#and had several say they were so relieved at hearing me say basic decent things

[dropdafawkz]

I know I make these every semester, but just a shout out to my in-coming US freshman and other college students--there's still a pandemic, a lot of things about the world are bad, and you're allowed to be tired and discouraged. Online classes suck. Teachers are burnt out. The government literally be havin' it out for y'all. And all that impacts you. It is perfectly normal to not feel okay. Your aged out humanities mom here to remind you to try and take a breath, drink some water, eat something, do something silly that makes you feel good. Have a juice box on me. If you're doing your best, that's all you can do.

#dropdathoughtz #had my first official online meeting with students this week #and had several say they were so relieved at hearing me say basic decent things #like that I knew that life just happens sometimes #and that our whole set up was weird and that we were gonna do our best this semester #my cold dead heart dont always beat #but it be workin for these students the past several years #yall really in the shit right now #and I see yall

[funeral-grayy]

part one

thursday night practice ended a bit earlier than usual and atsumu was sitting on a bench in the change room, staring at his phone. the sound was muted but he was still transfixed on the way your perfectly pouty lips wrapped around the pink dildo you were sucking. it had been 4 weeks since he’d gotten off to you and now he was addicted. he could feel his cock twitch in his shorts as your tongue licked up the shaft, spit dribbling down your chin. god, how did he not notice how fucking hot you are? he never even considered looking at you in this light but now that’s all he could think of. every thursday he turned your stream on right after practice, eyes glazed over with lust, watching all the different ways you played with your body. that was the main reason he had been avoiding you in person, he wasn’t sure how he’d be able to face you now. it had been just his luck that you were so busy with school and work, that you hadn’t even noticed how long it had been since you last saw him. atsumu was so distracted by the way your mouth worked over the dildo, he failed to hear suna walking up behind him.

“shut up! do not say a word to anyone else about this” atsumu snapped, shoving his phone into his pocket. he couldn’t believe he just got fucking caught, and by suna of all people. this isn’t something he’d just let go either. oh he was so fucked now. “please, just keep this to yourself”

the smirk on suna’s face told him this wasn’t something he’d forget about easily. suna was known to hold things over peoples heads, if only just to tease them. it was fairly innocent but in this case, atsumu dreaded it. ignoring his presence, atsumu stood up and started gathering his things to head home for the night. now that he had the image of you sucking dick in his head, he needed to get off to it immediately and he very well couldn’t do that here.

by the time he was home and comfortable in his room, your stream had long since ended but thankfully he had paused it on you with your lips wrapped around the tip. the way your mouth wrapped around the head of the dildo made his cock instantly hard. groaning, atsumu rubbed the palm of his hand over his clothed cock, teasing himself a bit. he wanted to make this last, because the only way he could have you was in his fantasies. there was no way you’d ever go for a guy like him, he wasn’t your type in any sense of the word. finally freeing his hardened cock out of his shorts, he let out a relieved sigh. he spit in his hand and slowly dragged it up his shaft. pre cum was gushing from the tip, he’d been so turned on from the stream earlier that it just kept coming. just as he was about to set a faster pace, his phone went off. opting to ignore it he tried to continue, until it went off several more times. frustrated, he picked up his phone glancing to see who it was.

you: tsumuuuuuuu i miss u what the heck

you: i’m on my way over with take out, be ready or else

you: tsumuuuuu reply to me

you: whatever idc im getting ur fave and u better answer the door in 15 minutes or else

“fuck!” he jumped out of bed quickly, cock still rock hard. he quickly rid the shorts around his ankles and volley ball jersey, tossing them into his hamper. he quickly rummaged around his room until he found a pair of black sweat pants and just basic white tshirt. tossing those on, he ran into the living room to cleaned up a bit, wanting the place to look half way decent for you.

what the fuck

he’d never cared about cleaning up for you, never cared about looking presentable. god, what was he thinking? he needed to make sure he was careful tonight, he had to be normal with you. he had no idea how you’d react if you ever found out that he’d seen your stream multiple times. this was going to be so fucking hard. he didn’t even know how his body woud react seeing you in person now. when he was content with the way the living room looked, he slumped down on the couch, waiting for you to barge through the door like you always did. his leg bounced while he fidgeted with his fingers, realizing how antsy he was being he leaned back and turned his head towards the door. and as if he’d summoned you, there you were, barging through his door with an arm full of take out. jumping up he rushed over to you and took the bags out of your hands and setting them down on the coffee table.

“tsumu!!” you shouted as you jumped onto his back, circling your arms around his neck. you hadn’t seen him in almost a month, which was probably the longest you’ve ever gone without him. truth be told, you had started to catch feelings for him so it was sort of a blessing in disguise. you didn't want to acknowledge your feelings, so you buried yourself in work and school. but now that you were in his presence, those feelings came back tenfold. you had to ignore them though, you weren’t his type at all, he’d only ever saw you as his dumb best friend.

“ugh! get off me you lil’ freak!!” he all but tossed you onto the couch, showing off his strength which always made you swoon. this was going to be a lot harder than you think. atsumu gazed down at you, his expression unreadable to you. his eyes did a quick sweep of your body, which you had definitely noticed. quickly fixing your ruffled clothes, you sat forward.

“here, catch” he said as he tossed his phone into your lap. “you can pick what we’re watchin’ and toss it on the chrome cast”

plopping down next to you, with a respectable distance between the two of you, he leaned his head back on the couch and turn to watch you. god, could he not stare at you like this? you could feel his eyes drilling holes into the side of your head. opting to just ignore his stares dow now, you picked up the phone from your lap and unlocked it. you could feel you’re entire body start to shake as you saw what was on his screen.

“what….i mean…no.. what the fuck…”

#atsumu miya x reader #atsumu x reader #atsumu miya #haikyu x reader #haiykuu!! #oops #i did it again hehe

[viperbarnes]

The Tie That Binds – [Three of Eight]

[B. Barnes, Soulmate AU]

Summary: HYDRA took everything from you, your life, your future, they even burned off your soulmark to make sure nobody would go looking for you. Now the man they forced you to fix reappears in your life, to make amends and to be ‘of service’.

You know that they made him do all those things, that James ‘Bucky’ Barnes is not The Winter Soldier, that he’s innocent. You don’t blame him.

But that doesn’t make seeing him again any easier.

Warnings: Panic attacks, language, talk and depiction of home invasion and abduction, canon level violence, HYDRA levels of torture, angst, fluff, slow-ish burn, friends to lovers.

Note: This is entirely un-beta’d so all mistakes are my own. Thank you for reading!

<- Prev / Next ->

You’ve just stepped out of the grocery store when you’re half-barrelled into by something big and solid. Instead of falling, like you expect, when the moment passes, you realise not only are you standing upright, but that your arms have been relieved of the two heavy paper bags you’d previously held.

It takes you second to fully process the situation, but when you do, you find yourself blinking up at the smug face of Bucky Barnes, your load now tucked easily under his arm, looking a whole lot smaller than when you’d struggled to pick them up.

“Wha– I thought you were away?!” You let yourself gasp in belated surprise, resting a hand over your heart momentarily. He wears sunglasses, which you find odd considering it wasn’t exactly bright out, but you’re still a little too taken aback by his sudden appearance to really make note of it.

“And miss our shopping trip?” He asks, voice filled with mock horror.

“You can’t shake me off that easy. I stick.” The smugness melts from his features, replaced by something softer as you shake your head at him, beginning to walk.

Almost a whole month and a half of these regular, strange meetings, and the two of you had fallen into something that felt a lot like friendship, but crucially, wasn’t quite. Usually he’d help you with your groceries, sometimes you’d corner him at a cafe and seemingly quiz him on aspects of HYDRA and your capture. It was… comfortable, and you hated to admit it, but you’d sorely missed actual human interaction.

Bucky moves to walk beside you on the footpath, and you eye him. You understand why he wears sunglasses now, at this angle you could clearly see the large purple and black bruise around the ring of his eye, and when you take a closer, less subtle look at his clothing, you realise he’d simply thrown on his heavy winter coat over top of what looked like a blue motorcycle jacket.

“You know I would have been just fine if you had somewhere else to be…” You venture, shifting your eyes away from him as you speak. Bucky glances down at you, and then at his attire.

“Just got back.” He says shortly, though you’ve come to know that was just his way sometimes.

“Most people might go take a shower… get some sleep… not go help some lady with her shopping.” You muse.

The slight smugness returns to his face and his gait and he swings his head to look down at you with a corny grin, only added to by the shades.

“Most people aren’t me.” He tells you cockily, leaning down slightly to emphasise this. He leans back again moments later, as if considering you, and you squirm a little under his gaze.

“Besides, I think you like having someone do the heavy liftin’.” It’s still part of his act, something halfway between a shadow of himself from a different time, and a romance lead perhaps.

You noticed he fell back on humour, on sarcasm or this faux personality whenever he felt like his true response wouldn’t be acceptable. Maybe most people wouldn’t notice the shifts so clearly, but you do. You did the same thing any time you had to interact with another human being.

Still, the way it makes butterflies appear in your chest sends you off kilter every time, not just because it was him, but because it had been a solid amount of time since anybody spoke to you or flirted with you like you were a halfway decent option. Especially someone who looked like Bucky.

You weren’t blind, you’d recognised his objective attractiveness long ago, somewhere in a dimly lit room, where tracing his jawline was a distraction from whatever else.

But it was different now. He wasn’t just the tragically beautiful assassin you were forced to work on, he was… Bucky.

An almost friend.

Bucky.

You scoff at his display, and at any fleeting notion that he’d even really look at you twice, and shake your head.

“I can’t say it doesn’t help on the days my hands shake too much… Lost one too many cartons of eggs to that.” You chortle at your own past predicament.

You miss the way Bucky’s smile falters, and his shoulders drop, and he forces himself to look away from you for several seconds.

“Where were you, anyway?” You ask, changing the subject as you come to a set of lights. Bucky shifts your groceries to his other arm and cocks his head at you.

“I’m pretty sure our deal was that I answer questions about what I used to do. Didn’t think my current shenanigans were on the table…?” You see an eyebrow rise above the lens of the glasses, and roll your eyes.

“Fine. I didn’t want to hear about your sidekick stuff anyway.” You turn away from him slightly only for him to step into your view again.

“Sidekick? You call me a sidekick?” Bucky sounds almost genuinely offended, and you scoff, leaving him trailing behind you when the walking light turns green and you make for the other side of the street.

“Please, you’re basically a professional sidekick.” You can’t keep the grin from your lips now as Bucky hurries to catch up with you, his brow now in a deep set frown.

“That’s unkind. That’s hurtful.” He tells you, truly, honestly pouting.

“I’ll have you know my sidekick stuff is extremely interesting.” He continues, sticking his nose up a little now. You shrug.

“Probably, but you didn’t wanna tell me about it so…” You spin to face him as you speak, stopping on your apartment buildings stoop.

Bucky still pouts as you blindly buzz yourself in, taking towards the stairs right away. Bucky follows, and you realise a little too late that he never usually came inside with you. He’d usually hand over your things at the door. Truthfully, as dismissive as you were being, you were actually rather glad he’d shown up, and you weren’t quite ready yet to part ways.

The rest of the climb to your floor is filled with Bucky huffing about how cool his job was, and you internally wondering if it was too weird to invite him inside. Your fear of the man had all but evaporated, despite the frequent dreams you’d been having, but you wonder if letting him into your home would change that.

Your apartment was your sanctuary. You had escape routes mapped just in case, you’d organised your things so that there was always some kind of makeshift weapon available to you in every room… considering these plans were made with his last break-in in mind, you’re not sure how your subconscious might react to having him physically within your space again.

You act as natural as possible, and when you do reach your door, you force yourself to steady your hand as you unlock it. Bucky had stopped even his playful whining, and you know he isn’t ignorant to the current situation.

Stepping inside, you hold your door open with your hip and casually jerk your head in the direction of your kitchen.

“That can just go on the counter.” You say, cursing the slight shake in your words. You continue ahead of him quickly, even as you hear your door close shut behind you, depositing your purse and coat on the sofa.

Bucky does as you say, and you turn in time to see him step back from the countertop, his eyes darting around the space quickly.

A different kind of anxiety rolls over you then, and you regret having not tidied up a little before inviting him inside.

“It’s a little messy…” You apologise, sweeping some dust from the nearest surface and scrunching your nose. Bucky blinks at you and frowns, opening his mouth, but you accidentally cut him off as another thought hits you.

“And I’m sorry about the cold… The window keeps breaking.” You gesture to the main window in your living space, rolling your eyes a little.

Bucky’s face morphs into a frown as he looks past you to the window in question, a plastic bag duct taped over a portion.

“Your windows broken?” He asks, concern filling his voice.

“It keeps happening. My landlord employs the cheapest handyman in the city, I swear to god…” You roll your eyes again and try to brush it off with a laugh, but Bucky’s face doesn’t change, even as he looks back to you.

“It’s the middle of winter.” He states, and then before you can reply, he straightens, his frown of displeasure shifting into one of determination.

“I’ll fix it.”

---

Bucky replays the clips on his phone one last time, making sure he properly understood the instruction, before he moves to copy it.

A short trip to the hardware store later, he’s back in your apartment, sat awkwardly on your windowpane as he finishes up replacing the lower piece of glass. He’d made sure the piece he’d bought was hardy, and unlikely to cause you future problems. He can’t imagine how cold it would have gotten in your place with a broken window, and tries not to scowl.

You linger nearby, having put your groceries away and offered him coffee, you now sit on your couch pretending that you weren’t watching him.

He doesn’t blame you for eyeing him just as nervously as you had on his first few visits with you. Seeing each other out and about was one thing, but he doesn’t underestimate the amount of trust you were showing in allowing him into your home. Hell, he doesn’t even think he’d be extending such liberties if he were you.

But he’s glad for it, if not only for selfish reasons.

It was easy for Bucky to pretend he didn’t know your status to one another. He’d ignored the little black mark long enough, ignored the urge to seek you out (before he knew you were you) so it really wasn’t that different for him. The only problem, and it wasn’t really a problem just yet, was that Bucky liked you.

He liked your jokes and your sass, he liked the way your expressions spoke louder than your words ever could, and how you didn’t even seem to realise you were making them half the time. He liked that you always seemed to have something interesting to add to a conversation, even on topics he wouldn’t have thought had much interest.

You were smart, and funny and cynical in all the same ways as him, and Bucky liked spending time with you. If he didn’t think it would make you uncomfortable, he’d hang around you a lot more.

Being friends with you was easy, in the same way that being friends with Sam was easy. He didn’t have to hold back certain information, or pretend he was something he wasn’t. You knew everything already, and for some reason, had decided you were okay with him sticking around.

“Do you think you’re going to find your soulmate?”

The question nearly makes him jump, as if you’d been looking right into his thoughts.

Bucky stops what he’s doing briefly and looks up at you. Your lips are pursed and your eyes move from his exposed wrist to his face. He coaches his face into what he might consider normal if the situation were different, and hums.

“Why wouldn’t I?” He clears his throat, and watches you shift your position on the couch, tucking your feet underneath you.

“I don’t know. It’s not really something I have to consider, so I guess I was just thinking about our situations… How it would feel.” You frown as you speak, and Bucky already knows you’re unsatisfied with how you’d answered. He stops completely and faces you, giving you his full attention.

“What do you mean?” He prompts. You think for a moment.

“I guess I just don’t know if I would.” You state, still frowning, though this time for an entirely different reason. Bucky feels something in his chest tighten.

“I don’t know. I’m not exactly the most normal person in the world… and I know your soulmate is supposed to be your perfect half, but there’s still choice involved, right? Not everyone chooses to be with their soulmate in the end…” Your eyes turn down to your lap, where you fiddle with your fingers nervously.

“I’m just not sure they’d want me.”

Bucky’s stomach drops at your confession, something an awful lot like hurt shooting through him.

He wants to hurry and reassure you that you were wrong, that you didn’t have to worry, but he stops himself.

He reminds himself that your fears were his own, only he knew for a fact the answer.

“I don’t think you should spend your time worrying about that.” He says carefully. You stop fidgeting and look up at him. He swallows thickly.

“Your soulmate will want you, regardless of if you’re the most normal person in the world or not. And if they’re worried about your past, or the way it affects you now, then they probably don’t deserve you anyway.”

Bucky shrugs, and tears his eyes from yours to continue in his task, but stays fully aware that your gaze remains trained on him.

“If you found them, I’m sure they would want you.” He adds, almost anxiously, his mind buzzing with a million thoughts.

From the couch, you let out a short laugh, the tension in the room lifting a little. He spares a glance at you, unable to to stop the smile that creeps onto his face at the sight of your own.

“What?” He asks, and you shake your head.

“Just never took the Winter Soldier for a romantic.” You tease, making him roll his eyes.

Bucky puts the last touches on your new and improved window and takes a step back.

“Would it shock you to learn HYDRA didn’t count it as a useful skill?”

If you like and enjoy, a comment or a reblog would be greatly appreciated!

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes/reader #bucky barnes/you #story: tttb #soulmate au

[keilemlucent]

i am your salvation

(r18+)

hawks | takami keigo x reader

ao3

word count: ~13k

For years, Keigo had trained his body, fucking perfected it’s abilities. Every part of him was honed and forcibly designed to be the winged-hero, Hawks. But, now? He was the defunct number two, ‘Hawks’ and at home— reality? He was the comically broken Keigo Takami who struggled to do basic physical therapy.

Only you know him like that.

warnings: manga spoilers, suicidal ideation, abuse, ANGST with a capital A, just sad :^(((

this piece is hellish, enjoy ;^))) beta’ed by the lovely @keiqos, bless u

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

Keigo was fucked.

He was so beyond fucked.

He was dead.

Basically.

He was half-alive in a hospital bed. An IV drip in each arm, pumping him full of god knows what. He didn’t care to ask. All he knew was that he fucked up.

He’d gotten sloppy.

Stupid.

Pompous. 

And now his wings were fried off his back.

(By fucking Dabi no less.)

 The first conversation he’d had with his doctor upon waking at the HPSC hospital was one where he legitimately contemplated suicide for the first time in a long while.

  “Hawks... There’s no good way to say this. There just isn’t,” The doctor began, looking through Keigo’s chart, sighing deeply. There was something so grave about the way he moved through the sterile hospital room.

The doctor handed him a handheld mirror. 

Hawks slowly raised it up with weakened arms, knowing what he’d see. 

A gruesome burn tore down the left side of his face. It puckered the skin around his eye, narrowing his field of vision (thank god he still had any vision at all). The soft flesh around his eye was so angry and blistered, pockets of puss gathering beneath the surface of his skin.

But what was worse than the scar, so much fucking worse, was the absence.

The complete absence of his wings.

No stubs, no nubs. Just nothing. 

His back ached against the hospital bed as he handed the mirror back to the doctor.

The doctor sighed again. He spoke to Hawks like he didn’t think the hero already knew what he was going to say, “Your wings are gone. Fully. The scans we’ve taken show that the... well, roots of them in your flesh are still present, they’re encased in scar tissue. Even the sections that the feathers grow from are cauterized. In our professional opinion, we don’t think that they’ll ever grow again.”

His heart fell in his chest. 

It fell so deep.

So far.

He didn’t let himself cry.

Instead, he contemplated how hard it would be to overdose on morphine they were undoubtedly dosing him with. 

The doctor continued as Keigo stared sightlessly at his lap, “As established, the muscles that control the roots of your wings are still intact, yes. But, they’re heavily damaged in a way that will affect your everyday life. Even without your wings, the recovery to stabilize your injuries is going to be strenuous.”

Who fucking cared.

Hawks had spent the vast majority of his life training to be a hero and now the very thing that made him the best was literally burned from him. It felt unholy. It felt awful.

Fire wasn’t cleansing, it was putrid. Desecrated was his body as well as his mind.

  He didn’t listen to much else of what the doctor said. He let himself go blank, wishing tears would fall. 

 ...

 That was yesterday.

Today, he was allowed visitors. His PA came, informing him that the Commission was putting him on extended, indefinite (thankfully, somewhat paid) leave in exchange for media appearances. They also informed him that half of the top ten were dead after the war with the PLF. Ryuku, Miruko, Edgeshot, Kamuiwoods, Crust, all lost. And countless others, too. Even some students. It seemed that there was no clear winner of the fight that took so many and changed so much.

One of the most hard-hitting pieces of news was that Endeavor was in a coma, on life support, with a brain injury that would most likely kill him. At best, he’d be a vegetable. 

Keigo felt nothing but hollow as he laid in his hospital bed. He was half machine, based on all of the tubes and monitors that he was hooked up to. He felt truly mechanical and falsely alive. Truly, he was used up. He wanted to die. He was sure of it. 

Keigo wanted to ask his PA to smother him.

He didn’t.

 The next person to visit him was you. His PA had informed him that they were legally obligated to see him first, otherwise, you would’ve been clawing his door down.

You.

Keigo didn’t want you to see him like this. All the reasons you had fallen for him were gone. There was no confidence, no lip, no charm, no drive, no stunning scarlet wings— nothing. He even had the bonus deterrent of a nasty scar covering half his face. He was so sure that you’d take one look at him and turn right out the door. 

Leave him for good. 

Maybe spit on him for good measure.

The old muscles of his wings twitched as you walked through the door. It burned like an old hell. 

You’d clearly been crying, face and eyes puffy. 

But you were strong for him.

You pulled a chair up next to his bed wordlessly. You sat, laying your head on his antiseptic smelling sheets and mattress. Your eyes went half-lidded, just barely looking up at Keigo’s terrified expression. You reached out, grabbing one of Keigo’s clammy hands. You squeezed it.

“I’m here, Kei’,” Your voice was so quiet. “It’s alright. I love you. I’ve got you.”

It made him break.

The machines that he was reliant on screamed as he desperately grabbed at you, dragging you up with the little strength he had. You pushed him down, moving to half kneel on his bed. You didn’t make Keigo work for your touch. 

You cradled his head to your chest as his scarred hands fisted your sweater. He screamed into your sternum. Keigo wailed and cried with everything he had. He was losing himself, raging for far more than just his current injury.

 He bawled for every single time he couldn’t in his hero training, forced to be broken by the demands of the Commission. He sobbed for every casualty and death that was on his hands, righteous or otherwise. And, selfishly, he cried for himself. He let tears fall in mourning for the version of himself that died by Dabi’s hand. 

He let himself shatter in your arms for the burning muscles and scars of his back, the ache of his face, and the emptiness and vulnerability that his lack of wings graced him with.

You more than let him; you encouraged it.

You stroked his hair, matted with sweat and grease. You whispered soft adorations, validations and love into his ears. He can hear your tears too, but it didn’t stop you.

“I love you, Keigo.”

“I’m here.”

“You’re safe.” 

“I’m not leaving.”

“I’ve got you, Kei’.”

“No one else will hurt you. I won’t let them.”

 You were far too late on the last one. But, you were quirkless. Powerless to stop the destruction that ravaged his body and now, his mind. 

Additionally, Keigo was relieved you didn’t say that ‘everything will be okay’. 

He knew it wouldn’t be.

You let him crumble against you for hours. 

Finally, he was spent, falling back in his bed, and letting you slump back into your chair. You took the liberty of finding a warm towel to wipe his face down with.

The rest of visiting hours, you laid your head on his mattress, holding his hand as he drifted in and out of sleep. Nurses came and poked and prodded him. They didn’t bother making conversation with either of you. 

They understood, to some degree. 

You were both together in mourning. 

A nurse came by later, night had fallen, telling you visiting hours were over. 

Keigo audibly whined.

You shook your head, running a thumb over Keigo’s knuckles.

“It’s alright,” You soothed both him and the nurse. “I’m not leaving.”

The nurse didn’t fight you, merely exited the room.

Keigo watched, awed. You retrieved a decently sized duffle bag and pillow that you’d brought (he hadn’t noticed). You set up a blanket and the pillow on a couch in the corner as a makeshift bed.

“Y-you’re staying?” Keigo asked, voice raw. 

You, somehow, smiled. So gentle and precious, nodding, “As long as you’d like me to. I told you, I’m here.”

Keigo relied on you for comfort in the past, sure. But not like this. Not like you were his anchor, tethering him to his existence now that his pride and preen were plucked from him. You were his salvation in that hospital room. You were the ground that he desperately and necessarily needed to learn to walk on.

 You both fell asleep quickly, dreaming of better things outside of your waking nightmare.

 ---------------------------

 Keigo was discharged two weeks later.

It is thoroughly confirmed that, unless by some medical miracle, his wings were truly toast. Gone for good.

The Commission brought in at least a dozen folks with spectacular healing quirks. Truly, the best the country had. Turns out, the Commission was clawing for hope too, in the wake of everything.

The efforts were in vain, of course.

Nothing stuck. 

The scar tissue wouldn’t shrink. The damage was too severe. The cauterization was so intense, it altered him. Forever.

 You stayed with him the whole time.

You went home, just a bit, maybe an hour a day. You showered then, changed clothes. 

You’d come back and do what you had been the whole time.

Just being there.

 You didn’t make him idly chat or make him watch shitty, hospital cable. You let him ruminate, stew, and simmer. You let him be crushed.

You were smart enough, empathetic enough to know that nothing you could do or say would lift him right now. 

He just needed you there.

And so, you were. 

 After being discharged with several prescriptions, orders to limit activity to allow for his other injuries (and concussion) to heal, the two of you went home. 

 Your first task was Keigo getting properly washed. 

At first, Keigo resisted.

“N-no, I’m fine, I’ll take one tomorrow,” Truthfully, he wouldn’t probably, not without your help. He just didn’t want you to see him so intimately in this state.

You shook your head, speaking as you brought several plush towels into the bathroom. You turned to Keigo who had wrapped his arms around his frail-looking form, looking at the floor.

You brought him into your arms, rubbing at his neck, not wanting to aggravate the injuries on his back, “I know you don’t want to, but it’ll feel good. Let me take care of you, please.”

You spoke so earnestly, it made Keigo fall apart. He hated being so helpless. 

He nodded against you.

You sat him on the toilet seat while you ran a bath in Keigo’s spectacular tub. You poured in epsom salts and some lavender bubble bath, filling the room with a familiar, herbal scent.

You helped him strip, mindful to not linger on any part of his body. Carefully, you lowered Keigo into the water. He could help but be surprised by the strength in your body to do so. Perhaps foolishly, he had never taken you as physically strong. After stripping yourself, you got in as well, across from him, so you wouldn’t see his scars. You were perhaps a bit too considerate.

The water burned his wounds, yet calmed his muscles. It was a different sensation than the ones he’d had for the past weeks. He welcomed it.

Keigo sagged in the bathwater, looking somewhat relaxed for the first time in so long. You knelt in the water and suds, lathering up his hair and body. So carefully did you wash away the sweat, smells, and lingerings of the hospital and the war that preceded it. You went through his hair with your own conditioner, figuring that the familiar smell might help keep him calm. Keigo didn’t say anything, just let you do as you needed. You carefully untangled any and all knots from his tresses, rinsing him down.

You dried him off, putting a few scented body oils on his dry patches of skin, parched from his time in the hospital. You still didn’t look at his back.

He felt ashamed and thoroughly disgusted. He smushed his face into your shoulder, gripping onto your like if he wasn’t, he’d die.

You find him fucking repulsive, right?

 “Kei’,” Your voice quiet still, “You okay?— Wait, don’t answer that.”

You chuckle at yourself. Keigo would’ve laughed too if he could. 

Keigo dressed himself, a semi-self sufficient act that made him feel better. Though, you picked out the clothes. Some of your own, soft, old garments that Keigo had seen you in a hundred times. 

It was only before he put on a shirt that you gave his back the quickest once-over, “You can put your shirt on now, Kei’. I just wanted to make sure it looked okay. It’s okay, you’re okay.”

Even that much sight and contact of the old roots of his wings made him feel so ashamed. It burned the corpse of his ego like the hot fire that crisped his wings. 

Despite those nasty feelings, the simple act of wearing your shirt made him feel better. It felt so good, so good, to be surrounded by you instead of the sterility of the hospital. 

 You had been kind enough to leave the hospital for a bit longer than normal the day prior to go shopping. You bought Keigo a large, fluffy, ivory blanket. You even washed it, so it smelled like home (and you) too.  

After you helped him to the wide couch, custom made to accommodate Keigo’s now torched wings. It was a small burn (ha) to his psyche, but he tried to let it go as you got him comfortable.

You gave him your special pillow. The one Keigo loved to steal and take naps with. You covered him in the new blanket.

“Is that okay?” You asked, tucking him in. Keigo would normally be embarrassed by something childish like that, but he couldn’t make himself care. It felt so good to be comforted. 

 So softly, he replied, “You made it feel like home already.”

You let a sad smile drift to your face, massaging Keigo’s scalp as he sobbed into his new blanket. 

He was so glad to be surrounded by you, no matter how rotten he felt. 

 -------------------

 The first week home was the hardest. Sleeping was painful, even next to you. Eating was a fucking labor as he had no appetite. Nothing interested him in the slightest other than staring at walls and pretending he would wake up from this nightmare soon.

An at-home physical therapist was brought in. He had to retrain the muscles in his back to relax, now that they weren’t carrying the weight of his wings. The constant tension in his back would cause long term damage (not like he wasn’t already riddled with chronic injury), least of all tension headaches. 

Your job let you work from home. Thank god.

...

Keigo hated his exercises. They hurt so bad.

For years, Keigo had trained his body, fucking perfected its abilities. Every part of him was honed and forcibly designed to be the winged-hero, Hawks. But, now? He was the defunct number two, ‘Hawks’ and at home— reality? He was the comically broken Keigo Takami who struggled to do basic physical therapy. 

Only you knew him like that.

 Keigo’s fists slammed against the floor as he strained with his PT exercises, the therapist themselves long gone for the day. You worked from your laptop on the couch. You weren’t supposed to aid him with his exercises unless necessary, as the therapist had instructed.

“Do you want me to help you?” You asked, almost coaxingly. 

Keigo beat his fists once more, crying out almost like a petulant child, (he hated himself for it oh my god—), “I don’t want to fucking do this! I can’t do this!”

And Keigo sobbed into the floor with abandon.

You moved from the couch to haul him into your arms, pressing his face into your neck. You said nothing, you just let him scream and die against you.

“I can’t do this!” 

“I hate this!”

“Make this fucking stop!”

“Just make this all fucking stop!”

“JUST FUCKING KILL ME ALREADY!”

This got you to speak, not shushing him, but just trying to soothe—

“IF YOU REALLY FUCKING LOVE ME, THEN YOU’LL SLIT MY THROAT IN MY SLEEP AND LET THIS FUCKING NIGHTMARE BE OVER!—”

 You froze. 

He didn’t.

Keigo kept begging you to kill him. 

Incessantly so.

He didn’t know what to do.

This was a tantrum, maybe. More like a breakdown. It felt dramatic. But, his thoughts were real. He’d be happy to die, especially by your hand. Then you wouldn’t have to take care of him and he wouldn’t be able to feel as awful as he did. 

You kept holding him, squeezing him harder and harder still. 

Finally, Keigo tuckered himself out and sagged against you. 

 You reached up to the side table, grabbing your own glass of water, and offering it to him. You still hadn’t spoken.

Part of him thought to apologize, crack a joke even. But he couldn’t make himself do either. Instead, his shaking hands grabbed the glass. You didn’t fully let it go, just guided it to his lips where it dribbles down his chin. 

Keigo sputtered a sob.

He couldn’t stand being so weak.

 “Love,” You spoke so softly as he sipped. “I will never hurt you like that. I won’t let anyone else, either.”

Keigo suddenly started fucking laughing, for the first time in so fucking long, ripping the cup fully from your hands and throwing it across the room. It shattered in a wild display of raining glass and water. He hadn’t laughed in what felt like months. He let it loose, grabbing your face and directing it right at you, breath curling over your cheeks.

He knew it was cruel, to take it out on you. He hated himself for it even as he was doing it.

“How the fuck do you think you’ll protect me?” Keigo cackled into your face, horror beginning to overtake your features. He didn’t care. It felt good— “You’re just some stupid, weak, quirkless civilian— how the fuck do you think someone as powerless as you can protect me when I can’t even protect me—!”

 He kept laughing, but he was crying. He couldn’t tell which was which. Keigo could only tell he was hysterical.

 This whole time, since he had woken up in the hospital, you had been nothing but the perfect partner. You had been so kind, asking for nothing in return.

And yet, he’d verbally strike you like this for no other reason than his own hurt.

How fucking cruel.

 You let Keigo go, unable to disguise the pain in your expression. You didn’t say anything back to him. As you left the room, you were covering your eyes with your arm. Keigo caught one of your sobs as you fled to the bathroom, almost slamming the door. 

 Keigo heard your muffled cries for hours until you fell asleep on the bathroom tile as his old burns and guilt ate him alive. 

 He tried his exercises again. 

 -------------------

 That night, Keigo was too deep in sleep to hear you enter your shared bedroom. Part of you didn’t want to sleep next to him. You thought about returning to the bathroom or moving to the couch. But, you couldn’t make yourself. 

Keigo’s words hurt so bad. 

Partially because they were cruel. They gnawed at your insecurities, the fears you were desperately suppressing for him. 

Partially because you hated the fact you couldn’t do more, despite already doing so much. 

Partially because you knew that Keigo would never say things like that to you if he wasn’t being eaten up on the inside. 

Partially because the love of your life asked you to snuff his life out. 

It all hurt. Stung. Ached. Burned. 

 There was a small detail that hurt in a different way.

He called you quirkless.

You weren’t quirkless.

Your quirk was so weak and so taxing, sure. It was basically unusable. For fucks sake, you never even bothered to tell Keigo directly as you never used it. He had access to citizen quirk records, and you figured he checked in the several years the two of you had been dating. Apparently not.

But, you did have a quirk.

You stood next to your bed, Keigo covered in the comforter and soft white blanket you’d gotten for him. You could see the peakings of his back. His skin was marred with burns, cuts and scars that looked unimaginably horrible. You’d been avoiding looking at it, for him. You’d seen how it made him cringe.

But now with Keigo sleeping so deeply? You took it all in.

You looked at the nearly black scarring where the roots of his wings were. The fanning out of puckered, red skin from the burns. His back, which once rippled with the muscles that controlled his crazily powerful wings, was now a charred plain. 

...

You had an awful, far-fetched, fucked up idea. 

You sat, sinking into the bed as you contemplated your idea.

You brought your hands to your face, concentrating on your fingertips. 

Small, tiny vines and green shoots left your fingers.

There’s absolutely no way that this will work.

But, you’d hate yourself if you didn’t try.

 Life reclaimed life, you supposed. 

You drummed up a half-assed plan. It was a weak, frail idea— it would need a lot of support. Even then, you didn’t want to give yourself false hope. You couldn’t give Keigo false hope. It would ruin him.

...

You’d have to fix your diet. Eat lots of nutrient-rich food. Take more vitamins too.

You slotted yourself next to Keigo who, in sensing your warmth, turned into you, pressing into your front. His head nuzzled into your chest, an arm wrapping around your waist. 

You heard him wince at the motion, flinching in his sleep.

You had to try. 

One of your hands went to his back, brushing down the comforter to reveal the particularly gnarly scars where Keigo had lost part of himself. You laid your hand flat on the fire-flayed skin, praying you don’t wake him. You concentrated, watching small greenery go from your fingers to his flesh, desperately trying to repair the damage that had been done. 

 ------------------------------------

 Keigo apologized to you the next morning. He clutched your chest and told you how sorry he was. He told you how he knows he’s acting out, he’s just so fucking sad—

You told him that he didn’t need to justify himself. Not to you. Though, you accepted his apology and asked him to not say those kinds of things to you again.

“I’m trying my best, and I know it's not enough sometimes... but it's all I’ve got,” You speak to him in your own small voice. One that portrayed a weakness that you hadn’t shown since Keigo had been injured.

He felt even guiltier. 

 But, the second week was better.

His exercises were getting easier. Eating came a little better too. You started cooking more, not getting as much takeout. Part of him missed the comfort of familiar street foods, but another part of him craved the home-cooked meals you made so much more. They helped him feel better too, packed with veggies and lean proteins. 

Keigo didn’t notice, he was far too out of it, but you were already looking more haggard. 

It came with using your quirk in general, let alone to the extent you were pushing it. It was a pitiful quirk and you’d never strained it half as far as you were then. 

It had a price. 

To heal others, even something as small as a paper cut would take from your own body.

And, you were dedicating at least thirty minutes a night to attempting to ‘heal’ (read: reconstruct) the tissue of Keigo���s back. You had to start so deep in his muscles; it hurt to push your quirk that far down. Within the first five minutes, that first night you tried, you were silently crying from exertion.

But, you didn’t relent.

Each day, it was a little easier.

Sure, you had bad nights where it was extra hard. You blamed it on not eating well enough, using up too much of yourself during the day. 

It was a shitty excuse, notably. Your quirk was weak and self-destructive, it was beyond your bodily capabilities. There was no way to tell if it was even working to heal Keigo’s body. It was a gamble. 

And your wager was your health and body.

Even eating optimally and taking a bevy of new vitamins each morning before Keigo awoke, you could tell your physical health was suffering. You were losing a bit of fat already. Dark circles were punched under your eyes from the exhaustion. You had developed the slightest shake when you moved.

And the worst part was, you knew that you’d only get weaker from here on out.

So, you upped your calorie intake. You kept careful track of the foods you ate, the same with Keigo’s. He didn’t seem to mind the delicious meals you now coveted crafting, no matter how tired you were. If he was eating better, it would probably help you too, right?

You could only hope, resting it all on a long shot. 

 --------------------------

 Week three was good, but hard. 

The HPSC commission forced Keigo to do a media appearance. He told them, bluntly, that he couldn’t fake it right now. Probably, forever. 

They told him to suck it up, get out there, and put some hope into their society that was being pulled apart at the seams.

Keigo refused to let you come. He didn’t want to think about how you’ll look at him when he’s all dressed in his hero uniform, wings absent from his back, forcing him to bear the two empty slots of his jacket. 

When he mentioned it, you offered to sew them up.

Keigo felt horrible, but he just gave a nod, handing you his jacket without looking at you. 

You stitched the slits shut for him. Keigo requested red thread for the stitching and you obliged him.

 (You made note that Keigo truly had no hope. You couldn’t tell him a thing about your quirk usage until you were positive that it would have results.) 

 The media appearance went okay. Not great, but okay. ‘Hawks’ was dead, and Keigo was not a performer like he was. Though he still went by his hero name, his real name only known by himself, the Commission, Dabi (may he rot in hell), and you. He coveted that you had the intimacy in knowing his identity, but it felt dirtier now that Dabi (Touya?) had that name in his throat as well.

 When Keigo came home from the media appearance, he was keyed up. He flitted around the apartment while you made dinner. There was an anxiousness in his movements.‘Hawks’ would’ve taken to the skies to fly off some of this fractious energy. Keigo just had to wait for food to be ready and pray that the feelings went away. 

Just before dinner, he decided to try exercises outside of the one his physical therapist assigned him. He was feeling energetic enough, right? Might as well pull out some of the easier moves from his hero training. 

Keigo moved to his now seldom-used at home gym. He picked up a dust-covered five-pound weight and proceeded to try and curl it. The moment Keigo brought it above his head, his back tensed and burned something fierce.

The weight fell from Keigo’s hand, half-thrown, luckily missing any and all of his toes and feet. 

He cried in frustration, stuck staring at himself in the wall of mirrors. 

Keigo truly thought he looked pitiful.

He was still wearing his hero uniform sans the jacket. He’d lost a lot of muscle mass with his more sedentary state. His hair was too long. He had gotten more pale, losing his few freckles. His eyes were bloodshot and his teeth curl over his lips in a snarl—

“Keigo?” You opened the door to the gym, eyes wide with shock, but your tone didn’t change. He just glowered at you from the mirrors. You spoke again, staring him down with an almost scarily neutral poker face. “Dinner’s ready. Would you like to eat? Otherwise, I can save it for you.”

Keigo didn’t reply. He went back to trying to pick up the weight, screaming each time and hating how his back burned so intensely.

You left without saying anything. 

 ---------------------------

 Week four was hard because you and Keigo’s relationship is beginning to suffer. Or, it had been, but it was reaching a fever pitch. 

Keigo’s lack of human contact, lack of physical activity, and general cabin fever were getting to him. He was lashing out more and you, kind as you were, were having trouble dealing with it.

Your own run downstate was eating you alive, literally. No matter how much you put into your body, you needed more to heal Keigo. You were up to two hours a night of working at Keigo’s tissue with your quirk. By the end of your ‘sessions’, you would simply pass out and fall into listless slumber. You were losing a lot of sleep each night, but you were determined to keep going. 

Your exhaustion, in general, was making you a bit more prickly towards Keigo’s increasing frequent outbursts.

It all came to a head on a Sunday night.

The two of you were curled up on the couch, half-cuddling and half-watching TV.

A notice for breaking news showed red on the screen.

Both of you tensed. Before Keigo’s injury, he’d be rushing to throw on his hero gear and fly to help. Now, he just sat next to you, stiff as a board with pin-pricked pupils.

A picture, pre-PLF injury Endeavor flashed on screen.

“The Hero Public Safety Commission has just made the press release the former number one hero, Endeavor, is no longer in comatose.”

You watched a real, happy smile, spread on Keigo’s face. For a moment, there was a sliver of hope—

“But, he still remains in critical condition. Due to injuries affecting his central nervous system, he is reported as being in a state of paralysis. As of now, his life still hangs in the balance, though he is lucid.”

Keigo stiffened again.

There was rage painting his face. 

And pain. 

You stiffened with him.

You did not have it in you that night to deal with one of Keigo’s explosive moments. 

“Endeavor has left us all with this message—”

The camera flashed to an old video of the old ‘number one hero’, healthy and strong with a fist raised in the air.

You braced for impact as Keigo stood, shoulders hunching over.

Endeavors voice washed over your living room,

“Go Plus Ultra!”

And Keigo, honest to god, shrieked.

He fell to his knees and beat the floor beneath him. He slammed his fists in the hardwood over, and over, and over again. You slipped to the ground with him, trying to grab at his fists.

“Keigo, you’re gonna hurt yourself—” You tried to tell him. You managed to capture one of his fists, urging it to stay down-

But, you looked up to see Keigo giving a feral look with a frenzied, white-hot sneer all for you. 

 And his free fist flew towards you. It connected hard and solidly to your jaw.

You hadn’t been expecting it. Keigo had never struck you before, not even close. For fucks sake, he had never even raised his voice at you before his injury.

So, how could you expect to brace yourself for it?

The force of Keigo’s blow knocked you back. You jolted, falling onto your side and turning your head to the side, away from Keigo.

You brought a hand up to cup and shield your face, your jaw and eye socket throbbing. 

All you could feel was shock.

And sadness.

And horror.

And anger.

And terror.

 Keigo snapped out of it.

The news report was still playing, but he couldn’t hear it.

There was only the rushing of blood in his ears.

His mouth turned bone dry.

He had watched you move with his strike, falling more to the ground, hiding yourself—

“Oh my g-god, (Y/N),” Keigo’s voice was slippery and warbling. “I-I d-didn’t—” 

“No,” You stood up, still holding and hiding your face from him. His heart was crumbling in his chest.

You looked at him with only fear and heartbreak.

Keigo scrambled up, trying to apologize, hold you, mend this before it got worse—

But you put the hand that wasn’t cupping your face out, just barely touching his chest. You refused to let him any closer. 

“H-hey Kei’?” Your voice sounded so, so shaky. It’s hardly there. You were holding back tears and it was so obvious. It made every part of Keigo burn with shame. “I can’t today. Maybe another day, I could deal with this, y-ya know? But not today, okay? Have a g-good night.”

You walked away before he could say anything else.

 You dashed off to the guest room, shutting and locking the door before falling against it and breaking. You cried and rocked yourself as you tried to self-soothe your shattered body and mind. 

The month prior had been so hard. The person you love was hurt so deeply, and though you were trying with everything you had to help, it didn’t seem like enough. You were getting verbally beat up semi-frequently and now Keigo had fucking hit you. 

You were scared. You were terrified that this would become the norm. That Keigo’s outbursts would continue to worsen, as they had been, and you would become a physical punching bag for him.

It especially hurt because you were trying so hard to help Keigo. 

You weren’t delusional enough to think you could really fix him, were you? 

The fact that you were secretly and silently trying to regenerate Keigo’s body with a quirk he didn’t even know you had struck you bluntly in your mind.

“I’m just so fucked up, aren’t I?” You laughed and sobbed to yourself at the same time, slamming your head backward on the door, relishes the pain that floods your skull. It was a reprieve from the bruises blooming across your cheekbone. 

You eventually managed to cry yourself to sleep, literally. You curled up in a ball on the floor next to the door, worn down to the bone.

 In the early morning, far before dawn, you pulled yourself into half-wakefulness. 

You were relentless and you were coming to hate yourself for it.

You needed to work on Keigo, no matter how you shitty felt.

You crept into the master bedroom, trying to be silent. You didn’t want to wake him. Only when you were fully in the room did you notice a soft lamp is still on despite it being early, early morning. 

Wide awake and upright, Keigo looked horrified to see you. He looked at you, shaking and half-sobbing into a pillow he clutched to his chest.

You both seemed shocked to see each other. 

You sniffled as you turned off the lamp, stripping down to just a t-shirt and panties before climbing into your side of the bed.

You refused to face him while he was awake. You got as comfortable as you could (which wasn’t much). 

There was half an hour of disgustingly awkward silence. It coated the room, bearing the two of you who refused to sleep. 

“I’m s-sorry,” Keigo had yet to move. He was frozen in place as you were turned away from him in the dark. “I’m so sorry, (Y/N).”

Silence.

Your mouth felt dry and your mind parched. 

“Keigo,” You spoke like a being empty. You truly felt like it too. “If you ever touch me like that again, I will do worse than just leave you.”

It was a threat.

You let yourself have it, in all of this. You deserved one low blow. 

Keigo slowly slid down into the covers, babbling apologies and beginning to cry again. 

“Stop, Kei’,” You finally turned towards him, cupping his face. He blinked at you, eyes wide and glassy. “I love you. Just stop. Apologizing doesn’t make something like this better. I can’t do this if you keep hurting me, you know that. Just be better.”

Keigo winced at that. He knew it was true, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t painful.

You fell asleep on each other that night. You let your headrest nestled up against Keigo’s chest. He breathed softly above you, arms wrapped securely around you, holding you tightly like he was afraid you’d leave. You wouldn’t. You made the decision to stay at the beginning of all this. Your threats would always be empty. 

Idly, you had an arm thrown over Keigo’s waist, snaking up the back of his shirt to press your fingertips against his scars. Your roots and greenery didn’t have to go as deep now, as far as you could tell.

But, it had been a month with no discernable progress, visual or otherwise. 

But, you held onto hope. 

Because you had to hold onto hope that Keigo would get better. 

All of him.

 -------------------------------

      The second month was... different. 

Keigo tried with his whole heart to earn back your trust.

You flinched at him for the first week or so. 

He hated himself so fucking much each time you did. But, he never blamed you. He couldn’t.

(Even as you twitched away from him in the daylight, you tirelessly worked on his scars in his sleep. You couldn’t give up, no matter how awful you felt). 

Keigo did his exercises several times a day. He made a few more media appearances but refused to be seen with Endeavor. He (and truthfully, the Commission) knew that he could not psychologically handle it.

You were rapidly getting weaker, but you didn’t care. You ate more, slept when you could, and pushed on. You were up to three hours of healing a night. Tears rolled down your cheeks the whole time.

You were clinging to the prayer that you could unburn Keigo’s back like it would save you from your personally made hell. 

This was despite the fact he was already crawling out of the pit himself. 

 Your existence was eased slightly as Keigo was starting to help out more. 

Keigo wasn’t anywhere near normal— normal Keigo was dead in a disintegrated building, miles from your shared home. But, he was getting better.

 His muscles felt better. He wasn’t sure how, but they did. His PT exercises must’ve been working. The outbursts he had thrown so often during the first month pittered out to maybe once or twice a week. They were calmer now. You were still his anchor, of course, that was undeniable. But, it was mostly crying and clutching and not screaming and breaking.

It was a welcome shift.

Most of the time, Keigo would pull you into his lap and wrap you in his embrace. Softly, he’d sway and rock the two of you, like he was trying to lull and calm not just himself, but you in tandem.

A lot of the time, this was true. 

Your flinching subsided and Keigo had no more close calls with any physical violence towards you. In a few high strung moments, he still snapped at you. He’d apologize, and do better. At least, you told yourself that. That’s how you saw it anyways. 

Keigo was thoroughly traumatized. His mind was an open nerve and that had consequences. You were so endlessly tired. What kind of wounds and trauma were you incurring?

You forced yourself not to think about it. 

 Part of you, during this month, wanted to simply pack a bag and leave without a trace. 

But, you stayed with Keigo. You stayed determined. 

(Or, you stayed out of spite. On your bad days, you really had trouble figuring it out.)

Your body looked like shit. You were endlessly glad Keigo still wasn’t in a position to be having any sort of sex because he probably would’ve noticed how fucked up your body was getting.

You shook constantly, always quaking like a leaf in a rainstorm. Your skin bruised with almost any contact beyond light touch. Your eyes, once vibrant and expressive, had sunk in. 

Your body, no matter the several thousand extra calories you forced yourself to eat a day, still ran through your fat reserves. It was leeching muscle from you. It made your joints feel raw. 

 It almost hurts that you noticed how Keigo is so pained, but he didn’t notice you falling apart.

 -----------------------

      The third month was when shit hit the fan.

It was near the end of the month. 

You were doing so badly. You stretched yourself far beyond your body's abilities. 

You felt particularly sick, but you needed to get groceries. Keigo couldn’t himself for a host of reasons, which made it your job. You kissed him on the cheek as you left for the market.

Meanwhile, Keigo’s physical therapist dropped by for a check-in appointment. 

Keigo did his exercises beautifully. He had to admit, his muscles didn’t ache in nearly the same way they used to. They only really hurt when the weather changed, like he was some old, arthritic man. 

“Wow!” His therapist gasped, watching him complete his exercises. “It’s looking great, Hawks. It looks like you’ve gained back a lot of strength.”

The small amount of praise made him beam as he sat up. 

“I just want to check the actual wounds around your back, if that’s alright? Just feel the scar tissue,” The therapist asked. Keigo bit his lip, slowly pulling off his tee-shirt. He didn’t like the idea of anyone’s hands being that close to the intimate roots of his dead wings. 

But, it was necessary.

Keigo faced his back to her.

All he got was an audible gasp as the therapist’s hands traced at his spine.

“The progress back here- Hawks this is insane,” The other was alight, pressing a thumb somewhere near the root. It hardly even hurt. “The scar tissue— it’s not gone, but it's a lot more tender than it should be. Like it's actually healing.”

“Is that why it doesn’t hurt so bad?” Keigo asked, letting a few slivers of joy light him up from the inside out. During his initial prognosis, multiple doctors had said that he was going to be on fire for years, not months. 

The therapist nodded, “Looks like it. Even the scarring on the surface looks pretty good. Must have some damn good genes to be healing like this.”

The two laughed, Keigo feeling more lighthearted than he had in months. 

 You, on the other hand, were greatly struggling. 

You were so, so fucking cold; yet another bi-product of your overextension. You were wrapped in an oversized cardigan on top of one of Keigo’s mock necks. You couldn’t stop trembling as you try to shop as quickly and effectively as possible. Anything to get you home as soon as possible. 

You had a great deal of difficulty doing this, though.

If you moved too fast, your vision blacked out. It had been like that for a while, a week or two. You’d lost track. You figured it was your iron, maybe blood pressure. 

It was an easy thing to hide at home, but much harder in public.

You reached for something high on a metal shelf, tossing it into your cart. You needed another item, on the bottom shelf. You dropped to your knees, your body aching and rolling.

Almost done.

So close. 

Then you can go home and rest.

You stood up too fast. Your vision went black ringed for a second. You stumble, trying to catch yourself as you lost sight. 

You felt weightless for a moment, spinning, Though your limbs felt weighed down, impossible to move. As your vision returned, its field wouldn’t move, pointed up at the ceiling of the crowded market. 

There were people speaking, shouting around you.

Alarmed.

Speaking to you?

You didn’t care.

You were so, so tired.

You let your eyes slip shut.

 ------------ 

 Keigo had been waiting for you for several hours longer than it took to go grocery shopping, sure. And, to have you gone from the apartment so long made him itch too. It had been eating him, making him pace around. You hadn’t been answering your phone either. He figured you had made a detour and let your phone die.

 When he received a call from the local civilian hospital about you, he feels his blood freeze in his veins. 

“You’re listed here as (Y/N)’s emergency contact as a partner, yes?” The nurse asked. “They collapsed at a local market. They’re stable, but we’d recommend coming to the hospital as soon as you’re able to.” 

Keigo nodded, head swimming.

You’re hurt.

You’re safe, but you’re hurt.

...

Keigo was whisked to the back of the hospital in a poor disguise. He gets recognized, given some extra security. The scar that marred his face was enough of a marker even if he didn’t have wings. He hardly cared. He couldn’t. 

Your door opened to a very dark room, soft beeps and hums filling it. 

He imagined that he must've been feeling close to how you felt, seeing him in such a similar position those few months ago.

The nurse enters ahead of him, clicking around on a tablet to pull up your chart.

Keigo could hardly pay attention. He felt like he was going to die, seeing you like that.

You had an IV, pushing fluids into your thinned arms. Your face was hollow looking, sockets sunken, especially with your eyes closed like they were. You had several blankets on you, piled over you. Yet, you were still visibly shivering.

The nurse whispered, “They’ve been asleep for a while now. A doctor will be in soon. Just sit tight.”

She left the room while Keigo pulled a chair up to your bed. 

The smell of the hospital burned his nose. It reminded him far too much of his own time. All that pain. 

The ache in his back flared, but he figured it was somatic.

 Keigo reached out as he sat, holding one of your frail-looking hands in both of his own (had you looked this purely death stricken this morning? Keigo couldn’t recall either way, and he hates himself for it).

Your eyes slowly opened.

 Keigo met your gaze, breath caught in both of your throats.

Neither of you got a chance to speak, not a moment of fucking comfort, before a doctor barged in, flipping through your chart with a bored look on his face.

“We finished up your testing. Lucky for you, no concussion or fractures from your fall,” The doctor nods. He doesn’t even seem to notice Keigo, or rather, Hawks. “The rest of your results aren’t looking so great though.”

Your hand stiffened violently in Keigo’s grip. Your face went from worn and exhausted to filled with terror and... guilt?

 You were fucked.

The doctors and nurses had mentioned to you that they were fairly certain that all of your symptoms came from quirk overuse. You started weakly crying at that, your nurses looking confused. You didn’t elaborate then. You knew, the moment you woke up in the hospital that you were going to have to confront your own damage to your body.

You were going to be forced to explain it.

To Keigo.

The doctor continued. 

“Low levels of nearly all essential vitamins and minerals. Particularly low iron, magnesium, and potassium. In general, your test results and physical state would lead me to think you’re suffering from malnutrition. But, your panel shows that your metabolic rate is actually going abnormally quickly in a way that could only be linked to-”

Wait for it.

“Quirk overuse-”

Keigo barked out a laugh, letting go of your hand, “I’m sorry, but what? They’re quirkless, it has to be something else.”

 You didn’t say anything. Your eyes, glassy and unfocused, are trained on your lap. You’re taking sharp, quick breaths.

You’re going to have to tell him everything.

 The doctor flips through your chart again, shaking his head and bringing it over for Keigo to look at, “I apologize if this seems out of turn, but they’re listed in the public files as having a quirk... It’s marked as a weak healing quirk, but all the same, any strength of quirk has overuse.”

Keigo is stone still.

There’s tension so thick in the air of the room that the doctor excuses himself. 

 Keigo, for months now, had been in a traumatized stupor. His normally sharpened senses, aided by his wings, were the key to so much of his cunning. Both his physical and mental states were affected, which had made him less observant.

It had caused him to disregard so much. 

 But now, in your stupid, acrid hospital room, he was quickly putting it together. 

His back burned again. 

 You felt frozen. You couldn’t force yourself to move. You couldn’t do anything other than look at your lap and roll in your head. Your body hurt so bad, your head hurt too, and so did your fucking heart.

 “Can I clarify? Because I think I have an idea of what’s going on.”  Keigo had physically moved away from you. He leaned back in his chair, staring down with a mix of expressions you couldn’t suss out. It made you feel even sicker.

You nodded.

“Breath, (Y/N),” Keigo reminded you. He watched you take a massive inhale, followed by tears beginning to gather. You still wouldn’t meet his eyes. 

 “Have you been... using your quirk on me? Without me knowing?” Keigo asked, trying to keep his voice firm, but truthfully, it wanted to waver and bend so badly. “Please be honest.”

You nod, breaking down to rub at your eyes. 

Keigo doesn’t stop the instinctual way he moved towards you, leaning over your bed and wrapping his arms around me.

With his cheek pressed to the top of your head, he broke the illusion:

“Please tell me what’s going on. Please.”

And so, you did.

It came out tearfully, you spilling and cracking as you did. You felt stupid and guilty and awful, but at least you were out of this fucked up lie. 

It all poured out of you. Your fear and your desperation were all laid out and Keigo was reading the cards.  

You explained that your quirk has always been weak in addition to taxing on the body. Hence, you had seldom, if ever, used it as an adult. You were effectively quirkless and you were okay with that. Keigo had never asked so you never told him. 

You tell him, voice shaking, what happened the night Keigo had pleaded with you to kill him.

“I-I, Kei’,” You push out, pressing your face into his shoulder. “I didn’t know what to do. You were so hurt and so sad and I had this stupid fucking idea that maybe, maybe I could use to my quirk to heal you.”

Keigo’s breath catches. He doesn’t say anything for a moment before asking, “Why didn’t you tell me? Ask me?”

“I didn’t know if it would work. I still don’t know if it does. It didn’t wanna... I didn’t want to get your hopes up. E-especially since it would’ve been coming from me.” You pressed harder into him like you’re scared of him disappearing. “You were already so crushed.”

Keigo didn’t know what to say. There was a swirl of emotions bubbling and writhing in his body and mind and he didn’t know what to say for the first time in a long time.

 So he didn’t say anything.

Keigo sat back in his chair, putting his elbows to his knees, using folded hands to rest his head on, parsing through his own feelings.

“K-Keigo?” You asked, wiping a tear away. As much as Keigo hated seeing you like this, he also recognized your state was by your hand. 

Right?

“Sweetheart, I love you—” Keigo stopped himself, sighing deep in his chest. “But, I can’t... I just need some time.”

 You nodded, tears coming back to drip down your face.

Keigo just watched with a neutral expression.

 -----------------

 Despite not being able to handle talking to you, Keigo was more than willing to help you out of the hospital. You were discharged with a prescribed diet and vitamins as well as a followup appointment in a few weeks. 

“And, most importantly,” The doctor made eye contact with you. “Don’t use that quirk of yours until further notice. Honestly, with it being so destructive, I can’t understand why you would in the first place.”

You burned with shame.

The night you came back from the hospital, Keigo took incredible care of you. He didn’t talk much during it, not to you anyways. He was nearly constantly speaking under his breath, all unintelligible. From his tone and myriad of expressions, you guessed he was verbally processing. 

Keigo gingerly gave you a bath, scrubbing away the smells and stickiness of the hospital. He managed to cook you one of the nutritious recipes you had shown him a few weeks ago. You sheepishly had to ask for another portion, explaining how your metabolism burned so quickly.

“Have...” Keigo finally spoke while making you another plate. “Have you always been eating this much?”

You nodded, sipping your water, “For a long time, yes.”

He hated himself for not noticing such obvious things. 

 Keigo kept carrying you from place to place, no matter how much his back hurt. He didn’t care. He couldn’t.

He laid you in bed at some point, sliding in next to you. He still hadn’t spoken much since you’d left the hospital. 

You had tried to babble apologies and beg for forgiveness, but selfishly, Keigo wasn’t listening. He was trapped in his own head. Even when you clung to him in the bath, he could hardly make himself hold you up from sliding too far into the water. 

It almost hurt to touch you.

 It was late when Keigo finally verbally, directly regarded you. 

“Why?” Keigo asked. You’re both turned away from each other. The bed had been vibrating with your harsh breathing and crying for an hour or so now. “Why did you do all this?”

You stop shaking, but only for a moment.

Your voice is so soft, weak, “Please don’t blame yourself. It was my choice.”

“That’s not what I asked.” Keigo could hear the anger in his voice. “Why. Did. You. Do. This?”

You’re silent for a moment. 

And then you’re sitting up, yelling.

“Because I didn’t know what else to fucking do!” You gripped your hair at the roots, pulling. “You asked me to fucking kill you, Keigo! You begged me to!”

Keigo sat up, staring you down. He felt so much anger and rage in him, it was bubbling up, “That doesn’t mean you had to hurt yourself like this for me!”

“I didn’t want to hurt myself! I wanted to help you! Using my quirk was all I could do!” You looked over at him, digging your nails into your exposed thighs. “What else was I supposed to do!”

“Exactly what I thought you were doing, helping me!” Keigo screamed back at you. “You were doing so good at it!”

“You wanna know why I could even help?!” You shouted. You grabbed Keigo’s shoulders and brought him inches away from your face. “Because, every night, I got to give myself just a shred of hope that you would get better. That maybe, maybe your wings would come back and you’d smile like you used to instead of yelling at me, and hitting me, and asking me, begging me, to slit your fucking throat!”

 You couldn’t stop crying. Your body was so run down, so depleted, but it still musters up the energy to drip tears like a flooded creek. You wanted to run and leave the bed, retreat to the bathroom where you can break down on the tile in peace, alone where Keigo wouldn’t have to watch. You’d done it enough prior to know he wouldn’t check on you.

 Keigo stared at you with wide eyes. 

He didn’t know what to say at first

He was feeling so much—

 Keigo didn’t know what to do or say.

So, he just twisted the knife, one could say.

 “You should’ve just left if you were really that miserable with me.” Keigo regretted it the moment it left his lips. You tense up, looking at him with a gaze he could only call broken.

 “No,” You grabbed your shoulders, rocking yourself. “No, Kei’, I couldn’t, I won’t—”

“Then stop complaining.” Keigo shrugged. God, this was awful, wasn’t it? Why wouldn’t he just shut up? “You’re the one who stayed and tortured yourself. That’s on you.”

“So you’d rather have that I... left?”

“Duh,” Keigo laughed, staring down your crying form. You’re so decrepit in your current state. He hated looking at you, purely because he knows he was at least a portion of what led to this. But, he’d never admit it. “Fuck, (Y/N), you didn’t have to kill me, and you didn’t have to kill yourself either.” 

 He’s splitting inside as he watches you break in front of him. Some fucked up, sadistic part of him relishes it. The other, muted, more sane part is screaming at him to stop fucking talking-

“You really got yourself hospitalized for overusing a quirk on me that I didn’t even know you had. You were so desperately trying to get me my wings back, all while acting soooo supportive of me trying to live without them?!” Keigo bellowed at you. You cowered, bent legs beginning to slide off the bed — “Do you realize how fucked up that is? That, behind closed doors, while I was fucking asleep, you were trying to fix me? Well, guess what, (Y/N), I’m broken beyond fucking repair, and no cute little shit you pull is going to fix me!”

Keigo shrieked his last words.

You fell off the bed, slamming onto the floor. A sickening crack filled the room as your head, basically unsupported, met the hardwood.

 “Stop it!” You were screaming yourself silly from the floor. Your head hurt so badly. Maybe you were bleeding. You didn’t care. “Stop it!”

You knew you couldn’t handle this.

You were raw. You couldn’t do this. You couldn’t confront any more than you had already that day. Your body hurt so badly and your mind hurt too. Everything Keigo said just rubbed salt in the wounds he helped to create.

“Keigo, just fucking stop it!”

Your vision spun. You thought that maybe you were hyperventilating. You couldn’t feel your hands, numbness beginning to pull at your extremities. 

“I’m fucking sorry!” You wailed. “What would do if you were in my position, Keigo?! Just watch me suffer and not do anything even if you could?!”

Keigo leaned over the bed, giving you the most empty look you’d ever seen him wear. 

“I would’ve just fucking left, (Y/N),” He spoke in a monotone, eyes like dead coals. “I would’ve just left.”

You stared up at him.

This horrible feeling had filled you from toes to top and you couldn’t escape it.

 Keigo didn’t say anything else as you panicked on the floor. He simply got up, left for the guest room, and slammed the door.

 Neither of you ever felt as awful as you did that night.

 --------------------

 Keigo didn’t sleep that night.

Neither did you.

 He figured (he hoped) you’d be gone by the morning. Maybe you would just pack your dusty suitcase and get the fuck out.

...

Truthfully, not a single fragment of Keigo wanted you to leave. No piece of him wanted you to go out of his life. God, if he really thought about it, the prospect of not being side-by-side in this world together threw him into bends of anxiety and pure grief. 

Truthfully, as Keigo silently, tearfully, examined your actions, he felt his anger ebb away.

He understood. 

Why you did what you did.

But it didn’t mean that it didn’t hurt. 

Guilt was eating him, too. For all the horrible things he had said. The things he’d done that hurt you without regard for months now. The fact he never noticed you deteriorating. And all the nights you crept back into your shared room, for comfort and to keep trying to help him, though perhaps cruelly. 

 It was dawn when Keigo exited the guestroom. He figured that you were either gone or would be soon.

He was clearly mistaken.

Keigo stopped when he saw you at the kitchen table, head down, and resting on your folded arms. You were wearing a huge sweater, one of his, and a blanket around your shoulders.

Keigo had, incredibly selfishly, somewhat forgotten your physical state.

He ached.

 “I made coffee,” You said quietly. You looked up, meeting Keigo’s gaze with bloodshot, puffy eyes. “It’s still warm.”

“Why are you here?” Keigo asked, heart starting to beat too fast again. “Why haven’t you left-?”

“Do you really want me to leave?” You asked with an unfamiliar edge to your voice. It’s not anger or malice, but something different. You stand, bracing yourself on the table, wobbling. Keigo wanted nothing more than to scoop you into his arms and apologize. But, he doesn’t. 

 You looked at him with this edge of fierce determination, asking the penultimate question, the core of this all, “Keigo, do you want me to leave because of my actions, or do you want me to leave because you don’t think you deserve help?”

There was a poignant quiet over the apartment. 

The birds of the new day interrupted it from outside, chirping with the eos of dawn.

“I don’t think... I—” Keigo was speechless again, stuttering. “You shouldn’t have hurt yourself so bad.”

“That’s been established, I went too far. I should’ve told you, offered and asked, and go from there. It ultimately was a complete breach of boundaries and for that, I’m sorry. Fuck my good intentions, it was selfish.” You squeezed the edge of the table, eyes low. Your gaze turned up sharply to meet his, that edge of determination and fierceness in it that Keigo was unfamiliar with. “My question is, do you want me to leave?”

Keigo stared at his feet. His head was swimming, “You should leave.”

“I asked if you want me to,” You asked again. You were being more firm than you had ever been. You sounded unbreakable. It was that stubbornness that kept you there with him, right?

Keigo met your eyes with a sharp glare, “You should’ve left the night I asked you to kill me.”

You sighed, shaking visibly, but still keeping yourself so strong, “Please just answer me. Do you want me to leave? If we’re going to break up, let’s just call it that, and get it over with, okay Kei’?”

Oh, hearing you say ‘breakup’—

That broke Keigo. 

Having to truly think and reckon with a reality where you weren’t with him and you weren’t facing the horrors of the world together was purely the stuff of nightmares. 

The stupid little facade Keigo had so carefully crafted broke. The burns on his body started to ache anew, somatically. The scar over his eye twitched as tears were gathering anew. 

“N-no,” Keigo hugged himself, shaking his head. “N-no— I don’t want you to go—” 

You didn’t say anything, just watched him with a sad expression.

“Then I won’t.” You sat back down. “Keigo, I know that this is all fucked beyond belief. I know. But, I won’t leave. I really, really don’t want to. I won’t, not unless you want me to go.”

And Keigo was breaking for you again. 

He somehow stumbled next to your chair, managing to fall to his knees and rest his head on your cold, cold thigh. He pressed his nose into your flesh, trying to fucking absorb your smell like you could disappear any moment. 

“Why did you do it-” Keigo sobbed into your skin, nails biting in the flesh of your calves. It made you jerk in your seat. “WHY DID YOU HURT YOURSELF FOR ME!”

You didn’t have a good answer for him, so you didn’t reply. 

Keigo’s grip on the flesh of his leg started to break skin as he wailed into your leg.

You just looked down at him with this expression of pure remorse,  melancholy coloring your eyes.

You grabbed his clawed-hands, recalling the last time you tried a move like this with a twitch. You held his hands in your own, pulling him up, “You can’t do that, Keigo. You’re hurting me.”

“All I DO is hurt YOU!” Keigo crushed you into a tight hug, knocking the wind from you. You jolt forward into his death grip. 

 “It was my choice,” You remind him, so much weakness in your choice. “A very, very selfish one. If I was going to try to heal you, I should’ve asked.”

You started crying with him. 

You both were just torturing yourselves, truthfully. 

 At his core, Keigo was a fucked up man who was so thoroughly repressed and manipulated, it was hard to see his psychological shortcomings. They were all so meticulously hidden. 

But not then, not after losing his wings.

“I’m so fucked up,” Keigo kept crying into you as you had his hands locked together. “I hate myself for being this upset at you when you were trying to help me.”

“Love,” Your voice was so soft, releasing Keigo’s hands to pet his hair. “It wasn’t right for me to try and do what I did. You can’t help how you feel.”

“I could before I lost them!” Keigo muffled himself with your flesh.

Them being his wings, obviously. 

You hauled him upwards, forcing him to sit in your lap. Keigo had always had a bit of size on you, but in your shrunken state, it was even more pronounced. 

“Then you weren’t feeling,” You pressed your face to Keigo’s chest, wrapping your arms around his waist. He entangled himself with you, and you both just held each other for a long, long time.

 ------------------------

In the following six months, a many very important things happen.

Keigo got a place for you for two entire months, just so you two have some separation. After actually having a calm talk about your relationship dynamic since Keigo’s injury, it was comically apparent there were so many fucked up things that had happened and that you both needed a bit of time to collect yourselves.

It was a hard separation, but you still see each other at least half of the days of your time apart, and even a few that you snuck over for the night to stay over. Keigo was so, so thankful. Being wrapped in each other was a different experience, something actually healing. 

You both got therapists, next. A couples therapist too. 

Thank God. 

Keigo had oodles of trauma to sort through, and you had your own shit to deal with as well. Not to mention the whole ‘Keigo being a dick to you because he was hurt doesn’t justify it’ kinda broke your brain for a second. Also, Keigo having to process ‘he was capital A abusive to you after he got hurt, and your only stability being the hope in healing you is much more complicated than just them trying to ‘fix’ you’ was a case of note. 

It was weird, really. 

 When you moved back, fully, to Keigo’s (you weren’t sure if you could call it ‘your’ apartment anymore), it was nerve-wracking. It was under the understanding that you could move out if you needed to, that separation and an ending were just a corner away.

It made you feel more unstable than you had in months, but you kept up with it. 

Keigo noticed, much more observant than he had been. About two weeks into you returning to the apartment, he asked the question, “What if we moved?”

You had been quietly eating your breakfast, but this startled you, “Move? Why?”

“I mean,” Keigo sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck. His gaze flickered to the living room, recalling the times he broke down and was so awful to you. It shifted to the bedroom door where you broke boundaries over and over. “A lot of bad stuff happened here. If we’re going to have a fresh start, might as well live somewhere new, right?”

You mused on it for a moment, then nodded, “Yeah, that would be good.”

The next few weeks were the most healthy and productive that you and Keigo ever had, pre- or post-injury. Apartment hunting turned into purchasing a two-floored, highrise, insanely nice condo across the city. Keigo suggested buying a house, but you refused. You both liked the views too much to live somewhere so close to the ground.

You packed your things, mutually. You both threw away plenty, bits and bobs that had been relatively unused for a long time. Lots of old memories were thrown out to make way for new ones. Though it was sad and there was plenty of grief in it, you actually had each other this time. 

When you found Keigo sobbing, clutching an old picture of him and Touya, one of the only of him from his childhood with the Commission, you held him and rocked him. You cried with him, not just settling for ‘dealing’ with him anymore. 

When you cleaned out the kitchen, you found the two dozen extra vitamins and extracts you had been taking while healing Keigo. You stared at him, idly, for ten minutes, somewhere far off in your head. Keigo came up behind you, wrapping his arms around you. Softly, he pulled you back from your mind. He helped you throw away each bottle, talking reverently to you so your gaze and mind would stay in that moment, and not those past and unsavory.  

You helped each other, or, were learning to.

 You and Keigo both had to agree that shopping for furniture was probably the most fun the two of you had in a while. With a facemask and a beanie on, Keigo appeared a lot less like his former self, allowing for the two of you to covertly search for new homewares without prying crowds.

The old apartment had originally been Keigo’s from his early years of being a hero. You simply moved in with him, adding yourself to his space. This time, you were making it together. 

 “What do you think of this one?” You turned to Keigo, next to you. Both of you laid on top of a fairly nice mattress, the store relatively empty aside from the employees and the two of you.

“I think it's good, it’s not too soft,” Keigo turned and smiled at you, speaking from behind his mask. 

You couldn’t help sitting up, tugging the cloth mask just a bit lower to drop a sweet kiss on the side of his mouth, “Get out the credit card then, babe.”

 The condo was sorted within a few weeks, full of furniture and slowly being decorated. 

You also had the opportunity to christen the mattress, if you will.

...

How long had it been since you and Keigo had laid together like this? 

Your bodies were sticky with sweat and cum, several rounds having passed throughout the night. Your new mattress was going to need a fresh change of sheets after this.

“Hey, angel, come over here,” Keigo tugged you closer to him, laying your head on his chest. You smiled softly, pressing closer. You missed it, truly, the warmth of his body and the feeling of his skin on your own like this.

“Alright, check-in,” Keigo pressed a kiss to your damp forehead. “You feeling okay?”

“I feel great,” You hummed, throwing a leg over his waist. “I can honestly keep going.”

“Should you?” Keigo raised an eyebrow and chuckled, nudging a knee between your legs. You flinched, knowing how sore you’d be in the morning already. 

Though your body had recovered somewhat, you weren’t fully back to where you were before Keigo’s injury. You didn’t mind, though. Keigo had taken to doting on you a bit more than he used to. 

You shrugged and Keigo just chuckled, bringing you ever-closer. 

“Are you okay?” You straddled Keigo’s hips, cocking your head to one side. 

Keigo was silent for a moment, stormy almost. He bit his lip, tracing hands and eyes over your figure, finally landing on your face. His softened hands cupped your jaw. 

“Yeah, I’m okay,” His thumb rubbed over your lips. There’s something so melancholic about him. “I just missed you.”

You knew exactly what he meant by ‘miss’.

 It was a feeling beyond sex, but rather intimacy. Sure, Keigo had been balls deep in you for the first time in months and that was ecstasy you wouldn’t trade the world for. But, this feeling Keigo regarded was different.

It had been so long since the two of you had been so softened around each other.

Guards, after months of being raised high, had begun to fall.

  Thank God.

 Your eyes watered as you lowered your face to his, ghosting your lips over his, “I missed you too, Kei’. I missed you so, so much.”

 How many minutes of hell had your both endured? And how many were there still to go? Thoughts of fear and anguish constantly swirled within the two of you for so long. They certainly hadn’t stopped, but they were lessening. Therapy helped. Being in the new place with a fresh start did wonders for the two you. Keigo’s passion for cooking continued to grow and you had taken up a few new hobbies of your own. 

It was the mundane, you supposed, that was the stitching for broken relationships. The real healing of proverbial flesh and bone was intimacy, vulnerability, and love.

“Hey, Kei’,” You kissed him breathless, once, twice, three times. “I love you, you know? A lot.”

“Yeah?” Keigo giggled, something high and light that he wouldn’t have released a year ago. “I love you too. So much.”

 The night continued in tender fucking, the two of you visibly watching wounds begin to grow smaller and scar, no more fire, and no more forced stitchings. 

Salvation came from time and small things, you supposed, half-asleep and nestled neck to Keigo, feeling better than you had in a long time.  

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

     You supposed, some time later, that karma gave the two of you a small gift. In the eyes of all things, it must’ve been just a spec, but God, it was something. 

     ...

They had come back over a year and half from when you had tried to heal Keigo. 

The attempt wasn’t forgotten, no, but it certainly wasn’t at the forefront of your minds like it used to be. Except the one morning that Keigo got up before you, sleepily yawning his way to the bathroom.

You heard his sharp gasp, loud exclamations in your half asleep state.

“Babe?” Your voice hoarse with sleep, you spoke. “You okay?”

Keigo jumped onto the bed, straddling over you and the comforter. 

“(Y/N)!” Oh, his eyes were wet. Soft, gooey tears were streaming down his face as he shakily grabbed your wrists. He pressed them to the scars of his back.

Your eyes went wide as your hands brushed against small, soft feathers. 

“Keigo!” You shouted, sitting up, urging him to turn around so you could take a better look. 

Keigo trembled as he bared his back to you. 

Your breath caught as your hands trailed down his marred flesh.

The scars, old and worn now, had faded a great deal. The charred plain calmed with time, perhaps by your own touch and very much so by Keigo’s own cells and flesh.

But, in the center of his back, where the roots of his wings once were, was something growing anew.

Small, burgundy feathers were growing from spindly looking, down-covered bones and skin.

They were small, nothing like his old wings. More aged, with their darker color. The feathers felt softer as you ran your hands along the largest, no bigger than your hand from wrist to tip.

Keigo shuddered.

“Do... Do they feel like they used to?” You asked, transfixed.

Keigo shakily shook his head, “N-no, they feel less sensitive I think. They feel different.”

...

 As Keigo had healed and changed, so had his body.

His wings never grew to their own old size and power, not even close. They couldn’t support his own body weight, so Keigo never flew again. But, the feathers, wine-colored and almost bruised looking, could be sent to do small tasks, much like his old ones.  

At first, it seemed cruel. After so long and so much, his wings grew back but in such a decrepit form. For days, the two of you waited and waited to see what the final form of his regrowth would be. In the end, at their best, they stretched out to about the span of Keigo’s arms. The feathers weren’t symmetrical either, even at their peak regrowth. Some grew in fluffy and rounded, while others were jagged, sticking out awkwardly from the rest of his form. 

Over time, the inherent disappointment and despondence turned into appreciation.

Because they had come back, it just took time. 

...

With enough time, Keigo wore them proudly, no matter how oddly they stuck out from his marred skin. Keigo’s body was still too damaged to do hero work proper, but he still was kept around.

At the end of the day, the feathers colored like dried blood represented something far larger. If the completely destroyed number two hero could come back to even a fraction of his former, angelic glory, that was something, right?

It was like in the eyes of all things, you were both awarded a physical manifestation of healing. The gnarly wings that grew from Keigo’s body may have been off-putting to some, but to the two of you, it was a testament to it all.

It just took time. 

#salem writes #hawks #hawks x reader #hawks x y/n #keigo takami x reader #keigo x reader #reader insert #my hero x reader #mha x reader #fanfiction #reader x my hero academia #takami x reader #keigo x y/n #angst #manga spoilers

[merry-thieves]

Alastair and the Merry Thieves  being friendly toward each other...(in CoI)

I hope I found all the important scenes!

““I have tried to apologize. and to change,” Alastair said, and even through the door Cordelia could hear his voice shake. “How can I make amends for my past when no one will let me?” When James replied, there was real kindness in his voice. “You must give people time, Alastair,” he said. “We are none of us perfect, and no one expects perfection. But when you have hurt people, you must allow them their anger. Otherwise it will only become another thing you have tried to take away.” Alastair seemed to hesitate. “James,” he said. “Does he-””

“...and even told Alastair that his hair looked nice.”

“She’d had no idea James knew any Persian beyond a few words for food, “thank you,” and “goodbye.” Even Alastair was staring at him with a mixture of surprise and respect.”

““You told me before that Alastair kept your father’s condition from you during your childhood. That you never knew about it.” “That’s true.” “I suppose I never realized until tonight what a great effort that must have taken. It is not an easy thing to hide. And not an easy thing to confront someone about it, if you fear they have - such an illness.””

““Bloody hell,” said Alastair. “I hope James sent him packing with a flea in his ear.” “Good for James, which are words I never thought I would speak during my lifetime.” “James will understand that.””

So, James is the first of the Merry Thieves, what we know of, to be (sort of) genuinely friendly to Alastair

it’s not a friendship but James starts to respect Alastair for what he did for Cordelia all these years

in turn Alastair also respects James and actually calls him by his first name and not “Herondale” any longer

““That was the first decent thing Alastair ever did in his life. And to think I was here to see it.””

Matthew still can’t really stand Alastair but he’ll admit to Cordelia that Alastair is not always a terrible person 

“Thomas cleared his throat. His hazel eyes were steady as he said, “I came to tell you that I’m sorry about you father. I really am.””

Thomas starting to think about Alastair’s feelings again ;)

“Matthew sat down with a thump. Thomas stared at Alastair with a dazed expression. Gideon looked pleased, if not a little bit baffled by every else’s stunned expressions. “Er - what?” said Christopher - speaking for them all, James felt.”

I don’t know, I just love how Alastair surprised everyone 

also, Alastair protecting Thomas but I don’t think that he had platonic reasons 

“Alastair kissed Cordelia’s forehead. As he did, he closed his eyes, and James felt the strange sense that he was getting a rare glimpse at the intensity of Alastair’s true feelings.”

James seeing the real Alastair :)

““I know you don’t care particularly what happens to Alastair, but I do.” She hadn’t meant she words to come out quite so pugnaciously. After a moment, James said, “Daisy, what Alastair did was quite brave. Not in the least because he did it for someone he knows dislikes him.” “it was rather selfless,” said  Lucie. “Honestly, we do care what happens to Alastair.” “We do?” Christopher sighed. “I feel as if I can never quite keep up.”

So, we have James caring for Alastair’s fate

and we see that Christopher isn’t against liking Alastair but he will only do so if the others can forgive Alastair

which probably means that he has no personal grievances with Alastair (Christopher is simply perfect <3)

I tried not to include any romantic scenes between Thomas and Alastair but rather scenes with them actually speaking with each other

“Alastair looked amused. “Never before have I ever heard such a concise statement of the ludicrous philosophy with which you and your school friends go through the world, running toward danger,” he said.”

““My point,” Thomas went on, an edge to his voice, “is that I don’t think you believe the rude things you say. And I don’t understand why you say them. It doesn’t make any sense. it’s as if you want to drive everyone away.” He paused. “Why were you so awful to us in school? We never did anything to you.””

““Then you lot arrived, a bunch of boys from famous families, too well brought up to understand at first what went on far from home. Expecting the world would embrace you. That you would be treated well. As I never had been.” Alastair pushed back a lock of hair with a shaking hand. “ I suppose I hated you because you were happy.””

“But they had spoken more truthfully to each other in the last few minutes than they had in their entire lives.”

I think we can safely assume that Thomas likes Alastair and that Alastair likes Thomas after the Sanctuary

Alastair finally told one of the Merry Thieves why he did what he did and can tell Thomas that he sees his errors

Yet, I’m not sure if Thomas has actually forgiven Alastair or just tries to repress his memories of the Academy 

“Alastair looked dismayed; Thomas, who was used to his uncle’s ways, shrugged. “You’ll get used to it,” he said to Alastair. “The more alarming the situation, the more frivolous my uncle’s demeanor becomes.””

Thomas talking to Alastair in a friendly way in “public”

““Do you want some seraph blades?” Thomas was about to protest that he’s already taken several when he realized  Christopher wasn’t talking to him. he was talking to Alastair, who seemed to have remained at Thomas’s side.” “Alastair nodded his thanks and took the weapons. He headed to the front doors while Thomas was still fastening his jacket. Christopher followed -” 

“Thomas exchanged a quick glance with the others. He had no intention of being kept back so he could stand at a window with a witch light. If the Institute was being attacked, he wanted to be out there, defending it. It was Alastair who moved first. He started down the steps, Christopher and Thomas on his heels. Thomas coughed as the air thickened around them, suffused with the rank,  damp smell of salt, fish and rotting seaweed. As they reached the bottom of the steps, Thomas’s boots came down in freezing water. He could hear Christopher exclaiming about scientific impossibilities. “Well, it might be impossible,” said Alastair, rather reasonably,“ but it’s happening.”” 

“He sloshed farther into the courtyard, through the ankle-deep water, Christopher and Alastair nearby.”  

“Christopher shouted hoarsely and ran toward his father as shilling-size drops of scarlet blood pattered down around him. Thomas scrambled to his feet and dashed after Christopher, hurling himself at the massive tentacle. He plunged his seraph blade into the rubbery treen-black flesh, over and over, dimly aware that beside him, Alastair Carstairs was doing the same.” 

“Alastair clambered onto a pile of rubble, spear in hand, turning to help Thomas up after him.”

Probably one of the best parts in the book: Alastair, Thomas and Christopher fighting together

Christopher noticing that Thomas and Alastair are seemingly on good terms and immediately being friendly to him

“Thomas had taken Cordelia aside; James heard him say something about the battle, and the name Alastair, and he saw Cordelia brighten. So Alastair was alright; James realized he was relieved about it, and not just for Cordelia’s sake. Interesting.”

James starts to actually care about Alastair’s well-being, interesting indeed James

I’m starting to sense a new and fifth member of the Merry Thieves

““Alastair,” Matthew said.” “Stuff good terms,” said Matthew. “Alastair, Cordelia assures me that you have a heart. She says you’re different than you were at school. The boy I knew at school. The boy I knew at school wouldn’t visit my brother, just to spite me. Don’t make your sister a liar; she’s a better person than you are, and if she believes in you, you should try to be someone she can believe in. I know I do.””

Not exactly a friendly conversation but Matthew actually called him “Alastair”

Though, I’m not sure what to think of what he said after that; it’s a mix of acknowledgement that Alastair can be a good person and a threat

““Alastair!” he called, again, and Alastair turned, a look of surprise crossing his face. Alastair said something to his cousin, then beckoned to Thomas as Je mood some distance away, offering them a semblance of privacy. Alastair looked at Thomas inquiringly. Thomas, who had realized almost immediately that he had no idea what to say, shifted from one foot to another. “You’re all right?” he said eventually. “I didn’t get to ask you, after the fight.””

Thomas caring about Alastair’s well-being ;)

“We cannot pretend forever,” said Alastair. “eventually the truth must be faced. All of your friends hate me, Thomas, and with good reason.”

I wanted to end with this quote since it shows what Alastair thinks the Merry Thieves think about him

in reality: Thomas is in love with Alastair (but he definitely should face his own inner demons before starting a relationship with Alastair)

Christopher seems perfectly willing to forgive Alastair and begin a friendship with him when his friends also forgive Alastair

James cares about Alastair and respects him -> possible friendship on the horizon

So, everyone basically forgave him except Matthew 

Matthew and Alastair did make progress but also not really

What did you think about this whole thing? Be free to tell me if I missed some important quote and if you would add anything to my comments!

Also, should I do something similar like this again? I was thing maybe a Gracetopher or Thomastair compilation?

@thegreatests @my-lady-of-roses @foxglove-airmid @blackasmysoul 

#tsc #the shadowhunter chronicles #tlh #the last hours #Chain of Iron #coi #choi #chain of iron spoilers #coi spoilers #thomas lightwood #alastair carstairs #james herondale #christopher lightwood #Matthew Fairchild #merry thieves

[dustofbrokenheart]

The Covenant: A Mess

Poly! Sons of Ipswich x Reader

Word Count: 2,497

Warnings: Slightly angsty 

Summary: Reader has been struggling with magic and feels miserable. Caleb and Pogue try their best to be loving and supportive. Requested by / in collaboration with @dhampiravidi​

Caleb trudged inside the apartment, the beginnings of a headache building behind his eyes. Taking his gray coat off, he followed the smell of spices into the kitchen. Chili, if Caleb had to guess. 

Pogue must’ve had dinner duty for the night. He made the best chili out of the three of them so they only ever ate it if he was the one making it. Sure enough, he was standing in front of the counter, his hair pulled back into a half ponytail, adjusting a setting on the slower cooker that was plugged into the wall.

“Chili?” Caleb asked, rubbing his forehead in an attempt to relieve some of the pressure.

“Chili,” Pogue confirmed. He turned towards Caleb, frowning when he saw Caleb massaging small circles above his eyes. “Another headache?”

Caleb sighed, lowering his hand. “Just a little one. They assigned me to that new case on Tuesday and I’ve been pouring over old court dockets ever since.”

Pogue didn’t say anything but he didn’t have to—the worry was clear on his face. Caleb was quick to smile and reassure him. “It’s like I said, just a small headache. No need to blow it out of proportion, Po.”

The longhaired boy wasn’t the least bit convinced, but didn’t push the lawyer further. Caleb was great at looking after people, but not so much when it came to himself. And if Pogue called him out on it, he would only draw further into himself. The key was to not bring it up and tread subtlety.  

“Okay, man. Whatever you say.” He sat down at the table, but not before sliding a bottle of aspirin over to Caleb who accepted it with a quiet thanks.

They quickly updated each other on their days. One of firm clerks was inviting everyone out for drinks next week: Caleb had said he’d get back to them after checking with the significant others. A real nice ’68 Chevy Nova had been brought into the garage for restoration: Pogue was excited to pop the hood and get to work. But it wasn’t long until Caleb noticed who was absent from the table.

“Where’s Y/N? She’s never been able to resist the smell of chili.”

“Rough day. She was crying when I got home and she’s been shut in the bedroom since then.”

“Crying? Why was she—” He cut off immediately. He knew, they both knew. You weren’t really a crier. In all of the time the three of you had been together, there was only one thing they had ever known you to cry about. “She tried Using again today.”

Pogue nodded, a severe frown on his face. He looked down the hall at the shut door, no sounds or light coming from the other side of it. “Looked like it to me. The spell book was already put away when I walked in, but she left the candles out.”

Caleb released a long breath and stared unseeing at the ceiling. How could he fix this?

Magic was a touchy subject. All three of you were witches and even if he and Pogue weren’t regularly Using, they didn’t impose their rules on you. After all, your coven had struck a different deal to gain their magic so they didn’t have to worry about you sacrificing pieces of your life whenever you tried to use it. But that didn’t mean they didn’t worry about you.

Using was…hit or miss with you. You had no problem performing large, high-powered magic. You had no problem blowing thing up or putting an entire bar full of people under a spell. But as time went on, it became apparent that you did not have the same ease when it came to more precise magic. And your struggles weren’t from lack of dedication or practice (you gave even Caleb a run for his money when it came to studying.)

The guys were incredibly supportive of your continued magic studies, but recently your mood had shifted and not for the better. After putting in so much time and effort, and still not having much to show for it, Using was starting to bring some emotional baggage to the surface. Seeing as how you’d been upset in the room for hours, they thought you were close to some kind of break.

Caleb tapped the table with his knuckles. “I’m going to check on Y/N and see if I can get them to talk to me.” He scraped his chair back and moved down the hall. He didn’t wait for Pogue’s reaction. He couldn’t. When someone he loved was struggling his immediate response was to talk with them and find a solution to the problem.

He didn’t bother knocking on the door—he knew that you wouldn’t answer anyway and that you had likely locked the door with no intention of opening it. Eyes went black briefly as he Used magic to override the lock. Normally, his rule was to only employ magic in times of emergency, but this definitely qualified as an emergency.

“Hi Y/N,” he said quietly, closing the door behind him. You were on your spot curled in the middle of the bed, body hidden under the comforter. “How was your day?” Your silence didn’t phase him as he joined you on the bed, wrapping his arms around you. “I heard you were practicing today, that’s great. I’ve always loved your drive.”

Still, nothing but silence from you.

He sighed and pulled the covers down so he could at least see your face. Your eyes were red and puffy but the crying was paused for the moment, your whole face lax as you stared through him rather than at him.

“Hey, now,” he whispered pressing gentle kisses to your forehead. “Come on, I want to hear about it.”

You pushed him away and he was relieved to see some reaction from reaction, even if it was annoyance.

“I really don’t want to talk about it, Caleb,” you stressed turning away from him. He tried to bring you back into his arms but backed off when he felt you stiffen up.

“It can’t be that bad.” More silence. “Just tell me. Please.”

The strong emotions that you had been trying so hard to hide exploded out of you and you were so upset that it wasn’t until after you finished that you realized how aggressive it sounded. “You want to know? Fine! It was a telekinesis spell. A simple freaking telekinesis spell. All I wanted to do was lift the frame that had our anniversary photo in it and guess what! And I ended up smashing it to pieces instead! There was glass everywhere and the photo is ruined, happy?”

You felt tears swimming in your eyes, whether from anger or sadness you didn’t know, and you ran with a huff to lock yourself in the bathroom. No matter what kind of tears they were, you refused to cry in front of Caleb. That would only make him more overbearing than he was currently.  

“You’re ridiculous,” you muttered as the tears started to flow. “All this time and you still mess up a basic spell. How can you call yourself a girlfriend to two Sons of Ipswich if you can’t even get that right?”

Caleb remained on the bed, looking at the bathroom door in grief. He had meant to help you and it seemed that he only made things worse. Sighing in frustration at himself he put himself back together and went back to Pogue who was still tending to dinner. There had to be something he could do, he just wasn’t sure what that something was.

“Well,” Pogue prompted, “How did it go?”

“Disastrous,” Caleb admitted. “I just ended up making Y/N even more upset and now they’re locked in the bathroom.”

“Hmm, that’s rough man.” A timer on the counter beeped, signaling that the chili was officially done cooking. Pogue took some ceramic bowls from the cabinet. “For both of you. Try not to get worked up about—Y/N will come around when they’re ready.”

“I am not worked up,” Caleb insisted. Pogue merely raised a brow and slid a full bowl to him. “Okay, maybe I’m a little worked up.”

“I knew it,” he smirked, pushing his long hair out of his face. “You can’t help it; it’s just who you are, man. But in this case, I’m telling you that you have to be patient.”

He sat down and took a bite from his own bowl, saw the worried look on the other man’s face. “I’m telling you. I learned this the hard way back in high school. Sometimes space is the best approach,” he said with a mouth full of food.

“If you’re sure…”

The two of them kept good on their unspoken promise and didn’t ask you about the incident again. You all still shared the same bed but even there they made sure to keep their hands to themselves, which you were grateful for. You didn’t feel the need for sex given your mental state. Just knowing that they were on either side of you was enough.

A part of you felt terrible for shutting them out, but an even bigger part of you couldn’t get over the hurt. Rationally, you knew that breaking the frame wasn’t that big of a deal. The guys would definitely fix it for you if you asked. Emotionally, however, you were a wreck. Productivity was at zero for the week. During the day you felt void, your brain numb. The night was worse, racing thoughts you couldn’t control as the continuous rewind of the incident playing on loop, preventing you from getting decent sleep.

Life was a mess. You were a mess. But there wasn’t much you felt like you could do about it; you were just hoping that you’d sort yourself out soon.

It was difficult for them for watching you going through it, especially for Caleb. He kept his word and didn’t question you like he had the first night but he hovering, struggling to master the need to make it better for you. Needless to say, he fed you breakfast in bed everyday that week.

Pogue was just as concerned. He never outright confronted you about it, that just wasn’t his style, but he did the dishes every day without complaint. He fidgeted more, even by Pogue standards. And unbeknownst to you, he was playing his guitar, something that normally happened when he was trying to sort something big out.

Somehow, he managed to hide it from you but he wasn’t so lucky with Caleb.

He leaned in the doorway, arms crossed. “How long have you been playing this one? I like it.”

“This week,” Pogue shrugged trying to downplay it. “The cords were easy to throw together.”

Caleb hummed and went to sit in front of the other man. Pogue started playing the tune again and Caleb found himself humming along after a few minutes. He wore a contemplative look. “Does it have lyrics?”

Pogue shook his head side to side, tossing his hair. “Nope. You know I’m not a good poet.”

Caleb nodded again, the same thoughtful expression on his face. “What if I wrote them?”

***

At the end of the week, you were slightly more recovered. The failure and unconference were still there but Pogue had convinced you to shower with him earlier in the day. It was nice to have clean hair and soft skin again. And you even managed to clear out your emails which always felt like an accomplishment.

“Hey, do you guys want to order takeout for dinner?” You walked out to the living room looking for your boyfriends. You were getting hungry and in the mood to socialize a bit more. For a second, you thought they were both out until you saw them out on the small porch. “Hello?”

They turned around with smiles on their faces and bid you to join them. It was a mild spring day and the setting sun left just enough heat to still be comfortable while sitting outside.

“Are you feeling okay?” Caleb asked, excitement just beneath the surface.

“A little better,” you answered eying the acoustic guitar in Pogue’s hands. Takeout cartons were arranged around the small glass table. “So…what’s all this?”

Pogue cleared his throat. “We wrote a song.”

“You…wrote a song?”

“A song for you,” Caleb further explained. “We’ve been working on it for you these past couple of days. Do you want to listen to it?”

“Y-yeah,” you said startled. This had not been what you were expecting when you came outside.

Pogue started strumming immediately, having already tuned beforehand. The pace was slower but purposeful, his fingers moving gracefully over the fretboard. Your heart fluttered, the notes sounding beautiful. Then Caleb started to sing. He was a graceful as ever, his voice blending in perfectly with Pogue’s guitar playing.

You were positively flushing. As romantic as the two of them were, they had never serenaded you before. In fact, no one had ever serenaded you. You were flattered. Giddy. Dazed.

The words touched your heart. The whole thing was so intimate, especially since they wrote it for you. They were pouring out the love they felt for you, the sadness that came with seeing you struggle. Unlaying the song was the assurance that things would get better.  

At some point, you’re not sure when, tears started to blur your vision. The song had barely ended before you threw yourself at them, hugging with all your might. The hugs were returned and you felt a kiss on the top of your head—Pogue. Caleb wiped away a stray tear that had escaped with the pad of his thumb.

“Sorry, we didn’t mean to make you cry,” he murmured softly.

“Yeah, sorry baby,” Pogue seconded. Everyone was silent for a moment when he cracked a joke. “You should’ve told me that my playing was bad, I would’ve stopped sooner.”

You slapped his chest with no real force behind it. “Shut up. I loved it. These are tears of happiness.”

“That’s a relief. We’ve been worried about you, you know.”

You relaxed into their grasp, the oranges and pinks in the dusk sky further calming you. “I know. I tried to shake it off and be rational about it but I couldn’t. I’ve been…struggling.”

“We know. It’s alright. We’re here for you through the good times and the bad,” he promised.

“I j-just feel like a failure and I don’t want you to be embarrassed of me because I—”

“Stop it. We could never, never be embarrassed of you. You’re strong and kind and smart; what’s not to love?”

“Face facts, baby, you’re stuck with us for as long as you’ll have us.”

More tears gathered. “I love you two goofs.”

“I love you, too,” they said simultaneously, leaning in on either side to press a kiss to your cheek.

_______________

First poly fic I’ve written/published. Thanks so much for reading! And thanks to Jayn for the idea! 😊 If you want more Caleb content, here’s a recent fic of mine. Check it out! If you want more poly content, let me know that too. 

#the covenant #caleb danvers #pogue parry #sons of ipswich #fanfic #caleb danvers x reader #pogue parry x reader

[css1992]

Guilty Pleasure

[Porn AU]

Summary: Peter and Beck used to be a power couple in the porn industry, but after Beck dumps him, Peter is forced to start over. With no money, no family and nowhere to go, he doesn’t have much choice other than to keep doing porn, so he joins Just4Fans to get back on his feet and then one day he gets a very generous tip from someone under the username of YKWIM.

All the warnings listed on Part I apply.

Read on AO3

Part I / Part II / Part III / Part IV / Part V / Part VI / Part VII / Part VIII / Part IX / Part X /  Part XI / Epilogue

-x-

The last couple of weeks of May flew by, soon June arrived and with it even more sunny days and warmer temperatures. Peter couldn’t help but think that his life fell apart in the winter, and as summer approached, it was slowly getting back on track. He was able to save a decent amount of money every month, his apartment was coming together – he even had a dinner table and chairs by the second week of June –, he was taking on more responsibility at BFF way quicker than expected and he was happier, in general.

He felt comfortable enough to make plans again – with the steady money he was making, he might be able to give up porn in a couple of years and he would still be eligible to apply for some of BFF’s grants and scholarships, meaning he may be able to go to college at 23, after all. Money would be tight for a while, but it was doable. He could always work part-time to supplement his income as well.

Summer also brought some unexpected good news. On a random Thursday morning, he was bombarded with messages on Twitter and Instagram from people asking where they could find his videos now that Beck’s channel was down. He was confused at first, but when he went to check, the channel wasn’t there, it had disappeared from the site.

He gasped. For a total of five seconds, his mind went wild, his heart raced, and his eyes watered. For those five seconds, he felt a mixture of happiness, relief and confusion, knowing those videos weren’t out there anymore, couldn’t be found, couldn’t be seen, couldn’t be remembered. But it was only for five blissful seconds. When his brain turned back on and the first rush of excitement died down, he realized that probably wouldn’t last.

That had happened before, when they first started posting. People mass reported the videos and the channel until they got taken down, because Peter looked very young at eighteen. They had to send a picture of his ID to the website for check several times, it was months before it stopped happening once and for all. Peter assumed Beck was posting videos of his new boyfriend, who he knew looked very young, so it was probably just a misunderstanding and only a matter of time until he got the channel – and the videos – back up.

Still, he allowed himself to count that as a win and couldn’t help but feeling giddy all day, to the point where everybody noticed his good mood – Ned, MJ, people at BFF and Tony.

Tony, who didn’t disappear. As days and nights and weeks went by, Peter stopped waiting for it to happen.

“Someone is awfully cheery today.” The older man grinned at him from the driver’s side that night, as Peter sang along to Ed Sheeran, because it was his turn to choose the playlist. Tony had picked him up from BFF and they were heading to his place for a quiet night in.

“It’s a good day, Tony.” He shot back after the chorus of Put it All on Me and the older man beamed, the corners of his eyes crinkling up.

“It sure is, kitten.” He turned up the volume and Peter sang even louder, causing Tony to burst out laughing.

At some point, he realized life was a little less complicated than he gave it credit for. He realized that if he actually gave things the precise amount of thought they deserved, not everything felt like the end of the world. The minute he decided to just let things happen the way they were supposed to happen, without overthinking every detail, life got so much easier.

He decided not to make the thing with Tony a big deal. Sure, when he thought about it for more than two minutes, it seemed like a huge fucking deal, he was basically dating Tony Stark, one of the richest men in the world, Iron Man himself, the man who had literately saved half the universe from extinction not even two years earlier. So, yes, that seemed like a big fucking deal, but–

But.

To him, he was just Tony. This charming guy who texted him daily to ask about his day and crack acid jokes about his business associates. This kind guy who sent him chocolates when he was feeling down and cooked him dinner every weekend and made sure to e-mail him easy and healthy recipes so he wouldn’t starve to death. This gentle guy who called him beautiful and touched him with such care that he forgot how many hands had left bruises on his skin before.

When he forgot everything Tony was supposed to be and just focused on everything that he was to him, what they had seemed so simple and pure.

He stopped worrying about labels, too. In the beginning, he kept stressing about what they had, what was expected of him, what he expected of Tony, but eventually, he decided none of that mattered. They made each other feel good, they made each other happy, they made each other better, all in all, whatever label he could put on their relationship wouldn’t make any difference, so he let it go.

Weeks later, Peter heard Beck had managed to get the channel back up, only for it to get taken down again in a few hours, then his Instagram and Twitter also disappeared. He wasn’t too surprised, and if he was honest with himself, it was fun imagining Beck losing his mind as he tried to fix it. After all, every day the channel was down, he was losing money. And his social media, specially his Twitter account, was where he promoted his content to thousands of followers, so losing that meant losing money as well, and if there was one thing Peter knew Beck loved, it was money.

He wondered what the fuck the man had done to piss people off like that, it was clearly a coordinated attack, but he wasn’t curious enough to try and find out what happened. He would rather watch from a distance, rejoicing in the satisfaction it gave him to imagine that maybe, just maybe, one of those days Beck wouldn’t be able to get the channel back up and would have to start from scratch, like Peter did. And maybe then he wouldn’t re-upload his videos – that part was a little harder to believe, but who knew, stranger things had happened.

When June came to an end, Peter was surprised with a notification from Tony on Just4Fans. He had almost forgot the man was still subscribed to his account there, they obviously never chatted on the app anymore, and when he opened the notification, his blood ran cold in his veins.

It was a tip.

A hundred thousand dollars tip.

He couldn’t fucking believe it. A tip? For what, a job well done? It wasn’t like Peter was – what did that even mean? Was Tony trying to say something with that, send some kind of message?

He decided not to call him right away, he was too – upset. The older man was picking him up later that evening for dinner, so he decided to wait. Whatever he had to say to him, he wanted to hear it in person. He wanted him to look in his eyes and tell him he thought he was his fucking wh–

“What is the meaning of this?” He asked as soon he got in his car, avoiding the kiss that came his way. Tony blinked in surprise, trying to understand why he got a phone shoved in his face instead of a kiss, and then he finally saw what that was all about.

“Oh, that–“ But before he could answer anything, Peter interrupted.

“I told you I’m not – Tony, why would you – this is so insulting!” He was honestly at a loss for words. They had been seeing each other for almost two months by then, things were going great, they met every week, they made apple pie together, for God’s sake, had he misunderstood all the signs?

“My God, Peter, that’s not that, I just thought – I mean, I’m a billionaire, you know this is pocket change for me, right?” Peter gasped, shocked, and Tony’s eyes widened when he fumbled with the door handle. “Wait! I didn’t mean – Jesus, okay, hold on a second, please!” Tony reached over him to shut the door before Peter could get out of the car. The young man turned to look at him with tears in his eyes and Tony looked incredulous when he leaned back and ran a hand through his hair. “Don’t just assume the worst, have I given you any reason for that?” He sounded hurt, which made Peter gulp. He took a few calming breaths and shook his head slowly.

“No,” he whispered, dropping his gaze.

“Ok, good.” He actually sounded relieved at that. “I am a billionaire, Peter, and this is pocket change for me, which means –“ he raised his voice a little, predicting a reaction from him that didn’t come, “I didn’t realize this would be such a big deal. For me, it’s like giving you, I don’t know, flowers. I didn’t mean this as a payment for whatever you think this is, I just thought this would be a good help. You’re starting your life now, you have that list of yours that you don’t let me see, you’re saving up money, you have your plans for college, I just meant to help. I mean, if we weren’t together, I would have tipped you every month, so I thought –“

“But we are together, Tony, I –“ he was a little calmer then, because that was, in fact, a reasonable explanation and he shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions. “Look, I appreciate the gesture, but next time you mean to give me flowers, just give me flowers! I believe you have the best intentions at heart, but it’s just weird for me. I don’t want this to be about money. I just – don’t want that, okay?”

He gazed at the older man as he gaped at him, mouth opening and closing, but no sound came out for a while.

“I just thought – I mean, people usually –“ It was unusual to see Tony speechless like that, but the man shook his head and looked back at him, almost embarrassed. “I just want to help you.”

“Are you kidding me?” Peter poked him in the arm, trying to lighten up the mood in the car. “You’re teaching me how to cook. Yesterday I made an omelet and I only burned one side, I’m getting good at this. That’s a big help.”

Tony didn’t laugh at his joke, like he usually did, he just gazed at him with an unreadable expression, before leaning in to kiss him, which Peter gladly reciprocated.

“I’m sorry I made you uncomfortable,” he whispered, then, resting his forehead against his.

“And I’m sorry I was rude. It won’t happen again,” he promised, and he meant it.

After that night, he removed Tony from his Just4Fans, which came as a blow to the older man, who pouted and whined for about a week, only stopping when Peter showed up at his place one Saturday wearing Iron Man lingerie under his clothes – it was supposed to be a joke, but it worked surprisingly well for Tony.  

By July, it became impossible to keep sneaking around Ned and MJ, as the dates became more frequent. Peter decided to tell them that he had met someone online and that they were getting to know each other. He told them it was nothing serious yet and if it became serious, they would meet him.

He did have to throw in a few lies to get them off his back – he definitely had to lie about Tony’s age to avoid certain comparisons, but he would cross that bridge when he got to it, if he ever got to it. He wasn’t sure if or when he was going to tell them the whole truth, but for the time being, he  felt more comfortable keeping that relationship to himself.

He and Tony didn’t go out much, but when they did, it was always to fancy and discreet restaurants with private rooms; Tony was, after all, a celebrity for all intents and purposes, and at if the press got a whiff of them there would be no secret left to keep.

But staying in with Tony was far from boring. They cooked together and the older man taught him all of his grandmother’s secret recipes – Peter could never replicate them by himself at home, but it was still fun trying. They spent almost all of their time down in the workshop, though, where Tony  had him do menial tasks, like screwing bolts or reaching for a part inside an Iron Man suit. He said his tiny hands were useful for his projects.

He knew he wasn’t really that useful, but he loved when Tony included him and asked for his help, even though he didn’t really need it. He was fascinated by everything the older man taught him in those moments and in turn Tony always looked proud and pleased when Peter put his lessons to use.

He didn’t mind keeping him company when Tony was focused on projects he couldn’t help with, he stayed there anyway, reading a book or watching TV on the tiny couch – Tony kept saying he was going to get a bigger one, but he didn’t believe it, he knew the older man enjoyed the fact that the only way they could fit comfortably on it was if Peter was lying half on top of him.

So after several weeks, they established a little routine of their own. Since Tony had a busy schedule and Peter was still trying to keep Ned and MJ somewhat in the dark, they didn’t meet that often on week days, but they always talked on the phone before bed. On Thursdays, Tony picked him up after his shift at BFF and he spent the night at his place. They had breakfast together on Fridays and then they met again every Saturday after lunch, and finally Tony dropped him back off home every Sunday evening, so he could have dinner with his friends.

In August, for the first time in his life, Peter had two birthday celebrations. One with his friends, when the three of them went bar-hopping and he got home so hammered he had absolutely no idea how they managed to climb the stairs, and another with Tony, when he decorated the workshop with  balloons and put party hats on Dum-E and U.

“Surprise!” He yelled lamely, throwing confetti at Peter when they stepped into the workshop. The younger man laughed, delighted, as Tony hurried to the kitchenette and came back with something in his hands. “I know it doesn’t look good, but I promise it tastes good. Probably.” When Peter looked down, he noticed it was a large chocolate cake with ‘Happy Birthday, kitten’ written on it in bright pink icing. It looked so ugly, but it was so beautiful at the same time. “What did I do now?” Tony frowned, face falling.

He blinked a few times and when he touched his cheeks, he realized he was crying.

“I’m sorry, I’m just – really happy.” He grinned, pulling the older man’s face to give him a kiss. “Thank you.”

It was late October when Tony told him he had to go on a trip to China for two weeks, and even though it wasn’t his first work trip since they started dating, five months earlier, it would be by far the longest one since then, so it was kind of a big deal. Still, he didn’t expect to feel so affected, but on the days leading up to it he was so upset he couldn’t hide it.

They spent their last Sunday together wrapped up in each other doing absolutely nothing. They slept in, Tony brought Peter breakfast in bed, which was rewarded with a lazy and sloppy blow job, and they spent all day in bed, only getting up for essentials, like food and water. They didn’t even turn on the TV, they didn’t even talk much. They just held each other and exchanged slow, tender kisses until their bodies were too warm to stay under the sheets.

Tony ran a bath for them and got in the tub – it was big enough for eight people, but Peter made a point to sit in his lap, clinging to him like a koala. He felt Tony’s arms encircle him gently, as he rested his chin on top of his head.

“I’ll be home before you even have time to miss me, kitten.” He whispered, and those were the first words either of them had said in at least a few hours.

Peter didn’t tell him that was impossible since he already missed him, instead he just held him even tighter.

After the bath water went cold, they climbed out of the tub and Tony insisted on drying him, before dressing him in one of his own T-shirts, even though Peter had a multitude of spare clothes in his closet. He sat in bed, watching Tony pack a huge suitcase that reminded him just how long he would be gone for. He sulked a little – just a little – and that earned him a little kiss on his forehead, which was enough to undo the frown between his brows.

Finally, in the evening, Tony parked his car in front of Peter’s building, turning to look at him with an almost pained smile, before leaning in for a kiss.

“I’m gonna miss you,” Peter whispered against his mouth and felt when Tony’s lips stretched into a small smile. He pulled away a little, just enough to look into his eyes, and cupped his chin in his hand.

“I’ll miss you too, but I won’t be long, ok? It’s just a few days.” He pecked Peter’s lips one more time for good measure and the younger man nodded.

“Call me if you have time.”

“Of course, kitten, every day.” He leaned in for another kiss, this one longer than the previous, and Peter’s heart fluttered. He took a deep breath and slowly let it out, containing the urge to say those three words that had been trapped in the back of his throat for weeks.

“Have a safe trip. Let me know when you land.”

“I will, baby.”

Peter got out of the car and waved, watching as it disappeared down the street. He sighed and his heart ached, he already missed Tony and it had only been a few seconds, how was he going to survive fifteen whole days? It seemed impossible. It was crazy to think how far they had come since March, when they talked for the first time. It seemed like a lifetime ago.

He turned to go inside, but froze in place when he heard a familiar voice.

“So that’s why you’ve been ignoring me, huh? How rude.” He turned slowly to the left, only to be met with Beck’s cocky, arrogant smile, just a few feet away from him. “I tried calling, I tried texting, you’ve blocked me everywhere, I can’t even e-mail you anymore, it appears.” Beck walked slowly and leaned against the rails of the stairs to Peter’s building and the younger man curled his hands in fists, trying to control the urge to just run. “Long time no see, Petey-pie.”

He was paralyzed, muscles rigid, but to his own surprise, it wasn’t fear that he felt, or sadness. It was pure anger.  

“I wonder why,” he answered quietly, but firmly. Beck’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline, before the smile was back in place. “How did you find me?” He demanded, because Beck had never cared to ask where Peter was going to stay after he kicked him out, so how in the hell would he know where to find him?

“Wasn’t easy, I have been following you on Instagram, some of your morning run routes seemed familiar, so I–”

“You stalked me?” He frowned, taking a step closer to the other man, who looked at Peter with indignation and hurt. He shook his head, softened those baby blue eyes and placed one hand over his chest, right above where his heart would have been if he had one.

“I just wanted to see you, is all.” He shrugged, dropping his gaze to stare at his own feet, and Peter wanted to roll his eyes. It was so weird watching his whole act now that the spell had been lifted.

“What do you want?” He asked, making the older man’s head snap back up, a little surprised by his cold tone.

“I just told you, I wanted to see you. I missed you.” He took a few steps towards Peter, who in turn walked backwards to keep his distance

“You missed me?” He scoffed, shaking his head. “Where’s your new boy-toy, you put him away so you could come play with me?” He cocked his head to the side and, for a moment, he could see the shock crossing his features.

“Pete… Why are you acting like this, it’s like I don’t even know you anymore...” His voice broke and he looked away, pretending to wipe away a tear. He wondered how the hell he used to fall for that.

“You don’t, Quentin. I’m not a lost little boy anymore, you should go back to your boyfriend. Or is he smarter than me and dumped you already? Is that what this is all about?” He narrowed his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest, and Beck’s mouth hung open like he couldn’t believe his words.

“I made a mistake, Pete. After so many years, I took you for granted, I couldn’t see what I saw the first time I met you. I couldn’t see how beautiful you were, how caring and loving you were, how loyal and reliable and – I don’t know, I was blind. I was so stupid, I shouldn’t have left you.” His eyes were wide, earnest, shining with unshed tears. His face was open, even his body language screamed honesty. Suddenly, he didn’t feel so bad about falling for his act – Beck was good. “Don’t  you miss me, baby? Don’t you miss us?”

Peter snorted, shaking his head, he couldn’t believe the nerve of that man.

“You made a mistake, huh? So you dumped your new boy, right? If I were to go home with you right now, he wouldn’t be there, waiting for you, like a fucking plan B, in case this doesn’t go your way. Right?” It was his turn to take a few steps towards the older man. “Like I was your plan B while you waited for him to turn 18?”

“Peter, c’mon–“

“Is he there, Beck? Just answer me that. Come on, if he’s not, I’ll take you back right now, we can go home together.” He insisted, looking into the older man’s eyes, but he didn’t say anything, he just sighed. “Of course he is. If I said yes, what would you do? Tell him to pack his things in the middle of the night and leave? Would you keep all the money he’s made you and tell him to fuck off? Would you leave him broke and lonely and fucking lost in this world? Would you tell him that he wasn’t good enough and dispose of him like he’s fucking garbage?” His voice grew louder and louder, and when he came to himself, he noticed he was in Beck’s face, their chests almost touching, so he took a step back. “So to answer your question, Quentin, no, I don’t fucking miss you. You fucking ruined me!”

“I saved you!” And just like that, the good guy act was gone. His whole demeanor changed, the soft baby blues widened, his mouth was set in a sneer, he puffed out his chest to intimidate him, but Peter stood his ground. “Don’t pretend you don’t remember who you were before me. You were a fucking loser! An orphan, no family, no friends, no future! I took you in, I took care of you, I gave you a profession – don’t fucking roll your eyes, what the fuck are you doing now, huh? Rocket science? ‘Cause it seems to me like you’re still doing porn, and now you’re clearly branching out into prostitution, would you look at that!”

“You have no idea what the fuck you’re talking about!” He placed his hands on the man’s chest and pushed him away when he got too fucking close for comfort. He held his breath when he realized what he had done, afraid of the man’s reaction, but he just kept his distance.  

“You know what? Fuck you, Peter. I was wrong about you, I thought I knew who you were, I thought I missed you, but you’re just a disgusting fucking whore, after all. You’re a dirty little bitch in heat who likes to get this loose hole of yours fucked by old perverts, I don’t know why I’m surprised, I mean, that’s why I dumped you, you were enjoying those videos a little bit too much for my taste. You weren’t even satisfied with two cocks up your ass, one in your mouth and a line of men waiting to fuck you. You disgust me.” He started walking away, and Peter wanted to say something, he wanted to yell at him and defend himself, he wanted to tell him he didn’t fucking enjoy it, he wanted to tell him that it was all his fault, he threw him to the lions, he let those men fucking–

Fuck!

He rushed inside the building and ran upstairs, eyes clouded with tears. He tripped and fell knees first on the steps, but he didn’t even feel pain, he just got up and kept going, kept running, trying to put as much distance between him and Beck as he could, even though it was irrational. Beck was gone, he walked away, he left him, he left him again, he wasn’t coming back–

“Ned?!” He knocked urgently on his friends’ door. He didn’t have his spare key, it was upstairs in his own apartment, but he couldn’t trust himself to go all the way up there and down again without having a full on panic attack. “MJ?! Are you guys home?!” He was really trying not to sound too desperate, he didn’t want to scare them, but it was hard controlling his emotions when his heart was hammering against his chest and he couldn’t fucking breathe.

“Peter?” It was MJ who yanked the door open. She had a towel wrapped around her torso, her hair was wet, and Peter felt guilty, but she took one look at him and quickly pulled him into a hug. “My God, Peter...” She whispered into his hair when he started sobbing uncontrollably on her naked shoulder. “Come on in, c’mon.” He heard the door closing behind him, but he didn’t let go of her, he felt like if he did, he wouldn’t be able to hold himself together.  

He wanted to tell her not to worry, that she should go finish her shower and change, but he really, really needed her right then. She sat down on the couch, pulling him with her and he promptly laid down, burying his face in her legs. He couldn’t stop crying and sobbing and no matter how many times she asked him what was wrong, sounding increasingly more worried, he couldn’t get his feelings under control enough to give her any answer.

He was there for what felt like hours, when at some point someone lifted him from MJ’s lap and enveloped him in such a tight hug he couldn’t breath for a second, but he sighed in relief, it was right what he needed. Ned’s arms felt like home, it calmed him down almost instantly – his voice whispering that it was fine, everything was going to be okay helped a lot, too.

“I hate him, I hate him so fucking much,” he mumbled into his shoulder, God knew how much time later, and his friend just hummed, patting his back. “I hate that he made a mess of me and I let him.” He couldn’t hold back more tears when he said that, because it was true, it was so fucking true. He let Beck do whatever he wanted to him, he let him ruin his dreams, his future, his fucking personality, until he was nothing but a shell of what he used to be.

“I know, Peter, I know,” Ned soothed him, rubbing his back, even though he probably had no idea what he was talking about. “It’s okay now. You’re okay. It’s over”

“I made tea.” MJ’s quiet voice sounded somewhere from his right and when he turned to look at her, she was already dressed, wet hair up in a bun, with a mug in her hands, which she extended to him. He accepted it but didn’t dare to take a sip, he was positive that if he did, he would throw up, his stomach was all kinds of fucked up at that moment. “Peter, what happened? Did Star – uh, did your boyfriend do something? Did he hurt? ‘Cause I swear to God–” Just the mention of Tony being the cause of his distress made him sick, so he cut her off.

“Beck was here.” He sniffed, looking at the mug to avoid their eyes when he heard both of them gasping.

“Beck? Beck was here? Fucking Beck?” MJ screeched and he nodded.

“He was waiting for me outside.” He rubbed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to gather enough energy to have that conversation.  

“What did he want?” Ned asked calmly, while MJ paced the floor, furious.

“I don’t know...” He shrugged, wrecking his brain to try and figure out what his motive was. “His channel got taken down a few weeks ago and he couldn’t get it back up. I heard he had to start over.” He hadn’t been watching that closely, but he knew something was wrong, even his Twitter and Instagram accounts kept getting taken down almost monthly, it was impossible he was making any money over the past few months. “He said he wanted to get back together, probably because he thinks us making up would be a big hit or whatever. I said no, of course. He didn’t like the answer.”

“Did he hurt you?!” MJ strode back to him until she was standing right in front of him, looking into his eyes. He was almost intimidated by her.

“No, he just… Said some pretty shitty things, is all,” he answered sheepishly, because he hated that that man could still make a mess of him with just a few hurtful words.

“Oh, dude. He’s just mad he’s lost control over you. Whatever he said, he just wanted to hurt you, it doesn’t mean anything.” Ned placed an arm around his shoulders, pulling him closer, and Peter rested his head against his, sighing.

“I know. He was always like that, you know,” he whispered, as flashes of memories crossed his mind. “When I didn’t bend to his wishes, when I didn’t do things his way, he fucking–“ He squeezed his eyes shut, furious, because he had fallen for that again. “He tries to charm me and when it doesn’t work, he attacks me. But the thing is, he really knows what to say to destroy me. It just sucks. But it’s fine. I just need a moment, I’ll be fine.” He sat up straight and looked both of his friends in the eyes.

“Yes, you will. You most certainly will.” Ned patted his shoulder one last time, getting up from the couch. “Why don’t you lie down for a second, huh? I’m making dinner, I’ll even try one of those recipes your mystery boyfriend taught you.” Just the mention of Tony made him breathe a little easier, even though he wouldn’t be able to see him for a while.

“Okay.” He nodded, smiling softly. MJ took Ned’s place on the couch and he lay down, placing his head on her legs, as she ran her fingers through his hair. He sighed contently and closed his eyes, feeling exhausted. He was close to drifting off when he heard Ned gasp.

“Oh my God,” He breathed quietly from the kitchen and both Peter and MJ looked at him curiously from over the back of the couch.

“What?” She didn’t look too worried, but Peter was concerned about how pale he was.

“Ned, what’s wrong?” He frowned, watching Ned’s horrified expression looking at his phone like it was a murder scene. He raised his eyes and gulped.

“Peter is trending on Twitter,” he whispered, after a while.

“What?!” They both hurried over to the kitchen counter, and the first thing Peter saw when he looked at his phone was a picture of him and Tony in his car, kissing. As Ned scrolled down, more pictures showed up, but not only that, clips of his old videos were all over Twitter, people knew his full name, his real name, and they were making all sorts of comments. Iron Man, Tony Stark, Peter Parker, sex worker, prostitute and porn were trending.

The room was completely silent for a whole minute, before MJ turned on the TV.

“… appear that Tony Stark, former CEO of Stark Industries and retired Avenger, was seen kissing a young man in his car earlier this evening. The person in the pictures seems to be one Peter Parker, a twenty-one year old porn actor, who is also said to work as a prostitute…”

Peter’s heart sank to the bottom of his stomach, his vision blurred and he felt bile rising in his throat. He took a deep breath and got up from the couch, ears ringing, as he rushed to the front door.  He heard his friends yelling something, but he couldn’t make out their words, and he just couldn’t deal with all that right then and there.

“I, uhm, I gotta go,” he called from over his shoulder, slamming the door shut on his way out.

As he ran upstairs, vision blurred by tears and chest hurting, begging for oxygen, he couldn’t help but remember his life fell apart in the winter. And fall would be over soon.

-x-

So... It appears that someone has lost the ability to write short chapters... 

Anyways, only three more chapters to go!  🥳

Tag list (please let me know if you’d like to be added or removed from the list):  @sadachmesarthim @iamnotparticularlyproud @staticwhispersinthedark @bluestarker @ whyisthisathingcb

#starker #peter parker x tony stark

[obeymeluv]

Hey ^^ may I please request something? If you won't do it then that's totally fine but could you maybe write about how the demon brothers would react if MC got kidnapped and cannot summon any of them? If you don't have time to do it that's totally fine and remember to take care ^^

Quick rundown on my headcanons for bonding with demons:

When I read this, it made me question whether bonded brothers would instinctively know if their pact mate/bonded person was in trouble? Would they be able to tell if the bonded person was unconscious instead of just...contained? I’d like to think that when demons bond to the point of making pact marks, they can kind of “tap in” or “tune in” to the bonded one to make sure things are okay. When they do, they feel what their pact mate is going through. The longer they stay connected, the more they can share.

For example: a 5 minute connection can allow the bonded pair to say a few things mentally, and would allow the demon to fully tap into their bonded one’s emotions. The telepathic capabilities only work when the two are in eye-sight; the connection grows stronger as the demon moves towards the pact mate.

Basic and superficial wounds can be felt at this point. Pulse rates sync up at about three minutes. If the pact mate is unconscious, the demons can try to push their consciousness into being awake or opening their eyes to try and see through them to figure out where they are (before the conscious mind kicks in, about 5-10 seconds). This connection will also allow them to connect to other senses but the demons will be overloaded and experience them all at once. If their human is conscious and they tap into their senses again, they can filter out senses or enhance certain ones for a short amount of time.

Being connected 10 minutes or longer allows for deeper or graver injuries to be felt, and might help with reflexes. Humans may also take on key attributes of a demon, like sharper teeth or claw-like nails. Subtle changes like being slightly more charming (if pulling from Asmo) or stronger (if pulling from Beel) would start to occur. Using this too much may cause mental or physical pains.

The effects of being connected for thirty minutes or longer are largely undocumented (despite Devildom society being 5,000+ years old) but are assumed to be dangerous for the human (pass out from mental exhaustion, borrowed magic fatigue, numbness or trouble moving limbs if reflexes are enhanced, etc.) Humans like Solomon, who are magically inclined or gifted, will not be harmed or taxed as much as a non-magical human. Connected demons hardly have any drawbacks, save for being sore depending on the extent of their bond mate’s injury if they connect to the point of being able to feel them.

I added all of that because my brain had to know how the bros would find MC. Plus, I’m stuck in chapter 20/21 and think there needs to be more lore about pact bonds/capabilities.

I couldn’t figure out how to squeeze this in anywhere above, but if the demon wants to locate a missing pact mate, they will have an internal compass of sorts. It’s a really strong compulsion to go a certain direction no matter who or what is in front of them. Their bonded one will be at the end of that feeling, and it will intensify the closer they get to each other.

Now, how they’d react:

Lucifer

He’s super pissed, obviously. You’re in trouble and he can’t just teleport to you?! What the hell did you get yourself into?!

Also worried. Did you piss off some figure (witch, etc.) that has magic capabilities or is this just a situation where you, as a human, do not feel safe to summon them?

Lucifer has been alive for 5,000+ years and is one of the strongest in the Devildom. He will use the above-mentioned brain push to get you to open your eyes and look around. He needs an idea of where you’re at (he’ll apologize about your migraines later)

I headcanon that he’s good with directions and has a strong memory, so he’d probably be able to recognize your surroundings and find you personally

When he sets out to find you, he’s a one man army. A one-man wrecking crew of death.

Considers that your captors may be magic-proficient or have some sort of anti-demon items (why else would they be stupid enough to take you?) so he packs an old fashioned, heavy-ass sword or dagger in case hand-to-hand fighting isn’t an option.

Those gloves come off, and he rarely takes his gloves off. Lucifer will make sure your captors suffer a long, slow, painful death that illustrates why he’s a demon and why they should be afraid of him

He fought bare-handed. The dagger/sword wasn’t necessary.

Mammon

WHO JUST TOOK HIS HUMAN? WHY? GET FUCKIN’ READY, BUDDY!

Stuck in an angry panic spin of ‘HUMAN IS MISSING? WHAT DO I DO? HOW DO I FIND HUMAN? GOD DAMMIT!’ until his brain kicks in

Doesn’t think to use the brain push thing. His first thought is: people will sell information

Mammon is the Avatar of Greed--he knows what people want and he knows how to manipulate them. He’s actually pretty slick in a ‘watch this hand, not this one’ kind of way

Also caught in the feels and will not hesitate to beat somebody up for that information.

If he feels asking around will waste time, he’ll teleport to one of his witch acquaintances and have them find you. It may cost him another favor, but it’s worth it. SOMETHING is keeping you from summoning him, so he has to find a way around it.

You’ll hear Mammon coming before you see him. He’ll be complaining the whole way--(”Making me come all the way out here to save you! What were you thinking?!”) but he’ll be kicking ass without breaking eye contact

Being the second-oldest of seven, he grew up fighting several brothers at once and learned how to wrestle in different ways. His reflexes are pretty on point. It’s a very efficient fighting style--hard hits or distance throws that give him time to pick multiple captors off individually

Unapologetic and threatening. Lots of demon noises

He’s pretty quiet and burnt out by the time he finds you. More of a relieved exhaustion than anything. Baby boy missed you and just wants to hold you.

A little paranoid for the next two weeks. You’re basically on lock down with your main man until he feels better about everything.

Levi

THIS HAPPENS ALL THE TIME IN ANIME AND MANGA AND IT DOES NOT END WELL!

Spends a solid 5-10 minutes hyperventilating BECAUSE SO MUCH COULD HAPPEN!

Has something already happened to you? What have they done?! Will he get a ransom note? A spooky encrypted video email?

WHAT WOULD HENRY DO?

That ‘admiral of Hell’s Navy’ personality kicks in and after a mild panic, he’s all business. He WILL figure out a way to find you

 He’d use that “compass” connection I described. It goes well with his one-track mind/hyperfocus he tends to get.

This is one big ass-whoopin’ quest in the making and he’s fixing to get that achievement trophy

Levi’s more of a strategist than a tank. He’s basically banking on his demon form to help rip your captors to shred.

Were you held hostage by a decent-sized body of water that connects or is fed into by other bodies of water? He’ll be coming at your captors like a Sharpedo. You’re in the splash zone.

Has a very merciless and interesting fight style. It’s kind of cheating in that Levi’s biggest tactic is ‘don’t give anyone else room to fight’, but it works.

Be prepared to see his tail used in interesting ways. Boy has a built-in long-range weapon.

Whether it’s one person or a whole group of people, he may summon Lotan just because they pissed him off. You’ll be safe, of course.

Satan

Boy is big angry

YOU WERE STOLEN? HE CAN’T JUST GO TO YOU?

Satan just wants a nice, quiet, simple life with things that don’t make him angry. This makes him angry. There will be death.

Is very suspicious by nature, and an over-thinker, so he’s probably considered this would happen at one point. Actually already had a plan.

Would use a combination of the “compass” intuition and the brain push to see what you see. Instead of having you look at your surroundings, though, he wants you to look at people.

Does he recognize any of those fuckers? Who’s on his hit-list?

If there’s no immediate sense of a threat, he’s interrogating Asmo. Between the two of them, they WILL find the person/people who took you

There’s probably at least one book in his connection that works like the mirror from Beauty in the Beast where he just has to ask it about you and it will tell him.

When Satan comes in to rescue you, it’s all demon noises. He comes in terrifying and strong and leading with magic.

Probably smells like fire and blood. Is covered in the latter and basically none of it’s his.

Big fan of using his tail like a mace.

They get the horns (literally)

Asmo

Someone stole his precious darling?! Um, no. Not okay. THE FARTHEST THING FROM OKAY, ACTUALLY!

I feel like we don’t have a lot of character depth for Asmo. I’m hoping once I get un-stuck I’ll be pleasantly surprised with Asmo content. I can’t decide if he’d panic a bit or just go into straight, hardcore bitch mode.

The definition of “looks like a cinnamon roll but could actually kill you”. Big dick energy. Big bitch energy.

 I feel like Asmo wouldn’t be super organized because this isn’t usually a kind of stressor he deals with. What he lacks in tactical thought, he makes up for in connections

Boy would probably find you fastest out of all the bros because he can make a few posts across Devilgram, get some celebrities to do the same, and SOMEONE would find you.

Would stay mentally connected with you for as long as your body could handle it, and would be very soothing. A panicked kind of soothing, like pouring his heart out to you and just gushing, but soothing

Like “Baby, I love you so much! I’ll find you soon, I promise! We can even beat these assholes together!” ❤︎

Usually hates getting his hair or nails dirty, but he might just break off a nail in someone’s eye. Or, you know, come find you in a nice-ass pair of heels just to shove one down someone’s throat (or up someone’s ass).

He may look dainty and gorgeous but DO NOT be fooled. This boy has SATAN for an older brother and BEEL for a younger brother. He knows how to throw down.

In general, he’s just a vicious little shit. Asmo knows how to fuck people up physically. He just doesn’t like doing it.

Depending on how many captors you have, Asmo will charm them into killing each other and just watch. It’s not the most satisfying thing, but there is SOME satisfaction to it

Couple snuggles and major pampering after you’re back with him (and you’ve been checked out by medical staff). Lots of kisses.

He cries and it’s very quiet and heart-felt.

Beel

The worst thing to happen in the history of ever. Literally.

In Beel’s world there are two things YOU DO NOT DO: 1) eat his food, 2) fuck with his family

It’s hard for him to think rationally because he’s just so stressed/angry that he’s stumbling around in his demon form and he’s ruining everything.

His full strength is on display and he’s leaving cracks in walls, scratching up things--just general, accidental destruction. He’s breaking things on accident and trying to write out plans on paper that rips up and it’s starting to wear on him to the point of being genuinely destructive

Beel feels first and thinks second, which makes this a lot harder

Uses the “compass” thing. Becomes demon juggernaut.

 Likes to fly and divebomb where possible, so someone’s getting knocked THE FUCK out

When he sees you, or gets to the end of that “compass” feeling, Beel’s football training kicks in and he just demolishes anyone that’s in his way.

People just get tossed around like rag dolls. He doesn’t check to make sure they’re down and out, just clears the way.

The type to try and hold you or touch you first. Then, if anyone’s still standing, he makes sure they get put down before going back to you.

Carries you all the way back, his wings buzzing and singing happily because you’re safe and everything’s okay

Once you’re back in the House of Lamentation his stomach goes off loudly. You guys have a big feast to celebrate.

Belphie

The list of things Belphie likes in this world: 1) Sleep, 2) Beel, 3) You. Do not mess with the things Belphie likes.

Is most pissed that one of his favorite people in the whole damn world have gone missing and can’t summon him. Is side-pissed that he’s losing so much sleep to come find you. It’s not your fault, but still

Someone will die, and only Belphie will have fun

Is sleepy enough that he doesn’t panic and awake enough to think

I headcanon that Belphie in particular has a special kind of brain push due to being the Avatar of Sloth and making people sleepy. When he pushes your brain, he can also pick through what’s at the forefront of your mind or your most recent conscious moments. It’s like being able to link up to dreams, just not limited to dreams.

 Periodically uses the telepathic link as a radar of sorts Uses it in conjunction with the “compass” instinct to make sure he’s going in the right direction. Using the telepathic link once he’s in the general area just helps him find you faster

Belphegor, like Satan, has a lot of reserved anger. It will be well-used.

I bet his tail works like a real whip. It’d be demeaning as hell to get hit with it and Belphie wants to see your captor suffer. The tail will be used

Imagine the last thing you see or feel is getting hit by a demon cow tail. He’d definitely do that.

No holds bar when it comes to fighting. Your captor(s) signed their death wish when they took you.

Mostly fatal bites and deep scratches. Probably some limb tearing or pulling things out that should be kept inside the body. May definitely get a few nut shots with the tail if you have any male captors (you know, just because).

He doesn’t show up as bloody as Satan would, but there’s definitely blood on his face and under his fingernails.

Carries you out of wherever you’d been held. Gives you firm instructions not to look at anything. Just kind of gently pressed you into his chest before readjusting you and carrying out.

I hope you liked it :D

[killthe-illusionarydreams]

Chronic Emptiness

Fred x reader

After the war

Summary: Y/N having a depressive episode & Fred trying to help her through it. Basically me living vicariously through her. Soft moment.

Warning: Mentions of depression & plainly feeling like shit

——————

Y/N was exhausted. Not by her job or work, just mentally drained. This sort of thing happened sometimes. One moment she was okay, the next it all came crashing down on her & she’d feel pure hatred for the world she was living in. Fred had gotten used to it by now, he’d be the ever so caring boyfriend & try to help her through it however he could. Exept he really couldnt do much but reassure Y/N that he was there for her.

And of course Y/N appreciated him & all his efforts, she loved Fred more than life itself & everyone knew that. But sometimes she just needed space. Like today.

They were at a bar with George & Angelina and several other mates after their shifts had all ended from their various occupations. George & Fred at their joke shop, Angelia at the Ministry, Y/N at St Mungos.

Y/N never truly felt like she belonged, not growing up at home, not at Hogwarts, & certainly not in St Mungos where she was working as a nurse. Its not that she hated the job, more like it didn’t particularly cause her immediate joy. She just did it. She got on with it & did what she had to.

As her friends were dancing to the music Y/N leant into her boyfriends ear so he’d hear her say “Hey Fred I think I’m gonna head home early today, I’m tired.”

The man looked up at her, as if trying to read her thoughts “D’you want me to come with love?”

Y/N shook her head, declining the offer “No dont worry. I’ll go through the park, I need some fresh air anyway.” Fred nodded & bid her goodbye with a kiss, telling her to stay safe. “I’ll see you at home.”

It was already dark outside, the tall streetlamps being the main source of light for the woman, but she wasnt really paying attention to where she way going, not caring enough to look. Y/N got to the park near the flat where her & Fred lived, deciding to make a pitstop there she sat on one of the wooden benches that overlooked a small river.

Letting out a heavy sigh she put her head into the palms of her hands, it was feeling all too heavy lately. “Dear Merlin I’m so tired.” Mumbling, the woman rolled her head in her hands before sitting back up and gazing at the sky. Oh how beautiful it looked tonight.

Lighting up a cigarette, she put it to her lips & took a long inhale. She was supposed to be quitting smoking, Fred always got on her about continuing the habbit. In all honesty Y/N didnt care enough to stop, at this point she wasnt even sure if she still got the same boost of seratonin from smoking as she used to. But again, it didnt bother her.

“Fuck me why is life so draining?” She asked no one in particular, she knew why it was draining, the abundance of issues with her brain promptly being the answer. She just wished it were easier. Easier to deal with things.

Realistically Y/N had nothing to be unhappy about anymore, there was no war, she had a good life, an amazing boyfriend, a stable job, decent friends. But there was a permanent void in her heart that could never be filled. Ever since she was a child it stayed with her. Maybe her cold & harsh, unloving parents brought it on, or maybe how she didnt let herself feel love & would distance herself from anyone that ever got close to her. But it was there. Unmovable.

The woman let the smoke out from her mouth, sighing at why she was having another one of her episodes, feeling shitty about having said episode. Yet, there was nothing she could do to stop it from occuring. “Fuck off brain.” She mumbled to herself, cursing her biology & upbringing “Stop feeling so Shit.”

“I keep you alive you ungrateful idiot.” She huffed to herself “And I’m doing a pretty good job, so stop making me feel like its my fault.” It wasnt her fault. If it were, Y/N would know how to fix it & evidently stop feeing this way.

Some would say the war brought this Y/N on, but people knew that she was like this way before. However, before she was better at hiding it. Better at hiding the dark circles, the restlessness, the ‘I dont care what happens to me’ attitude. In all honesty it didnt bother Y/N that people knew she was like this, she didnt do it on purpose. And when she could- she’d be happy- the life of the party, in those instances she could hide her feelings. But sometimes they just got too overwhelming to bare.

“You’re being such a selfish prick.” She sighed and puffed on yet another cigarette “Go home Y/N. Go to the man who loves you.” Yet she made no motion to move. It’d probably been two hours since she left the bar, she wasnt keeping track of time, not feeling the need to.

Sometimes she thought that Fred didnt love her, not because he said something or did something, but because she thought that Fred puts up with her. Which wasn’t true, the man loved her to death, she made him feel alive. Y/N was a risk taker, an adventurer, someone that kept you on your toes- & he admired that about her. Y/N was smart & funny & the most gorgeous person Fred had ever seen, but he knew that behind her sarcasm & faux narcissistic comments, she didnt believe it. Oh what he’d give for the woman to see herself through his eyes.

A few more minutes passed & the woman got up with a sigh, throwing the butt of her cigarette down, she made her way home.

The door creaked open, a little too loudly for Y/N’s taste, she winced at the sound, hoping it wouldnt wake Fred.

“Where were you?” The light flicked on. Before her stood a dischevelled Fred, arms crossed “I got home and you werent here.”

“I was in the park.” She mumbled, taking her coat off “Lost track of time, sorry.”

Fred looked at the woman before him, he noticed the dark circles that she tried to cover prefousley with makeup, noticed the ash on her jacket and faint aroma of smoke mixed with sadness.

“Its fine.” He reassured her and went to hug her, pretending to not notice her cold body & how she stiffened when he touched her “Just let me know next time alright?”

The woman hummed in agreement and walked into the living room, as she sat on the couch she put the tv on to play some sort of muggle program but not really paying attention to it. She just didnt fancy Fred interrogating her about her feelings. She hated talking about them, normally just botteling them up. Maybe that was the cause of her unhappiness.

A few moments went by & she thought Fred had went to bed, but then she felt the couch sink next to her. “Here” he placed a blanket around her & handed her a hot mug of tea “You’re freezing.” Mumbling a thanks she sipped on her drink, not really feeling like talking she waited for him to say something, anything.

And he did “Is it getting bad again?” Oh. Was it? Probably. Most definitely.

“I’m fine.” She lied “I’ll be fine.” Y/N wasnt convincing anyone.

Fred watched her, not knowing what to say or do. He wished he could help, just magically cheer up the love of his life. But thats not how life worked. “You’re good enough.” He blurted out “You deserve to feel happy.”

Y/N didnt look up at him, she knew Fred was trying to help. But was he? I dont know.

“Do I though, do I really?” She finally asked with a sigh, those seemed to be coming from her a lot lately “Because I know I do, I just dont feel it coming to me and its so draining to get on with life when you feel worthless.”

Fred took in what she just said, pausing before trying to come up with a reasonable response “I know.” He sighed “I want to help you Y/N, what can I do?” What could he do though? Realistically?

“I dont know. Nothing. This’ll pass soon enough and I’ll be okay.”

Fred knew that, Y/N was always ‘okay’ or ‘fine’ or ‘just tired’ “But I want you to be better than okay. I want you to be happy, to enjoy life and all its moments.”

Y/N scoffed “And you think I dont want that?” There was a tense silence

“Why dont we take the day off tomorrow and go out somewhere? We havent done that in a while.” Fred suggested. It was true, with both of them being bombarded by work they hardly saw eachother in the last few months.

“Sure.” Y/N smiled sickly and set her tea down “Yeah alright I’ll just sack my job off to have a fun little date with you eh? Why not risk getting fired just because I’m feeling a little moody huh?”

Fred was taken aback by her words and immediately went back on what he said “If you dont want to thats fine I-“

“Im sorry” she cut him off “I’m sorry, that was a dick move I didnt mean it, just everythings gotten so much-“ she put her feet up on the couch to hug them “Im sorry.” A few stray tears fell onto her knees

Fred moved closer to her “Hey, its okay, its okay dont worry. I understand.” Oh sweet understanding Fred, Fred who gave you unconditional love and support. Fred who you keep snapping at.

Moments pass as he embraces you, your body leaning against his heavily. Not sure whether its the exhaustion or something else “I dont deserve you.” You mumble into his chest. He frowns cups your face in his hands, you lean in to his warm touch.

“Dont say that” you let out a quiet sob “Y/N you deserve the absolute world, and I wish I could give it to you & more. If I could take away your pain, I would. In an instant I would. You dont deserve to feel like this, to think like this. But I’m here for you okay. I love you, so fucking much you don’t understand.” He gazed into her eyes, wishing she could feel how much he meant it “You’re the best thing that happened to me & I’m going to prove it to you, whatever it takes Y/N.” He kissed your nose before letting you hug him tighter, relieved that you no longer shrunk away from his touch “Words cant express how much I love you.”

After a few more tears fall, Y/N laughs into his chest “Good because you’re stuck with me.”

Fred grins to himself “I wouldnt have it any other way.”

#slytherin #harry potter #hogwarts #hufflepuff #gryffindor #ravenclaw #james potter #remus lupin #sirius black #draco malfoy #fred wesley #fred weasley imagines #fred weasley imagine #fred and george #Spotify #depressing things #george weasley #sirius black imagines #fanfic #ron weasley #gryffinpuff #hermione granger #fred weasley x slytherin #slytherin x gryffindor

[maximoff-kaplan]

Who: Billy Kaplan & Jay Guthrie ( @icarusjaybird )

Where: Billy’s house and District X

What: After using powerful magic to create a pocket universe, Billy trips a thread of reality on the way home and shakes someone free. Neither of them realize just how bizarre the situation is. 

BILLY:  

When he'd created the pocket universe with Lucifer, the sheer power and pull of the magic they'd used had been beyond anything he'd ever done before. It was creation in a way that he didn't know he was capable of. Perhaps it had been bravado, or naivete, or some mixture of the two, to think that something neither of them had done before could be managed in a vacuum and wouldn't touch anything else. The very nature of his powers had him constantly aware of the tenuous, fragile threads of reality - not only the one he existed in, but all the other possible ones - and they were frighteningly easy to touch. He should have been more careful. 

Should have didn't do a lot after the fact, though. As he and Lucifer had left that little world of their own doing, Billy caught on something in a metaphorical and, unfortunately, very literal way. He touched a thread he had not meant to touch. He pulled something with him that he had not meant to pull. 

An entire universe away from where he'd been, he found himself looking at a young man who couldn't have been much older or younger than him, and whom he'd never laid eyes on before. The colorful wings extending from his back immediately had Billy wondering if they'd caught the attention of Lucifer's family, somehow, but he'd been in the presence of angels. He knew what it felt like - the strange, preternatural magic of them, and that feeling wasn't there. Still, what was he looking at? 

"Uh...who-?...Who are you?"

JAY:  

It had been a slow and lazy Sunday morning already and Jay wasn't feeling any less lethargic even after a cup of coffee. His green eyes were a bit droopy as he stared down at the guitar in his lap, the rosewood smooth against the rough pads of his fingertips. The B string had broken last night and he had been too tired to replace it. After fishing out a packet from his dresser drawer he found a coiled-up replacement and was currently trying to get it unraveled enough to stretch out across the neck of the guitar. 

He was in his little Nashville apartment and in his own bedroom, alone. His roommates were also members of his band, Lament. They were good guys-- all human, but they never treated Jay any differently for being a mutant, which he greatly appreciated. They were skilled musicians as well, and decent friends. His room was cluttered with various guitars and cases, a couple amps and cords wrapped around them. To the right of his bed was a keyboard on a stand that he played with sometimes to write down chords or for fun. Because he was alone, he didn't bother putting much clothes on, just some pajama bottoms and socks to keep his feet warm. Putting on shirts was a hassle due to his massive red wings, and he normally wore tank tops that made it easy to put on and remove.

When he suddenly was PULLED from his universe into another he didn't fully register what had happened, suddenly finding himself sitting cross-legged on the floor with his guitar still in his lap and the B-string stretched out between his hands. His wings flapped slightly as he gasped and looked up at the young man who had just spoken to him. "Huh? Well, who are you??" There was a slight Southern US drawl to his voice, his hands lowering from holding the string to clutch the guitar instead, as if thinking it would be snatched away. Without warning Jay flapped his wings so he could be lifted up into a standing position, the string falling to the floor as he moved to hold the guitar by the neck instead.

BILLY:  

“I asked first,” he said quickly, as though that weren’t the most childish response in the world. As the other stood up, so did he. He could tell something was off. Magic just felt that way, sometimes, and especially with the way he’d been using it. It was like the wind had suddenly shifted a different direction before dying down. “Where did you come from?”

Part of him knew the answer already. Unless this man had somehow chosen to be there, then it was a mistake. His mistake. He’d been sloppy with something, caught up in the success of what he’d just been a part of.

JAY:  

"Where'd I… ?" Jay glanced around as he asked that, trying to figure out where he was now that he'd been snatched out of his room. His wings fluttered, showing off that he was uneasy, his lips pursing before his gaze went back to the other man. He had experienced many strange things in his time at the Xavier Institute, including simulations in the Danger Room to prepare him and his fellow classmates for any type of situation involving other mutants, magic, strange powers, but he hadn't been at school for several years now and didn't think this was some kind of test… right?  

"Unless we're on Mars, I'm from Earth. Name's Jay. Now you." He turned his guitar just slightly in his hand before gripping the neck with the other, holding it at his side now almost like a knight with a lowered sword, clearly about to smack the other guy with it if he tried to come near him…  and he hated to do that to his beloved guitar but he knew sometimes one had to be innovative when it came to fighting people off.

BILLY:  

“Billy Kaplan. Wiccan, if you want...the other name. Look-“ he held up his hands, deciding to just say what he was thinking. If it turned out to be wrong, he’d be relieved, and having some random stranger think he was out of his mind was a small price to pay for knowing he’d not tripped over a thread of reality and shaken something loose. 

“I’m a witch, to use an easy word, and I’m pretty sure you’re not supposed to be here. So if you’re...I don’t know, if you’re actually from the year 2340 or 1995 or a timeline where robots rule the planet, please tell me now.” He had to figure out if he could even fix it.

JAY:  

Jay lowered the guitar from the slight fighting stance he had, his body relaxing somewhat. Witches he could deal with, at least based on the things he'd learned back at his days in the academy. He blinked and gave Billy a confused expression when he mentioned ROBOTS since that was terrifying, but then he shrugged slightly, his wings extending but then curling back up more against his back. "Nah, no robots rulin' the world that I'm aware of. Year's 2021… I'm from the United States. Currently livin' in Nashville.  Where's this?" 

He was very aware that he wasn't really wearing any clothes other than his plaid pj pants and gray-tipped socks, but he figured this Billy guy brought him here so he could just deal with having to talk to a half-naked person and tough if he didn't like it. There was a long nasty-looking white scar across his chest right over his heart, but it seemed old and no longer one to cause pain. His dark red hair fell just above his shoulders, unruly as if he'd just woken up, but it added to his rocker-boy charm.

BILLY:  

Okay. All good things. The answers didn’t incite any further or immediate alarm in him, though something still didn’t feel right. Could it be as simple as him accidentally pulling someone over from the wrong state? That seemed so...basic. Basic would have been nice. He could fix basic.

“Star City, California. Also 2021, and also no robots. So...okay,” he pinched the bridge of his nose between his forefinger and thumb. “Do you have somebody you can call? I’d send you back home myself, but I’m zapped.” He’d spent too much energy on what he’d just been doing, and he had none left for a teleportation spell. “Or we can...there’s probably someone in District X that could get you there.”

JAY:  

It was shocking to hear that he was in CALIFORNIA, since that seemed so far away to Jay, not even considering that he might be in an entirely different universe. “Yeah, sure. Um…” He bent down lazily to pick up the half-coiled B-string he’d dropped onto the floor earlier, then straightened and turned his gaze back to Billy, sizing him up a bit since there was something he needed to ask him. “Got a shirt I can borrow? And shoes…” They looked to be about the same size and height, he was maybe a bit larger than Billy in the torso and arms. He knew he might have to cut holes in any shirt that Billy lent him unless he could use his magical witch powers to conjure something up. 

There were several relatives he could call but he didn’t have his cell phone on him, and it wasn’t like his mom could afford to buy him an airline ticket. He probably could fly with his own wings if he had to, but it would take several days and he really didn’t feel like exerting that much energy unless it was an absolute emergency.  “Don’t have my phone. Or wallet. " He wasn't sure if he could find someone in Distrct X or not, but knew it would be much easier to get help if he at least was fully dressed. Last time he had talked to his siblings none of them had been near California, but he knew that the older ones got around a lot with their X-Men duties, so maybe someone could help him get in contact.

BILLY: 

“I- yeah. Yeah, I’ve got something.” And if it didn’t fit, what was the use of magic if he couldn’t do a little tailoring with it? He stepped toward the closet and pulled out a black t-shirt with the neck cut into a deep V and a pair of boots he’d not touched in ages. “I can fix it if you need. I’ll-“ he made a gesture with his thumb toward the door and walked out into the hall to wait.

JAY: 

Jay watched quietly while Billy gathered up the shirt and boots. He nodded slightly in thanks as he gently set the guitar down against a nearby wall, draping the string over it for safekeeping. Once Billy had left the room he carefully put the v-neck shirt on backwards so that he could have his wings pop out the back without having to rip the fabric… though he did stretch it just slightly. Oops. The shoes were a little tight but nothing he couldn’t live with, once dressed he picked up his guitar and dumped the string inside the soundhole to just rattle around in there for now., then went out into the hallway. 

“Thanks.” It was supposedly Billy that had snatched him out of his room and dumped him here in California, but he didn’t feel anger or resentment about it. He was just confused about what step to take next and worried he would have to struggle to find someone to get him home. “Yer a mutant?” He assumed Billy had to be since he had known about a mutant-friendly area and didn’t seem scared of him, but also figured he could be a magical mutant-ally?

BILLY:  

He was leaning against the wall when Jay stepped out, texting Tommy to let him know he'd be out of the house for awhile. He had no idea how long yet. Hopefully they could find...Nightcrawler or someone who could help get Jay back to Nashville and out of Star City. Barring that, Billy would just gave to rest for a little while and do it himself. He felt guilty at the idea of making him wait to go home, and it was his fault he was there in the first place, so hopefully that wouldn't be the case. 

"Yeah. You?" He motioned for Jay to follow him to the front door and out. District X wasn't far. "It'll be faster if we fly." Billy had his own version of it, no wings involved, but it looked like Jay was perfectly capable of handling that part himself.

JAY:  

"Mm." He nodded in agreement when Billy asked if he was a mutant, not about to hide it at this point even if the other guy had admitted to being human. He couldn't help but smile faintly when Billy suggested flying. He brought the wooden guitar closer to his torso and body before suddenly lifting up a foot or so into the air, his wings flapping as he looked down at Billy. "You can fly?" He glanced around to make sure nobody would start freaking out and yelling or something at the sight of two grown men FLYING, still wary of humans having bad opinions of Mutants even though things definitely were getting better these days…  "Or were you expecting a ride?" He probably could lfit Billy up in the air for a while if he had to, but felt like that might be awkward since they just met and all, and physically it would be exhausting depending on how far they had to go…

BILLY: 

“I can handle it on my own, but thanks.” Once they were outside, he wasted no time rising into the air. He was propelled by seemingly nothing, but held himself easily several feet above the ground and waited for Jay. “Just follow me. I’ll- we’ll find some help when we get there.”

He figured they’d waited long enough as things were, and set off immediately toward District X. With the ban lifted and NOVA gone, public displays of abilities were no longer forbidden. He didn’t think twice about flying, and especially not once they’d crossed over the massive gate that separated District X from the rest of the city. 

“I’m going to go ask inside the school. Maybe you could have a look around?” It probably wouldn’t hurt.

JAY: 

Jay smiled without being able to help himself when Billy lifted up into the air. He found it interesting and impressive that he could fly without even having wings. Holding the guitar close to his body to keep the wind from knocking it around too much, he flew up behind Billy and then around to his side, curious about the cityscape below them. 

In his own world (which he assumed he was still in), there was no ban on Mutants or other non-humans flying about. He couldn't help feeling a little nervous, though, since humans still liked to be violent towards Mutants and treated them like second-class citizens when they could. 

He nodded when Billy said that, also relaxing once he saw signs that indicated they were in the mutant-friendly area. "Yeah, sure. Thanks for yer help." Once Billy landed he carefully touched down next to him, not wanting to knock the other guy over with his wings, then glanced around. "I think some of my former classmates might teach here. I'll look 'round and meet you back here in a little bit. Name's Jay Guthrie." He realized earlier he hadn' t given his last name to Billy but only because he'd been wary of him, but now he seemed like a nice enough fella..

#ch: jay

[baseballbitch116]

Dixon’s Next Door - part 3

Introduction: Anna was a small town girl from Atlanta when she became the guardian of her two younger siblings. She was determined to keep them from the same abuse that she endured from her family, so she moved into a small beaten up house just outside the city in 2009. The new neighbors  next door - the Dixon brothers - were definitely trouble. She wanted to escape her past, not repeat her parents history with these redneck brothers. Matters only escalate when the news is talking about the possibility of some virus getting out and infecting people... Are Merle and Daryl just as bad as her past? How is she going to keep her brother and sister safe from this virus getting out? What did Anna get herself into?

Setting: Pre-apocalypse

Word Count: 2369

Series Warnings: Offensive language, mentions/suggestion of physical abuse, alcohol abuse, drug abuse, sexual themes, violence & death

Previous Chapter

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Jessie, being the angel that she is, bought the kids a blow up pool for the front yard. I insisted that she take it back but she wouldn’t take no for an answer. Beau brought his pump and set it up that morning. To say that Colton and Bailey were excited would be a severe understatement. They were practically bouncing off the walls dying to go in the pool. I could count on one hand how many times they had been swimming before, so I didn’t blame them. This was an awesome treat from Jessie, I seriously owed her.

Beau and Jessie sat with me on the front porch as the kids played in the pool, splashing and having the time of their lives. She had even gotten Bailey some Minnie Mouse floaties. I leaned my head on her shoulder as I watched the kids enjoy themselves. This made it all worth it. Seeing them smile, happy, safe. It made the struggle worth it.

“I can’t thank you guys enough,” I reiterate.

“It’s not a problem.” Beau responds, taking a drag from his cigarette. Jessie smiles and pats my arm.

“Hey, it’s for you too. It be hot as hell out here.” She comments and I laugh, nodding my head.

“Damn, that’s what all the commotion out here is?” I look up and spot Merle on the front porch. He looked cranky - probably hung over. I exchange a look between my friends but Merle doesn’t say anything else, instead going back inside muttering to himself.

“That’s the neighbor?” Beau asks, raising a brow.

“Mhm,” I sigh. “One of em. There’s another, Daryl.”

“That’s his name? The cute one?” Jessie clarifies and I nudge her shoulder with a chuckle.

“Yes, that’s his name.” Beau rolls his eyes at his girlfriend’s comment.

“Is he any friendlier than that one?” He asks, taking another drag. I shrug my shoulders.

“Yeah, a bit. Haven’t talked to him much.”

“You should.” Jessie suggests.

“And say what? Do you wanna come babysit my brother and sister with me and talk about my insane family? Nah, I’m sure he has plenty better people to talk to.” I shrug sarcastically. Colton steps out of the pool only to run and dive right back into it with a big splash, making me laugh. “They’re loving it.” I comment.

“I knew they would.” Jessie responds. “Oh shoot, we gotta get going. I have my ultra sound.” Jessie says and jumps up. I check my phone and realize her appointment to find out the sex of her baby was soon.

“Yeah go! Have fun!” I give her a hug and say goodbye, then tell the kids it’s time to get out for lunch. I grab the two bath towels from the steps and wrap them both up. I hated that I was so poor that I couldn’t even spare money for proper swimming towels. I help Colton dry off and he runs inside while I finish drying Bailey off. I glanced up in time to spot Daryl walking outside and we make eye contact.

I feel like I should say something - given how decent he had been to me so far - but I didn’t know what to say. So instead, I shot him a half assed smile, which he did not return. He looked awkward and looked away, hopping onto the motorcycle. I bit my lip to keep from giggling and wrapped the towel around her shoulders, tapping her on the head as we headed toward the house. I felt Daryl’s eyes on me, but I did not turn back around to look.

While the kids were inside eating, I attempted to refill the oil in my car. I wasn’t very good at this kind of stuff, but I had to figure it out, cuz I did not have the money for unnecessary trips to the mechanic. They would just remind me of all of the millions of problems that my car had, anyway. First, I struggled to get the lid off. Then I struggled to get the hood up. And then it took me at least ten minutes to figure out where to pour the liquid. By the time I stepped on a sharp rock, I had had it.

“Oh for fuck’s sake!” I shout angrily, slamming the hood of the car back down into place with an exasperated huff. 

“Well, would ya listen to that pretty little mouth!” A recognizable voice calls out with a dry snicker. I let out a deep sigh and turn around, leaning my hands on the hood of my car and come face to face with Merle. He’s standing a short distance away, wearing a smug grin on his face and a cigarette dangling from his mouth. He’s wearing basically the same clothes as always - a black tank top and cargo pants. “Having a little trouble with the man chores?” He taunts, exhaling smoke in your direction as he talks. You roll your eyes and hop onto the hood of your car. Today, you have time.

“Do you enjoy annoying random women?” I ask, resting my hands on the hood as I sit. This makes me closer to his height, but doesn’t make him less intimidating. He smirks and shrugs, removing the cigarette from his mouth and flicking it away.

“Yeah, yer fun to bother.” He responds smugly.

“Clearly, you’re so good at it.” I respond sarcastically with a smirk. He chuckles and shifts his weight.

“Now I think that’s the first damn time I seen ya smile, yet.” He remarks. It’s not a comment I was expecting.

“You haven’t said anything worth smiling at.”

“You got a mouth on ya, girl. I like it.” He smirks, taking a step closer to me. I am aware of the small space between us and suddenly lose my confidence, uncomfortable by his closeness. “So how old are ya?” He asks, taking a step back. Did he notice I got uncomfortable? Did he care? I’m just relieved to have a little more personal space back, so I decide to answer his question.

“Twenty four.”

“Ou, yer young.”

“And how old are you? A hundred?” I smirk.

Merle chuckles and eyes you intensely. He seemed to be enjoying this banter. “Close. I’m forty four.” He responds. I probably would’ve guessed he was closer to fifty, given his greying hair, but I kept that to myself.

“You could be my father.” I taunt.

“I could be yer daddy.” He smirks, and my eyes go wide.

“Oh boy, and that is where I say goodbye.” I stand up from the hood of my car and laugh to cover my awkwardness, shaking my head and starting toward my house. I hear Merle laughing behind me but he doesn’t say anything else, and by the time I look back as I’m closing the front door, he’s back at his porch.

The next few days, I don’t see much of the brothers. Between me working eight hour shifts at the bar now that they’re understaffed, and me taking care of the kids and the house, I had been busy. Even when we were sitting outside while they were in the pool, I hadn’t seen Merle in a few days. I saw Daryl once, but he didn’t say anything to me.

About a week later, I finally saw him when I was outside in the pool with the kids. I decided to get in with them, being as it was ninety degrees out and no one else had been outside to witness it. Merle got dropped off in some crappy car with tinted windows, and the first thing he did when the car drove off was whistle at me. “Damn girl, ya got a nice little body.” He hollers over at me. I roll my eyes and get on my knees in the shallow pool to allow the sides to cover most of my body. I lean my arms over the side and look over at him.

“Haven’t seen ya in a while.” I comment, somewhat curious as to where he might’ve been. Not because I cared - but because he definitely hadn’t been working, and he didn’t seem the type to leave the house much. I wanted to learn more about my strange neighbors. The more I knew, the less they could hurt me, right?

“Surprised ya noticed.” He responds, taking a few short steps over onto my lawn. Colton and Bailey don’t even acknowledge our conversation as they splash one another and play tag behind me. “Took a little visit downtown, if ya know what I mean.” Merle continues, shrugging. He’d been in jail? Why am I not surprised?

“What for?” I ask, but he only smirks.

“Ya having fun in there?” He asks, dodging my question. I don’t bother pushing it and shrug, running my hands along the sides of the pool.

“It’s hot as hell out.”

Merle nods and glances up at the bright sky. There wasn’t a cloud in sight today. “Damn right.” He responds, before glancing behind you at the kids. “They yers?” He asks, nodding his head toward them. I look back at my brother and sister playing together behind me and smile, happy that they are having fun. They deserve it. This is what I wanted for them.

“Nah, my siblings.” I respond.

“How’s about you and I get in there together later when they’re not around?” Merle suggests, waggling his brows and smirking suggestively at me. I roll my eyes and give him a look.

“Yeah sure, around quarter after never.” I smirk at him. He laughs and throws his arms up.

“One day!” He shouts over his shoulder as he walks toward his own house, and I just shake my head and turn back around to refocus on the kids.

I listened to the news again that night as I laid on the sofa after my shift at the bar, curious about this talk of a virus. It didn’t make much sense to me so I didn’t really pay any attention, instead checking the tracking information on the bed I had ordered.

And the next day, the bed arrived. Bright and early, before Jessie and Beau were supposed to be here. The delivery man left the large, heavy box down by my car, and when I tried to move it by myself, I nearly pulled my back out. I let out a heavy sigh and looked around for something I could use to help me get it inside. It was cloudy out and it seemed like it would rain before Jessie got here to help. I couldn’t just leave it out here, but I didn’t know what else to do. Until, I spotted Daryl over by the motorcycle, working on it. His back was to me, but I could tell it was him.

I was reluctant, but I didn’t have much choice. So I cautiously treaded across our lawns and approached Daryl, clearing my throat when I was a few feet away. He looked up at me and if he was shocked to see me, his facial expression didn’t give much away. “Hey, sorry. I was wondering, uh, if you could maybe do me a huge favor and help me lift this box? It’s too heavy for me and it’s gonna rain soon…” I ask awkwardly. He stares at me for a moment before looking over at the box by my car, then back to me. He stands up silently and wipes his hands off on his jeans, then nods and starts walking over to the box. I follow his silent lead and get on the other side of the box, lifting when he does.

It’s heavy as hell but after some maneuvering, we get it inside. “Where ya want it?” He asks with a slightly strained voice from the weight.

“That bedroom on the left.” I respond, helping him carry it into my basically empty bedroom. It was weird seeing him in my house but I didn’t focus on that, rather on not tripping and dropping the box on my foot. We set it down against the wall and I let out a deep breath.

“Thank you so much, you’re a lifesaver.” I say with a smile. He studies me and shrugs his shoulders. He seems very standoffish, but he helped me, so I appreciate it. “You want a beer or something as a thanks?” I offer, but he shakes his head.

“Nah, gotta get back. Rain comin.” He reminds me, walking past me and heading for the front door. He shoots me a final look before heading out the door and back to the motorcycle, leaving me confused and appreciative.

Sure enough, it began to rain less than an hour later, and the kids were disappointed that they couldn’t go swimming. Instead, they colored while I began trying to set up the bed frame. Starting next week, Colton would be starting first grade, after passing a test to exempt him from kindergarten due to his age, and Bailey would be starting preschool. Which basically meant free childcare. I paid Jessie eight an hour to watch the kids while I was at work, which basically took over half of my tips that I earned at the bar, meaning I wasn’t bringing home much money.

The rest of the day was spent setting up the bed in my room, shopping for a mattress and then getting that back to the house. By the time dinner came around, I was so exhausted, but I still had to cook for the kids. I made boxed mac and cheese and let them watch a movie while I sat alone in the kitchen with my bowl and looked through coupons. It was pretty depressing, but I just needed a moment alone to get myself together. We’d only been here a few short weeks but it felt like a lifetime. I was tired all the time and I never had any time to myself. But I kept reminding myself of what would happen if we went home, or if Bailey and Colton had to endure living there any longer. No, I would suffer if it meant that they didn’t.

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[sethrine-writes]

Daughter of a Devil, Ch. 17

Main Characters:  Father!Dante & Daughter!Reader

Words:  1317

Warnings:  Injury, Angry Reader

Story Summary:  Being a parent wasn’t easy, nor was there such thing as being perfect at it. Good news for Dante, seeing as how he doesn’t have the slightest idea in hell what to do with a child. Sometimes, he was certain that fighting off a horde of demons was a far better match than keeping up with his own daughter. Well, at least he wasn’t going down without a fight.

A/N:  Hey. It’s been a minute. Let’s get right into it, shall we?

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Chapter 17 - Just Another Moment (19 yrs.)

“Hey, you gonna be okay?”

You looked up at Nero who was now beside you on his haunches, watching as he carefully took hold of your wrist and pulled your injured arm forward a bit. There was a slight wince on your part, but it was more the pull of muscle that gave the painful twinge.

That last battle had been hell. Not only did you get injured by that scientist creep, Agnus, but Nero had also had a severe revelation about himself that was weighing heavily on his mind. Granted, you had been rather surprised by the anger that had taken over him during the fight, of which had been a high catalyst to his rather abrupt…transformation.

You had only ever seen such a thing happen to your father only a handful of times, the first being when you were very young and didn’t know anything about such happenings. Fear of the unknown had paralyzed you, then, warped many a nightmare until you had been able to come to terms with what you had seen. Nero's transformation, however, had left you baffled, speechless.

That, of course, hadn't gone over so well, as Nero saw your astonishment as more of a negative reaction and had taken double efforts to hide his right arm from your sight.

To make matters worse, Sanctus had Kyrie, a woman you had come to know Nero adored greatly, and he had made it his new mission to find her. His target was no longer Dante at that point, but you knew that you’d be seeing your dear father sometime soon if you helped Nero with his goal. You were basically after the same people, in a sense, so helping Nero also helped you, in the long run.

“I’m fine, I’m fine," you eased with a slightly strained smile, "I just need a moment, if you don’t mind.”

Nero studied you as you continued to breathe deeply, holding subconsciously to your left side with your uninjured arm. You were fairly certain he couldn't see how severe the injury was, which was good, but there was definitely blood seeping through your shirt.

What a hell of a moment to get yourself hurt.

“Here, let me help you up. We’ll get to a safer place for you to rest.”

You would have loved to argue that you’d be just fine after a few minutes, but you could tell that the injuries would be a bigger hindrance moving forward than you wanted them to be. There was no use in beating around the bush - at the moment, you were practically useless.

With a nod of your head, you reached up and managed only a pained grunt as Nero helped you to your feet, his arm keeping you steady as you leaned a good portion of your weight into him. He led you to a secluded area with decent coverage all around, carefully lowering you back down against a solid wall to rest. You sighed then, hoping that all you would need was a bit of rest so that the wounds could mend properly on their own.

“Well, kid, didn’t think I’d see you again so soon.”

You had never been so simultaneously furious and relieved in one fraction of a second; the feeling almost gave you whiplash.

Nero turned just as quickly with a scowl on his face, his frame blocking yours rather well from the sight of Dante. You could already feel the anger rising in your veins; it would have been worse had you not previously been injured.

“You…. What are you doing here?”

“Can’t a guy walk around and enjoy the scenery without being judged?”

You could practically hear the smirk in his words as he taunted Nero. It was obvious he had sought out the young man for something, and you had a feeling it was because of the sword, Yamato, that Nero was in possession of. Of course, this thought was in the back of your mind as the main thing running full-force at the front of your noggin was to murder your father - in the most lovingly of ways, of course.

“Forget it. We don’t have time for your bullshit.”

“Who said anything about bullshit? I’m just here to collect a couple things of mine that you seem to have at the moment.”

“Psh, fat chance, old man.”

“Again with the ‘old man’ bit, eh? Ya know, you remind me of my daughter.”

“Is that so?”

Nero’s reply was rather mocking, though the next thing that left your father’s mouth had you seeing red.

“Yeah, you know what they say. All children act the same.”

You gave Nero a minimal warning as you pulled out Rein and shot several rounds in Dante’s direction. The rounds bypassed Nero and, much to your immediate satisfaction, found purchase in Dante’s body. You continued firing at him until your clip ran dry and all that came was a small ‘click’ sound.

Through the haze of anger, you had only seen the first few shots hit him, one in the head and another three in the chest. Now that you were finally calming down, you realized that they were the only shots that hit as he had easily dodged the others. You should have gotten furious all over again, but you were now much calmer and only held a small simmer of anger for your father.

“You asshole, you left me! You freaking left me in this damn city by myself! What kind of man does that to his daughter?!”

“His…his daughter?” Nero questioned as he looked to you with narrowed, disbelieving eyes. They widened when all the pieces suddenly clicked into place, and you could only offer a halfhearted smile before eyeballing Dante with your remaining disdain.

“Hey, you were the one that said you wanted a little more freedom, squirt. Gotta learn the ropes on your own merits. That's what you wanted, right?”

You glared at your smirking father, watching as Dante wiped away the blood that had come from the already closed wound on his head. You could have sworn he was immortal; any shot you ever hit him with, purpose or accident, never seemed to do that much damage. It was infuriating, but you couldn't help but be thankful, all the same.

“I didn’t mean in a freaking city I’ve never seen nor heard about! What if I had died, you idiot?”

Dante rolled his eyes as he moved forward to inspect the damage done to your frame, taking great care not to hurt you anymore than was necessary.

“Stop overreacting. You know damn well I wouldn’t let anything bad happen to you. This, however, wasn’t in the plan. You’ll be out of action for a good hour or so, squirt, so get used to lying around for a while.”

“Ugh, just…perfect!”

You looked over to Nero, calming your features while giving a small smile. “Sorry for slowing you down so much, Nero.”

“Why didn’t you tell me he was your father?”

You gave a small frown at the strange, almost hurt look on the other man’s face. “I tried once, but we were interrupted. It wasn’t very important at the time, and it never came up again.”

“Probably for the better,” Dante cut in suddenly. “If he had known, he would have probably tried to kill you, too. And you know how Daddy is when it comes to boys.”

“You know what, old man, I think I’ll have to take you down a notch,” Nero quipped before you could throw in your two-cents, his threat more than clear. It seemed to be what Dante wanted, as he gave a smirk and all but dared Nero to come closer.

“Hey, not by me!” you shouted as the two drew their weapons of choice. “At least have the decency to let me heal first without giving me another cut to worry about!”

#dmc #devil may cry #dmc dante #dmc nero #reader #reader-insert #female reader #Daughter of a Devil

[aquietwritingcorner]

Author: RealityBreakGirl/aquietlearningcorner/scentedbygunpowder Word Count: 7,561 Prompt: FMA Big Bang 2020 Characters: Riza Hawkeye, Roy Mustang, Jean Havoc Pairing: Royai Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Family Chapter: Part III of 5 Summary: Post-PD. A drive to look for more of Berthold Hawkeye’s research sends Roy Mustang, Riza Hawkeye, and Jean Havoc back to Hawkeye’s childhood home. But although the years have faded the wounds of Hawkeye’s heart, the embers still exist. This trip, ordered by Mustang, threatens to flame them back to life. With Hawkeye and Mustang at odds with each other, and an unknown but heavy history hanging overhead, Havoc isn’t sure what this research mission will mean to the future of his commanding officers.

Prologue || Part I || Part II || Part III || Epilogue AO3 || ff.net

___________________________________________________________

Part III

By the time they came back downstairs, the sun had long since set. Havoc let Hawkeye go in first, seeing as she knew the best way back through her window, and he followed suit, closing it while she sat the rabbit back on the bed. The two made their way downstairs, Hawkeye somewhat subdued, but with all that tension that she had been carrying gone. An exhaustion was growing in its place, but it Havoc was honestly glad to see that the tension had left her. Hopefully, with that gone she would be more receptive to Mustang’s gestures towards her.

Leaving the second floor, they made their way to the kitchen, where, to Havoc’s amusement, Mustang was trying to cook. Several badly chopped vegetables were on the table, and he was cursing lightly as he tried to do something to some sort of burning vegetables in a pan. In the sink a pot sat, smoking, with something still popping and bubbling in it.

“Ah!” Mustang jerked his hand away, shaking it out for a second as something popped him, before trying to scrape the vegetables off the bottom of the pan again.

The softest exhalation came from Hawkeye, almost a laugh, and Havoc felt something in his heart ease at that. If she was still mad at Mustang, she would have been irritated, not almost laughing. She walked over to him and nudged him aside.

“Let me have that. You know you can’t cook.”

“Hawkeye!” Mustang looked over at her, surprised, but let her push him to the side. “I—” he looked at her, uncertainty on his face for a moment. Havoc couldn’t see Hawkeye’s face, but something in it must have reassured Mustang, because his uncertainty faded. “I was just trying to make supper for us.”

Havoc peered at a strange lump on the table, some sort of runny, mushy thing with a lot of flour around it. “What were you trying to make?” he asked. “This looks more like something to make us all sick.”

Mustang whirled on him. “Sh-shut up! I was trying to make some dough, okay? But it didn’t turn out right!”

“What were you making dough for?” Havoc asked.

Mustang mumbled something under his breath before going over to the sink. He grimaced at the pot in it.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t catch that,” Havoc pushed.

“I said that I was trying to make a pot pie, alright!” He crossed his arms. “It’s not my fault that the cookbooks aren’t clear.”

Havoc blinked at him in surprise. “How can you do all that alchemy, but you can’t follow the recipe in a cookbook?”

“You were trying to make pot pie?” Hawkeye said, glancing back at Mustang.

“Y-yeah.” Mustang seemed a little embarrassed, and Havoc got the feeling that he was missing something again.

“Thank you,” she said with a slight smile. “I appreciate the gesture.”

“Well, I know you like it,” Mustang said, clearly a little uncomfortable.

“I do,” she said. “But next time, just lay out the ingredients for me.”

Havoc was watching them, as they seemed to dance around each other, Mustang trying to figure out what to do now, and Hawkeye obviously tired from earlier. Looked like things were up to him again.

“Welp,” he said, straightening up and speaking loudly. “Seems to me that you’re no cook, General. And Hawkeye, you need to go warm up after being out on the roof.” Not that it was cold, but an excuse was an excuse. “So why don’t you leave supper tonight to me. I can’t do much, but my mama taught me a few dishes. Why don’t you two go see if that radio works if you want something to do. I’m tired of it being so quiet in here.”

“No, I won’t leave you to take care of this mess alone,” Hawkeye said.

“And I should clean up. I can do that much,” Mustang said with a grimace.

“Nuh-uh,” Havoc said. “Look, Hawk’s been doing pretty much all of the cooking since we got here—and I understand why you haven’t General. Let me give you a chance to wow you with a Havoc family recipe or two. It’s about time I took a turn.”

He knew that both of them were incredibly stubborn people, but he also knew that it would do them some good to just rest with each other. They must have been tired, because after a few seconds of a staring contest, they gave in.

“Alright,” Mustang said. “We’ll leave it to you tonight.”

“I’ll call ya when it’s ready,” Havoc promised.

He watched them walk out, watched as Mustang subtly moved a little closer to Hawkeye, and she leaned into it. He saw some of the tension leave Mustang’s shoulders, and his hand move a little closer to Hawkeye’s, brushing against hers to give her hand a squeeze and saw her return it.

Good. Maybe they’d work some things out.

Havoc turned back to the kitchen and grimaced. It was a mess, and he had his work cut out for him.

How had Mustang even done that to that pot?

Still, it was a good idea to give the two of them some time alone, Havoc thought. Now that Hawkeye had basically had a breakdown on him—not something he ever thought he would see—the two could, he thought, begin to come together once more.

He listened for them as he chopped the vegetables for his ma’s famous pot pie—he did have all the spices he needed, didn’t he?—and smiled to himself as he heard their quiet voices. Not twenty minutes into cooking he heard them try to make the radio work, Mustang saying something about needing Fuery, and Hawkeye shooting back with a tired laugh that it would still be a miracle. There was a lot of static, but they eventually found a radio station with decent reception and good music. It drowned out most of their conversation, but Havoc didn’t mind. Let them have their privacy. He had cooking to do.

He only looked in on them once, when he heard odd movement, and he peeked into the sitting room. He quickly left before either of them saw him, but the sight of Mustang and Hawkeye dancing closely with each other bolstered him through the rest of his food preparation. They would be alright now. He was certain of it.

About an hour later he had decent meal laid out and had cleaned up after himself—except for that pot, which he wasn’t sure would ever be the same again. Even though he didn’t want to interrupt them, Havoc did call for Hawkeye and Mustang to eat. Supper was, for once, a much lighter affair, although it was clear that the evening’s events had worn on all of them. Still, Hawkeye and Mustang sat near each other, and Hawkeye didn’t shy away from the small gestures that Mustang made towards her. It relieved Havoc, honestly. If she was receptive to even the small things, then it seemed that the two of them were on the mend.

Bedtime came early that night, all of them tired from the day’s events, and they wearily made their way upstairs and into their respective rooms. Havoc laid in bed, staring at the ceiling again, ignoring Betsy the dress form in the corner, and listening to the house. The house itself was creaky, old, and not even Mustang’s alchemic changes could change the sound of a house settling on its foundations. The house wasn’t what was keeping him awake, though.

Havoc could hear Riza in the next room, restless, and wondered if he ought to go check on her. It had been a rough night for her, and he worried. He had just about decided to get up when his ears perked at the sound of someone else up and moving around. From the direction of it, he guessed that Mustang had come out of his room. As he listened, he heard the footsteps move down the hallway and then stop, about where he guessed Hawkeye’s door was. There was a slight knock, and then he heard Mustang’s voice, too low for Havoc to understand. Apparently, Hawkeye could understand him, though, and she answered him. Havoc heard the movement of her getting up, and then a door being unlocked and opened. For a moment, he didn’t hear much, and then there was a murmur of voices again, talking. After a moment, Havoc heard movement again, but this time both of them towards the bed, where they seemed to settle.

Havoc rolled over in his bed, a smile on his lips. It seemed that those two would be alright now. He still didn’t have all of the puzzle pieces to them or to what, exactly, had happened between them, but Havoc didn’t need them. As long as Roy Mustang and Riza Hawkeye were alright, all was right with the world. And if all was right with the world, then that meant that Havoc could sleep.

The next day dawned bright and early, as per the norm, and Havoc rolled out of bed, started the coffee, and went to check on the horses. However, when he got back, Hawkeye wasn’t up and cooking breakfast. Havoc shrugged, figuring that the two were still with each other, and got to work, cooking up some pancakes and such for them. It was at about the time that Mustang usually came downstairs that both he and Hawkeye came down the stairs together.

“Mornin’,” Havoc drawled. “Look at you two coming down together.”

“Shut up, Jean, it wasn’t anything like that,” Roy muttered.

Hawkeye was making her way straight to the coffee. “Careful,” she said, obviously tired. “I haven’t had my coffee yet. I’m more liable to shoot.”

“Yes ma’am,” Havoc said with a chuckle. Even though he had drifted off to sleep, it seemed like the two of them had finally had their late-night talk and gotten things worked out. Good. It had been long overdue. Maybe they would be back to normal now.

Hawkeye helped him finish breakfast, no one wanting Mustang anywhere near the cooking after the disaster with the poor ruined pot. It was still soaking in the sink, and still, to Havoc’s eye, seemed slightly toxic. Hawkeye seemed to be eyeing it as if she thought she could clean it, but Havoc thought the poor thing was a gonner.

It didn’t take long for Havoc and Hawkeye to finish cooking, and the three of them sat together a bit more companionably to eat then they had on previous mornings. It was easy enough that Havoc almost didn’t want to bring up the work they needed to do today. He’d honestly rather have everyone rest. It had to be done sooner or later, though, and both Mustang and Hawkeye were workaholics. One of them would mention getting to work eventually.

“So… are we going to finish the basement today?” Havoc watched as Hawkeye instantly stilled, pulled in a quiet breath and pursed her lips.

Mustang moved his hand next to hers and shook his head. “No. I finished it up yesterday,” he said. He glanced at Hawkeye. “I figured it was for the best.”

Hawkeye seemed to relax a bit, but not a lot at Mustang’s words. Havoc had to wonder just what it was about that basement that kept both Hawkeye and Mustang so squirrely about it. It was more than a little odd, and just one more part of the puzzle. But it also wasn’t really his business, was it?

“Alright,” he said, putting those thoughts to the side for the moment. “Then what’s the plan for today?”

“The outbuildings,” Mustang said. “I think we should be able to get to most of them today.”

Havoc glanced outside. “It’s shaping up to be warm. We should get started soon.”

Mustang looked out as well and sighed. “Alright. Then let’s get this cleaned up and get to work.”

As far as Havoc was concerned, there were only three good things about working outside that day. The first was that there weren’t any animals around, aside from the horses, so they didn’t have to worry about stepping in any muck as they worked around the various outbuildings. It would have been a lot more difficult if they were worrying about stepping in manure.

They started with the barn, the biggest of the structures. There really wasn’t much to the lower level, and most of the work was left to Mustang and his ability to transmute, although truthfully there wasn’t much to that either. Most of the wood in the barn was exactly what it seemed do be, although Mustang checked anyway, just to be thorough.

While he worked on that, Havoc and Hawkeye checked out the loft. Here, Havoc was introduced to the second good thing of the day: the stories that he learned.

Hawkeye was a surprisingly good storyteller, and she regaled Havoc with the misadventures of a young city-boy Mustang as they worked. Although there was some old equipment and such, it was easy work. Most of what they went through were items Hawkeye herself had put in the loft, saying that sometimes she spent nights up there when she was a girl. Havoc didn’t ask why, but he did enjoy her stories, and just let her talk as she felt like it.

Havoc got to hear of the time Mustang got kicked by Hawkeye’s goat, and when the goat had eaten part of a handkerchief that had belonged to her mother and Roy had managed to restore it with alchemy. He’d never forget the visual she described of Mustang hanging by his ankle on a rope while the goat tried to eat his hair. She had, apparently, just laughed at him for a full three minutes before she pulled the goat away.

He knew there was a reason he liked Riza Hawkeye.

The barn, however, like everything else so far, was a bust. There had been a few alchemy circles discovered, but Hawkeye and Mustang both seemed to know about them, if the somewhat amused glances they gave each other meant anything. It raised Havoc’s eyebrows, and he found himself wondering just what kind of mischief the two of them had gotten up to as kids.

When the barn was finished, they moved on to the shed. It had, to Havoc’s mind, a disturbing amount of chemicals and compounds stored in it. Some of them seemed to be quite old, and Havoc found himself more then a little concerned about what might happen if those bottles were opened. Neither Mustang nor Hawkeye seemed to be concerned, though, which Havoc found a bit, well, concerning.

Hawkeye, apparently, had a greater than average knowledge on chemicals. She was able to identify a few of the containers by looking at them and smelling them, which Havoc found a bit impressive. She also seemed to know a great deal about what mixing certain chemicals together would do, and Havoc eyed her warily when she seemed thrilled to find a few particular ones in the shed. She deemed them “useful” and collected some to take back home with her. Havoc deemed them “dangerous” but he supposed if anyone knew what they were doing, it would be Hawkeye. He just hoped that the chemicals didn’t cause a problem on the train.

Still, the shed gave them no clues, and they broke for lunch, Hawkeye taking a few more of the chemicals into the house with them. Lunch didn’t take long, as they just ate some of the leftovers from the night before. Mustang doled out their portions while Havoc worked on stoking the fire in the stove to heat them up. Hawkeye was busy doing something with the bottles of chemicals and that pot that Mustang had ruined, but Havoc, although curious, didn’t ask what. It wasn’t long before they were all sitting down, listening to the radio and eating leftover potpie. Havoc couldn’t help but notice that Hawkeye’s portion was a little bigger than his and Mustang’s, but he kept that to himself. If Mustang wanted to give Hawkeye more of her favorite meal, he wasn’t going to complain.

It was on to the chicken coop after lunch. With the way that it was falling in, Havoc held out little hope for it. He was not disappointed. He did get some amusing stories of Mustang being chased by chickens and some touching ones of Hawkeye raising little baby chicks, which made the search more fun, at least. Of course, watching Mustang get caught up in the chicken wire had been pretty funny too. As Hawkeye laughed at him before beginning to help him out of the rusted wire, scolding Mustang as she did, Havoc couldn’t help but wonder if he was getting a glimpse of what their childhood with each other had been like.

Havoc wasn’t sure if the day was hotter than the others had been, or if it was just that they were outside and not in the cool of the house, but it certainly felt like a scorcher. He abandoned his usual shirt early on, only keeping on his undershirt. Mustang did likewise. Havoc honestly had no idea how Hawkeye kept working in her short-sleeved black turtleneck. He knew she was sweating through, and she had to have something lighter. If nothing else, he’d lend her an undershirt. But he already knew that was fruitless. She had refused that even when they were rebuilding Ishval, and he had never figured out why.

They took a break before moving on to the gazebo, stopping to get water at the well. That was when Havoc discovered the third good thing about working outside today: the well water. The water from it was cool and fresh, with a sweetness to it Havoc hadn’t found in any city water anywhere.

“You should bottle and sell this stuff, Riza,” he said. “You’d make a fortune.”

“It is the best water I’ve ever tasted,” Mustang agreed. “When I first got here, I couldn’t believe that water could taste this good.”

“That’s because you grew up on the city water,” Hawkeye said. “I couldn’t believe anyone could call that water when I first tasted it. It tasted like some had decided to dissolve a bunch of foul-tasting vitamin pills in it and convinced you it was good.”

“…They do try to fortify the water,” Mustang admitted.

“I’ll take this and good food over fortified water any day,” Havoc declared.

“Why didn’t you try to sell any?” Mustang asked her, clearly curious. “You sold just about everything else.”

Hawkeye didn’t really look at either of the men as she answered, bending instead to pick up a broken piece of glass that had been glinting in the sunlight. “I tried, once,” she said. “Cleaned up some old jars and took them into town. But when Father found out, he grew very angry. I should have asked him first, but he was in the middle of research, and I didn’t want to disturb him.”

“When was this?” Mustang asked, clearly having no memory of this moment.

She glanced at him. “It was that summer you went back for a week, because your sister was getting married,” She said, and then examined the piece of glass in her hand a bit more before throwing it down. “We should probably get back to work.”

Havoc watched as understanding dawned on Mustang’s face and with it, a small amount of horror. Havoc’s brow furrowed, and he wondered what that was about. He had a feeling, though, like most of this history here, he would never truly know.

The gazebo was the last thing they examined, not that there was much to it. It didn’t take them long to go through it and then to collectively decide to take a break. All in all, it was another dirty day where they once again turned up absolutely nothing. Havoc was, personally, glad to be out of the heat and in the shade. From the way Mustang and Hawkeye were slumped in the chairs Mustang had repaired, they were too.

“…you fixed the roof,” Hawkeye said, looking up at the roof of the gazebo.

“Yeah,” Mustang said. “It was easy. I figured why not just go ahead and fix it while I was there.”

“Mm, well thank you,” Hawkeye said she was quiet for a moment. “I always liked coming out here, when I could.”

“You spend a lot of time outside?” Havoc asked, curious. The answer was obvious, but he was enjoying learning about Mustang and Hawkeye, and he hoped he could get a little more information out of them.

Hawkeye laughed. “Only as much as possible,” she said. “I did a lot of hunting and foraging in these woods, and it was a lot better to be outside then in, especially after father finished one of his research bends.” She sighed and looked up at the roof of the gazebo. “I don’t see myself coming back out here, but if I did, I’d want to make it look nice with flowers again.”

“You did tend them well,” Mustang said after a moment. “You showed me how to care for them. You showed me all sorts of things while I was here.”

She hummed in agreement. “I showed you how to do a lot of things.” A glint of mischief appeared in her eye, and Havoc paid attention, interested to see where this was headed. “Too bad we can’t do some of those same sorts of things,” she said. “I doubt going swimming in our underwear will be quite the same now as it was then.”

That caught Havoc’s attention. “Say what now?” Havoc said, raising an eyebrow.

Mustang scowled. “It’s not what you think.”

“It sounds like you got to see Hawkeye in her underwear,” he countered. “Her wet underwear! Pardon me sir, but you’re a luckier man then most!”

Hawkeye grinned. “The first time, it happened I hit him.”

“See, now that sounds like something I’d expect.” Havoc said, sitting back in his chair, clearly waiting for the story.

Mustang huffed. “We were kids! I was twelve! She was nine! There was nothing like that about it!”

“You wouldn’t still be here if there were,” Hawkeye retorted. “Father almost made sure you weren’t.”

“Oh, this sounds like a story,” Havoc said with a grin.

“It’s nothing!” Mustang protested.

“He was still new,” Hawkeye said, completely ignoring Mustang. “Hadn’t been around much, found the path and followed it.  I had gone out for a bit of a swim, as it was still hot. He stumbled upon the pond, happened to see me. I saw him, and it looked like he was staring at me.”

“I saw you go under and not come back up,” Mustang mumbled. “And when you did, it was just your head. I thought you were drowning.”

“He came in the water after me, grabbed my arm, and I hit him right in the eye,” Hawkeye continued. “Thought he was after me. I fled back to the house, calling for my father. I didn’t typically scream like that, so he came out. I was soaking wet and scared, and managed to get out what had happened. Mustang came staggering up the path just a little bit behind me, his clothes soaked, with my clothes bundled up in his arms, and a bruise forming on his face.”

“I don’t think I ever saw Master Hawkeye so mad,” Mustang said, running a hand over his face. “I thought he was going to kill me.”

“It took a little bit of explaining, but it was finally worked out that everything was an accident,” Hawkeye said. “Father did take some money to buy me material to make a bathing costume so this wouldn’t happen again, but I served Roy smaller and colder portions of food for a month.”

Havoc was laughing. “Oh, man that’s great! Roy here being a slick city boy probably didn’t help things any.”

Hawkeye smiled. “Not at all.”

Mustang grumbled about it, but it was clear that he wasn’t really taking an offense to her teasing. It was good to see her smile, Havoc, thought, and to see her with some good memories from this place. With the history that he could just feel weighing on this place, part of him had worried that Hawkeye had not had any joy in childhood. He had enjoyed hearing these stories from her today that countered that. It was still clear that being here was weighing heavy on her, but it seemed that there were some bright spots in her childhood. He did find it interesting, though, that most of them seemed to involve Mustang. Havoc filed that away for later thought and let himself just enjoy this moment.

They were quiet for a bit, enjoying the shade, and the lengthening light. The day was ending, and the evening beginning. Cicadas started to chirp, and a few spots of flashing light appeared as the lightning bugs started to come out. They’d be out heavier later, but for now their time was just beginning.

“So, what’s the plan now?” Havoc asked. “Turning up the dirt?”

Mustang looked over at Hawkeye and she shook her head. “No. Even the outbuildings were a long shot. When my father finished—” she took a breath, and Havoc saw her shoulders tighten, that haunted look coming back in her eyes. “By the time he finished transcribing his completed research, he was in no shape to leave the house. He barely left his room.”

Mustang was looking at her with that unfathomable look on his face again, and Havoc knew there was something that he was missing here, something important to them. It wasn’t likely that he was going to learn it now, though.

“We’ve struck out,” Mustang said, turning his attention back to the both of them. “It was a long shot anyway. Tomorrow morning we’ll get up, pack up, and head back,” Mustang said. “That’ll be a week. We’ve been away long enough.”

“Yeah. Hopefully the office isn’t in shambles,” Havoc said. “Or Fuery traumatized by some story Breda told him.”

That brought smiles to their faces, although they all knew that the master sergeant wasn’t that gullible or scared anymore, although still not fond of ghost stories.

“Well, if Breda pulled anything, I’m sure that Fuery had found a way to get him back,” Hawkeye said. “He’s become quite adept at slipping treats for Hayate in Breda’s pockets.”

Havoc laughed again, Roy chuckling too, before he stood up.

“We better go ahead and clean up,” Mustang said. “We’ll head out as soon as we can tomorrow.”

“Do we need to go ahead and call for tickets?” Havoc asked, standing up and stretching.

Hawkeye shook her head. “There’s no phone here,” she said. “Father never had one installed.”

“We’ll just have to spend some time in town waiting,” Mustang said. “Something should come through.”

“Unless the schedule had changed in a week, then yes, there should be,” Hawkeye said, standing up herself.

Mustang nodded. “Good. Then let’s go eat and pack up and clean up what we can. I want to get off as soon as possible tomorrow.”

The three of them made their way back to the house, Havoc pausing by that stuck kitchen door to look over the grounds again. He still thought that they, and the house itself, had the potential to be pretty. He just couldn’t shake the feeling, though, that there was something ominous about the place. Maybe it was the tension that had been between Mustang and Hawkeye all week. Maybe it was some of the stories that Hawkeye told, ones that rolled off her tongue as if they were normal, but made Mustang tense up and gave Havoc himself pause. Or maybe he was just reading too much into things. He just couldn’t help feel like he had missed a rather big puzzle piece here somewhere.

But, again, was this really his puzzle to solve?

“Jean—if you want some of the lemonade, you better get in here.”

“Yeah, I’m coming,” he turned to go in, leaving the door open behind him, and his ruminations outside as well.

The evening passed fairly amicably. Someone had switched the radio on again, and they listened to it as they sat down to eat, finishing off whatever leftovers were there. Hawkeye poured a few more chemicals in that poor pot, and then went ahead and prepared them all food for the next day’s lunch and set aside what she could for breakfast. She had chosen the amounts of supplies well, and there was very little that was left. She saved what she could, clearly packing it to take home with her in her usual “waste not, want not” type of way.

The containers that had held the foodstuffs were washed and prepared to take back to Mrs. Nelson. Havoc and Mustang went through the house while Hawkeye was working on that, making sure that it was as pre-prepared as it could be for their departure, closing windows, closing off rooms, and emptying lamps of oil and sconces of wax.

Showers were taken in turn, with enough time between them that the water didn’t get too cold. Mustang offered to see if he could make the water in the boiler heat faster with his flames, but Hawkeye had shut that down with a fast and firm no, and Havoc thought it was probably for the best. Although, admittedly, if the boiler had blown up, it would make for a good story to end their time here. A destructive and potentially deadly one, but a good story, nonetheless.

Bedtime came not too long afterwards, all of them tired, but not as weary as other days. Havoc chalked it up to the tension between Mustang and Hawkeye being gone and settled into bed, once again staring up at the ceiling with Betsy the dress form looming in the corner.

Had it really been a week since he had come here with Mustang and Hawkeye? It almost felt like this place existed in it’s own little pocket of time or something. The past weighed heavy here, although it was a past he didn’t know about. It stayed, lingered, and left its presence, or at least it did on Hawkeye and, to some extent, Mustang. It was a heavy feeling, as if, even though they had found nothing, a lot had happened. Try as he might, Havoc couldn’t help but think about it as he laid there, attempting to sleep, laying out what he knew, and what he suspected.

Hawkeye’s father had taught Mustang alchemy, and flame alchemy was connected somehow. That had been a huge revelation to Havoc, and it explained so much about the two and their relationship. It still left a lot of questions, but it also answered more than a few.

Hawkeye grew up poor, and maybe even without food often. It, again, explained a lot. It explained how Hawkeye had so many different skills. It explained why she was so frugal with what she bought and how she continually repaired things. It explained why she tended to keep things until they were no longer useable. It explained why she could make meal out of almost anything, and why she tended to keep even the smallest amounts of food. When you grew up with little, you learned how to make it stretch.

Hawkeye’s mother had died when she was young. Hawkeye had cared for her father until he died. And, Havoc would guess, Hawkeye’s dad hadn’t been a good dad, although how far that went, he wasn’t sure. It brought a new light, though, to the way that she would fuss over anyone who was sick and ply them with teas and medicines until they went home or went to the doctor.

He had learned a lot about Hawkeye. He had learned about Mustang, too. But it still felt like he was missing something.

Havoc sighed and rolled over. He had lots of puzzle pieces, but he wasn’t even sure what kind of a puzzle he was putting together. All he knew was that what he had learned did explain a lot about Hawkeye, and about the relationship Hawkeye and Mustang had.

Havoc’s ears perked as he heard someone moving around the house, and he listened to see where the footsteps were going. It sounded like it was Mustang again, heading towards Hawkeye’s room. Havoc waited, listening, as this time Mustang knocked, but went ahead and opened the door. He heard muffled voices again, and then what sounded like Mustang getting on the bed.

Havoc stopped paying attention then. Maybe this wasn’t his puzzle to solve. Maybe he didn’t need to know. Maybe all he needed to do, right now, was close his eyes, and go to sleep.

He would just trust that, if he was meant to find out any answers, that they would come in time.

The morning was busy. Hawkeye cooked breakfast and gave the kitchen a good cleaning, the chemicals she had used making that pot Mustang had ruined usable again. Havoc regarded it as a small miracle and teased her about it until she hit him with a towel and told him to go check on the horses. Havoc had obliged with a grin, and went to ready the horses and the wagon for the trip back, making sure that the animals were ready. He also mucked out the barn, tossing the manure near what he thought was an old garden. The plants there looked like they could use the fertilizer. Mustang was on cleaning duty and made sure that the bathrooms were clean and that the beds were stripped. Working together, it wasn’t long before the three of them were loading up the wagon with their luggage, the containers for the Nelsons, and the bundled-up bedding that Hawkeye said Mrs. Nelson would clean. They climbed aboard and headed off, back down that rain-rutted road.

It was slow going again, as the road was still bad, but this time, at least, they were enjoying themselves, even if Hawkeye did seem tired. Havoc couldn’t really blame her for that. This week had been hard, but it had been particularly hard on her. This time, though, Hawkeye leaned into Mustang as they bumped along, and Havoc pretended not to notice when a hand brushed a thigh once or twice. Their business was their business.

Once out onto the road, they could move at a slightly faster clip, but Havoc still took it easy, enjoying spending a little time with a less up-tight Hawkeye in the area she grew up in. He asked her questions about the crops and groves that they saw, and she answered them as best she could. Forestry, she explained, was the best thing that this area had to offer, although it really wasn’t that much in the grand scheme of things. Her land, with its wild woods, was actually quite valuable because of that. She had no desire to cut down the woods and sell the timber, but instead let it grow wild and allowed hunting on it. She personally thought it was better that way, and Havoc found that he couldn’t disagree.

When it came to the other crops, most crops weren’t cash crops, but sustainable ones. They sent out a few small shipments of things here and there, but most of what was grown was used by the locals in the area. The area honestly had very little to offer and mostly kept to itself. Havoc certainly thought that explained why the town hadn’t grown much and wasn’t well known. There wasn’t anything to know about it.

It was a pleasant journey back into town, the Nelsons greeting them enthusiastically as they returned. Mrs. Nelson fussed over the containers and told Hawkeye that she hadn’t needed to bother, but Havoc saw her whisk them away anyway. He couldn’t blame her. One less thing to have to spend money on was money to spend on a different need.  Havoc watched with great amusement as the older lady fussed over both Hawkeye and Mustang, questioning them a great deal more about just “what you two youngsters have been up to—yes, yes, we’ve seen the papers, but I want to hear things from you.”

It was in the middle of one of those conversations that someone called out Mustang’s name, and Havoc looked up from the preserves he was considering to see both Mustang and Hawkeye turn to look at the caller. It took him a minute, but he recognized him as one of the men from that first day in town. It also didn’t escape his notice that Mustang stepped just slightly in front of Hawkeye. Both of them looked tense, and Havoc slowly sat down the jar he was looking at, just in case.

“Thompson,” Mustang returned, his eyes focused on the man.

Havoc suddenly remembered Hawkeye’s words from earlier in the week, about how Mrs. Nelson always made sure that the kids behaved, and how she let Hawkeye “wait things out” in the store sometimes. It had made him wonder if Hawkeye had been bullied as a child, and he was pretty sure that he was getting his answer right now.

The three stared at each other for a moment, before Thompson stuck his hand out. “I saw you when you first came into town,” he said. “Didn’t have the time at that moment to talk to you, but I’m glad I ran into you now.” He looked over at Hawkeye. “To both of you. I just wanted to apologize for how I was when we were kids. It was wrong, and I wish some had culled me on it sooner. Heavens knows if I hear of my son doing half the things I did to the two of you, I’m going to make sure he can’t sit down for a week.”

That had Havoc’s interest piqued, but he wasn’t about to ask questions now. Instead he watched as Mustang gave a subtle glace to Hawkeye, who must have given him some sort of invisible signal, because Mustang reached out to take Thompson’s hand.

“We’ve all done things we’re not proud of,” he said. “So long as we strive to be better and teach the next generation how to be better than us.”

Thompson gave Mustang a bit of a smile, then, when Mustang had let go, extended his hand to Hawkeye. For a second, she just regarded it, before she, too, reached out to shake it. “I can’t say they were enjoyable days, but thank you for your apology.”

Thompson gave her a smile as well and withdrew his hand. “Listen—some of the others are in town today. We’ve been talking since we saw you earlier this week. Would you be willing to come at least have a drink with us or something? It doesn’t have to be long.”

Havoc watched as Mustang and Hawkeye held one of their silent exchanges for a moment, and then, after a moment, agreed. Havoc begged off, saying he was going to take a smoke break before the train arrived, but he did watch them walk off. It was interesting, he thought, to watch his two commanding officers interact with these former bullies. Even though it seemed that bygones were bygones, they still constantly kept each other aware of the other’s presence, be it through being in eyesight, or through light touches or brushes. It made him wonder what watching these two fight together would look like just because they were so aware of each other.

There were layers of depth here, and Havoc felt like he was out of his element in trying to figure it out.

The train came soon enough, though, and with a last good-bye to the Nelsons—and some packages sent with them for the ride, courtesy of Mrs. Nelson—they boarded the train to leave Awrout behind. It would be nice to be back in Central, to be home again, Havoc thought, and he looked forward to things returning to normal—whatever that looked like for them.

The train was, again, full of people, and it took them a moment to find a set of seats together. Unlike last time, this trip promised to be a less tense one, and Havoc was honestly ready for it. Mustang and Hawkeye settled on the same bench as naturally as breathing, and that was a relief to Havoc. It was how the two of them needed to be, and honestly, Havoc was glad. He sat across from them, eyeing the bench’s length to see if he’d be able to stretch his legs out across it later. Hawkeye and Mustang seemed not to have noticed how they naturally angled their bodies towards each other, just slightly, not exactly touching, but close. When the train jerked into motion, Mustang’s hand moved towards Hawkeye’s as everyone jolted slightly. She let him, and Havoc decided that this trip was definitely going to be better then the one to Awrout.

It honestly wasn’t far into the ride that Hawkeye fell asleep, this whole week obviously having exhausted her. Havoc couldn’t blame her. She had been on an emotional roller coaster, and it wasn’t one that Havoc cared to repeat. He didn’t comment on the way that Mustang just shifted around to make her more comfortable against him, or on the soft looks Mustang gave her now and then. And Havoc didn’t comment on the way that Hawkeye seemed to settle in against him naturally. These two had fit together for years, it seemed. Havoc wasn’t going to try to change that.

“…It’ll be good to be home, won’t it, sir,” Havoc said softly.

“Hm?” Mustang glanced up from the paper he was reading. “Oh—yes it will be. I think we could all use a good night’s rest.”

“Yeah… Arwout wasn’t exactly restful was it?” Havoc mused.

Mustang looked up, letting out a silent sigh. “I can’t say that it was,” he agreed. “I’m glad to be leaving it behind.”

Havoc blinked a bit at this. Mustang had never seemed to hold any grudge against the town. If anyone had been glad to be leaving, he had assumed it would be Hawkeye most of all. “Was it really that bad to you?” he asked Mustang. “It sounded like there were some good memories for you two there.”

Mustang stared out the window at the passing landscape. “…some, yes.” He said after a moment. “But I’m not sure if they outweigh the rest.” He looked down at Hawkeye, sleeping against him. “I’d rather take the good from there with me and leave the bad behind.”

There was a lot in that sentence. Havoc didn’t bother to unpack it; he just nodded his head thoughtfully. “It’s always wise to take the good with us,” he said, and couldn’t help but wonder if there was more in that statement then he’d intended on saying.

In the end, there really wasn’t much more to say to that, and so Havoc fell silent, letting the noise of the train take over.

The train ride was uneventful, Hawkeye waking eventually, and the three of them sharing the treats Mrs. Nelson had packed for them, as well as the food Hawkeye had prepared. Havoc shared some of the sweets with the kid that was sitting behind him, and then had to deal with having a new best friend for the rest of the ride, much to the amusement of Mustang and Hawkeye. He didn’t mind, though. Honestly, it made him miss his nieces and nephews all the more. Eventually they pulled up to the station in Central and disembarked, Havoc taking the opportunity to do a full body stretch as they stood in the station.

“Do you need a ride back home?” Mustang asked him, and Havoc shook his head.

“Nah. It’ll do me good to walk. It’s not that late and it’s not that far.” He said. He nodded at Hawkeye. “If you’re going to give anyone a ride, let it be Hawkeye. She’s still got those chemicals in her bag, and I don’t want them to spill.”

Hawkeye shot him an unamused look. “They’re fine, and how did you know they’re in there anyway?”

Havoc shrugged. “Caught a glimpse when you were putting things away. Spent the rest of the train ride scared to death we were going to blow up.”

“Sure you did,” Mustang shot back. “That’s why you slept so well.”

Havoc grinned. “Exactly.” He gave them a jaunty wave and turned to head off. “See you both tomorrow.”

“Be safe!” Hawkeye called after him.

“You take all the fun out of life when you say that, Riza!” he called back.

Still, he couldn’t help but glance back at them as he walked away. They were standing next to each other, completely at ease once again. Mustang had been right about taking the good out of a place and leaving the bad behind. He just hoped that Hawkeye could do that too.

Although, perhaps that rabbit he happened to glimpse in her bag earlier would help her with that.

#fmabb #riza hawkeye #Roy Mustang #Jean Havoc #Fullmetal Alchemist #Fullmetal Alchemist fan fic #FMA #fma fanfiction #fma fanfic

[solastia]

Knotting Hill | 2

Pairing: Taehyung x Namjoon

Word Count: 5,335

Summary: When Alpha Taehyung starts the porn video titled “Knotting Hill,” he wasn’t prepared for the way his instincts were screaming at him to claim the beautiful Omegan porn star, Namjoon.

Genre & Warnings: Smut! With some feelings, course. This whole thing is basically just an excuse for some Vmon smut. Porn star! au. Nothing really triggering, I don’t think.

A/N: Just the epilogue left to go! 

Taehyung walked up to the doors of the surprisingly normal-looking building, wiping his suddenly sweaty palms on his slacks. His heart was racing and when he caught the faintest scent of an ocean breeze, his Alpha was practically howling. It belonged to him, he was sure of it.

Right before he opened the door that he hoped led to where he was supposed to go, he ran a hand down his shirt, nervously checking for wrinkles or foreign substances. He'd spent three hours this morning getting ready. He really hoped he looked impressive. He had picked the best high fashion pieces he'd gotten from work over the years, and he hoped he looked debonair instead of like the nervous prom date he felt like. With one last deep breath, he flung open the door and strode inside...but the scent. Fuck. It was so rich in here.

His mate smelled like a gentle ocean breeze, fresh and calming, and this entire building was saturated in it. There were others in here just as strong, but that scent just called out to him. His Alpha was practically crowing with pride from having found their other half at last.

Yoongi was the audio engineer, and had told him to come straight to his office when he arrived, that it was the one with the glass door. Apparently, he thought it was hilarious to make the door see-through and seemingly easy to enter when it actually had five locks.

Taehyung finally found the room at the end of a massive hallway. The door was closed, and when he peeked inside he saw Yoongi sitting at his desk. He knocked and he saw one earphone hanging off of his neck so he knew the Omega heard him. He waited a couple seconds before trying the handle. As he suspected, it was locked tight. 

 “Yoongi. Open up, man.” He was answered with one finger being held up, and he figured it was lucky that it was the one that meant wait instead of fuck you.

Finally, Yoongi turned around and faced the door, cocking an eyebrow at the increasingly irritated Alpha. He loved Yoongi hyung, he really did, but his sense of humor can fuck right off. He gestured towards the door and - though he couldn’t hear it - he knew Yoongi was sighing dramatically as he pushed himself out of his chair and shuffled towards the door.

After several clicks, the door was finally flung open and Taehyung inhaled shakily as the ocean breeze scent rushed towards him yet again. The Omega obviously spent a lot of time in Yoongi's office.

"Hey, hyung. How's it going."

Yoongi grinned softly. "It's goin'. How you feelin'? You nervous?" 

Taehyung groaned. "Never more in my entire life." 

Yoongi gave an amused huff, leading Taehyung over to a little loveseat in the office.

"If you want to stop at any time, just let me know. I have a feeling you'll be fine though. I've already arranged it so that you'll have a private audition, but we will be recording it to see how you look on camera and what we would have to improve on." 

Taehyung gulped and nodded in understanding. He didn't care about being recorded; he'd done kinkier stuff on his own time. He was, however, nervous about meeting Namjoon. Would he recognize him as his mate right away? Would he measure up since the other did this professionally?

“It's set up in one of the stage bedrooms,” Yoongi continued. “I told them it was a reality concept, so no makeup or crazy lights. It's just going to be you two in a room, as real as can be. I remember how it was when I first met Jungkookie, so I know neither of you will be coherent enough to listen to queues or care about the camera."

“What was it like for you? Jungkookie told me how it was for him, but how did your Omega respond?” Taehyung asks.

Yoongi hums in thought. “It was kinda like...everything just sorta clicked into place. I don’t mean that romantic relationships are the cure-all or the only thing to strive for, but for me - I was actually waiting for my Alpha for a long time. When I first saw Jungkook, first smelled mate - I was so happy. And my Omega side? Over the fucking moon. I immediately went into a sort of mini heat and dragged him into my office.”

So," Taehyung swallowed nervously, "He's going to understand whats going on? He's going to be able to actually consent or tell me to fuck off if he changes his mind?"

"That's what you're worried about?" Yoongi grinned in amusement. "Yeah, contrary to popular belief, Omegas don't lose their damn minds when in heat. Especially not a small one. He can still say no or let you know if he's uncomfortable. And he's not going into this completely blind. He knows you're the guy we've been trying to set him up with. He also saw your picture months ago, so if you reacted that strongly to seeing him in the video, he might have an idea that you're his mate already."

Taehyung's jaw dropped. "Then...why? Why wouldn't he try to find me? Does he...not want me? Should I leave?" 

Yoongi rushes to the couch, grabbing onto Taehyung's knee to comfort him.

"Hey. No. Don't think like that. Listen. I don't know exactly what's going on in that giant head of his, but it's nothing bad. When we told him he was doing the audition today and that it was with you, he looked happy. And...relieved. Which, that wouldn't make sense if he didn't know something, right?"

"He really looked happy?" Taehyung asked softly.

Yoongi pet his knee and nodded. "Yeah. It's going to be alright, Tae. And if anything goes wrong, hyung is here. Okay?"

"Yeah. Thanks, Yoongi hyung."

"No problem. Now, I don't usually help with paperwork and all that shit, but I wanted to make sure you were taken care of, so we're going to do this together and then I'll walk you over to the room. Once you're in there, it's just going to be the two of you and the camera, but I'll be nearby in case you need me. Consider yourself lucky - I don't usually leave this office."

Taehyung snorts, but impulsively reaches over and hugs the surprised Omega.

"Thanks."

Together they poured over the paperwork, basically stating he was legal and doing this of his own free will. Also, lots of legal lingo to do with private information and the protection of their employees. Taehyung felt a little better knowing his mate has been well protected.

When it was all finished, Yoongi led him to another part of the studio where they kept staged rooms. When Yoongi flung open the door, Taehyung releases the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. He wasn't sure what he'd been expecting. Some sort of fifty shades sex dungeon, maybe. Instead, it was just a really nice bedroom. There were a couple of nice recliner chairs, a filled bookcase, some decent looking art prints on the wall, and a huge king-sized bed right in the middle. If it weren't for the camera and lighting equipment, it would look totally normal.

He turns to Yoongi and chuckles nervously. "You think I'm doing this the right way, hyung?"

Yoongi shrugs. "Maybe meeting on one of those dates that we tried setting you up on before we got desperate and sent you his videos would have been more romantic, but this is fine too. I mean, you guys are going to want to fuck the moment you see each other, so at least this way you'll have access to a bed and I'll be nearby in case you need me."

"Alright," Taehyung takes a deep breath and squares his shoulders. "I think I'm ready."

Yoongi claps his shoulder. "You'll be fine, Taehyungie. I've never seen a person you couldn't charm. I'll tell Joon you're ready and I'll be working next door."

Once the bedroom door closes behind Yoongi, Taehyung starts pacing nervously. He stops once he remembers Namjoon will be there any moment, and he doesn't want that to be his first impression. He grabs a book, surprised that they actually had words and weren't just props and settles into one of the recliners, reading without really paying attention.

He wasn't sure how long he was sitting there, but he didn't hear the door open. It wasn't until the fresh scent of the ocean wafted towards him that he realized he wasn't alone anymore.

It was even more intoxicating fresh. He could practically feel himself sitting on the beach as a gentle breeze flew over the water towards him. Only now it was intermingled with other scents, primarily unmated Omega reaching heat.

He was almost scared to look at the person that it was coming from, but he forced himself to look up. Namjoon stood in front of the closed door watching him with an inscrutable look with his hands in his pockets. He was dressed casually in jeans, a red tank top, and a snapback.

"Lord of the rings, huh? I'm more of a Hobbit fan, myself," The Omega grinned softly, his shoulders beginning to loosen up in the presence of Taehyung's wildly blushing face.

"I...um. Hi?" Taehyung stammered as he fought with his instincts in an effort to appear calm.

The videos did not do Namjoon justice. He was even more perfect in person. He was taller than Taehyung, and his bare arms were bulging with muscle. Taehyung practically felt waifish next to him. His Alpha was chomping at the bit to get to the Omega and claim him right there.

The subtle flare of the Omega's nostrils and slight dilating of his eyes - something you would miss if you weren't staring as avidly as Taehyung was - meant that he was making his interest very obvious.

"Sorry," he said softly. He wished his Alpha was better behaved. "I'm Kim Taehyung."

"I'm Kim Namjoon. How convenient that we already have the same last name?" He chuckled. Taehyung was so enraptured by the sudden appearance of dimples that it took him a moment to understand.

"Wait, what?" 

Suddenly, Namjoon's cheeks sported an adorable blush as he smiled shyly at Taehyung. "I mean, since we're mates and all." 

"You knew?" Taehyung whispered, unable to hide his hurt and confusion. 

"Yeah. Kook showed me your picture and I knew instantly."

"Then...why? Why wouldn't you say something? Or come find me? I just found out yesterday and came here instantly." 

Namjoon shuffles his feet nervously. "There's...not a lot about me that fits into the Omegan stereotype. I'm too big, too independent, too clumsy. I rap in my spare time and I make porn for a fucking living."

"But, I'm still an Omega. I still wanted my mate to show that they wanted me. To have them...chase me," Namjoon says shyly. He chuckles a little. "Honestly, I didn't think it was going to take this long. Kook told me he sent you a video and I thought you'd watch it right away."

"I stopped watching videos he sent me after watching cereal being eaten out of something that was not meant to be used as a bowl."

Namjoon grimaced. "Understandable."

"So...this is okay then? Me being here? It isn't creepy?"

Namjoon smiles softly. "Nah. I'm glad you finally came. And apparently, interested in being a porn star," he quirked an eyebrow as Taehyung groaned in embarrassment. "I mean, I don't mind, as long as I'm the one you plan on shooting with," Namjoon continues, smirking.

Taehyung blushes, even as he feels his blood rushing down below at the very thought of being with this gorgeous Omega. The scents in the room are becoming overwhelming as he battles to keep his head on straight, but he can scent Namjoon. The Omega smells overwhelmingly of heat and slick.

"For the record," Taehyung stammers, "I think you're beautiful, and I can't wait to get to know you better." 

"I'm not too big?" Namjoon asks, vulnerability rife in his voice.

"Absolutely perfect," Taehyung states, staring confidently into Namjoon's eyes for the first time. 

"Good," Namjoon sighs. "Does that mean we can fuck now, because I am fucking dying. It's been everything I could do not to jump on you immediately." 

And just like that, Taehyung's nerves go out the window as he giggles. His Omega is so cute.

 "Come here, baby."

Namjoon whines and throws himself into Taehyung’s waiting arms. The Alpha is ecstatic to finally be able to touch him. Instead of throwing him to the floor and shoving it in like he’d nearly expected, both Taehyung and his inner Alpha are happy to revel in their mate’s scent.

Taehyung wraps his arms around Namjoon's waist and shoves his face into his neck. The ocean scent is so intoxicating there, mixed as it was with heat pheromones. He rubbed his cheek against the slowly swelling gland, wanting so badly to smell the two of them mixed. Namjoon did the same, the Omega’s hot breath against his neck making his shiver. “Smell so good, Alpha,” he groaned. 

“Yeah? What do I smell like to you?” “Like...like trees. Forest. Cedarwood. Sage. Together it’s like...walking along a cliff, with a forest on one side and the ocean on the other.” 

"That sounds pretty," Taehyung hummed, as he pulled away to look at Namjoon. "We should go do that sometime, see how we compare."

Namjoon smiles and nods, his eyes flicking down to Taehyung's lips. "Kiss me, Taehyung? Please."

Taehyung's Alpha was screaming at him to claim already, but he was going to do this right, dammit! He ignored the desperate side of himself, instead gently cradling Namjoon's cheek his hand as he leaned forward and kissed the Omega gently. Some cheesy part of Taehyung insisted it felt like coming home. All he knew was that the Omega's lips were soft and luscious, moving against his in a way that screamed confidence and experience. He supposed he should feel intimidated by that, but he was too overwhelmed to care.

Namjoon pulled away with a moan and whispered against his lips. "Bed. Please, my Alpha."

The rush of having such an exquisite Omega begging for him made his Alpha flare up with pride, and with a surge of confidence, he growled quietly while he herded him towards the bed. 

"Maybe I don't want you on the bed. Maybe I want to bend you over one of those chairs. Or have you present on the floor. Maybe I'll fuck you against the wall so Yoongi hyung can hear how well I take you." 

 Namjoon whimpers. "Anything. You can do anything. Just touch me!" 

Taehyung gently pushed Namjoon until he was sitting on the end of the bed. He pulled the hat off and flung it onto one of the chairs. Namjoon's silver hair was ruffled and free of product, so it was standing up everywhere. Taehyung thought he looked adorable.

He tugged on the tank top, and with a quick nod from Namjoon, that went flying in the same direction as the hat. It took everything for Taehyung to contain his own whimpers at the sight of that bare chest in person. He couldn't wait to cover it in marks.

Taehyung dropped to his knees and tugged off Namjoon's jeans, surprised and yet somehow not that he wasn't wearing any underwear. Instead, his little Omega cock was already hard and slapped against his tummy once it was free.

Taehyung held up the jeans, noticing the back of them was sopping wet. "Fuck, you're really wet, aren't you baby?"

"All for you, Alpha," Namjoon answered coyly, laying back on his elbows as he opened his legs wide.

Taehyung couldn't hold back his desperate growls at the sight of Namjoon laying bared and wet, ready for him. He threw off his clothes, uncaring that it was a two thousand dollar shirt being thrown onto the floor and trampled.

When he was done, he prowled towards the bed, his hand slowing stroking his cock as he smirked at the hungry-eyed Omega. Namjoon slowly scooted up towards the pillows, a task that Taehyung didn't make easy as he loomed over him, crawling right along with him from above.

Finally, he had Namjoon right where he wanted him. Sprawled on his back underneath him, his head laying comfortably on a plush pillow. His neck bared to the Alpha in invitation. Taehyung kissed his favorite part, where neck and collarbone meet, before sucking harshly.

Namjoon bucked underneath him, breathly harshly. When Taehyung pulled off, he was pleased to see the skin already turning colors.

"That's where I'm going to do it. I'm going to bite you right there." The Omega released a whispered "Fuck," and Taehyung smirked with pride.

Taehyung continued his journey downward, kissing a trail down Namjoon's beautiful skin as he did. When he finally his target, he inhaled shakily, the scent of fertile Omega nearly making him crazy. He grabbed Namjoon's cock, rubbing his thumb over the tip to collect a drop of precum. He sucked it off and groaned loudly at the taste before leaning over swiping up the rest with his tongue.

Namjoon gave a strangled groan and sat up on his elbows, staring down at Taehyung in shock. "What are you doing?" 

Taehyung glances up in confusion. "I'm going to suck your cock. Thought that was pretty clear."

"But...why? What?"

Taehyung cocked his eyebrow. "What? Alphas can't suck dick? You work with an Alpha/Alpha pair, so I'm pretty sure you know that's not true."

"I know...it's just...uh...oh FUCK." Namjoon wailed as Taehyung playfully thumbed around the head.

"You didn't think your Alpha was going to be into it."

"Uh," Namjoon stammered, "Yeah, I guess. Most aren't."

"I can assure you that I very much want your little cock in my mouth, and probably anything else that you ever want to do," Taehyung answers smugly before swallowing Namjoon's cock to the base. The Omega whimpered and bucked his hips up.

"Be careful what you promise, Taehyungie, I am a porn star. There's a lot...FUCK...there's a fucking lot I know how to do," Namjoon huffed through shaky breaths. 

Taehyung popped off, wiping his mouth. "I must not be doing this right if you can still get smart with me. I should probably stop bothering you with it, huh?"

"No! So good, Alpha! Sorry," Namjoon whined, trying to move his hips back up to the chuckling Alpha's mouth. 

Taehyung hummed and wrapped his lips back around Namjoon's fat little cock, easily taking the whole thing in his mouth. His fingers trailed down teasingly. He swept a couple through the rich slick and slid them both inside. He let out a pleased groan and pulled his mouth away as Namjoon opened up so easily for him, so warm and wet.

"Fuck. So ready to go, aren't you, baby? Need Alpha's big cock to fill you up?" Taehyung teased.

"Yes!" Namjoon grunted, practically trying to fuck himself onto Taehyung's fingers.

"Please, please, Alpha. Fuck me. Make me yours." Taehyung shivered, wanting to do nothing more.

“Yeah, okay. You've been a good boy for Alpha, so he's going to keep you."

Namjoon whimpered when Taehyung slowly pulled out his fingers, sucking them clean as he crawled back on top of him. He pressed a single, almost chaste, kiss on the Omega's lips.

"Ready, Namjoon? After this, I can't guarantee I'll be able to stop from claiming you." 

"Claim me. Wanna be yours," Namjoon whispered, wrapping his long legs around Taehyung's waist.

Taehyung nodded shakily, dropping his head onto the other's shoulder as his cock slowly slid inside. It felt so fucking good, and Taehyung was trying so hard not to cum already.

His hips began a steady rhythm as he mouthed at Namjoon's neck, sucking little marks on it. Namjoon wasn't wearing that damn diamond collar today, so Taehyung would make him one of his own.

He soon lost himself in a heady rush of lust, knowing nothing but the wet slaps of his skin against Namjoon's, his whimpers and grunts sounding like music to his ears. Nothing else mattered but this treasure underneath him.

As soon as he felt Namjoon tightening around his cock, he started nibbling on that spot again, where neck met glorious collarbone.

"I'm going to mark you now, baby. Bite me too," he grunted, speeding up his thrusts.

Namjoon tightened his grip on Taehyung's shoulders. "Whaa...Tae...Alphas don't..." 

"This Alpha does. I want your bite," Taehyung growled and pulled up to look at Namjoon, who met his gaze with hazy, confused eyes. 

"I'm yours as much as you're mine, Omega. Claim me, baby." Namjoon's smile was as sweet and shy as one could be while they were still getting pounded into the mattress, and he pulled Taehyung close. The Alpha tucked his head down to go back to the spot he'd chosen.

His breath hitched when he felt Namjoon's teeth scrape across his neck, sucking and licking his own little trail of marks. Taehyung felt his teeth descend and he locked his jaw onto his spot. He growled to let Namjoon know he was ready, and just as he felt his knot begin to swell, he bit down.

There was a rush of pain as Namjoon bit him too, but it was overshadowed by the sudden rush of emotion as the bond bloomed to life. Suddenly, he could feel everything from Namjoon. The elation, the fear, the excitement.

He could even feel the intensity of the Omega's orgasm as he shivered underneath him. Taehyung pulled off, licking the mark to clean it before leaning over to kiss Namjoon. They were both uncaring of the tang on their tounges; instead losing themselves in each other.

He finally pulled up and rested on his elbows. "We probably should have done this another way. I have no idea how long we're going to be locked."

Namjoon chuckled, his eyes still closed. "Maybe fifteen minutes. This is fine. I like the weight. You're not heavy."

Taehyung stared down at the newly marked neck of the beautiful Omega, his heart swelling with emotion and pride, even as he shivered, still cumming in spurts as he would for the next few minutes. He looked down at Namjoon's tummy, noticing a slight bulge.

He pressed it curiously, smirking when the Omega whimpered and he could feel himself. "I filled you up good, didn't I? Are you happy?" 

Namjoon hummed, but he still hadn't opened his eyes. "Look at me Omega." 

Namjoon's eyes flew open and met Taehyung's, and he wondered if the Omega could read all the emotions in his eyes as well as he could for him. Namjoon looked soft and well satisfied, both his eyes and their bond broadcasting what felt an awful lot like love.

Taehyung was realistic and knew that's not what it could be called yet, not when they still barely knew each other. He considered it more like a promise for the future. A promise that he knew they were going to be sickeningly in love. Mated happily ever after and all that.

Time flew by as he spent their time tied together lazily peppering his new mate with kisses, and asking his questions to get to know him better. He's never been more proud of anything in his life than learning simple things like that his mate hates vegetables and love cartoons.

When he was finally able to pull out, Namjoon practically started to cry. He looked up at Taehyung with glassy eyes and told him to fetch a plug from the nightstand. Taehyung rushed to find it, nearly tripping over the bed covers as he did so.

He pulled open the drawer, his eyebrows flying up at the sight of the overstuffed drawer. There were tons of things in there, toys and creams, lubes and even a single pair of cuffs. He ruffled through them and picked a nice big plug with a blue jewel at the end.

Namjoon was holding himself up, refusing to let any of Taehyung's cum leave. The Alpha knew this was partly a heat thing, but he thought it would be kinda cute if he did this every time. He quickly slipped the plug in, shushing the fussing Omega.

"It's okay, baby. It's all safe. Keep that warm for Alpha until I can fill you up again, okay?"

Namjoon's eyes looked a little more clear as he shyly agreed. 

"Thank you. Sorry if that's annoying."

"It's not, baby. Namjoonie, you're so cute."

Just as he pulled Namjoon into his arms, fully preparing to cuddle for as long as they wanted, the door flung open wide as a handful of people glided into the room. Taehyung's grip on Namjoon tightened as he snarled at the group, and he leaned over to cover him from their sight.

"Calm yourself. Ugh, Alphas," the man who was apparently their leader scoffed as he turned off the camera and the lights.

Taehyung had honestly forgotten they were there, but now he was excited because that meant he had the first moment he met his mate on tape. 

His nostrils flared as the man came closer to the bed, scenting mated Omega.

"I'm Kim Heechul. I'm that one's boss. Joon? You doing okay?"

Taehyung felt Namjoon nod and peered under his arm to see the Omega's sheepish grin. He mouthed Sorry and shrugged.

"Well, we gave you two as long as we could before we needed to check up on Namjoon, make sure he was actually safe. He didn't use any code words or text, so we didn't think he was hurt, but you never know," Heechul shrugged.

Taehyung was both offended that anyone would think he would hurt Namjoon, and impressed that they apparently had a system for keeping the Omega safe.

 "Alright, so we'll review the footage if you're still serious about working with us, Taehyung," Heechul starts. "We'll send you the original copy once we do and delete what we have of it. It's a first mating and we aren't so heartless that we'd try to sell that unless you'd agreed to do it live or something. Then, we can figure out some sort of plan for your work. I'm assuming you'll only want to work with Namjoon?"

Taehyung nodded vigorously. "Yeah, just him." 

"And are you okay with him filming with others, or does he have to stop now?"

Taehyung frowned at the thought. He hadn’t even thought about that, too caught up in snatching up the Omega himself. But he wasn't some controlling asshole, so he shrugged.

"That's up to him." Namjoon leaned up and kissed his cheek, and Taehyung guessed he must have said something right.

"Hyung, I just want to film with my mate. I'll also be dialing down and only filming on weekends with him," Namjoon answered softly, smiling up at Taehyung.

Heechul sighs but doesn't look very surprised.

"That's alright. Mated pairs still sell really well. Just look and Hoseok and Jimin. We'll have to get another Omega willing to deal with the two of them, though."

"Sorry, hyung," Namjoon frowns.

Heechul pats Namjoon's sex-messed hair, ignoring the low rumbles from the annoyed Alpha next to them.

"It's fine, Joon. Honestly. I knew this was going to happen sooner or later, with either your music or some Alpha stealing you away. I'm happy for you and I wish you both a joyous and fertile mating,” Heechul smirked as he delivered the traditional blessing upon the new couple, snorting when he saw Taehyung’s eyes go dreamy when they landed on the Omega’s slightly distended stomach. 

"For now, let's get you two cleaned up and I'm sure you're starving," Heechul walks towards the people that Taehyung has guessed are his assistants, sending them around in a flurry of activity.

Taehyung suddenly feels a flicker of distress that didn’t belong to him, and Namjoon's sorrowful whimpers finally reach his ears.

"Baby, what's wrong?"

Heechul's gaze pins them both when he hears that, assessing Namjoon carefully. 

"Are you hurt?" 

Namjoon shakes his head and bites his lip like he's embarrassed of something. 

"Don't wanna clean up. Just hand me my clothes."

Taehyung grins, knowing that his Omega is loving being covered in and out with his scent. 

Heechul scowls disdainfully and scrunches his nose at the couple. "The newly mated are disgusting. Fine. No shower. Walk around with cum up your ass for a week, I don't care. At least get dressed."

He flings a pile of clothing that one of his assistants had gathered at the couple, and they hurriedly get dressed - though Taehyung does sneak in a few quick pecks on his giggling Omega.

When they are finally presentable, Heechul and his horde of workers lead them to a buffet table that they keep on set for their employees. Taehyung quickly fills two plates, one completely devoid of vegetables for his mate, and presents it to the waiting Namjoon.

"Thank you for providing for me, my Alpha," Namjoon says cutely as he kisses Taehyung and accepts the plate. 

"If you want to get technical, I provided for you," Heechul huffs as he joins them, setting a steaming cup of black coffee onto an empty spot at the table. 

They soon learn why when a familiar lazy shuffle of a walk echoes behind Taehyung and he leans his head back to smile at Yoongi upside down.

"Hey, hyung." 

"Hey, Taehyungie. You good? Hyung need to knock some sense into anyone for you?"

"Everything is perfect, hyung."

Yoongi nods, granting Taehyung a tiny soft smile. He looked them both over, only showing the slightest surprise at Taehyung's marked neck. Yoongi clutches Taehyung's neck in a slight comforting squeeze as he slides into the seat next to him.

"Where's Jungkookie?" Taehyung asked between bites of cut fruit.

He was thoroughly surprised when Yoongi blushed.

"On a date."

"A date," Taehyung deadpanned, his brow furrowed in confusion.

"With Seokjin."

Taehyung's confusion cleared up quickly and he laughed, knowing that Seokjin was probably already getting the two to dance to his tune.

"Why by himself?"

"Didn't want to overwhelm him with the both of us right away. Kook's meeting him for lunch. I'm taking him to dinner."

"And dessert?"

Yoongi's blush darkened, and he tried to hide it by taking a long sip of his coffee.

Finally, he shrugged nonchalantly. "Dunno. Guess we'll see."

Like he knew they were talking about him (Taehyung wasn't so sure he didn't. He was certain Seokjin was otherworldy somehow), Seokjin sent him a text at that moment. Apparently, Taehyung was being ordered to come to dinner the following weekend with his new mate.

The text continued to say that Seokjin would be introducing "his two mates" as well, so Taehyung was to dress his best and bring some wine. The Alpha chuckled and showed the text to Yoongi, who promptly choked on his coffee. As he laughed, a warm hand snuck its way into his own.

Taehyung glanced over at his mate, the two of them smiling fondly at each other as the conversation around them filtered into background noise. 

"Can I take you home?" Namjoon nodded enthusiastically and jumped up, pulling Taehyung towards the exit.

In the end, Taehyung ended up being ravished in Namjoon's own bed as they somehow ended up at his place instead. He supposed it had something to do with nesting and heat, but Taehyung didn't care.

Because anywhere Namjoon is was home.

#bts #bts fanfic #taejoon #vmon #vmon smut #taejoon smut #taehyung x namjoon #bts smut #solastia #knotting hill

[finchbaggins]

Carrot Cake

Rating: Mature

Pairing: Tom Hiddleston AU / OFC

Authors note: For @redfoxwritesstuff 500 followers writing prompt challenge #Kitkats500 

Prompt: “Did you do something different with you hair?”

“Fuck.”

The curse left my lips in a frustrated hiss, and I threw the poppy red beret I’d been trying to style my hair under for the best part of half an hour to the floor. I stared at my reflection in the mirror above the dressing table.

My stupid reflection.

My hideous, god awful, embarrassing, reflection.

You’d think, when you were paying someone a decent amount of money, a professional no less, at a top salon, to restyle your hair, that they might have some idea what they were doing. I’d expected to come out of that salon feeling like a new woman, heaven knows I needed it after the month I’d had.

Work had been hell, what with two people handing in their notice and one of the team had just gone on maternity leave, which meant the number of FTE’s (Full time employees – junior management jargon) was down to just four on my team, and reallocating everyone’s workload’s had kept me tied to the office, sometimes late into the night.

This unusually busy period, and my unforeseen extended hours, had been seemingly the only excuse that Dan – the guy I’d been sort of seeing for almost a year to get bored and find someone else to do his laundry, cook his dinners, and suck his cock.

I wasn’t as upset as I ought to have been, if anything I was relieved. I’d known the guy was a leach and I was better off without him. But somehow being thirty-two and dating him seemed more appealing than being thirty-two and single, going home to an empty flat and microwave meals for one every night.

It had however, been the kick up the backside I needed to get my shit together. Work had finally sorted its self out. I booked a Friday off so I could enjoy a nice long weekend. I enjoyed finding any tiny possession that Dan had left in my little one bed flat, and putting it in a black sack, before hauling it all down to the communal dumpster. Then I’d cashed in on a voucher I’d found on Groupon – Colour and Restyle at Top London Salon – fifty pounds.

That probably should have been my red flag.

But money was tight, and I was determined to push forward with the whole, out with the old and in with the new.

I’d attended the appointment with several images saved on my phone with what I wanted. I wanted my dull light brown hair transformed to a vibrant copper, with choppy layers and a heavy fringe. What the stylist – or apparently blind, trainee stylist – managed to achieve was shade of orange which could be described as radioactive, and an uneven, long bob which made me look like I wanted to ‘talk to the manager’.

The worst part was, because I’d already had a voucher which meant the treatment had been greatly reduced, the salon could not issue me a refund. Although they did invite me back to try and ‘correct’ the colour. But I’d have to wait at least a fortnight, as putting more colour on it straight away could cause serious damage to my hair. Apparently.

So I was stuck with this horrific orange blob on my head for at least a fortnight. Probably longer, as there was no way I was setting foot back in that salon and letting any of their stylists lay a single finger on my hair again. So that meant waiting until my next pay day so I could go to a better salon. But pay day was three weeks away.

In the meantime I had to go to work, in an office full of people. Looking like Chucky.

Worse still. I had to face Tom. Tom, my annoying, shithead of a colleague. Tom who was in equal measure the bane of my existence and the closest thing to a real friend I actually had. Tom who was also devastatingly gorgeous and he knew it too.

I’d just about managed to twist and clip the fringe out of my face, and I’d attempted to do some type of vintage up-do that I could tuck under my beret and hope it just looked like a new style I was trying out. My fashion sense was normally a little off beat and loud so it was unlikely anyone would comment.

But no matter what I tried, I just couldn’t pull off the beret.

Eventually, another brainwave, I pulled out a pretty silk scarf. It would at least offer some cover from the embarrassment of my morning commute on the tube. I couldn’t see my boss standing for it though.

∞

“Kara,” my eyes shot to my boss, who tapped his wrist and frowned at me from the doorway to his office, “Was there something more pressing for you to do this morning, than show up to work on time?”

“No, Nick, sorry, I missed my alarm,” I apologised hastily, as I passed, “I’ll take ten minutes off my lunch.”

“Whatever, Kara,” he chuckled, and shook his head. He wasn’t really mad, I’d worked for him for too many years for him to really care about the odd ten minutes here or there, “Get that stupid thing off your head, we’ve got clients in today.”

When I finally made it into my own office everyone was already there. The small team were quiet and hard at work, Tom was leaned up against the end of one of the newer team members desk, chatting away quietly, but didn’t miss the opportunity to roll his eyes at me as I hung my coat on the back of the door, and hurried over to my desk.

The next fifteen or so minutes were spent logging into my computer and putting an eye over my emails. Long enough for Tom to fetch our morning coffees and put one on the end of my desk and take his seat across from me.

Everyone worked in comfortable silence and I waited for Tom to settle into his work before I shifted and started removing the pins I’d used to hold my scarf in place, hoping to just slip it off and carry on and maybe no one would say anything. But the second I pulled it off my head I could feel the burning of Tom’s gaze on me.

I tried not to look at him, and fixed my stare on the screen in front of me, trying to focus on the monthly audit spreadsheet. But of course my eyes darted to the side and I caught him, sitting across from me, his eyes sparkling with delighted amusement. I looked away and tried hard to ignore him.

“Good weekend?” his voice drifted over the space between us, and I couldn’t bear to look at him.

“It was fine,” I muttered, “Yours.”

“It was good, got drunk with Pete on Saturday. That new bar on Green Street, with the cocktails that turn your tongue black.”

“Nice.”

“So…” he trailed off, and I could hear in his voice that he was holding back laughter now.

“So?” I shot back abruptly.

“Did you do something different with your hair?”

I looked him dead on now. He was lounged back in his chair, arms folded across his chest. God, I wanted to smack the stupid fucking grin off his beautiful face.

“Obviously,” I hissed, looking away quickly, not wanting him to have the satisfaction of seeing how distressed I was. Made worse by how amused my misfortune was making him.

I tried to press on with my work.

“It’s very –”

“Don’t,” I snapped, quickly, cutting him off before he had a chance to finish.

He finished anyway.

“Orange.”

I said nothing, and kept my eyes firmly fixed on my screen. Tom obviously realised he wasn’t going to get a rise out of me now, because it seemed his attention was also back on the job. So, when it seemed like I could finally settle into my working day and hope that was the last comment I’d get regarding the disaster on my head, I shot off a few emails and then looked at the internal audit from my superior.

Everyone worked in silence, which wasn’t always the case. Generally we were a lively office, but the mood was dampened by the clients due in. The office manager was strict on professionalism, and whenever we had visitors he insisted chitchat was kept to a minimum.

“Christ, Kara. What happened to you? I think you were better off with the head scarf on!”

I’d not heard my boss enter our office, and my eyes shot up in time to see Tom bark with laughter, and a collection of snickers rose from around the office.

“Sorry, Nick,” I mumbled.

“Not me you want to be apologising to. Poor Tom here needs sunglasses sitting opposite you,” Tom chuckled and greeted his bosses high five.

I huffed loudly, “Hilarious. Glad you’re all getting a good laugh at my expense.”

“Talking of expense,” Tom started, his eyes were bright and twinkled with humour, “How much did you sell your soul for, for that haircut?”

“Ha, fucking, ha, Tom, gingers don’t have souls, I get it. You’re a fine one to talk with the ginger Jokes, at least mine will grow out,” I groused, annoyed that now Nick had basically given permission for open season on the hair jokes, Tom was going all in.

“Mines auburn, the ladies love it.”

“Sure.”

“Besides there’s ginger, and then there is that,” he waved a pointed finger in my direction, “It looks like you’ve fallen in a vat of chemicals.”

“Fuck off.”

“Language, Kara,” Nick said, suddenly more serious, “That’s quite enough. You can’t expect to turn up looking like that and not get a few jokes made at your expense.”

“Obviously it’s not meant to look like –”

I tried to argue, but my boss held up a hand to stop me.

“I just came in to let you know I’ll be showing our visitors around within the hour. If you could all just be on your best behavior. Tom, perhaps you can bring up some of the recent stats for them to have a look at, I’d like you to talk them through.”

“Nick, I completed last months internal, perhaps it would be better if I did that.”

“Given your vile mood this morning, Kara, you are the last person I want left alone with one of our highest paying clients.”

My lips parted in surprise. No, shock and humiliation.

I wouldn’t even be in such a foul mood if it wasn’t for his and Tom’s jibes at me. I wanted to walk out, but if I did that I’d only make it worse for myself. So I pressed my lips together and gave a short nod.

In his favour, Tom did give me a sympathetic look, as he picked up his laptop and followed the boss out of the office.

∞

If I’d even hoped that might be the end of my ridicule, I was sorely mistaken.

When I arrived back to my desk after lunch, a bowl had appeared, full of fresh oranges, and a two litre bottle of Tango orange was there too. Tom had returned from his meeting with the visitors, and only glanced from his screen briefly, long enough for me to see the smirk on his lips, as I picked up both the bowl and the bottle and marched them to the shared staff canteen.

When I returned, he looked pretty pleased with himself.

“Chill out, Weasley.”

“Oh fuck off.”

Then not long later a tap on the office door. It was Barbara from the bakery down the street, carrying a small white box. The types they delivered their cakes in, because we always ordered from there on birthdays.

“Hi, Kara,” she chirped, placing the box on the end of my desk, “Special occasion?”

I looked at the box, with a post-it on top reading my name and office number. I frowned, then looked back at her.

“Not that I’m aware of.”

“Oh, well… must have an admirer. Enjoy,” with that she skipped off.

I could feel all eyes on me as I pulled the box towards me. When I glanced across my desk, Tom looked about ready to implode.

“What? What did you do?”

“Me?” he exclaimed, holding a hand to his chest, having the gall to look insulted at the accusation.

So I flipped the lid of the box open, and there, inside was a small, but perfectly delicious looking carrot cake. Complete with cream cheese frosting and little decorative iced carrots.

“I…” The tears rolled down my cheeks and splashed onto the cake before I even realised I’d started crying, “I think…I think I’m not feeling too well. I’m going to go home.”

I closed the box quickly and dropped it into the bin under my desk. Then picked up my handbag. It was only when I strode across the room, and reached for my coat that Tom spoke up.

“Oh come on, Kara. Don’t be like that.”

“Tom, I think you should leave it, mate,” I heard Paul, the usually quieter member of the team, pipe up. But his warning went ignored.

“Kara, it’s just a bloody joke.”

“Yeah, well it’s not funny, Tom!” I shouted, spinning back to face him, “Do you think I wanted my hair like this? Do you think, if I could have done something to make it look less hideous, I wouldn’t have done it before having to come in and face you.”

“It was just a laugh.”

“For you, maybe. Not for me,” I sniffed, “You’re meant to be my friend. I know we wind each other up, but I can’t believe you’d go so far out of your way to get a laugh at my expense. It’s bad enough having to leave the house looking like this.”

“Kara, I didn’t…”

“Don’t even bother, Tom. I’m going. Tell Nick I’m ill.”

With that, I turned back and hurried from the office, leaving Tom, and the rest of the team in stunned silence. Not once, in all the years I’d worked there had I walked out like that, or out rightly shouted at Tom. We bickered, sure. All the time actually. We wound each other up, but we were never cruel.

∞

I waited until I arrived home to completely lose it.

A text came through from Nick, saying Tom felt bad about how he’d behaved, and they both meant no harm, and hoped I was okay.

I cried. Tears streamed down my cheeks and my body wrecked with harsh sobs.

This was ridiculous. It was just hair, why did I care so much? Some people had it worse. My own mother had lost all hers when she’d undergone Chemotherapy, and she’d not cried about it once. Alright, she wasn’t okay with it, she hated it. But she got on with it.

So why was I so upset about my hair? It would grow out, eventually. And in a few weeks I’d be able to colour it and maybe get the cut sorted. It was fixable.

More so, why was I so bothered by what Tom said?

Oh yeah, right. Because the office banter and bickering had been my own, so far, successful way of staying in control of the stupid crush I’d been harbouring from the day we were assigned to work with one another.

It’s not like I’d ever stand a chance with him anyway, he’d never paid me the slightest bit of interest. I’d have known if he had, because Tom was a notorious ladies man and when he liked a woman he let her know very quickly. He always said it was because he had impeccable taste, so he didn’t like to hang around. If he didn’t get in there, another man would.

I called him a slut.

But only because I was jealous.

Jealous of every girl who was better than me.

And now I was heartbroken because I’d now made myself look repulsive, and stupid and I’d managed to bump myself further down Tom’s list. Not that I was even on it to start with.

The truth was, of the women Tom had dated, there had been a fair few red heads. These stunning women, with long, scarlet tresses. Usually tall, with fair skin, blue eyes, and so very striking to look at. Women who were so extra, that next to them, I looked positively dull.

I bathed, and washed my hair. The stylist said after a few washes the colour would ‘settle down’. It wasn’t working, but I tried anyway. After blow drying it, it looked brighter than ever, and I shed a few more tears in front of the mirror. I couldn’t stay away from work until it was fixed.

It had just gone seven o’clock in the evening when my door buzzer went. I wasn’t expecting visitors, and my phone had been quiet since I’d ignored my bosses text. So I was a little nervous when I picked up the entry phone and asked who was there.

“Hey, Kar…It’s Tom,” I could heard the uncertainty in his voice. I’d already given him one dressing down today, was he expecting another one? “Can I come in?”

“I don’t know.”

“I’m not here to take the piss.”

“I hope not.”

“Well, can come in then?”

I glanced back into my little flat. It wasn’t too untidy. I looked down at myself. Old leggings, a band t-shirt which I’d cut the sleeves off of, and my fluffy bed socks. I suffered from cold feet. What the hell? He’d seen me in worse states.

“Sure,” I pressed the button and heard him push the door open.

Tom had only visited my flat once before, for a little gathering which I’d had for my thirtieth birthday. Whilst we were friends, it was usually reserved for work, and occasionally nights out. My place was small, and I wasn’t overly fond of having guests.

It only occurred to me when I heard the tap at my front door, that Tom lived the other side of the city. Coming to Croydon was well out of his way, considering his own place was in North West London. No closer to work, than me, really. Just in the complete opposite direction. The fact that he’d made the effort to come all the way to see me, gave me pause for thought.

When I opened the door, Tom was standing on the other side, clutching a bottle of white wine, and wearing a very sheepish smile.

“Sorry,” he said, the instant I beckoned him through the threshold of my doorway, and he thrust the bottle of wine into my hands. It was cold, and had clearly been picked up on his way over from a Newsagents with a chiller. The sudden cold in my hands took me by surprise and I bit back a gasp. Tom frowned at me, waiting for my response.

“Erm…okay,” I nodded slowly, closing the door behind him, “You didn’t have to come all the way here to say sorry. I probably over-reacted.”

Probably. I had definitely over-reacted. Most people would see the funny side. Hell…I’d have normally seen the funny side. Except, when it was at your expense, and the subject of the joke was actually something that was quite upsetting to you, it wasn’t very funny. But how could I expect Tom to understand why I was so upset over my hair. It was just hair.

Hair which he was now looking at with a renewed interest.

Of course. At work, it had been clipped up. But now, post blow dry. He could see the dodgy style in all its horrifying glory. Wonky fringe, and uneven layers, the lot.

“Wow… Kar… that hairdresser’s really did a number on you, didn’t they?”

“Tom, you’ve come here to apologise, but if you’re going to start on me again, I’d rather you just left,” I thrust the wine bottle back in his direction, and pointed at the door, “You can take your cheap bottle of plonk, and bugger off.”

“No, no, I’m not taking the piss, Kara. I promise,” Tom held up his hands, palms out, as if to show he wasn’t there to hurt me. “And I’ll have you know that wine just cost me ten quid.”

He looked sincere. His eyes were wide and full of concern. That’s what  set me off again. As if I hadn’t wasted enough tears over a stupid haircut already.  

“Oh, no…oh Kara, love. Please don’t cry,” he lunged forward, and wrapped his arms around me, pulling me into his chest. Completely forgetting the bottle of wine, which was now trapped between our bodies still in my grasp.

“It’s…so…stupid,” I sniffed and wiped my face on his jacket, “It’s just hair.”

“It’s not stupid.”

“It is though,” I hiccoughed, and pulled away from him, “Sorry, I’m crying all over you.”

“Listen, I’ve got a friend, he works for Toni and Guy, he’s a top level stylist. I’ve had a chat, and he says he can see you tomorrow. He’s based not far from work, and Nick has said you can take the morning off.”

“Why would he do that?”

“Because I told him I’d been a complete knob, and I wasn’t sure if you’d ever come back, if I didn’t try and help you put this right.”

“It doesn’t matter. I can’t afford it anyway, and the salon said I probably shouldn’t put anything on it for a few weeks, or it’ll all fall out or something,” I shrugged hopelessly.

“Well, that might an improvement,” I knew he was trying to lighten the mood, but his jibe cost him a harsh glare from me, “Sorry, I’m sorry,” he said quickly, “Anyway, I spoke to my friend, he said he can help, and he definitely knows more than those idiots that fucked it up in the first place. And as for the cost, it’s my treat. Don’t worry about it.”

“I can’t let you do that. It’ll cost a fortune.”

“Kara. I wasted money on a homemade cake, for a joke today. I can afford a haircut. Besides, I want to do this for you. I hate seeing you so upset. Especially when I’m the one whose fault it is.”

“You didn’t do this,” I gestured to my hair, “How is it your fault?”

“Well, I’m supposed to be your friend. Friends don’t kick each other when they’re down,” Tom shrugged, “Anyway, you’re seeing my friend tomorrow and he’ll fix it for you.”

“Well…that’s very nice. Thank you. Do you…want a glass of this?” I held up the bottle of wine.

“Why do you think I brought it?”

I went into the kitchen, Tom was hot on my heels, and hung behind me whilst I fetched two glasses from the cupboard and poured us each a glass of wine.

“Here,” I turned and put a glass in his hand. We went through to the living room, and sat together on my little sofa. We both sipped our wine quietly, and I wondered how long he would stay. It would take him well over an hour to get across London this time of the night. I couldn’t help but feel bad that he’d felt the need to make the effort, all because I couldn’t take a joke.

“I don’t mean this to come across the wrong way, but I’m not sure why you felt the need to change your hair anyway. It was fine as it was,” Tom said, somewhat out of the blue. I’d thought the topic of my hair catastrophe was done with.

“It wasn’t fine, it was boring, and dull.”

“It was lovely, and natural.”

“Since when do you have an opinion on my hair.”

“Since you felt the need to ruin something beautiful,” he shot back without a beat.

“Beautiful,” I scoffed, “Since when have you considered anything natural about a woman, as beautiful?”

“I beg your pardon?” Okay, maybe they was harsh, and I shouldn’t have been surprised by his insulted expression.

“I didn’t mean…I just…” I stammered trying to explain myself, “I’ve seen the women you date, Tom. We’ve worked together long enough. You can’t sit there trying to tell me I shouldn’t be changing my hair because it’s beautiful in its natural state, when I know for a fact that in your eyes, me and beautiful are two things which don’t go together.”

“Oh you know that for a fact do you?” Tom spat, looking surprisingly, more annoyed than I’d ever seen him. And I’d seen him lose a contract he’d worked on for over three months, “You think because I date a lot of women who bleach their hair and cake on make-up, that I don’t appreciate natural beauty. That I don’t think of you as beautiful?”

“You’ve never given me reason to think you do. But that’s fine, Tom, you’re allowed to have a type. I’m not saying that’s a bad thing. It’s just…don’t judge my decision to try and change my appearance, in an attempt to appear more aesthetically pleasing, when you’re in no position to do so,” I exclaimed, truly exasperated. I didn’t expect him to sit there and lie to make me feel better. Or to try and justify his proclivities.

“I like all women, Kar… all shapes and sizes, it doesn’t bother me. I’m not picky.”

“You are a bit,” I muttered under my breath.

“Well, alright, yeah, I can be a bit picky, but it never has anything to do with looks.”

“Why are we even talking about this?” I wondered, finally. I didn’t want to talk about Tom’s dating catalog, it was literally the last thing I needed right now.

“Because, you seem to be under the impression that I don’t think you’re beautiful. Which I do, actually,” Tom stated, very matter of fact.

“Tom, please don’t do this. I know you think it’s making me feel better, but it’s not. I appreciate you coming here, and also sorting me out an appointment with your friend. But you don’t need to shower me with fake compliments. I don’t…what you think about me doesn’t matter. It’s fine,” the words were rushed, and Tom’s brow furrowed in frustration.

“You’re not listening to me, Kara. I’m not trying to make you feel better, and my compliments are not fake. I’m trying to tell you that I like you, that I have for a while. Which is why I feel so awful for upsetting you today. And I always think you’re beautiful,” he paused, taking a short breath, before adding, “Even with your god awful Toyah hair do.”

“What?” I asked, bluntly. Ignoring his comment about the hair.

“You heard me, Kara.”

“You like me? Like me, like me?” he nodded, “Since when?”

“Well… a while. I don’t know?”

“But… why didn’t you say anything?”

“Because I was trying to be professional, we have to work together. Also, I didn’t want to make a move unless I knew you liked me too, because it would make things awkward,” Tom explained, as if it was the most obvious reasoning in the world, “And up until very recently you were still dating dickhead Dan.”

“But all you do is wind me up, and argue with me.”

“You argue with me too! Plus…I like it when we bicker. I like your fire, Kara. I purposely try to get a rise out of you, because…well… it’s sexy as hell.”

“Oh come on!” I scoffed, incredulous.

“You don’t believe me do you?” He set his wine down on the coffee table.

“I just… you date so many women, really stunning ones.”

“I date a lot of women, because I’m single and I like female company. Am I seeing any of them more than once or twice? Am I looking for anything more than dinner, and maybe sometimes sex? I’ve not had a proper relationship in almost two years Kar…because I’ve been too hung up on you.”

“Oh.”

“I hated that I made you cry today. I never, ever want to hurt you. Although I didn’t plan on telling you quite like this –”

He didn’t get time to finish, because I cut him off, with my lips against his.

Tom froze momentarily, and I wondered for a second, if kissing him had been a mistake. Just because he apparently liked me, it didn’t mean he wanted to make a move. I went to pull back, parting our lips, but as I did so, I felt Tom’s hand grasp the back of my head, pulling back, and he  mumbled his disapproval of my intention to pull away.

He kissed me back this time, his lips insistently working against mine. I flung my arm out, the one still grasping my own wine glass, feeling for the table until I could set it down. Then once it was safely out my hands, I moved back into the kiss properly, maneuvering myself, until I could clamber up and push Tom against the back of the sofa, and straddle his lap.

“Fuck, Kara, you have no idea how long I’ve wanted you like this.”

“About as long as I’ve wanted you,” I responded, moving back to press little kisses along his jaw and neck.

“But…but you were with Dan?”

“Only because I couldn’t bear the thought of being single. It took him cheating on me, to make me realise that I’d rather be on my own, than with him. My self esteem isn’t great, but I know I’m better than that.”

“He cheated on you?” I hadn’t meant to let that lip, I’d not told anyone that part.

“Yeah.”

“What a fucking idiot,” Tom mumbled, tugging me back towards him and kissing me again. When his hand travelling from my hip to my right breast and squeezed trough the worn fabric of my t-shirt, I gasped. The second my lips parted, his tongue plunged into my mouth. He worked a nipple between his fingers, and I groaned loudly into his mouth, grinding myself down into his lap.

“Tom,” I whimpered his name, breaking the kiss, “I wanted you too. For a really long time. I thought… I never thought you could like someone like me.”

“What on earth, Kara?” his hand left my breast and settled back on my hip, he pulled back and his eyes searched mine, “Someone like you? You’re wonderful. You’re beautiful, smart, and incredibly sexy. I’m so incredibly lucky to even know you, to have you as a friend, let alone, on my lap, rubbing yourself on my cock like it’s your fucking job or something.”

I giggled, and ground down again, giving him a playful smile, “Like that?”

“Fucking minx, I always knew you’d be like this. Please tell me I don’t have to go home.”

“You don’t have to go home,” I answered, placing a soft kiss on the corner of his mouth, pleased that he was thinking the same as me. I couldn’t think of letting him leave now.

“Thank god,” he breathed, “Now… lets find you a suitable hat, to cover that monstrosity on your head, then I’m going to take you to bed and fuck you so good, that tomorrow you’ll go into work with a bad limp and a huge smile, and no one will have any doubt exactly what you’ve been up to.”

I didn’t even have time to formulate a suitable sassy response, before I found myself lifted off the sofa and marched across the flat, and thrown, unceremoniously onto my bed.  

#Kitkats500

[earlybirds-atla-au]

The kids have the first news of the tribe Hama’s heard in decades

“So if you’re Anana’s kid, who’re the rest of you?”

They’d settled themselves into Hama’s camp, for several reasons. It was farther back in the island’s trees, providing more cover from any Fire Navy ships that might be searching for them. It was already set up and decently stocked with supplies Hama said she got from a neighboring island that actually had a population. And it was Hama’s, and she’d offered it to them, the only thing she could offer them, the only thing she’d been able to offer her tribe in over two decades, and it would be unnecessarily cruel to brush that aside.

So Appa had settled into the undergrowth and gone right to sleep, and Aang had laid himself down on the bison’s massive leg and watched the rest of them curiously, and the Water Tribe teens had arranged their sleeping bags around Hama’s firepit. It was a shame they couldn’t light it - a night with your tribe around a campfire was just a part of daily life in the South Pole, and would’ve given them some grounding sense of normalcy.

Hama looked like she could use that right now. The full moon gave enough light to see by, at least, and she kept staring at them all like she couldn’t believe they were actually there. They all shared their food - a basic community practice in the Water Tribe, one that nearly reduced Hama to tears when she bit into blubbered seal jerky for the first time in decades. The kids tried the little shriveled fruits that were not unlike sea prunes, which Hama said were ocean kumquats. Aang had immediately decided he wasn’t a fan, but the Water Tribe teens had decided they were good. Not as good as actual sea prunes, but passable. And they had water now too, wonder of wonders - Aang had mentioned that Appa was probably thirsty and that their own waterskins were running low, and Hama had immediately gone to the sea. She’d come back with enough desalinated water to create an ice trough and fill it, leaving the kids gaping in awe. She’d given Aang and Appa some curious looks while the bison had drunk his fill, but she hadn’t asked any questions - her attention had soon been taken up with the Water Tribe kids.

“I’m Kya,” Kya said between bites of ocean kumquat. “Chief Oomailiq and Buniq’s daughter.”

Hama stared at her. “...Where do I even start with that?” she said at last. “Buniq’s a baby.”

Kya snorted. “Mom’s forty.”

“Tides, I’m old,” Hama muttered. “And Chief Oomailiq? Actually, no, that makes sense, kid always did have a good head on his shoulders. When did he get elected?”

“The first time? Ten years ago,” Kya said proudly.

“He keeps getting reelected?”

“He’s a good leader.”

Hama nodded, looking a little dazed at the fact that someone she only remembered as a teenager was now her tribe’s chief. “Good for him. What...what happened to Chief Akkikiktok?”

“Uh,” said Bato, “she retired.”

“And?”

“...Polar bear-dog,” Bato muttered. “It was years ago, we were just little kids. It spent a week prowling around the village, nearly killed my aunt. Akkikitok went out and took care of it before it could try to get anyone else.”

“Sounds like her,” Hama whispered. “At least it wasn’t the Fire Nation.”

“There haven’t been any raids,” Hakoda said quietly. “Not since...you left.”

“Good,” Hama said fiercely. “That was the point. I only surrendered because they said they’d leave the rest of the tribe alone.”

“We see their ships sometimes,” Kya said. “Not often. They’ll just...sail by the edge of the ice fields. But they never attack.”

“Probably because there’s nothing left worth attacking,” Hakoda muttered.

Hama grimaced. “I don’t know if I should be insulted or relieved. Are...aren’t there any Waterbenders now? Have any been born?”

“No,” Kya said quietly. “Not in any of the tribes. You were the last one.”

Hama closed her eyes. “Damn,” she whispered.

“...If you don’t mind me asking,” Kya said, “how did you escape?”

Hama took a deep breath. “I really can’t talk about that. Not right now.”

“That’s okay,” Kya said quickly. “You don’t have to. But...can you just tell us...did anyone else…?”

“No,” Hama said shortly. “No, I was the only one who got out. And there’s no way to save the others.”

The kids all perked up. “The others?” Kya repeated. “Are they - ”

“They kept us alive,” Hama said darkly. She looked at Kya. “If you’re Buniq’s daughter...that means you’re Arrluk’s granddaughter.”

Kya jolted. “Is - is he - ?”

“He’s alive,” Hama said. “Or he was when I left, at any rate.”

Kya put a hand to her mouth and started crying. Hakoda scooted to her side and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “Is there any way we could help them?” he asked, while Kya got her tears under control.

“I cannot even begin to list all the ways that’s impossible,” Hama said.

“But you got out.”

“And I told you, I don’t want to talk about it.” Hama frowned at him. “So whose kid are you, then?”

Hakoda straightened. “Uh...you know my mom. She said you were close friends. Kanna?”

Hama went completely still.

“And my dad’s Iluak,” Hakoda added.

“Kanna?” Hama croaked, looking Hakoda up and down.

“Yeah.”

Hama took a breath. And another, and another, very fast. “You’re Kanna’s kid?”

“Yeah...”

All three teens were looking at her curiously now, Kya having wiped away the last of her tears. Aang even sat up on Appa’s leg to say, “Hey, you’re, uh...breathing a little fast there. Are you okay?”

Hama looked on the verge of hyperventilating. “And she married Iluak?” It wasn’t quite a shriek.

“Uh,” said Hakoda, “yeah?”

“Iluak?”

Hakoda looked at his friends helplessly.

“Cousin,” Bato said gently, “are you okay?”

“Fine,” Hama bit out, still panting. “Would you excuse me?” She grabbed a clay jar from her pile of empties and stalked toward the beach.

“...What was that about?” Hakoda asked.

“No idea,” Bato said.

“Mom never said Dad and Hama didn’t get along!”

Kya opened her mouth, seemed to think for a moment, and closed it.

“Maybe your mom just...didn’t want to speak ill of the...captured?” Bato offered.

Kya opened her mouth again, only to close it again and put a hand to the lower half of her face and inhale around her fingers.

“...Kya?” Hakoda asked.

“Nope,” Kya muttered, “no idea.”

She didn’t look at either of the boys, but Aang caught her gaze. They exchanged a pair of looks that Hakoda couldn’t decipher - Kya’s face was blank, and Aang looked slightly amused - but then Aang’s eyes flitted towards the beach. “Whoa,” he breathed. “Now that’s waterbending!”

The kids all turned to see streams of water flinging themselves out of the ocean to swirl around one emaciated Waterbender, who was spinning around in the sand like some kind of frustrated liquid tornado.

“...She’s more upset about your dad than she was when I told her my grandfather was dead,” Bato said.

Hakoda put his face in his hands and groaned. “Why?”

Kya sighed.

“Do you think she’s gonna hate me?” Hakoda asked. “She’s supposed to be, like, my aunt, and now she’s gonna hate me!”

“She’s not gonna hate you,” Bato said, but he didn’t sound sure.

“What does she even have against my dad, anyway?”

There was a shout from the beach, and they looked back to see Hama fling the empty clay jar up into the air. The water streams followed it, and it shattered on impact. The clay shards rained down on the sand while Hama stared out at the ocean.

“Welp,” said Hakoda, “she hates me.”

“She’s coming back,” said Bato.

Hama was, indeed, coming back. She grabbed another jar - not an empty one - and ripped off its seal to chug several gulps of its contents while the kids stared.

“...Sorry about that,” she said after a moment, wiping her chin. “I just...was not expecting to hear that Kanna got...married.” She had another sip of whatever was in that jar. “She was pretty adamant about not getting married, after running away from the North.” Another sip. “What on earth possessed her to marry Iluak?”

“Uh,” said Hakoda, “Dad says he won her over with his sense of humor…?”

“His sense of - oh my moon,” Hama said, and she turned around and stalked right back out to the beach.

“She hates me,” Hakoda said miserably.

“She’ll get over it,” Kya said. “Give her some time.”

Hama came back again after just a few minutes. “Sorry,” she said again. “It’s been a weird night.”

“You’re telling us,” Aang muttered, doubtlessly thinking about everything that’d happened back at the temple that evening. And the flight to the Fire Nation that’d taken up the whole day. And the whole Hei Bai debacle last night. It’d been a weird seventy-two hours.

“So,” Hama said, fixing Hakoda with eyes that were now slightly glazed-over. “You’re Kanna’s kid.”

“Uh,” said Hakoda, “yeah.”

She stared at him. “...You have her eyes,” she said at last. 

“Uh...thanks?”

“How...how is she?”

“She’s...she’s good.”

“Is she happy?”

“Uh...for the most part, yeah?” Hakoda rubbed the back of his neck. “I mean, she probably misses me, it’s been a while since I’ve seen her, and - ”

Hama immediately straightened, eyes becoming more lucid. “Since you - oh, gods, no. No, no, no, don’t tell me, don’t tell me you - they - what are you kids even doing here?”

“What?” Hakoda asked.

“Why are you here?” Hama demanded. “In the Fire Nation? Are you kids alright, what - what happened? Were you captured? Who took you?”

“Uh, no,” Hakoda said, “we weren’t captured, we’re okay!” He ignored the look Bato shot him, which was very clearly meant to remind him that they had been captured several times since starting on their adventure, but Hakoda didn’t think Hama needed to know that right now. “We’re on a mission!” he added, very seriously.

“A mission,” Hama repeated. “Why are a bunch of teenagers on a mission?”

“We were kind of the only people available and time was of the essence - ”

Hama had another sip of whatever was in that jar. “What kind of mission brings a bunch of kids to the Fire Nation?”

“Actually this was just a detour,” Kya said. “We’re trying to get to the North Pole.”

“The North - why?” Hama blurted. “Did they send you kids for help? The North don’t give a turtle-seal’s shit about us! They abandoned us, they secured their own border and left us at the Fire Nation’s mercy!”

“Yeah,” Bato said, “but Aang needs to learn waterbending.”

Hama blinked at him. Then she looked past him at Aang, who was still reclining on Appa’s leg. He gave her a little wave. “Hi! I’m Aang.”

Hama stared at Aang’s yellow clothes, and his glider staff, and his sky bison. “...What?”

“I’m the Avatar,” Aang said sheepishly.

“...What?”

#early birds au