tap your chin in thought “I don’t know how I feel about taking shots with people who jump out of supply closets to scare me.”

“Oh c’mon, don’t be like that.” He’s exaggerating and drawing all of his words out as he walks over to you. He wraps his arms around you so that his hands are resting on your left shoulder and he rests the side of his head on the back of yours. “I’m sorry. Please take a shot with me.”

Although it's pointless since he can’t see your face, you roll your eyes in response, “Fine. Pour me one.”

His hand gives your shoulder a light squeeze before he moves away and reaches under the counter then puts two shot glasses onto the bar. He reaches behind him for the nearly empty bottle and pours the perfect amount into each glass. Taking them both in his hands, he extends one to you.

You don’t miss the chuckle that he lets out as you take the glass from him. After giving him a questioning look, you notice a slight blush on his face.

“What’s so funny?”

“Was just thinking. This,” he gestures to the two of you and the glasses you’re both holding “reminds me of the day you got into the art institute.”

Around this time a year ago, you had spent weeks pouring over your application for the San Francisco Art Institute and months after that waiting to hear anything back. When you got the acceptance email toward the end of your shift at work, Harry was the first person that you told. Just over a year ago, you were standing with Harry behind this same bar when you told him the good news. Your chest filled with warmth at his reaction. He wrapped you in a nearly suffocating hug as he loudly declared, “I told you you had a kick ass portfolio! So fuckin proud of you.”

Right after he released you from the hug, he poured each of you a shot. Harry then made the impromptu decision of doing a bar crawl after you both got off, deeming the two shots “not enough celebration”.

After a night full of slightly over the top celebrating, you were practically dragging Harry home. It wasn’t until you got to his apartment building that he realized he had left his keys and wallet at one of the bars. Not wanting to drag him back across town, you ended up bringing him back to your apartment just around the corner.

It took a lot of coaxing, but you were able to get him to drink a big glass of water before helping him brush his teeth with your spare toothbrush.

You have a lot of vague and fuzzy memories from that night, but there are two that remain crystal clear. One is the moment when you were clumsily leading him to your couch and he leaned in to whisper in your ear, “Wish I could kiss you.” And the other is the way your stomach dropped and your heart nearly fluttered out of control at his drunken confession.

The conversations about that night always turned into jokes about you being able to handle your liquor better than he could. His comment was never brought up by either of you. You weren’t sure if he would even remember it, or if either of you really wanted to.

“Yeah,” you chuckled, “we should never be allowed to celebrate anything after that. We were miserable the next day.”

You lock eyes with him and for a split second there’s something in his eyes that you don’t quite recognize. Like a different kind of softness that you hadn’t seen before this moment.

It’s fleeting, however, because he glances down at your hands and clinks your glasses together. You tilt your heads back at the same time, feeling the burn in your throats and letting out sharp exhales once it’s passed.

Harry takes your glass from your hand and silently goes to the prep area. You hear the sink running as you finish up your notes to your boss and you clock out.

“You ready to go?”

“Yeah I just need to get my-” you stop mid-sentence when you turn around to see Harry already holding out your bag that had been hanging up in the prep area. You mutter a ‘never mind’ as you take it from him.

Harry grabs his jacket from the pool table and you stroll to the front door together, turning off lights as you go.

You finally step out into the chilly nighttime air. The only noises are coming from the small scattered groups of people gathering in front of the bars on the block that are just closing.

After locking the doors, you and Harry start trudging along the sidewalk up the steep hill. If you had known that it was going to get so much colder and windier during the night, you would have brought a jacket with you. You fold your arms and grit your teeth as another cold breeze hits you from the front.

You don’t even notice Harry taking off his jacket until he’s holding it in front of your face. You pause your walking for a moment to gently take it from his hand.

“Aren’t you gonna be cold?”

“Well I’m not gonna watch you shiver all the way home.”

You frown a bit as you look at the jacket in your hands. You can still feel the warmth from Harry’s body heat on the hand that’s grasping the inside of it. Having that little bit of warmth already makes you feel better, but you hate to think that he’s going to be the one gritting his teeth against the cold.

He says your name through a chuckle and you look up to meet his eyes. “I’ll be fine. Just put the jacket on and let’s get you home, yeah?”

**April 26th, 2020. 5:30am**

It should be considered a crime to be wide awake at this hour, considering the small amount of sleep you’ve gotten. The only thing you had the energy to do when you got home last night was change out of your work clothes and fall into bed. You remember glancing at your clock and reading 3:15 a.m. before your eyelids grew heavy and closed.

The reminder of Harry’s drunk confession that you thought was water under the bridge is now flooding your mind as you desperately try to fall back to sleep. You try to push down the memory of his giggles as you made the strenuous effort of finding the switch on your living room lamp while having nearly all of his body weight leaned against you for support. You try to push down the memory of his flushed cheeks in the glowing yellow light when you finally got him settled on your couch. You try to push down the memory of running your fingers through his soft curls and giving his hairline a soft kiss before going to bed. You try to think of literally anything else.

It isn’t until the very first hints of daylight enter your room that you decide to give up.

The floor is cold on your feet as you walk to your bathroom, rubbing your tired eyes.

After a quick shower and putting on your favorite t-shirt and jeans, you feel less sluggish. You focus on going through your kitchen pantry to find something for your growling stomach.

Although you wish that you were still sleeping soundly in your bed, you think of how rare it is to get to see this city both at the dead of night and when it’s slowly starting to wake up. To be able to greet the light in your living room as it dances across the pictures on your walls and you mill about with your bowl of cereal.

The pictures lined up on your walls remind you of the project that you started last week that you need new photos for. You go to your closet and get the bag that holds your digital camera. Your mind is buzzing at the thought of taking it to the park before it gets too crowded.

You put on a jacket and shoes, pull your camera bag over your shoulder, and head out into the chilly Sunday morning.

********************

You round the corner of your block and start making your way down the steep hill, admiring the multicolored houses across the street that are glowing softly in the morning light. A smile spreads across your face as you reach into your bag for your camera and your fisheye lens. Once you’ve captured a few shots that you’re happy with, you move on toward the park.

You’re coming up on Harry’s building, and you instinctively glance up at the second story bay window that you know belongs to his apartment. Because this side of his building is still in the shade at this point in the day, you can see that his light is on.

“What’s he doing up?” you think to yourself. He’s always been an early riser, but considering how late you both stayed up, you would hope that he had been able to get some extra sleep.

As soon as the thought crosses your mind, Harry appears in the window. His blinds are wide open, so you can clearly see him stepping up to his record player and delicately placing the needle on the vinyl. A toothbrush hangs out of his mouth.

What your eyes are more drawn to, however, is his choice of clothing, or lack thereof. He’s standing in front of his window in nothing but a black t-shirt and a pair of underwear. You knew the t-shirt too well as the one he found at a thrift store years ago and became obsessed with after reading the ‘Treat People With Kindness’ logo on the front. He steps back from the record player and tilts his head back to brush his teeth. You watch as his jaw flexes and is accentuated by the light scruff of facial hair along it.

It’s becoming alarmingly clear to you that you are alone in the middle of the sidewalk, about thirty feet away from your best friend’s window, ogling him as he’s minding his own business. As much as your palms are sweating and your stomach is doing somersaults at the prospect of being spotted, you cannot bring yourself to continue walking. You wouldn’t mind becoming a permanent part of the sidewalk if it meant having this kind of view.

Harry turns and walks away from the window. You finally snap out of your daze and hurry past his window, thankful for the help of the downhill slope to move you along. Once you get to the corner of the block, you stop and lean your back against the building. Lightly smacking your forehead, you mutter out loud to yourself, “What the hell was that?”

********************

The trip to the park turned out to be a perfect way to spend the morning. You ended up taking a lot of pictures of murals and flowers before the park started to get too busy.

With your favorite album playing through your headphones, your mind is now buzzing with the excitement of having new photos to edit.

Once you cross the street, you’re now standing on the corner of your block. One way would lead you once again past the window to Harry’s apartment. The other way would help you avoid another potentially awkward sighting, but was much longer and usually includes lines for overcrowded restaurants.

Keeping your head down, you continue walking straight ahead in the same direction that you came from.

As you’re hiking up the hill, you suddenly hear a voice that you know is not coming through your headphones. You turn your volume down and listen to your surroundings. Plain as day, someone behind you shouts your name. You rip your headphones out and whip around to see Harry waving at you from his window.

“Hey! You wanna come up for breakfast?”

Your feet are firmly planted to the sidewalk, much like they were about an hour ago when you stood in the same spot and ogled this man.

You opened your mouth, not knowing what to say, and pathetically jabbed your thumb in the general direction of your apartment. “Actually I… I-I was gonna-”

“I’ve got coffee from Trieste,” he says in a sing-song tone.

You internally roll your eyes and curse him for knowing that you can never deny coffee from your favorite place in town. Plus, wracking your brain for a good excuse to be on your way is becoming difficult due to the hunger pains starting up in your stomach. That bowl of cereal is only holding you over for so long.

You look up at his dimpled face and relax your shoulders, “Okay, yeah. Yeah I’ll come up.”

“I’ll unlock the door for you!” is the last thing you hear before he shuts his window and you make your way to the stairs.

You climb up to the second story and turn down his hallway. When you’re standing in front of his door, you can hear music playing.

You open the door and you’re met with the sounds of trumpets. Harry has Peter Gabriel’s “Sledgehammer” playing on his record player. He has it just loud enough to where it won’t annoy any of his neighbors, but it still fills every corner of the living room. It’s not the first time you’ve walked into a similar scene here. You know this to be one of his favorite songs to play in the morning.

You close the door behind you and take in the state of the room as you walk through. The instrument cases are a little more organized than they had been yesterday. Smaller ones are stacked up next to his workstation and the larger ones are stacked up in the corner next to his couch. His laptop sits open on the coffee table and a haphazard stack of blank paper repair tags sat next to it.

The camera bag on your shoulder is now starting to feel heavy, so you plop down on the couch. Your ears perk up at the sound of Harry singing along with the record from the kitchen.

“You can have an aeroplane flyin’. If you bring your blue sky back.”

Following the smell of coffee, you walk over to the doorway of the small kitchen. Harry is standing at the counter. Thankfully he is not wearing the outfit that you saw him in earlier. He’s wearing brown trousers and a cream colored flannel with black and green stripes. He also has on his signature pair of scuffed up black vans.

There is a small table and two chairs in the corner of the kitchen next to the window with a vase of sunflowers and a couple of books sitting on it. You walk over to the table to inspect the books more closely. Art as Therapy by Alain de Botton & John Armstrong and The Course of Love, also by Alain de Botton. Before you get the chance to flip them over and read the descriptions, Harry clears his throat.

“Coffee’s ready.” He sets the kettle down on the counter and dances his way over to the cupboard where he keeps his mugs.

You can’t stop the smile that spreads across your face, admiring his ability to always be so energetic in the mornings.

He takes the filter out of the chemex and chunks it in the trash before pouring the coffee into two mugs. The way he turns with a mug in each hand, extending one to you, is extremely reminiscent of last night. After you take the mug from his hands, he scoots past you into the living room. The volume of the music lowers to a faint background noise before he appears again in the kitchen.

“So,” he pauses to reach into the fridge, pulling out a carton of eggs and setting it on the counter, “what are you doing up so early? Figured you’d be in bed till noon. Seemed pretty exhausted last night.” He takes a long sip of coffee, waiting for your response.

Suddenly you’re doing everything to not look in his direction. Your eyes are shifting from the table to the flowers to the mug in your hands.

“Um… yeah I woke up at like 5:30 for some reason and couldn’t go back to sleep. So I just decided to take a walk with my camera.” Your last few words echo from your mug before you take a big sip.

Harry clicks his tongue. “M’ sorry, that sucks. Did you at least see anything interesting?”

You involuntarily gasp at his question, causing the coffee to go directly down the wrong pipe. Several harsh coughs erupt from your chest.

Harry acts quickly, muttering a quick “shit” before taking the cup from your hand and setting it on the table along with his. He steps behind you and you hear a chair scoot out from the table. His hands gently wrap around your upper arms, prompting you to have a seat. You fold over in the chair, gripping the edge of the table for stability. After a few more strong coughs, you’re finally able to catch your breath.

Harry’s fingertips rubbing soothing circles on your back sends electricity up and down your spine.

His hand slides off of your back as he steps away from you, “Alright? Want some water?” He’s already walking over to his cabinet and pulling out a glass before you respond.

Once you clear your throat, you croak out, “Yeah I’m fine, that’s fine.”

He sets the glass on the table in front of you, turns back to the carton of eggs on the counter and starts cracking some into a pan.

After taking some sips of your water, you say, “So I was going to ask you the same question. What are you doing up so early?”

“Well, funny enough, I also had to wake up around 5:30. I’ve got a client coming to pick up her trumpet this morning and I had to get everything sorted and clean up a bit before she got here.”

Nodding your head, you tease, “Oh yeah, it looks really good in there. Was starting to forget what your floor looked like.”

Your heart leaps at the sound of Harry’s belly laugh. “Wow. Wowwwwww. Already giving me a hard time. At this hour. Jesus.”

You laugh at his exaggerated reaction while he simply shakes his head.

There’s a knock at the front door. Harry reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone. “Must be her, actually. I’ll be right back.”

“Do you want me to do those?” You stand up from your spot at the table and gesture to the pan.

“Sure, that’d be great, thanks,” he says over his shoulder when he exits the kitchen.

A moment later, you hear the sound of a woman’s voice greeting Harry. It sounds like they’re just standing in his entryway because you can’t really make out what either of them are saying.

Meanwhile, you go about scrambling eggs, making toast, and getting out plates and silverware. By the time Harry is back in the kitchen, you’re already starting to put everything on the table.

You pick up the books from the table and hold them up to Harry, “Where do you want these?”

“Oh uh, I’ll just put those on the coffee table.” When you hand them off to him, he holds up the copy of Art as Therapy. “This one’s for you though, make sure you take it with you today.”

You tilt your head in question.

“Just thought it looked like something you would enjoy. Saw it when I was looking for this other one.” He holds up The Course of Love.

Before you could say anything, he’s disappeared again into the living room.

Once you’re both sitting at the table and digging into your breakfast, Harry asks, “What are you doing tonight?”

You squint your eyes at him. “I mean, I don’t really have anything planned. Why do you ask?”

“Well that client that was just here offered me two free tickets to her jazz band’s show tonight as, like, an extra ‘thank you’.” He shrugs, “Might be fun to go to.”

With a straight face, you reply, “I can’t, I’m booked tonight.”

You stare at each other for a minute in silence trying not to crack a smile, until you both start snorting.

“I know you’re free because the bar is closed and Sarah is still sick.” Harry tosses his fork on his plate and leans back in his chair like he’s just won an argument.

You mirror him by crossing your arms and leaning back in your chair. “What if I have plans with Mitch? Sarah’s boyfriend?”

Harry furrows his brows and looks at you, baffled, “I know who Mitch is, why’d you have to say it like that?”

“Because I knew it would throw you off.”

“Alright, I’ll just take Mitch to the concert then.”

You drop your jaw and lightly kick his leg under the table. “What time is this concert?” You ask, slipping out of your teasing tone.

“It’s at seven.” Harry leans forward and lifts his coffee from the table, holding it up to you.

You grab yours from the table and clink it with his before finishing off the remainder of your coffee.

***********************

Back at your apartment, you’re leaning back in your chair at the desk in your living room, waiting for your pictures from today to upload on your computer. Your hands run over the smooth blue and green cover of Art as Therapy. In the few years that you have known Harry, you’ve swapped countless book recommendations back and forth, and the bookshelves in your apartments are constantly changing due to all of the borrowing you both do. You’ve even gotten each other books for birthdays and other holidays. This is the first book that he has bought for you completely unprompted. You hadn’t even heard of the author until today, so it’s not like he heard you mention in passing wanting to read his books.

You flip the book over and read the description, then flip to the first few pages to see a statement about the authors. “Their proposal is that certain great works of art offer clues on managing the tensions and confusions of everyday life and that, approached in the right way, art can help us answer both the intimate and the everyday questions we all ask ourselves.”

Quickly shaking yourself out of your own thoughts, you check the progress on your photos. Approximately 20 minutes remaining.

You huff, slap the book closed, and toss it on the desk before getting up and walking to your room. There’s an old shoe box on one of your shelves that you like to go through when you’re feeling sad or having a weird day, which feels about right at this moment.

You plop down on your bed and set the box in front of you, opening up the lid. The rush of nostalgia and warmth that comes over you when going through this box is overwhelming sometimes. It’s filled with miscellaneous photos that you’ve taken on your film camera over the past few years. There are some that capture your favorite buildings and murals throughout the city. There are a lot from when you went to the pride celebrations last year. The majority of the pictures in the box capture candid moments of your friends and family. These kinds of pictures are the ones that remind you of why you love photography so much and even after getting high marks on your work for the institute, these are the ones that you end up feeling the most proud of.

You see your friends from out of state standing in front of the Golden Gate Bridge from the time they paid you a surprise visit. Another one shows your cousin at his college graduation. There’s one of your friend and coworker, Sarah, and her boyfriend Mitch from the day you and Harry helped them move into their new apartment, proudly holding up the keys, smiling from ear to ear.

And then there’s quite a lot of Harry. Harry playing pool at a bar across town, Harry at the beach tossing a football with Mitch, a kind of blurry one of him going crazy at an Ariana Grande concert. You laugh out loud when you find the one of him proudly wearing your dress during a drunken game of truth or dare, and the one of him making a ‘kissy’ face at you in those obnoxious Gucci sunglasses that he wore for pretty much an entire summer. Sometimes you don’t realize how much you’ve experienced together until you go back and look at these pictures.

You’ve been flipping through them pretty quickly, but you come across one that makes you freeze. It’s from your friend’s birthday party a few months ago. You got someone to take a picture of yourself with Sarah and Mitch, but Harry decided to jump in. In the picture, Mitch is in the middle of you and Sarah, arms slung around each other’s shoulders, and Harry has his arms hugged tight around your middle and his cheek is pressed to yours. It could be seen as a form of affection, if his face wasn’t covered in icing from your friend’s birthday cake. The photo is perfectly timed to capture everyone’s shocked laughter.

Just by looking at this photo again, you can feel his smile against your cheek and his arms holding you close. It’s a feeling you’ve been wanting more of ever since that night. Maybe that’s the ‘intimate question’ you’ve been asking yourself- Do you really want more with Harry?

**April 26th, 2020. 6:58pm**

You’re sure nobody on the street could miss you and Harry. After saying quick ‘thank you’s to the uber driver, you grab hands and start jogging toward the entrance of the SFJAZZ Center- a three story building with windows wrapping all the way around. The show is supposed to start in two minutes. You would have arrived much earlier if Harry hadn’t left the tickets on his kitchen table. You’re both dodging and weaving through people on the sidewalk, you in your favorite floral dress and Harry in a bold green suit jacket.

Once in the lobby, you both reduce your pace to a brisk walk and you readjust the bag on your shoulder. Harry’s hand is still holding yours as you’re both scanning the lobby for the right place to go. You spot a couple of employees closing doors labeled ‘main hall seating’.

“Over here,” you say, pulling Harry along with you.

Luckily, you’re able to catch the ushers in time to show them your tickets and be let in. The expansive auditorium is filled with the sound of chattering people and musicians warming up their instruments.

Thankfully, your seats are in a row toward the back and to the left of the stage, so you don’t have to make too big of a scene when scooting past people. Right when you settle in, the house lights dim, the chatter rapidly dies down, and the band on the stage goes silent.

The lull is soon replaced with applause when a woman walks out and stands center stage. She introduces herself as the director of programming and welcomes the audience. “Thank you all for being here tonight. Your support means so much to this center as we continue to make music and art and do what we love to do.” She pauses to hold up a booklet in her hands. “As you may have seen in your program, tonight’s performance is a special one.”

For the first time, you glance around the room and notice almost everyone but you and Harry has a program in their lap or held in their hands.

The woman on stage continues. “Some of you may know this, and some of you may not, but April is the birth month of American jazz singer, Billie Holiday. So, to honor her legacy, this lovely band sitting behind me has put together arrangements of some of her greatest hits.” Applause fills the room once again.

“Some of the performances tonight will feature vocalists and some will be done with the band only, so I hope everyone will find something they enjoy. Now, without further ado, I present to you A Little Love, with Billie Holiday.”

There is applause for a third time, but your hands are suddenly too heavy in your lap to join in. As the director exits the stage and another woman, presumably the vocalist, takes her place, your mind is reeling at the situation you’re currently in. How have you wound up at a jazz concert dedicated to love, that you decided to attend on a whim, with your best friend that you suddenly have overwhelming feelings for?

All of the subtle signs and notions of feelings you have had over the years have turned into blaring alarms, and they’re all pointing to one person. The man sitting right next to you, who is also sitting stock still in his seat.

There’s a drumroll from the stage followed by a light and smooth saxophone solo that brings you back into the moment. The vocalist begins the captivating first verse of Billie Holiday’s You Go to My Head.

You go to my head

And you linger like a haunting refrain

And I find you spinning round in my brain

Like the bubbles in a glass of champagne

You slowly sink about three inches down into your seat. You wish you had a program now so that you could at least use it to fan your face. You reach your hand up to dab at your forehead.

At the same time Harry takes a deep breath and lightly trills his lips while itching the bridge of his nose.

The vocalist continues to sing the lyrics that are hitting you directly in the gut.

The thrill of the thought

That you might give a thought to my plea

Casts a spell over me

Still I say to myself “Get a hold of yourself”

Can’t you see that it never can be

You glance around the auditorium as much as you can without turning your head in Harry’s direction, wondering if anyone else is feeling the temperature rise or the tension that seems to be wrapped around the both of you.

You go to my head

With a smile that makes my temperature rise

Like a summer with a thousand Julys

You intoxicate my soul with your eyes

Though I’m certain that this heart of mine

Hasn’t the ghost of a chance in this crazy romance

You go to my head

Your mind is reeling yet again at the situation you’re in. This must be some kind of elaborate prank that the universe is pulling on you. You’re half expecting a spotlight to fall on you and Harry that nobody in the room would even question.

The feeling doesn’t lift as the concert goes on. Soulful songs about a lover’s eyes, falling in love, how easy it is to live when you’re in love. Even where there is not a vocalist, you seem to know what the songs are implying.

Something that comes up in your rapid stream of thoughts is the author’s note you read earlier, “approached in the right way, art can help us answer both the intimate and the everyday questions we all ask ourselves.” You ask yourself the question again: Do you want more with Harry?

You think about the pictures of the times you’ve spent together. Crazy shifts at the bar, days in the park, breakfasts, dinners, late nights staying up talking about god knows what. You know the answer. You’ve always known the answer.

It seems like your heart has caught up with your thoughts, because it’s pounding in your chest.

Halfway through the final song of the night, you decide to steal a glance at Harry. Slowly turning your head, you peek through the corner of your eye.

A quick jolt of electricity runs through your entire body when you see that Harry already has his eyes on you. You turn your head back to the stage, but you can still feel his gaze burning a hole in the side of your head.

When thunderous applause breaks out after the final song, Harry turns his head back to the stage as you both limply clap along with the audience.

******************

This is the most quiet car ride of your life. There isn’t even any music being played in the background. The only words that have been exchanged between you and Harry since the concert ended were when he asked you if it was okay for the uber to just drop you both at your building and you answered with a simple ‘sure’.

There are so many feelings swirling around in you that you don’t know what to do with, and you definitely don’t want all of them to spill out in this stranger’s car, so you keep your jaw clenched as you look out of the window.

The car comes to a stop outside of your building and you both mutter ‘thank you’s as you climb out. You both silently make your way through the lobby, up the stairs, and down the hallway to your door.

Just last night you were making the same trip. You were making light jokes about wanting to steal Harry’s jacket and he was joking back, accusing you of wanting him to freeze to death. You had to remind each other not to laugh so loud so you wouldn’t disturb anyone. Now the only sound in the hallway is your shoes on the floor.

Once you reach your door, you open your bag and start digging for your keys. “Thanks, um, thanks for inviting me. It was a really good show.” You find your keys and push them into the lock before turning your eyes to Harry.

He has one hand in his pocket and the other rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah… Yeah it was... it was fun. Glad you could come with me.” He moves his hands from their places and awkwardly moves his arms out for a hug.

You smile and let out a sharp exhale through your nose at the awkwardness of this whole situation, but you gladly reciprocate the hug. Your arms completely wrap around each other, your hands tightly gripping his jacket. You can smell his cologne, like ginger and honey and cedar, and it’s making your head spin. You embrace for a few seconds and then release each other.

Harry sighs, “Alright, I’ll see you later then.”

“Okay, see you later.”

Harry shoves his hands in his pockets and slowly takes a few steps to turn away.

You turn the key in the lock, then turn your head to watch Harry take his first few steps away from you. You don’t want him to get any further.

“Harry?”

He stops and turns around to face you. “Yeah?”

You cannot believe the question that’s coming to your mind, but it’s the only thing that’s been coherent enough to put into words. You gulp and take a deep breath before asking, “Do you… do you still wish you could kiss me?”

You watch about three different emotions pass across Harry’s face. His mouth opens, his head tilts to the side, then his mouth closes and his eyes shift to the floor.

You feel a flood of regret. He doesn’t remember. He doesn’t remember. That was stupid. He doesn’t remember. Just play it off.

You know your face is flushed with embarrassment as you speak softly, “I’m sorry. I just. That night that you were really drunk and I brought you back here, you said that you wish- that you wished y-”

Hearing Harry say your name stops your rambling. “Don’t be sorry. I know what I said.” He’s eyeing you cautiously and taking a couple of steps toward you again. “And… yeah. I still wish I could kiss you. Felt that way for… a while now.”

Tears are brimming your eyes as you look into his, trying to absorb what he’s just said. Then it’s almost like the floor beneath you tilts in his direction, nudging you to move forward until you’re standing directly in front of him. You can smell his cologne again.

With your eyes still locked into his, you slowly raise your hands to place them on the back of his neck, thumbs stroking the corners of his jaw.

After taking a shaky breath, you whisper, “I wish I could kiss you, too.”

Harry gulps and shifts his eyes down to your lips. He takes a deep breath through his nose before you feel his hand lightly grip your waist and his other hand takes a similar position on your neck.

You both stand there for a few breaths, eyes roaming over each other’s faces.

You start to lean in and then stop about half way and close your eyes. You’re both just waiting to see who will close the gap.

After a moment, you feel Harry’s grip on your neck and waist tighten and you feel him leaning in. Then his lips are on yours. They’re on yours again and again. You tilt your heads to deepen the kisses and he takes a step toward you. You follow his lead until your back is pressed against your door.

As much as it pains you to do so, you have to stop so you can catch your breath. You reach one of your hands into his hair and lightly pull him away. Both of you are breathing in sync.

Once your breathing is evened out, you lock eyes with Harry. Your heart flutters when you exchange shy but knowing smiles and his thumb gently strokes your cheek.

After clearing your throat, you move your hand to your door knob. “Do you want to come in?”

Harry glances at your hand then returns his eyes to yours. He purses his lips and takes a sharp breath in. “I just want to know what you want.”

What just happened a few seconds ago already seems monumental to you. After the emotional roller coaster of this day, you’re not sure whether or not you’re ready for more tonight.

You take your hand from the doorknob and run it along his shoulder to return it to its previous position on his neck. “Honestly, I’m so fucking exhausted from today.” You watch as Harry nods his head in understanding. “I think all I want tonight is to hold you,” you notice the softness in his eyes, the same softness that you noticed for a fleeting second in the bar last night. “And keep kissing you.” This makes a lopsided smirk pop onto his face. “And I want to talk in the morning. About us.”

Harry leans in and presses a sweet peck to your lips. “I think we can do that.”

*******************

If anyone would have told you that your day was going to end with you and Harry in your bed, your head on his chest, and him running his fingers soothingly over your back, you wouldn’t have believed them.

“Harry?” you say softly, just as your eyelids are starting to get heavy.

His fingers stop for a moment, “Yeah?”

Thinking over the sequence of events that led you to where you are now, you start to erupt into sleepy giggles. “Did you know that the performance was gonna be,” you pause, trying to find the right word, “that?”

Harry lets out a deep belly laugh and when you glance up at him, he’s pinching the bridge of his nose. “I couldn’t have planned that if I tried.”

Before you know it, you’re both laughing uncontrollably, recounting the insane timing of the whole situation.

Harry rolls to his side so that he’s facing you and places a lingering kiss on your lips. “I’ll have to tell that client that any repairs she wants are on the house now.”

You throw your head back laughing and he pulls you into his chest, smothering your neck with kisses before resting his chin on top of your head.

If this is all you could have for the rest of your life, just a little love from each other, you would never want anything more.

************************************************************

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aquietwritingcorner · 3 years

Text

Writers Month Day 11: Glass/Royalty AU Word Count: 2013 Author: aquietwritingcorner/realitybreakgirl Rating: G/K Characters: Olivier Mira Armstrong, Captain Buccaneer, Major Miles, Philip Gargantos Armstrong, Mama Armstrong Warning: NA Summary: Princess Olivier Mira Armstrong is not interested in finding a husband. Her parents throw a ball for all the eligible men anyway. Buccaneer just wanted a night out and was given the chance for one by a strange man in a brightly colored shirt who can apparently make limbs out of glass. Somehow, this all works out. Reverse Cinderella Crack AU Notes: ngl, this was hilarious to write. AO3 || ff.net

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Glass/Royalty AU

Once upon a time, there was a Princess. If there was one thing Princess Olivier Mira Armstrong hated, it was pointless balls. She sighed as she sat on her throne and looked out over the gathered crowd standing around in all their finery. Some were dancing, others eating, and just about all of them were looking for ways to improve their standing both with the court and with each other. And every available young man was looking for a way to get her attention.

She snorted derisively. If her father thought that throwing a ball and inviting every eligible young man in the kingdom was going to get her married off, then he was sorely mistaken. This was nothing more than a waste of everyone’s time. She didn’t even know why he was so hung up on her getting married. She had four other siblings to provide heirs for the throne. She’d just pick one of them when the time came.

“Olivier, dear, why don’t you go down and dance with some of your guests.”

Her father’s voice came from beside her, and she glanced over at him. He was sitting majestically on his throne and eyeing a particular group of men. Olivier followed his gaze and blanched. None of those spinless weaklings were her idea of a good man.

“They aren’t my guests at all, Father,” she replied. “You invited them here.”

“Hm, so I did,” he said, stroking his beard.

“But they all came for you,” her mother put in from the other side of her father. “You should at least have the grace to go walk among them and dance with a few of them. There are some smart matches down there.”

Olivier followed her mother’s gaze to a different group of men. They were worse than the other group.

“…you aren’t going to leave me alone until I do, are you?” Olivier asked bluntly.

Her mother looked over at her, a bit of twinkle in her eye. “Not in the least.”

Olivier sighed once again. “Fine. Miles!”

Miles appeared next to her, and Olivier heard her mother sigh. Olivier paid it no mind. They had told her she could pick her own attendant, and so pick him she had. Miles was a married man with two daughters, and loyal to a fault. Olivier knew he was trustworthy, even if her parents had been a bit skeptical.

“Olivier, how are you supposed to catch the eye of a man if you’ve always got your attendant with you?” her mother asked.

Olivier was already standing and attaching her sword to her side. “Mother, if they’re not paying attention to me by now, considering you two set this up specifically so I’d be the center of attention, then they’re obviously not interested.”

Her mother sighed, but Olivier paid it no mind. Instead, she left the dais and headed down the stairs to the floor, Miles right beside her.

“Miles, pick me the least obnoxious ones, please.”

“I’ll do my best, Princess.”

The next hour was spent dancing with man after man. Miles did a good job picking them out. They weren’t bad men—or they wouldn’t be with a few more years on them—but they definitely didn’t catch her interest. They were either, too conniving, too awestruck, or too spinless. Finally, she signaled to Miles that she needed a break, and he nodded. She walked away to the gardens, ignoring the guards that were there, and took a breath of fresh air.

And that was when she realized that she wasn’t alone.

Her head whipped quickly towards the intruder, and her hand rested on the pommel of her sword. But the other person didn’t advance on her, just held up his hands, showing he wasn’t armed.

“Hey, woah, it’s okay, I’m sorry!” the man said. “I didn’t mean to startle you.” He stepped out of the shadows. “I’m just a regular guy, see? Not a bear.”

Olivier looked him over. He was quite large, with a black mohawk and a thin mustache. What really caught her eye, though, was his hand. It appeared to be made of… glass?

“Who are you?” she demanded of him, not having drawn her sword, but still prepared to. “And why would you say you’re not a bear?”

“Oh, uh, well, you see, people tend to think I’m a bear a lot,” he said. “I’m not sure why, exactly, but it does come in handy most of the time.” He grinned. “Or at least, I think it does.”

Olivier relaxed a little. It appeared that this man was just a guest. And honestly, an amusing one so far. “I can see where that would be useful. Do you mind if I stay out here?”

“No, Princess,” he said. “Its your palace, your gardens.”

She hummed at that. He was right, of course, but she really had just wanted to make sure he wasn’t going to go running off inside and tell everyone where she was. Miles was only one man, after all. He could only hold back so many people from disturbing her.

She leaned on a railing and eyed the man out of the corner of her eye. He seemed to be content just to be here. “Is your hand made of glass?”

The man looked down at it. “Whole arm, actually. I’m not sure how it works, but that strange man gave it to me, and it’s been functional.”

Olivier raised an eyebrow. “Strange man?”

The man nodded. “Yeah. Wore really tacky and loud shirts. He said my other arm was too greasy and needed too many repairs, so he gave me this one for the night.” The man shrugged. “I don’t think it’d be much good in a fight, but it lets me eat, at least.”

Olivier turned more towards him, looking him up and down and evaluating the man. “…would you like to find out?” she asked, her finger tapping the pommel of her sword.

He apparently didn’t miss that, and his eyes lit up. “I’d love to test it. Are you sure you’re able to, Princess?”

She drew her sword and got into a stance. “The Armstrong royalty has trained in the art of self-defense for generations. If I can’t fight in a ballgown, then I’m no good to anyone.”

The man grinned and dropped into a stance of his own. “I can’t say I’ve done much fighting in clothes like these, but this should be fun.”

“Prepare yourself,” Olivier said, and that was all the warning she gave before she was charging at him.

The man was quicker than he looked, and he dodged to the side, narrowly missing her blade. He reached out to grab at her, and she spun away, hair and skirt flaring out. She wasted no movement, and charged at him again, aiming for that arm of his. This time, he raised it, and caught a glancing blow from her blade, letting it slide off. He pushed her off of him, and she paused for a moment. The man looked at his arm and grinned. Olivier figured that it must still be in good shape, and so she charged again. This time, he used the arm to block a direct blow, and when the glass appendage held up, he grinned more.

They continued this back and forth fighting dance, until the bells rang, and he turned, startled, just as her blade came down on his shoulder. He let out a bit of a pained sound then, and Olivier saw his arm suddenly sinking lower. The man cursed as his glass arm slid out of his sleeve. Olivier darted forward to catch it.

“Sorry,” he said, “Its been fun, but I gotta go.”

“Wait—you what?” Olivier said.

“Gotta run!” he said. “Thanks for the fight, Princess!”

The man was already moving away, heading through the gardens at a breakneck speed.

“Wait—your arm!”

“Keep it!” came the call.

“What was your name!”

There was no answer.

“Stop! What was your name! Come back here!”

But he was either too far away or was ignoring her commands. Either way, Olivier didn’t like it. Miles, who had been watching them, came out at her raised voice.

“Princess?”

“I want the man this arm belongs to, Miles,” she growled out. “I want to find him.”

Miles, for his part, didn’t even blink at the fact she was holding a working glass arm and that there was an armless man running around somewhere. He just responded “Yes, Princess,” and set to work.

It turned out that finding a one-armed man wasn’t that hard to do. However, finding a particular one-armed man was a lot harder. Olivier, Miles, and an unfortunately conspicuous royal entourage had made their way to every province, city, and town in the country with no luck. Olivier found herself getting more and more frustrated with each failure. How hard was it to find a big man with a black mohawk who was missing an arm?

Well, it didn’t help that many men who were missing arms dyed and cut their hair. Or that more than a few people tried faking having a metal arm.

The house they were rolling up on had to be the last house that existed, and as the carriage rolled up, several men stepped out. None of them, she noticed, were missing an arm. Still, they had the general look of the man, so she got out to ask them some questions. They bowed to her, and one made the offer of tea, but Olivier was in no mood.

“Tell me—is this everyone from your household?”

“Yes,” one replied. “This should be all of us.”

“And you’re sure there’s no one more?”

“Not in our house, your majesty.”

Something seemed off, and she narrowed her eyes. “You’re positive?”

There was an exchange of looks between some of the younger ones. Olivier rested her hand on her sword. “Well?” she demanded.

“…What’s going on?”

There was a new voice coming from the forest, and the entire party turned to see who it was. He was carrying a load of firewood, but the man was large, with a black mohawk, and a metal arm. And, Oliver was pretty sure she heard one of the guards that road with them flinch back and say something about a bear.

“You,” Olivier said. “You have a metal arm, correct?”

The man looked at them. “Yeah, up to the shoulder.”

“Your right arm?”

“Yes, Princess.”

“Take it off.”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me. Take it off.” She nodded to Miles, and he gestured for two of the other attendants to pull the glass arm from the carriage. “I want you to try this one on.”

The man blinked at her, and then grinned. “Alright,” he said, dropping his load of firewood. He reached up and took off his shirt, first, revealing all of his arm, and then pressed the releases that would detach his metal arm. Instead of falling to the ground with a clunk, he was fast enough to reach out and grab it before it hit the ground. He sat it on the dropped wood, and allowed the attendants to come closer and put the arm in. It clicked in, fitting perfectly, and he flexed it around. No one had even been able to get it to fit before now.

“Huh. It still works. I had wondered.”

“You’re the one from the ball. The one who fought with me.” Olivier said.

The man grinned. “Yes, Princess. I didn’t think you’d have this much interest in a handy man like me.”

“What’s your name?” she asked him.

“They call me Buccaneer.”

Olivier glanced at the house, the grounds, and the other men standing there. “Then, Buccaneer, how would you like to come back to the palace with me and become my husband?”

Buccaneer grinned again and reached out with his glass arm to take her hand and kiss it. “Princess, it would be my honor.

Olivier smiled back at him. “Good.”

And they lived happily ever after.

#writersmonth2021 #Olivier Mira Armstrong #captain buccaneer #Major Miles #Olivier x Buccaneer #fma #Fullmetal Alchemist #fma fanfic #fullmetal alchemist fan fiction

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rosyfingereddawnn · 3 years

Text

only the black rose (chapter 6)

pairing: jimmy page x layla porter (oc)

warnings: jimmy page’s stubbornness (and his stressy hands), exposing jpj as the mom friend, fluff

words: 3.4k

summary: in the blink of an eye, it’s 1975 and layla’s suddenly joining led zeppelin for their north american tour. throughout the chaos, the band take a liking to her, she builds friendships with the boys, and love blossoms. but all good things must come to an end.

author’s note: so this one was fun, but we’re getting into the nitty-gritty of this fic :)) hope you enjoy, and please if you have any feedback it would be much appreciated!

masterlist

playlist

chapters: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5

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“Mr. Page, you must be extremely careful when taking these,” Dr. Vane lectures, shaking a bottle of pills. “They should help with the pain, but they are very strong.”

Jimmy sits on the side of his hospital bed, hunched over like a young child being lectured for their misbehaviour. His hands are balled into fists, though the injured finger is coiled much looser. In the corner of the small, sterile room, Robert and Bonzo glance at each other, noticing the way Jimmy grits his teeth, curling and uncurling his hands on his lap. He wants out of here, and fast: that’s plain to see.

“Doc, is Jimmy free to go?” Bonzo breaks the fragile silence that had settled over the group, pushing himself off the wall he had been leaning against.

“The anaesthetic has mostly worn off, so he should be good to go when he’s ready,” Dr. Vane turns to Jimmy then, mouth a serious, somber line. “Mr. Page—”

“Please, call me Jimmy.”

“Jimmy, I recommend taking a pill from the bottle we’ve supplied you, very soon. The pain should come back, due to the anaesthetics being out of your system. These are codeine tablets, and like I said before, they are very strong…”

Jimmy tunes out most of the doctor’s words from that point on, too preoccupied with thoughts of the upcoming tour. He knows Jonesy would memorize whatever the good doctor says anyways, the mother hen. Jimmy didn’t realize he had been shaking with anxiety until a cold hand lay across his, pinning it to the bed. He looks beside him, and on the bed sits Layla, brown ringlets a mess from their lie-down in the hospital bed. Jimmy stares back, enchanted by the woman in front of him, as he always is when she’s near. Still holding his gaze, Layla smiles, a question clear in her doe eyes.

“Are you okay, Jim?” she whispers, drawing nonsensical patterns on the back of his hand. He nods, flattened curls bobbing with the movement. Layla isn’t fully convinced, but she lets it go, vowing to keep an eye on the man. Bringing her attention back to Dr. Vane, Layla asks the question on everybody’s lips.

“Dr. Vane, I heard you talking to Peter about this last night… Do we know for sure if he can play or not?”

Silence falls once again like a cloud over the group, as the doctor taps his chin in thought. The mighty Led Zeppelin wait with bated breath to hear the fate of their guitarist.

“I would…” Dr. Vane clears his throat, face apologetic as he glances around the room. “I would advise against it. Ultimately it is not up to me, of course. I can’t make you do anything, but Jimmy, you need to recuperate.”

The room feels as though all the energy had been sucked right out of it, as Jimmy fiddles with a loose thread on the hospital gown he was wearing, disheveled locks obscuring his handsome face as he looks down at his socked feet. Jonesy looks on with pinched features, concerned for the man, while Robert and Bonzo sigh, sharing another wordless glance. Things just got a lot more complicated, it said. Peter sends Jimmy a smile dripping with sympathy, and walks out the door, no doubt to make some important calls.

“Why don’t we all step out of the room, so Jimmy here can get dressed?” Dr. Vane suggests, and the group files out slowly. Layla stands up to follow, stopping in her tracks almost immediately. She turns around then, meeting Jimmy’s sad eyes, gleaming like a diamond in the morning sun, and walks towards him.

“Petal, I don’t…” Jimmy mutters, trailing off, dark curls a veil, hiding him from the world once again. Layla stops in front of him and tips his head up, a familiar hand on his chin. She runs a hand through his hair, pushing it back to see the man’s face. There are stress lines on his forehead, and his eyes are glassy with unshed tears, shining in the artificial hospital light. He looks as beautiful as he always does, to Layla. Jimmy’s lips quirk up subtly in the semblance of a grin, and he presses a kiss to the woman’s wrist.

“You’ll be okay. I believe in you, and you’ll get through this.”

“How can you be so—”

Layla leans down, face to face with the man, and swallows his words with a chaste press of her lips to his. It wasn’t a particularly heavy kiss; their lips moving together softly, but it meant more than either would ever know. It was a kiss of comfort. Finally pulling away, Layla places a hand on Jimmy’s shoulder and squeezes lightly, before turning on her heel and walking out the door, leaving the man to get dressed.

Stepping out of the room, she is met with serious faces and whispered discussions of the injured guitarist. Robert and Bonzo are against the far wall, chatting quietly, while Peter, further down the hall, is using the hospital phone, no doubt to see what can be done about the tour. Layla turns her head, and sees Jonesy, who looks up as she nears him.

“Hey, Layla. How are you holding up?”

“I’m not the one with a fractured finger.” Layla snaps, immediately regretting it. She opens her mouth to speak, but Jonesy beats her to it.

“No, you’re not,” The bassist puts a hand on her arm, smiling wryly. “But you care about him. Just because he’s hurting, doesn’t mean you aren’t allowed to.”

“Jonesy, I… I’m sorry for snapping at you, I’m just—”

“You’re concerned, and that’s okay. Don’t worry, I get it.”

“But I snapped at you, and you didn’t deserve it, in any way.”

“Layla,” Jonesy presses closer to her as he says this, wrapping his arms around her in a comforting embrace. “I know you didn’t mean it. We’re okay.”

Layla looks up at the man, a hint of skepticism apparent on her face. Not believing that he forgave her so easily, so completely, she presses on further.

“Jonesy, how can you be fine with—”

“Look, Layla,” Jonesy chuckles, looking down at her fondly, much to her confusion. “We can talk about your guilt complex later if you need, but I think there’s someone you might want to see.”

“Guilt complex? I don’t—”

Layla spins around as a soft click echoes off the walls, and spots Jimmy, who shyly closes the door to his room. Dressed in a pair of dark flared jeans and a crisp white button up, a black suede coat folded over his arm, he looks sheepish as he walks towards the group, shoulders almost up to his ears. Peter, noticing the entrance of his guitarist, hangs up the phone with a hasty goodbye, turning to face the band.

“Right. Now, we’ve got a lot to talk about,” Peter starts, biting back a sigh. “Let’s all ride back to Swan Song, and go over our options.”

After a short car ride devoid of any chatter, the group finally walk through the double doors of the building, faces drawn and severe. Evelyn, at her post by the front desk, notices the lack of chatter and giggles that usually fill the room whenever the band enters. Finding Layla’s eyes, she reads the worry and concern in them, and lets her smile fall, snuffing out the light that always seems to surround the receptionist. Evelyn walks up to the young woman, placing a hand on Layla’s arm as she turns around to face the receptionist.

“Is everything okay, darling?” Evelyn asks, confusion in her hazel eyes as she stares at the retreating backs of Peter and the boys.

“I hope so,” Layla replies, bringing a hand up to rub at the back of her neck. “There was… an accident, and everything's a little up in the air. I’m sorry, Evelyn, I wish I could stay and chat, but—”

“Oh no, go ahead, darling. Go figure things out.”

With a grateful smile and a nod, Layla rushes to catch up with the group, slipping into the room behind Robert, the mahogany door shutting behind them to prevent prying eyes.

----------

Standing stock-still in Peter’s office, Layla glances around the luxurious office, taking in the grim faces of her companions. A soft cough echoes off the walls, courtesy of Robert, Layla guesses, if his guilty expression and the hand pressed to his mouth are anything to go by. All eyes are downcast, as hands fold over each other to distract from the silence pressing down on them. It feels like the walls are closing in on them ever-so-slowly, set to suffocate them, until Peter, sitting at the large wooden desk, clears his throat, clapping his hands together. Attention firmly on him, Peter begins to speak, his often kind voice determined.

“I’ve been calling around, and it seems as though we have two options: we postpone the tour for a later date, so Jimmy can heal… Or we continue with the tour as planned,” Peter explains, shifting his gaze to Jimmy now. “Jimmy, how is the finger feeling?”

“It’s good, I took some pain meds earlier. I can tour still.”

“Jim, you haven’t played on it yet.”

“It’ll hold up. I’m fine.”

There’s movement in the corner, as Bonzo crosses his arms over his chest, green eyes soft as he glances at Jimmy.

“Jimmy, I really don’t know if this is the best idea.” This is met by a look of betrayal, Jimmy turning around in his seat to face the drummer.

“Bonzo, I really am fine.”

“Look,” Bonzo presses on, meeting the guitarist’s eyes. “I know you don’t want to let anyone down. The thing is, you wouldn't be in the first place, Pagey. If this injury gets worse, because you played when you shouldn't have…” Bonzo trails off, averting his gaze now, Jimmy’s eyes on him too much to bear.

“Bonzo’s right, Jim,” comes from beside Layla, as Jonesy pushes off the wall to make his point. “Taking some time off would be good, we don’t want to make anything worse.”

“Nearly 18 months is enough time off, Jonesy. Any longer and the fans won’t even remember who Led Zeppelin is. I’m ready.”

“Jimmy, really—” Robert’s reply is cut off by the guitarist’s normally soft voice, hardened with frustration.

“Shows have already been sold out. All the arrangements have been made. Peter, call them back. We’re doing this tour.”

“Pagey… Alright. I’ll call them back, if you’re sure.”

“I am.” This is followed by the scrape of the chair he had pulled up to the desk against the floor, as he stands, and storms out. The remaining occupants of the room lock eyes, panic apparent.

“I’ll go after him.” Layla murmurs, starting towards the door. She knew exactly where she would find him, after all. Easily finding her way through the hallways of the massive building, she opens the door to the studio, spotting him slumped on the drum riser. Guitar in hand, he raises the bruised finger in the air, grip on the fretboard bordering on awkward. Jimmy strums, letting out a wince as the pain rears once again. A grunt full of frustration grinds out past his lips, and he tries again.

“Are you supposed to be doing that? Doctor’s orders, and all.”

Jimmy lifts his head to glance at her, and, with the hint of a sneer at the sarcastic comment, he resumes his playing. Layla huffs, and moves closer, taking in the man before her. His dark hair is falling into his face, casting shadows upon it, and his jaw is clenched, ready to snap as he misses yet another note. Jimmy lets out another frustrated sound, and swipes the hair out of his eyes, as if that was exactly what was messing him up.

Layla takes a seat on the drum riser next to him, and watches, as he fumbles a note she’s seen him perfect many times. Before he can adjust his grip on the fretboard to try again, Layla places a hand on the man’s strumming hand, and keeps it there. Jimmy looks up at her, a glint of determination in his mossy green eyes, brown in the lighting of the studio. His hair shines, jet black curls messy, as though he’s been running his hands through it more often than not. Eyes dropping to his guitar in embarrassment, he opens his mouth to speak, Layla beating him to it in the end.

“Jim, it won’t get better if you keep straining it like this. You know that.”

“Are you here to tell me to give it a rest too? Cause if you are, you might as well just—”

“I’m here,” Layla starts, shaking her head at the stubborn nature of the guitarist. “Because I trust you. You’re the only one that knows how you feel, and I trust you.”

“You do?” Jimmy says, looking up in confusion.

“I do, angel. If you think you’re ready, then I’ll trust that,” Jimmy takes his good hand off the guitar and threads it through hers, caressing the back of it with his thumb in thanks. Layla looks down at their joined hands, and continues. “If you’re rushing this for the fans, though, or because of whatever crazy scenario you’ve thought up in that brain of yours, I think I’m allowed to say I told you so.” The couple smirk at each other, as Jimmy gives the hand in his a warning squeeze.

“Okay, mum.”

Layla unlinks their hands to give him a soft shove to the side, the beginnings of a smile tilting her lips upward. Gripping his arm, she hoists him up to a standing position, and he goes willingly. Jimmy places his guitar carefully back in its rightful place, and stretches out a hand for Layla to take. Walking out of the studio together, hope settles over them like a well-worn blanket.

Hope that everything will be okay.

----------

“Please, just don’t push too hard. You’ve got this, angel.”

After dedicating just under a week to perfecting a new guitar technique, and making adjustments to the original setlist, the band waits in the dressing room of the Metropolitan Sports Center, native to Bloomington Minnesota. Layla’s palm raises, stopping to rest on Jimmy’s shoulder, as he looks down at her, his furrowed eyebrows betraying the picture of calm he was trying to emulate. He leans down and presses a soft kiss to her forehead, and pulls her to his chest, arms wrapping themselves around her back.

“You can do this. Just remember that, okay?” This is followed by a nod from the dark-haired guitarist, as he smiles gratefully at Layla. A chorus of groans sound from behind them, and, turning around, they are met by the exasperated faces of the others. Already dressed in their stage clothes, they look ready to perform.

“Are you lovebirds done? Bloody saps,” Robert grumbles, the corner of his lip raising in a smirk, the playfulness in his tone obvious. “We’ve got a show to play.”

Following the boys backstage, Layla watches as they slip past the velvet curtain and onto the stage, ecstatic and powerful under the bright lights around them. They pick up their instruments, and with a collective breath and a look shared between them, the band does what they do best: play. The boys launch in, and Layla can’t help but be brought back to the last concert she witnessed. The atmosphere and the enthusiasm amongst the crowd was infectious, and Layla smiles as she looks out from the wings. Robert commands the stage, as usual, while Bonzo and Jonesy link up almost telepathically, creating a beat almost heaven-sent. Jimmy, for as awkward as it looks, three usable fingers grappling with the fretboard, makes the guitar scream and cry and sing. The winces of pain that she can see from her spot are worrying, though. To an outsider, it would seem as though he was simply somewhere else, the guitar becoming one with its handler.

But Layla knows better. She can see the exhaustion in his face, from hours spent bent over his guitar, adjusting the way he’s played for most of his life. She can see the lines of discomfort around his mouth, his lips bitten red out of concentration, from trying his absolute best to put on a good show. As she leaves her post near the stage to tune up Jimmy’s guitars for the next numbers, just as Peter had asked her to, she can’t help but let out a nervous sigh. Layla has seen how just stubborn the man is, how much he wants to succeed, and please the audience. She knows he’ll leave everything out there on stage. She just wonders how much of him there will be left over, in the end.

Completing the rest of the menial backstage tasks, the brunette walks back to the mouth of the backstage area, intercepting the boys as they come off after a thrilling encore, the deafening cheers of the crowd following them as they exit.

“If you keep this up, you’ll really get popular! I’m just kidding, but really, guys, that was incredible,” Layla raves, accompanying them to the dressing room. Bonzo sidles up next to her, wrapping an amicable arm around her as they walk, basking in the glow of her kind words. “All of you did such an amazing job!”

“Do we get a kiss now? Last time you saw us perform, Jimmy got one…” Robert asks, flipping his hair, damp and dark with sweat, off his shoulder.

“You’d like that, wouldn't you, Robert?” Layla chuckles, throwing a smile at him over her shoulder.

“Hey, it’s only fair!”

“In what way is that fair?”

The group finally reach the dressing room, lounging on the comfortable chairs strewn across the room. The boys take turns changing out of their stage clothes, and greet the guests in the room, shaking hand after hand. Soft laughter trickles like a steady stream in the background as Layla, sitting on a loveseat with Jimmy, places a hand on his thigh, prompting his eyes to meet hers.

“How are you feeling?”

“I’m okay, petal.” Jimmy’s voice is soft, faraway as his hand meets hers on his lap. The guitarist lets out a sigh, staring at the wall, expression neutral.

“That was a great performance, Jim. I hope you know that.”

“It was… good. It could've been better.”

“You know, I really am so proud of you,” Layla says, turning his head to face her, her fingers at his jaw. She looks deep into his eyes, and he stares back, an unreadable expression on his face. She’s always been able to read him, since the day she met him. Layla feels a pang in her heart, and continues. “It was great, and you made a lot of people happy… even if you’re not 100% yet.”

This is met with silence, as Jimmy lowers his head, hair falling into his eyes. He’s developed a habit of this now, and Layla resolves to break him out of that. His beautiful eyes make her day, after all. Reminders of their stay at the hospital flash through Layla’s mind, and she moves the hand that rested softly on his cheek to the small of his back, rubbing soft circles into the fabric of his stage clothes. He hasn't changed out of them yet, or done much of anything, in fact, trapped in the prison of his self-deprecating thoughts. His gaze lifts from his shoes at the contact, which Layla takes as a good sign.

“Now,” Layla clears her throat, pulling him up from the couch with a small hand at his arm. “Go get changed. You’re all sweaty, it’s a wonder you didn’t get heat stroke.”

“It’s a good thing I have you to take care of me,” Jimmy mutters playfully, a shadow of his usual smile creasing his delicate features. “Seriously, Layla, you could give Jonesy a run for his money.”

“Isn’t it just terrible of me to want to make sure you’re alright?” Layla grumbles, the smirk playing on her lips betraying the annoyed expression she sends Jimmy’s way.

Jimmy chuckles, pressing his lips to the side of her head.

“I appreciate it, petal.”

Walking to the changing room, slipping out of the grasp Layla had on his arm, he sends her a grateful smile over his shoulder. Layla watches him, appreciating the view as he walks away.

--------

taglist: @jimmys-zeppelin @salixfragilis @timetraveller4 @earthfire-75 (let me know if you want to be added!)

#only the black rose #jimmy page #led zeppelin #jimmy page fanfic #jimmy page fanfiction #led zeppelin fanfic #jimmy x oc #jimmy page x oc

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catboymingi · 3 years

Text

[12:41]

navi/masterlist

pairing: mingi x reader

genre: very slight angst, fluff

word count: 2.3k

warnings: i do not think there are any?

a/n: entirely self indulgent and inspired by a flareup of my very own body rude disease, very soft mingi being a literal angel

it’s better to address your pain than to cause someone else pain, but late is still better than never

maybe you should have told mingi about it when you first started dating, but you hadn’t had an actual flare-up in months then, so it didn’t feel important - especially not when he’d started having issues of his own, being forced to rest and unable to perform with his dance team for a while. it wasn’t a priority, and you hadn’t wanted him to worry when you were fine. and you were still fairly fine when he was finally able to perform again, to do all the things he wanted, when he was so happy again; you just didn’t want to ruin this with a disability that barely even affected you at the moment.

but then you did get a flare-up, maybe caused by overexerting yourself when mingi had asked you to come to one of his practices with him and tried to teach you a little of their newest dance, which you let him even though you knew that it might not be the smartest idea. or maybe it was just because you didn’t have one in amazingly long, and it was just too good to be true, so your body needed to remind you who was in charge. it didn’t really matter either way, because now you were in pain, were exhausted, and, which bothered you most, were unable to pretend that nothing was up.

the first week or two you tried to ignore your symptoms, somewhat successful, but past experience should have told you that that was a stupid idea because it only made things worse, and after like eleven days of pretending you were barely able to leave bed anymore. you tried to play it off as a cold when mingi got worried, but when that cold started lasting more than two weeks he didn’t believe you. and because you still hadn’t told him about whatever shit disease caused your body to act like this for him the logical conclusion was that it was his fault. you seemed to avoid him, spending all your time either in bed or in the bathroom, and your bathroom trips took much longer than they used to. an hour or more for showering, upwards of fifteen minutes to just go to the toilet? it felt like you just wanted an excuse to be away from him. you used to love cooking with him, but now you probably hadn’t even really seen the kitchen in at least a week, and, considering how he didn’t want to spend all his time in bed now that he didn’t have to, probably not him either. it made him insecure, caused anxiety to creep up on him, the fear that now that you didn’t have to baby him anymore, that he didn’t give you a task, a purpose anymore, you’d lost interest. and that fear lingered, made worse by the fact that you didn’t even try to touch him anymore (little did he know that moving at all left you exhausted, left your limbs feeling heavy, that you could barely even rub your eyes without feeling like it had drained you of the last little bit of energy left in your body and left you needing a several hours recovery period), until he decided he had to talk to you.

“y/n?”

the way he sounded like he was calling for a random friend on the other side of the street rather than his girlfriend scared you. you knew you’d not been giving him a lot of attention lately - you couldn’t -, and now you were scared he was tired of you.

“hm?” the fact that you couldn’t even sit up to show him that you were actually listening made you so angry with yourself. you were just laying there as if it didn’t even matter.

“can we talk?”

“what’s wrong?”

getting the words out was hard, but the tall male knew he had to do it sooner or later. so he did it, now.

“do you even still love me?”

you looked at him in shock, unable to fully comprehend what he meant, but as soon as you did you started protesting.

“wha- mingi, i- of course i do, i love you. i love you.”

he sighed, running his hands through his hair.

“it doesn’t feel like it. you don’t even try to spend time with me anymore, at all. is- is it because i don’t need your help like that anymore? are you bored with me?”

had you really given him that impression? that you were bored with him?

“baby boy… come here.” and you opened your arms for him, for a few seconds, as long as you could, before you had to let them sink back to the mattress. and it felt like it was just a poor attempt from you to pretend he was wrong, still without having to put any effort into actually showing him that he meant something to you. and maybe it was childish, but he didn’t want to be the one to come this time. he wanted you to come.

“no. you come here.”

one look at him told you that he meant it. even though logic told you that he’d understand if you explained, that he’d come to you right away, you didn’t want to. you were… ashamed. you didn’t want to be weak now when you’d been strong for him all this time. instead of doing the sensible thing you forced yourself up, out of the bed you’d barely left for who even knows how long now, and towards him. your steps were clumsy, your legs hurt, and you just wanted to cry, but you were determined to make it. so you did, clinging to him for dear life as soon as you were close enough, trying to take some weight off your legs because even though holding yourself up by the arms around mingi’s neck was painful it hurt less than standing without any support.

“i love you, mingi, please don’t doubt that.”

were you crying because of the pain or because you were scared of losing him? you didn’t know, but you were crying. and he was still hurt, he really was, but he also couldn’t stand seeing you cry like this, so he wrapped his arms around you tightly.

“then what’s wrong? why do you never want to be around me anymore? or touch me? this is the first time in days that you initiated anything and i still had to tell you to do that. it feels like you don’t want me anymore.”

now your boyfriend was crying, too, and as much as you wanted to comfort him right there you had to sit down. everything hurt, your arms and legs and head and heart.

“bed”, you practically begged, despising the way you couldn’t even stand for more than five minutes without being desperate to sit down again. he complied, half dragging your weak body to the place you so longed to be.

as soon as you felt the mattress against your legs you all but let yourself drop to the bed like a sack of potatoes, which led to you not exactly laying the way one usually laid in a bed, your legs dangling off the end where mingi was still standing and your body bent kind of weirdly over the crumpled up blanket you had left behind when you’d made your way towards him and which was now causing your upper back to be up in the air while your head was bent down at an awkward angle due to the difference in altitude.

“i’m sorry i’m such a horrible girlfriend”, without as much as an attempt to change positions, which had him slightly worried, “it’s… i love you, and i wish i could be better. but it hurts. it hurts so fucking much.”

“what hurts?” being with him? had he done something? was that why you didn’t want to be around him - because he’d fucked up without realising and never even apologised?

“everything. moving. not moving. breathing. everything hurts, mingi, and i want it to stop.”

it was then that he realised, and he felt incredibly stupid. it wasn’t like he didn’t recognise this kind of behaviour - he’d acted similarly when his pain had been at its worst. it just hadn’t occurred to him that this might be the reason.

“how long?” and now it didn’t bother him anymore that he was the one pulling you into his chest as he laid down next to you - it bothered him that he’d doubted how much you’d wanted, needed that when he felt you relax into his touch.

“i don’t know. a month or two.”

“wait, you went out with me when you felt like this?”

if you’d had the energy to lift your head you would’ve seen the shocked and pained expression on his face as realisation hit him of just how much you’d gone through without him knowing.

“it wasn’t that bad.”

“it got worse the more you did?” it was only half a question, because mingi knew that that was how it was.

“i just didn’t want to keep you home when you were finally having fun again. i didn’t want you to worry.”

“baby…” he didn’t even know what he wanted to say, because there was no good thing to say to that. you wouldn’t have kept him from having fun, but he knew those worries all too well, so he couldn’t even blame you.

“how bad is it right now?”

you wished the way his big soft hand was rubbing your arm did anything to make you feel better, physically, but it didn’t. the only thing that would help right now was sleeping, but even that hurt. the time until you fell asleep, the pressure on your shoulder and hip bone. and instead of an answer your boyfriend got you crying at the hopelessness of your situation and knowing that, no matter what you did, you’d be in pain.

“that bad?” you just sobbed more, and you could feel from the way his body tensed that he was resisting the urge to pull you closer, hold you tighter, because it might hurt.

“is there anything that helps?”

you’d have to shake your head or speak, but you didn’t want to do either. you wanted to fade away until this stopped, but you had no way of telling how many more days, weeks it would be. that was the worst part of it, maybe; knowing that it would get better again, because it always did, all symptoms almost vanishing, but you never knew for how long they’d be gone and how long the next flare-up would last.

“are you comfortable? do you want to sleep? eat?”

replying still wasn’t in the realm of the possible, and it seemed like your sweet boy quickly caught on to that, because he told you: “one tap is no, two taps is yes. does that work?”

you tapped his chest twice, lightly but you did, glad to have found a way of communication with him that wouldn’t take just as much energy as the other possibilities.

“do you want to eat?” one tap.

“sleep?” two taps.

“are you comfortable right now? nothing you’d like me to change?” one tap. it was embarrassing, but your clothes hurt. even though it was just pyjamas they felt too tight, the elastic waistband made you feel like someone was gripping your hips harshly, and while you knew that wouldn’t happen you also wouldn’t be surprised if they left a bruise. the shirt had an uncomfortable neckline and was slightly crumpled around your body, adding uncomfortable little pressure points, and you wanted to get rid of it.

“can you tell me what to do? or show me?” two taps. then, you moved the hand on his chest to the neckline of his shirt, tugging at it slightly, hoping he’d get it.

“shirt off?” two taps.

“mine?” one tap.

“yours?” two taps.

“we’ll have to sit up for that, baby. but i’ll do the work. that okay?” two taps, again.

he carefully sat you up, supporting your back with his hand, allowing you to lean your head against him until you had to lift it briefly to fully remove the shirt. then he immediately helped you sink back into the sheets, giving you a soft kiss.

“anything else?” two taps.

“what do you need, love?”

that was a question outside the tap system, and he realised at your complete lack of response.

“more clothes?” two taps.

part of you was embarrassed when he undressed you like a little child, but you were glad he did, and you were glad he didn’t try to make the situation sexual. you wanted to sleep, wanted to be held, and most of all you wanted him to tell you he loved you.

he came back up to kiss you again, shortly and softly, very obviously trying to avoid any kind of effort for you. you couldn’t have been more grateful for him than you were in this moment. you couldn’t have wished for a better boyfriend.

“sleep now?” two taps.

“careful, i’ll pick you up. this isn’t comfortable.” two taps, your way to tell him that he could go ahead, that it was okay.

he lifted you so carefully, putting you so you weren’t laying the wrong way across the bed, and then settled next to you, looking at you with those soft, brown eyes.

“i’m your baby boy, but you’re my baby, too. let me take care of you, too. okay?” two taps and a smile that you were convinced would work better than any painkillers ever could.

“i love you.” one tap.

“i don’t love you?” one tap. the gears in his head were shifting, trying to figure out what you meant, before you could see the figurative lightbulb light up above his head.

“you love me?” two taps. then a soft peck to your nose.

“i know.”

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