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haloshornsinkstains · 3 years

Text

Mine [Tomura Shigaraki]

This is a bit different from most of my other writing I think? Read the content warnings. It’s not as fluffy as a lot of my other writing. It was just an idea that wouldn’t go away and I finally got it all written out.

Sorry I haven’t updated much this week, first week back at work has been rough. Always open for requests though, especially headcanons or thirsts/drabbles atm.

CW: Omegaverse (Alpha!Shigaraki, Omega!Reader), female reader, NSFW, dubcon , blood, violence, kidnapping

Distressed omegas were meant to be a cowering, whimpering mess. They were meant to be easy to control, to comply subserviently with an Alpha, or even a Beta, in order to remedy whatever situation had them in such a state. Distressed omegas were most certainly not meant to be snarling, snapping and occasionally sending ripples of electricity and broken earth out at their captors. Which is exactly what you were doing.

It was supposed to be an easy job, scope the place out, report back on your findings. The place was not, according to all the previous intel, supposed to be a hideout for one of the most notorious villain groups in all Japan. But just your luck, that was exactly what it was. You’d expected to die, honestly, when the small blonde had appeared out of nowhere. Maybe dying would have been the better option, rather than being tied up and surrounded by the League. You weren’t even entirely sure why you weren’t dead, she’d mumbled something about your scent and in a blurry series of events you’d found yourself here, growling at their leader as he crouched before you, easily recognisable with the hand obscuring his face.

“Can someone tell me why we have a distressed omega in the middle of our floor?” He rasped, taking his eyes away from you for a moment to scan the group. “We caught her sneaking around!” Toga grinned, bouncing on the balls of her feet. “Right. So why is she here and not, say, dead?” Shigaraki growled, before whipping his head back to you, nose wrinkled. “And will you stop that? You smell terrible.” You merely snarled in response. You knew your distress tinged your natural scent with a sour note that wasn’t pleasant, but it wasn’t as if you could control the feeling given your current predicament. “Um, boss, we do have her tied up. It’s probably not entirely her fault.” “Spinny is right. She smelled so good before~” Toga beamed. You snorted. “She’s bleeding, of course you thought she smelled good.” “Not like that! The blood smelled good, but she smelled right before she started bleeding. Then she smelled better~” Tomura sighed, shifting forwards towards you to try and see what the beta girl meant. You shuffled backwards, baring your teeth at him in a snarl, sparks skittering off your skin towards him. Tomura snarled back, sharp canines glinting from between chapped lips in a clear threat. “Stop it! I could just kill you you know?” He glanced over his shoulder, missing the way your body drooped in poorly hidden hurt at his next words. “You just had to bring a broken omega didn’t you brat?” Broken. You’d heard that before. No one wanted an omega who snarled and snapped back, instead of submitting at the drop of a hat. Omegas were supposed to be subservient. Motherly. They were supposed to have supportive roles. You were none of those, topped with an offensive type quirk, you weren’t what anyone would look for in an omega mate. You were broken, by their standards. “Stop. Calm down.” You reacted immediately to the new Alpha voice, your body relaxing against your own will, every fibre of your being racing to obey the alpha’s command. You turned your head to scowl at the man who’d pulled such a dirty trick, stupid Alpha’s and their stupid ability to make Omega’s obey. A scarred face grinned back at you, Dabi you realised, another strong Alpha - had to be to make you submit like that when you were so riled up. “You could’ve done that too you know creep, threatening her wasn’t going to make her any less distressed.” He huffed. “You’re the worst Alpha I’ve ever met.” Tomura scowled, scratching at his neck. “You must not spend much time with yourself.” Dabi huffed a laugh, leaning against the wall behind you. You could feel his eyes burning into the back of your neck, clearly watching for you to make some move to attack as Tomura shifted closer. His scent was getting stronger, too much so to just account for his proximity. He was trying to calm you, you realised belatedly, a hand twitching near his neck as if he didn’t dare scratch at the damaged glands further. It took a moment for the scent to really hit you, your eyes going wide and panicked as your body reacted, the urge to fling yourself towards him and flee warring between each other and leaving your frozen in place. You shook your head as a needy whine bubbled from your throat unbidden. Tomura fell backwards, brows pinched together in what you thought was a similar kind of distress. In a panic you tried to focus on a different scent, anything to push the scent of dusty rooms and decaying leaves and belonging from your nose. Your head whipped to Dabi behind you, breathing deeply through your nose. He was another Alpha, surely his scent should do something to mask Tomura’s, but the smoke and spice was far too faint to cover whatever the other Alpha had pumped through the room. Noticing your gaze Dabi just offered a lazy shrug, tilting his head slightly with a smug smirk. The burn scars that covered his neck must have messed with his scent glands, which also explained the tang of burnt flesh you got from him. The Betas weren’t doing much either, and everyone smelled faintly of blood, including you. With another needy whine you gave up and focused hard on the floor, trying not to breathe more than strictly necessary. The world around you blurred and faded as you fought every instinct in you screaming to reach out to the Alpha and bare your neck to his teeth. 'Stupid body, stop it. I'm better than this, I've met plenty of strong Alphas before.' 'But none of them smelled like that. Good enough to make you react like this' your traitorous mind whispered back. 'Screw that. I am not my secondary gender. I'm a hero. I don't roll over for anyone, and certainly not an infamous villain. No matter how good he smells…' 'Smells like mate. Your Alpha.' '...mate. No!'. You snarled into the floor, not quite sure when you’d shifted position like this. You vaguely registered the shuffle of feet, Tomura had stood and moved away at some point, and the low rasp of orders. "Spinner, go put her somewhere." "Okay? Uh, where?" "Anywhere but here." A door slammed and you felt yourself being lifted, heated over a shoulder. Spinner you guessed, he smelled weird, even under the blood and soft scent that marks him as part of the pack. His smell was dry, like sand and tanned leather and something reptilliant you couldn't place. He jostled you slightly as he moved down some stairs, making you hiss at him in irritation. He growled back, finally dumping you in a small cellar, your hands still tied.

“What was that all about?” Toga asked, spinning a knife in her hands. “You can’t guess?” Dabi sighed. ��Do you know anything?” Toga just shrugged, humming to herself. “I know how to stab people.” “From the omega’s reaction I’d say she smelled a mate.” Compress sighed. “I’m sure you can piece together who from the reaction.” “Oh. Oh. Maybe that’s why she smelled so nice before.” Dabi shrugged. “What did she smell like before? I only got the sour distressed smell, and… well.” Toga winced, the sour smell had been unpleasant sure, but the strange musk after it hadn’t been so bad. It reminded her of how things smelled after she got to play with blood. “She smelled good, like thunderstorms and old things. A bit like the bar when we first got here, except with more lightning.” “That explains it. Creepy hands McGee is going to be a child about it though.” Dabi hummed. “You should have more faith in our leader.” Dabi shot Compress a disbelieving look and shook his head. “This is going to be a pain.”

You weren’t sure how long you’d been trapped in their cellar. Two days maybe, if they were bringing you three meals a day, longer if not and well… three meals a day seemed a little too generous for the group of villains. Yet no one had come to find you, probably assumed you were dead you reasoned, but the abandonment stung somewhere deep in your chest. You’d smelled your mate several times since you’d been captured too, lurking outside the door but never coming any further. Each time the battle with your instincts got harder, the omega inside you begging to call out, to crawl to the door and beg for him to come in. Occasionally small whimpers would slip past your lips, ones that you would scold yourself for, but worse was the answering growl that sometimes came from the other side of the door. Low and possessive and filled with a promise of something both dangerous and so, so tempting. Those times it was even harder to stay back, your body trembling from the effort of staying still. You didn’t want him, not logically, he was dangerous and cruel and evil. Everything opposed to what you worked for in life. But your traitorous body smelled a mate, the first one you’d met since high school, and it wanted him so badly it ached.

Meanwhile Dabi was getting more and more frustrated, nothing was happening with the League while their boss was fixated on their captive, and while he didn’t really care about the League’s goals where they diverged from his own, the inactivity was boring the others and their restlessness was driving him insane. That and the constant growling of the other Alpha made his hackles rise, part of him he thought he’d buried long ago wanting to fight over the omega. It was stupid and he hated it, so it needed to be solved, and he knew just the thing to kick Shigaraki into action.

You snapped awake from a fitful sleep as you heard the door to the cellar opening. A traitorous part of your mind hoping it would be your mate. Instead the faint smell of burning caught you nose and you huffed, turning away from the other Alpha. You heard a growl from behind you but ignored it, pulling the blanket around you protectively. “Go away.” There was a rough laugh. “I don’t think so little Omega. All this pining is getting annoying.” You huffed. “There is no pining. But if you’re here to kill me just get it over with, this cellar smells terrible.” “Tempting but no” he grabbed your shoulders, flipping you onto your back in one swift motion “I’ve got a much better plan.” Your body tensed up, preparing to fight whatever this asshole planned to do to you, despite the power-dampening bands they’d locked onto your wrists. You pulled your legs up, closing them tightly, ready to kick him away. But Dabi was deceptively strong, pinning your legs down with one arm as his other grabbed something from his coat pocket, binding it over your nose and mouth. A gag, you thought at first, ready to scream for help that probably wouldn’t come as soon. But then the smell hit you, your eyes going wide and panicked. It was his smell, dusty and decaying and enough to set all of your nerves on fire. You thrashed on the bed, tossing your head around and trying to get it off, get away from the intoxicating scent, but Dabi had a hand pressed hard against your throat. “Behave.” You froze with a whimper that you hated yourself for. “Good Omega. Now, we just need to wait until your heat kicks in and this’ll all be over.” You struggled weakly again, your heat hadn’t been very far off when you first broke in here anyway, the overwhelming scent of Alpha, of Mate, would only bring it on faster. And with Dabi pressing down on your neck you felt you might pass out before you could get the clothing off you. Everything was hazy and the blood was pounding in your ears as the edges of your vision darkened.

Dabi sighed, climbing off you and sniffing the air. Beneath the sour sting of distress he could smell the sweetness and thick musk that signalled an impending heat. A couple hours and you’d be in full heat he figured, plenty of time to convince the creep to get down here and trap him in here with you. Dabi figured he’d either kill you, fuck you and then kill you or (and it was probably the least likely) actually claim you as a mate and stop this ridiculous moping. Maybe having an omega around the place would be useful, you were supposed to be good at looking after people and all that shit and god knows these idiots need it. Now he just had to convince the creep to actually enter the cellar.

In the end it was easier than he thought. All he had to do was suggest you were in some kind of danger and some long dormant Alpha instincts seemed to kick in, sending Shigaraki darting into the cellar before his brain could catch up with what he was doing. With a satisfied bark of laughter Dabi slammed the door shut again, banking on the boss’ instincts kicking in before he could think of disintegrate the door with his quirk. Sliding the lock shut he turned to address the door, raising his voice so he could be heard inside. “We’re all sick of your nonsense, so either fuck or kill each other. I don’t care.” You were staring wide eyed at Shigaraki from your makeshift blanket nest, a sheen of sweat making your skin almost glow in the dim light. The room stank with the scent of your heat, sickly sweet and tinged with ozone. For his part Shiagraki had pressed himself back against the door, staring at you as if you were about to pounce on him and eat him alive. Though, in his defence, your instincts were screaming at you to do exactly that. In a way it was almost funny, that something so simple could reduce someone so powerful to panic like this, but you knew how dangerous that could be at the same time, how easily he could kill you. You tried to growl at him, but it came out more like a needy whimper, a ripple of pain running through your body. You knew it was only a matter of time before he lost control, maybe it was better to just get it over with… the way your body was screaming at you was getting harder to ignore too. Before you realised what was happening you had started to crawl towards him, his snarl the only thing that snapped you out of the heat daze and made you stop. “Stay back.” You froze, studying him carefully. He was trembling, a thin sheen of sweat covering his face, his hands frozen into claws on the floor, pinkies raised. So it was getting to him faster than you bargained for. Great. “I’m trying!” You hissed. “Try harder!” You narrowed your eyes, a snarl escaping your lips. “Screw you.” He answered with a growl, deep and low in his throat, the sound making you whine and press yourself to the floor on instinct, hips raised in the air. In the few seconds it took you to realise what you were doing something in Tomura snapped, the scent of your heat and the submissive mating position sparking every instinct in his body. In a flash you’re trapped beneath him, feeling the solid press of his length against your ass. He’s trembling, barely restrained as he ruts against your clothing. It’s sweet, in a twisted way, that he’s this far gone but still trying to hold on to a thread of control, to wait for your consent. And with him pressed so close, his intoxicating scent filling your nostrils, you know you can’t hold off much longer. Each time you try to say no it comes out as whine, your heat growing stronger with each passing heartbeat. “Please.” It comes out as a whine, but your hips rocking back against his is more than enough to tell him what you want.

His fingers scrabbled at your pants, careful to keep his pinkie away from the clothes even in this state. You heard the groan as he saw the mess of slick sticking to your underwear, you could feel it starting to run down your legs, the smell almost overwhelming. You heard more fabric rustle before you felt him pressing against you, felt the quiver in his body as he stilled with his head just pressing at your entrance. You whined, low and needy, bucking your hips back against him again, knees pressed together by your hastily tugged down clothes and chest cold against the floor. Behind you he growls, hips bucking forwards with enough force to almost push you over. His body folded over yours, hands pressed against the floor, away from you. A small thing, but it speaks volumes about his unwillingness to hurt you, that the bond of knowing you’re mates has stuck with him too. It’s the last coherent thought you have before your brain is completely overcome with a haze of lust, devoid of any thoughts except how good his cock feels inside you, hard and heavy rubbing along your inner walls. Your hands scrabble against the floor as he bucks up into you, pressing against a spot on your insides with every thrust that makes you see stars, his breath a series of harsh pants in your ears. There’s no dirty talk, no indication how much he’s enjoying this aside from the occasional ‘fuck’ or low moan. You could feel his knot pressing against your entrance, stretching you a little more with each thrust, brushing against your clit and pushing you closer and closer to your release. You knew anyone who passed would be able to hear your wanton moans and whimpers through the door, too lost in pleasure to control your volume. “Please. Please knot me Alpha, mate.” You whined, rocking back against him. “Need you.” There was a low chuckle from above you, dark and twisted. “Lost all your fight little omega? How pitiful.” You whined, clenching down around him. It was all it took for him to thrust hard once more, his knot pushing past your outer ring and locking itself inside you. The sudden pressure tipped you over the edge, spasming around his dick, barely aware as he made a final few shallow thrusts before groaning and tipping over the edge himself, filling you with his warm come. The pain of his teeth latching onto your neck, the sharpened canines piercing through the bond mark, was enough to bring you out of your daze. “Mine.” Locked together you could feel his tongue lapping at the wound, cleaning the blood and soothing the sting of the bite. You tried not to struggle, worried the movement would anger him, even as you could hear the mutterings of ‘mine, my omega’ against your skin. With the worst of your heat sated right now you could almost think clearly again, despite the stretch of his knot inside you firing all kinds of signals inside your body. You’d allowed yourself to be claimed by one of the biggest villains in Japan, in a dingy basement against a cold stone floor. He’d bitten you and marked you as his. There was no way they were going to let you out of there now, no matter how much you begged or used your ‘omega charms’ on them. You were trapped. At least the claim would offer you some protection from the others, or so you hoped.

What on earth had you gotten yourself into?

#my writing #my hero academia #bnha #shigaraki tomura #league of villains #omegaverse #shigaraki x reader #female!reader #f!reader #alpha!shigaraki #dubcon #halo.writes #halo.afterdark

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morganaspendragonss · 3 years

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someday, i’ll breathe again

prompted by @mimierose, idea by @theworld-is-out-there. thanks guys, so sorry it took me so long to write! i hope you both like it!

A shout from above grabs their attention, followed by the pounding of feet coming down the stairs towards them. TK’s able to shove Mateo out of the way, but the guy forcefully collides with him as he goes past, his momentum knocking TK off balance and sending him tumbling down the stairs to the landing below.

He lands hard, stars exploding in his vision, the pain in his head masking the sharp sting in his arm.

ao3 | 2.1k | warning for references to needles and past addiction - this is not a relapse fic

The ambulance arrives at the scene just behind the truck, and TK grins when he climbs out, spotting Carlos already deep in conversation with his dad. Nancy hits him as she walks past, any initial reservations she’d had about him joining their team long since forgotten.

“Head out of the bedroom, Strand,” she says, rolling her eyes at his show of offence.

“I’ll have you know my head wasn’t even close to the bedroom,” he protests, following her to the back of the ambulance. It’s not even a lie; he’d actually just been thinking about how much he was looking forward to their movie night later. They haven’t spent much time together properly in a while, shifts rarely lining up, both of them too tired to do much more than sleep when they do.

Becoming a paramedic has meant that some of the danger has gone out of TK’s job, but the workload has increased more than he realised it would. Medical get far more calls than fire in a day, and much as TK loves it, he can’t deny the bone-deep exhaustion at the end of most shifts.

He wouldn’t trade it, though, not for the world.

Nancy sends him a withering look, but she doesn’t get a chance to respond before Tommy’s striding back over to them, having consulted with his dad.

“What are we looking at, Cap?” he asks.

“PD needs some help clearing the building,” she responds. “It’s due to be demolished in a couple of weeks, but there have been some reports of squatters, gangs, local kids, hanging around. They want to make sure everyone’s out, and they want medical on standby just in case. Ordinarily, we’d wait out here, as you know, but Captain Strand and I have agreed that it would be more efficient and useful to have you inside. There might be people in there who don’t have the time to wait to be carried out.”

TK grimaces, hearing Tommy’s implications loud and clear. Her gaze flicks over to him, but she doesn’t comment, and TK tries to pull himself together as she continues laying out the plan.

“We’ll be going in in teams of three - two firefighters, one paramedic. TK, you’re with Judd and Mateo; Nancy, you’re with Marjan and Paul. Captain Strand and I will be waiting out here - keep us updated.”

“Yes, Cap.”

He and Nancy nod, turning to gather supplies into their medical bags. They work silently and efficiently; TK had been surprised by how easy it was to fall into a natural rhythm with his new team, but it feels normal now, like he’s been doing it forever.

Tommy takes his arm before they join the others, pulling him to one side. “You good to do this, Strand?” she asks, voice firm but caring. TK appreciates the thought - he’d told her about his history during his interview in case she wanted to think twice about hiring him - but he knows that he can do this.

He nods, adjusting the strap on his bag. “Yes. I’m good, Cap.”

She smiles. “Good. Now, go, and both of you be safe.”

TK jogs over to the others, arriving just in time to hear Nancy bemoaning him and his distinct lack of driving skill to Marjan.

“That’s so rude, Gillian,” he protests. “I’ll have you know I used to navigate New York traffic and never once got in an accident.”

“And yet you can’t take the ambulance more than five yards without threatening to crash it.”

“I’m surprised he can get it that far,” Judd puts in, which TK thinks is wholly unnecessary. It’s not his fault that the firetruck is totally unmaneuverable, or that the ambulance is only barely better.

He opens his mouth to tell Judd this, but his dad chooses this moment to call them to attention, so he’s forced to settle for a glare directed at the back of Judd’s head.

“You’ll take alternating floors,” Owen tells them. “Judd, Mateo, TK - start on the ground, work your way up through the even numbered levels. Paul, Marjan, Nancy - the same, starting on one and doing the odd floors. Is that clear?”

“Yes, Cap.”

“Good.” Owen looks round at them all, eyes seeming to linger on TK for the briefest second longer. “The structure seems stable, but stay alert. We don’t know what you’re gonna find in there, and I’d like to avoid any injuries. Police will be around for back up if you need them. Good luck.”

They spring into action, heading towards the building as a unit, and TK has to admit that he’s missed this. Doing rescues with the team, adrenaline pumping through his veins, never quite sure what’s going to happen from one moment to the next.

He sticks to the back of their little group, letting Judd and Mateo go ahead of him as they sweep the ground floor. There’s no-one there so they move onto the next level, TK’s nose wrinkling as the smell gets worse the higher up they go. They work without speaking, for the most part, though judging by the numerous backward glances Mateo keeps sending him, TK suspects that it won’t last.

Sure enough, as they’re moving from the fourth floor to the sixth - their last but one target - Mateo falls into step with him.

“It’s been weird since you became a paramedic.”

Ahead of them, Judd groans. “Here we go again.”

“What?” Mateo protests. “It has.”

TK looks between them, curious. “What do you mean?”

“It’s just weird that you’re not on call with us anymore,” he says, shrugging.

“I am literally on call with you right now, Mateo.”

“Yeah, but not with us,” Mateo sighs. “And it’s not like you’re at every call, and you don’t do rescues, and you ride in the ambulance now. I know that this is what you want to do, and that’s really cool, seriously, but it’s just -”

“Weird,” TK finishes, laughing a little. He nudges Mateo with his shoulder. “I get it. It’s been weird for me, too.”

“Really?” He seems surprised, looking over at TK with wide eyes. TK sends him a wry smile.

“Really,” he says. “But -”

A shout from above grabs their attention, followed by the pounding of feet coming down the stairs towards them. The guy - a squatter, more than likely - freezes when he catches sight of them, but only briefly, before continuing to barrel down to them. TK’s able to shove Mateo out of the way, but the guy forcefully collides with him as he goes past, his momentum knocking TK off balance and sending him tumbling down the stairs to the landing below.

He groans, vision swimming as he attempts to push himself upright. His bag is lying a couple of feet away, contents spilling everywhere, and the thought crosses his mind that Captain Vega’s going to be pissed if he loses anything. He tries to get to his feet to collect it all, but the pounding in his head quickly informs him that’s not happening any time soon.

Judd and Mateo’s faces appear in front of him, their mouths moving but no words coming out. Or… That’s not right. TK focuses as best he can, trying to blink some of the haziness from his mind.

Eventually, their voices reach him, as though underwater. “You with us, brother?” Judd asks, worry evident in his tone.

TK nods, then instantly regrets it as another wave of dizziness washes over him. Hands grasp his shoulders, pulling him up to rest against the wall, and it’s then that he notices a sharp sting in his right arm. He must have cut it on something, which isn’t ideal, given how dirty everything is here.

“Alright,” Judd says, his voice clearer this time. “I’m gonna need you to focus up for me, okay? You’re the paramedic here; you’ve gotta tell us what to do.”

TK huffs a small laugh, closing his eyes and taking a moment to clear the fuzz in his brain. “Definitely have a concussion,” he mutters. “Must have hit my head on the way down.”

He hasn’t opened his eyes yet, but he can feel Judd’s eye roll. “Yeah, no shit. It don’t look too bad, though; you’ve got a bit of a scrape on your cheek, but it seems fine. Hurt anywhere else?”

TK hums, doing a mental check. His entire body aches in some capacity, and he’s probably going to be bruised as hell tomorrow, but his cut is the only other injury he can detect. “Arm,” he says. “Think I cut it on something. Glass, maybe?”

Judd pushes his sleeve up, then sucks in a sharp breath. “Aw, shit, kid,” he murmurs, and TK gets the distinct impression he wasn’t meant to hear that. “Probie, let the captains know? Then go join the others; tell them they’ll have to finish the rest of the building themselves.”

TK frowns, forcing his eyes open. Mateo’s moved too far away for him to hear whatever he’s radioing in, so he turns to Judd instead, panic flaring at the pained look in his eyes. “What? What’s going on?”

Judd hesitates. “That wasn’t, um. That wasn’t glass you landed on, kid.” He shifts, carefully picking something up from the floor, pursing his lips before holding it up for TK to see.

A needle.

All the air feels like it’s sucked out of the room, a band tightening around his chest as his eyes blow wide, fixating on the object in front of him. His heart is racing and his thoughts are scrambled in a way that has nothing to do with the concussion because he just landed on a needle, oh god.

And TK had never been one for any of that stuff, not like some of his friends at the time were, but sober is sober, and he can’t lose that, he can’t, he won’t -

“You haven’t, okay? Just breathe, brother, that’s it. Breathe.”

Judd’s words reach him from far away. TK wants to comply, but his body doesn’t feel like his own, and his shaking fingers scrabble frantically at his uniform collar, the choking sensation only getting worse. A distant noise lets him know that Judd is still talking, and TK tries to latch onto that, leaning into the solid and grounding presence at his side.

Slowly, the panic starts to subside. He still feels on edge, weak and shaky, but he can breathe again, which counts for something.

“Sorry,” he gasps out when he’s able.

Judd’s mouth twists into a grimace. “None of that, now. You okay?”

TK nods, though he doubts it’s very convincing. “I will be,” he amends. “Give me a minute.”

At that moment, Judd’s radio crackles to life. “Ryder, what’s your status?” his dad’s voice says, very carefully professional.

Judd looks over to him. “Think you can stand?”

At TK’s nod, he grasps his radio. “Me and TK are on our way out, Cap,” he reports. “Be with you in a few.”

“Copy that.”

TK groans, taking a shaking breath before planting his hands on the floor, attempting to heave himself upright. He makes it to a half-crouch before his balance gives out, and it’s only Judd’s reflexes that save him from face planting the ground again.

“Jesus, TK,” Judd sighs. “Let me help you.”

His tone leaves no room for argument - not that TK could put up much of a fight at the moment if he tried. He leans his weight on Judd, letting him do most of the work to get them down the stairs and out of the building.

“Sorry for freaking out on you,” he murmurs. “I just…”

“I know, kid,” Judd says softly. “You’re alright, though.”

TK doesn’t say anything, not entirely convinced that Judd is right, but comforted by the sentiment anyway. It’s not until they’re nearing the ground floor that he realises something else, and it’s almost enough to make him want to turn back.

“This is going to be so embarrassing.”

Judd frowns. “What?”

He points between his head and his arm with his good hand. “I’m going to have to go to hospital to get these checked out.” He sighs. “A paramedic needing a ride in his own ambulance. I’m never going to live this down.”

Judd laughs, long and loud, and it’s enough to make a smile tug at TK’s own lips. “You’re something else, kid,” he says, gently ruffling TK’s hair.

TK grumbles and bats him away, but his heart isn’t in it. He’s never been more thankful for Judd, truth be told, and he knows he can trust him to understand. And as they head outside, TK starts to believe that maybe Judd was right after all.

They’ll be alright, in the end.

#911 lone star #911 lone star fic #lone star #911ls #tk strand #judd ryder #mateo chavez #nancy gillian #tommy vega #fanfiction #my fanfiction #writing #my writing #userjillian #tuserjamie #userkimmy #tuserpaige #tuserjenny #reyeslonestartag

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lovelylogans · 5 years

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where you lead, i will follow

previous chapter /chapter five / next chapter

start from the beginning!

ao3 | read my other fics | coffee?

warnings: food mentions, complicated parental relationships, mentions of transphobia and homophobia, verbal fighting, top surgery mention, classism,

pairings: moxiety, logince

words: 8,901

"is it healing? it doesn't look like it's healing."

"it's healing, mom, we've been icing it," patton says, trying not to squirm too much with the surroundings of the club. it's a half-day at chilton, because of teacher conferences, so they're doing make-up lunch instead of brunch, in addition to dinner tomorrow. "look, the bruising's already going all yellow and green."

"it'll be gone by my birthday," logan agrees, as all four sanders' follow the waiter to the table. with halloween approaching rapidly, it meant that in a little over a week, it would be november, and on the third, he would be sixteen. which meant he'd be able to take his driver's test, and that he could actually start seriously researching cars and debating if he wants to get one with roman. and on his birthday his dad would wake him up at four in the morning and roman would enact their birthday tradition and they would have coffee cake for breakfast at virgil's with roman, and roman would get him his traditional gift and patton would get him something that's somehow both goofy and sentimental and virgil will get him unexpected yet useful, and virgil would make him his birthday cake at the party that night, which would be full of the people he loves tolerates most in sideshire.

logan likes his birthday.

"well, it had better," emily huffs, sitting in the chair his grandfather pulls out for her. "i have no idea what got into dee slange, he's usually such a shrewd boy."

logan and patton exchange a look.

"and that girl," emily tsks.

"i did business with janlen grant for years," his grandfather provides. "hard to believe."

"yes, well," his dad says, before there can be any parallels drawn there, "they're all in trouble, logan's healing, and he's been staying late for the past few days to get every piece of advice he can squeeze out of the advisor, so—"

"i'm just asking her about it," logan says, "there's no physical contact—"

"—figure of speech, honey—it might be best to just... put it in the past."

"hmph," emily says. "well, i agree."

his dad blinks, startled. "you do?"

"would i have said it if i didn't?"

"well, i just—"

"it's not like logan is about to engage in fisticuffs again," emily says, offering a benevolent smile to logan, who wrinkles his nose on instinct.

"hardly," he sniffs.

"there we go, then," emily says. "though if hanlin thinks it's forgotten—"

"agreed," patton says, and spares a moment to wonder when he stepped into the twilight zone. twice in one day.

"logan," his grandfather says, "did you see the article in the journal today about the progress of the value of stocks within the technology industry?"

logan perks up. "i did. what were your opinions, from the business perspective?"

and it's lunch. it's just lunch. no masked barbs, no out-and-out fights, no pointed commentary under anyone's breath. it's just lunch. talking about news articles, and some distant cousin of his patton's who’s had a baby, and the trip richard's taking to prague, leaving tomorrow before dinner.

emily even remembered patton's favorite dessert they used to get at the club, when his dad was his age, and ordered it as soon as she saw it on the menu.

logan and his dad wander out to the car (well, the valet pulls it up for them, technically) in a bit of a daze, and logan buckles his seatbelt.

"that was... nice," patton says disbelievingly.

for the first time logan can remember, that's not a lie or a forceful attempt at optimism.

"yes," logan says, and frowns. "it was nice."

"pleasant, even," patton says. "i... huh. that's—that's..."

"atypical."

"yes! yes, that too, but i," patton says, and he frowns too. "i mean. it was nice."

"it's probably because i got physically assaulted," logan muses, and patton grimaces.

"i'd prefer for that not to be the only reason we can get together and have a pleasant meal," he says.

"i'm sure we could do the same thing if someone died."

"i thought you were done with thinking everyone was dying!"

"i don't think that everyone is dying," logan says. "i think that someone relatively close to our family dying would be enough to spur on unusual behavior."

"...i mean, you're not wrong, but no one is dying, okay?" patton says. "at least, i don't think that's the reason we had a... a nice lunch."

"it was strange," logan agrees.

"right, it was," he says.

"it'll be interesting to see if it holds for dinner tomorrow," logan says.

"it will," patton says, and, unspoken, i hope it does.

his relationship with his parents hasn't always been strained. not on the surface, anyway. especially when he was little—he'd actually really liked the frilly dresses, the dance lessons, the dolls. he'd been good at acting like a darling little—

but he wasn't. at the core of who he was, he was a he. he'd struggled with that, not having the words for it, and started acting out. that's when what had been below the surface had surfaced. and then he'd learned more about lgbtq things, he'd found the words that fit, and he'd stopped hiding.

that's when any other issue he and his parents lost its last hope of hiding, too.

"dad, the turn," logan prompts, and patton shakes himself.

"right, yeah," he says, and gets over a lane to get on the highway.

"are you...?"

"just," patton says, and sighs. "thinking, i guess. the last time we got along so well, i was pretty little. it's been rocky since i hit puberty, even before i came out."

logan nods, and repeats, "it'll be interesting to see if it holds."

he had a feeling it wouldn't. but patton hopes—patton hopes—

he tells virgil, later, when they swing by for dinner that night.

virgil and logan exchange a look.

"we did get along, once," patton says.

"i'm sure you did," virgil says. "it's just—i don't want you to get your hopes up and then get crushed if it doesn't keep going like this, pat."

"i won't," patton says. virgil sighs. "i won't," patton insists.

"okay, okay," he says, then, "don't think i didn't notice you sneaking a refill, joke's on you, that's all decaf."

patton jokingly shakes a fist at him, and logan rolls his eyes, because did they have to flirt in front of him?

later, when patton's off chatting to some of the other citizens of sideshire, virgil slides into his vacated seat.

"it seriously went... okay?"

"it seriously went okay," logan confirms, making a note on the courant. "no insults or fighting or anything. it was a fluke."

"i've got a feeling you're right," virgil sighs. "just... keep me updated if i need to stock extra of anything, yeah?"

"yeah," logan says, and tries for a sneaky glance at him. "like cake."

"i suppose," virgil says, attempting to be blasé, but an upward twitch of his lip gives him away. "any reason you're thinking of cake?"

"don't try to be cute, you know that only works with dad," logan commands. "you know what dad got me, didn't you? and you always do your shopping early."

"not a chance, kid," virgil says with a snort, standing and stacking their empty plates to haul away.

"just one hint," logan wheedles.

"the last time i did that, you managed to figure out what me, your dad, and rudy got you," virgil says. "i didn't even know what rudy got you. no way."

"it can be a little one!"

"it was a little one, last time," virgil says, rolling his eyes, "be good or sandy claws won't give you presents."

"i haven't believed in santa since i was five," logan says, and virgil snorts again, heading for the kitchen. yeah, he remembers the way that hypothesis worked out—logan had laid a trap for the intruder, and emerged triumphantly from his hiding place to find patton tangled up in rope.

"plus it's not even november yet!" logan shouts after him.

"i was referencing a nightmare before christmas!" virgil shouts back, and disappears into the kitchen.

"why was he referencing a nightmare before christmas?" patton says, sliding back into his seat. "other than halloween, i mean."

halloween's virgil's favorite holiday. it's literally the only holiday he'll ever decorate the diner for—there's pumpkins strewn in random corners, skeletons galore, every single possible scary thing present. except, of course, the conspicuously absent spiders because of one diner regular, in particular.

"where are you hiding my presents?" logan says.

"ahh," patton says, grinning, and pretends to zip his lips shut.

logan's a terrible snoop around this time of year. well, he's a snoop generally, but he tends to limit that to journalism. but now he wants to figure out what people have gotten him, and will break into locked rooms if necessary (see: sixth, eighth, eleventh, and fourteenth birthdays.)

"they're not in the house, i've checked," he says.

"i'm not saying a word," patton says.

"not at the inn, either."

patton takes a large gulp of water.

"did you hide them out at virgil's? are they right on top of us!?"

patton plugs his ears and hums loudly to tune him out, in case he somehow gives something away. (see: fourth, ninth, and thirteenth birthdays.)

valiantly, patton prevails, and he manages to avoid giving away anything about logan's birthday presents. logan tries to pretend he isn't pouting the whole way home.

"i'm going to find out, you know," logan says.

"i'm sure you will," patton says placidly.

"i will!"

"i'm just saying, i have a really good plan this year."

logan groans, and stomps up the stairs, and patton smothers his smile and thanks whoever it is up there that he's got a teenager whose idea of a fight is trying to figure out where patton's hidden his birthday presents.

and besides. it is a really good plan this year.

there's a part of it that's still up in the air, though.

patton brings it up, tentatively, after dinner with emily—just him, logan, and his mom, his dad off in prague for business. logan is glued to his side, though, and sulking about it.

("you are not snooping through your grandparents' house to find your present!"

"i already know what grandpa's getting me, it's just a question of grandma and i already have a few theories that i think could be easily corroborated if—"

"nope, nope, no, young man, you're staying right by my side."

"da-ad.")

"so, um, mom," patton says, "you know it's a special day next friday."

"i know that," she says.

"would it be possible to push dinner to saturday?"

"what are you going to do on friday?"

"well, we were going to have a party in sideshire—"

"oh, we can have a little party here," emily says, stern, and patton sighs, because he knows when he's beat.

"can i bring a friend?" logan pipes up. "from sideshire."

"is it that romeo boy?" she asks, and patton barely manages to stifle his snort against his hand. logan spares him a wounded look.

"roman, grandma."

"all right, all right—"

"and, um," patton says, "when it comes to cake, virgil usually—"

"we'll have a caterer handle it," she says briskly. "give me a hug, logan, it's time you two got on the road, it's getting late."

in the car, patton turns to him. "two parties this year?"

"i suppose," logan says.

patton considers, then grins a little deviously as he starts the car.

"it gives you an extra day to figure out what my present is."

"dad."

(later in the week, patton's mom calls him to help with shopping for a present for logan, and they also get along then. patton's so weirded out right now, you have no idea.)

⁂

"happy birthday, honey."

logan groans and rolls to the side, even as he's trying not to smile. he's sixteen. sixteen. that's old.

"hey," logan mumbles.

"i can't believe how fast you're growing up," patton says, settling on logan's bed and carding his fingers through logan's hair. logan squints up at him. he knows for a fact that it's 4:03 in the morning right now.

"feels slow."

"trust me, it's fast," patton says with a laugh. "how's your life so far?"

"hmph. fairly passable."

"only passable, huh?"

"i'd like to get some more sleep, on the whole," logan grumbles, and patton laughs.

"nuh-uh, buster. for all that you are a great, smart, wonderful kid, and the best friend a dad can have, at this exact time, many moons ago—"

"here we go," logan mumbles, and reaches for his glasses.

"—i had been in labor for fourteen. hours. fourteen! and while having you of course was one of the most meaningful experiences of my life, at that point, i was begging the doctors to just induce me and make it a c-section at this point, and i was swearing—"

"like a sailor on leave," they say in unison, and patton snaps his fingers. "right! and i was surrounded by a hundred prominent doctors, and i was just screaming—"

"eight, dad," logan mumbles very quietly, and patton smiles, cards his fingers through his hair again.

"sixteen, kiddo. so there i was, lying there, and..."

"you shouldn't have to go to school today," patton declares as they're walking to the diner for breakfast, and logan looks horrified, as if patton had suggested that a fun birthday celebration would include going swimming in piraña-infested waters.

"you want me to skip?!" logan says, and patton wonders how he had a kid who dreaded missing school.

"just if you want," patton begins, but there's the thud of footsteps behind them, someone running, and logan barely manages to say "oh no" before he's tackled to the ground. patton, used to this yearly tradition, has stepped out of the way and is trying not to laugh.

"IT'S YOUR BIRTHDAY!" roman shouts in his ear. "HAPPY BIRTHDAY!"

"must you attack me every year," logan says.

it started back when they were in kindergarten, when it was logan's birthday and roman got so excited about the birthday cupcakes that virgil baked and patton brought to class that he hugged logan hard enough that logan fell over and skinned his knee. and to make him feel better, roman did what his mom did to make him feel better (which patton did too, when logan was little), which turned into—

"¿qué tan viejo estás?" roman sings loudly into logan's ear to the tune of happy birthday, logan lying still in the grass, having accepted his fate. "¿qué tan viejo estás? ¿qué tan viejo, qué tan viejo, qué tan viejo estás?"

"sixteen," logan responds, cheeks going pink.

"dieciséis!" roman shouts. "entonces tienes dieciséis besos de cumpleaños!"

—which turned into the yearly birthday kisses. one kiss for each year.

(which was so cute when they were little that patton actually cried, and as they've grown older he's watched each of them get shyer and shyer about it, which was still so cute, and no, patton does NOT know how they aren't dating yet!!!)

roman smacks three noisy kisses—one on his left cheek, one on his forehead, and one on his right cheek—counting each in spanish, before scrambling off of him, cheeks equally pink, and hauling logan to his feet.

"thirteen more," roman informs him. "i might skip school just to catch the bus up to chilton to make sure i'm spacing them out properly."

"you won't be able to sneak in."

"that sounds like a challenge," roman informs him, taking his hand and swinging it between them for a few steps before dropping it as they approach virgil's diner.

there's a table set up. with balloons. they match logan's favorite tie—indigo and purple and black and white. the pink in logan's cheeks has not faded.

"virge, he's here!" jean hollers into the kitchen, and virgil emerges, hair disheveled (more than usual) and toting a tray.

"happy birthday, kid," virgil says. "i thought i told you to stop growing."

"he'll get right on that," patton jokes, tousles logan's hair a little, and logan sits down at the table, trying to fight little smile that's on his face.

"we'll weigh him down or something," virgil says, and sets down the tray, setting out the coffee cake with a candle stuck in the top, mugs of hot cocoa/coffee, before slipping into the fourth seat. "is there a reverse to that whole a pinch to grow an inch thing? i could use that."

"that's a myth," logan says, as virgil gets out a lighter to light the candle on the cake.

"yeah, you're gonna have to make a wish, too," roman says, nudging the cake closer to him. "and don't tell us what it is or it won't work!"

"it won't work regardless, but fine. as long as you don't sing again," logan says.

"we're saving that for saturday," patton says, squeezing his shoulder. "go on, kiddo."

logan sighs, and pretends as if he is very dismissive of the whole thing, even if he does make a wish.

(what? it's not like anyone knows he does it.)

the other three clap and cheer when he blows out the candle in one go, and virgil begins slicing up the coffee cake, even as he and roman start squabbling over who gets what slice and logan—

well. it's a pretty good start to his birthday.

(the additional birthday kiss roman gives him between bites of coffee cake and sips of hot cocoa/coffee are pretty nice too.)

(shut up.)

virgil sends him to school with a packed lunch of his favorites, and patton sends him off with a ruffle of his hair, and roman sends him off with another birthday kiss, and logan can't help but smile a little the whole bus ride to chilton.

it drops off his face when some sidles up to his locker with a sly little smirk.

"happy birthday."

logan scowls at dee, who opens up an envelope.

"at 4:03 in the morning, logan thomas sanders was born to—"

"what's that?" logan says, narrowing his eyes and snatching it away, scanning it, and—

oh. oh, no.

"see you tonight," dee simpers, snatching the envelope back, and logan grinds his teeth as dee flits away.

he texts roman during class when he can sneak his phone—the first time he's done so since he's gotten a phone.

logan: You are likely going to meet my nemesis tonight at my birthday dinner.

roman responds basically immediately, because he has no such qualms about sneaking out his phone during class.

roman: o shit fr?

logan: Apparently, my grandmother has invited him. Potentially some of my other classmates.

roman: so i gotta like... kill him. fight for ur honor. go full dueling rules. we draw pistols at sundown roman: actually your gparents seem like the type of people to keep decorative swords roman: bc like. i could use those. i could def use those roman: pls let me use the swords

logan: I can understand the temptation, but I would have to insist you didn't

roman: you're no fun

logan: You're realizing this just now?

he tucks his phone into his pocket before he can read what roman responds with, and it takes him until he's waiting for the bus at the end of the day to glance at his screen again.

roman: hey now mr. birthday boy roman: i'm the only one who can talk bad about you it's part of my best friend privileges roman: mock yourself again and i break into your grandparents house to use their fancy schmancy swords on you

almost before he can think better of it, his thumbs are flying and he hits send before he can second-guess himself.

logan: Telling me you'll stab me sounds remarkably like you're trying to get out of birthday kisses

equally fast (equally unthought) the response comes

roman: i'll kiss u in a minute

logan: Is that meant to sound like a threat? logan: Or is it a promise?

roman: wouldnt u like to kno

logan wouldn't say he glues his face to the window to see if a certain someone is waiting at the bus stop (but your author would, so.)

and he is!

...with a guest. logan tries not to scowl too obviously as he descends the bus.

"hey!" roman says happily, from where he's holding jess' hand. but he has what looks like lucy's for him in the other, so logan supposes it's all right.

"hey," logan echoes.

"hear it's your birthday," jess grunts.

"it is," logan says cautiously.

"yeah, well. happy birthday."

"...thank you."

"um, so, your dad's picking me up at 5:30, right?" roman says.

"yes," logan says. "wear a tie."

roman pulls a face. jess looks between them.

"my grandparents are throwing a party," logan says, by way of explanation.

"yeah, i wanna steal all their decorative swords," roman teases, grinning. "you've given me a goal for the evening."

"i suppose i'll have to spend the evening with you, to ensure you don't purloin any of my grandparents' possessions."

"guess you will," roman says cheerfully. "however, i'm gonna have to say a sword would so make up for whatever happens at your grandparents'."

logan tilts his head, conceding the point. jess clears his throat loudly.

"so, uh, roman, we should—"

"right! right," roman says, and bounces over to logan and hesitates. but then there's a rebellious gleam in his eyes. he rocks up onto his tiptoes just slightly, to press a lingering kiss against his cheek.

"seis," he whispers into logan's ear, warm breath making logan shiver in the november chill. roman pulls away and presses the shake into logan's hand. "happy birthday, logan."

jess' face has turned suddenly stormy. logan's responding smile feels rather sunny.

"see you at 5:30," logan says, and roman tugs jess along, to do whatever it is that they'll do.

logan brushes his fingers against his cheek with his free hand, and then he opens up the top of his shake, ready to eat his whipped cream as he walks home.

there's no cherry. roman must have stolen before he'd gotten there. logan spares a moment to wonder if he'd be able to taste it, if roman had directed his kiss just a few inches to the left—

logan clears his throat and hurries his way home.

his phone pings, then, with a notification from his other father, reading Happy birthday!

(logan doesn’t answer. logan never really answers. he’s sick of his other father swinging in and out of logan’s life when he feels like it, and he’s sick of the way his other father treats patton, like everything’s the same as it was when they were sixteen, and he’s sick of the way that his other father bolts and leaves his dad upset, and he’s just. he’s sick of it. so he doesn’t answer.)

he distracts himself by doing homework—his dad said he'd swing by the studio to pick up roman on his way back from the inn—so he loses himself in making a decent dent in his latin homework and reviewing some of the math material from today when he hears clattering on the stairs.

"shoot," he mutters under his breath, carefully marking his page. "i know, i know, i should get ready, i'm nearly—"

his voice dies in his throat.

it's not like he's never seen roman dressed up before, but for some reason, it's different, because he's wearing logan's colors. he's wearing indigo most prominently, his shirt, and black, his coat, and a lighter blue, his tie. he almost does a double take. logan's so used to him in his signature reds and whites and golds, he barely even knew that roman had cool colors in his wardrobe outside of dance costumes. it shouldn't be different but it is and—

("do you think he'll like it?" roman had asked patton shyly in the car.

"he'll love it," patton had said gently, not mentioning how roman has a boyfriend, or how his son would love anything roman wore or did, because he was roman.)

"you look," logan says, and swallows. he’s half-risen from his chair. when did he do that? and there's an odd jolt in his stomach. he's probably coming down with something. "good. you look good."

roman smiles, flits over to him, and rises to kiss logan on the cheek again, a fond little greeting he punctuates with a cheery "siete," and says, "thanks, logan."

"i should get ready," logan says, looking down at his chilton uniform.

"i wanna pick what you wear," roman says immediately.

logan heaves a sigh, but sits on his bed, with a sort of go on then gesture, and roman squeals happily and starts digging through logan's ties and dress shirts.

logan's half-expecting roman to pick something in white and red and gold for him, but no—roman pulls out one of his favorite black shirts and his favorite tie, complete with black waistcoat and jacket.

"classic logan," he decides, and hands over his choices. logan begins to change.

(it's not like they haven't done this, either—changed in front of each other. years of sleepovers and swimming outings and logan recruited to backstage crew and helping roman through quick changes. but now, roman feels the urge to turn his back—like it's suddenly become intimate now. which is ridiculous. he has a boyfriend. this thing with logan is—)

"satisfactory?" logan says, as he fastens the final button of his shirt and drapes his tie over his neck, under his collar.

"hang on, i wanna try doing a fancy knot," roman says, stepping forward, and logan drops his hands and tilts his chin up. he can look down enough to see roman biting his lip in concentration, though.

"look at you, you dapper young gentlemen!" patton says, when roman's tightening the knot and buttoning his waistcoat and smoothing his hands over logan's shoulders, smoothing away imaginary lint. (roman tries to tell himself it's not an excuse to touch him.)

logan turns to investigate himself in the mirror. roman has put a fancy, different knot in his tie, something other than his usual windsor. he brushes his fingers against where the tie's wound over and over itself.

"what's this knot called?" logan says.

"something i know and you don't, we should celebrate this as a new holiday," roman teases. "it's an eldredge."

he tilts his head. it seems fitting for a special occasion. he tells roman so.

"aw, thanks, sheriff of knottingham," roman teases, kisses logan on the cheek with an "ocho." before spinning back to see patton, hovering in the doorway, fingers pressed against his smiling lips.

"should we get going?" logan asks, clearing his throat.

"right, right, your grandma will kill me if we're late!" patton says. "but i figured, since it's technically your birthday, i could give you this early."

he brings something out from behind his back, shuffling a little to hold something else there, but logan's eyes have focused in on the present, wrapped in space-themed wrapping paper.

"thank you," he says in a rush, lest he get lectured on manners, and now he gets to find one out and—

he tears it open with a ferocious kind of glee, and falters.

"do you like it?" patton asks.

"it's a puzzle, you know i like puzzles," logan retorts.

it's true. he does like puzzles. but this does not fit the previous pattern of particularly sentimental gifts from patton established over the past fifteen years he's received presents on his birthday. it's a space puzzle, yes. it's something he enjoys, yes.

sentimental? not particularly.

"you'll have to solve it later," patton tells him.

"right, right, right," logan says. "we need to get going."

"right," patton says. then he bites his lip and lifts his camera from behind his back.

"no," logan groans, at the same time roman is putting on his most picturesque grin and tugging logan closer by the waist.

"i'll be quick about it!" patton defends, but logan has definitely heard that excuse before and it is a lie. oh god. especially if roman is in the pictures. roman loves having photos taken of himself, he's an absolute perfectionist about them so he takes approximately one million photos of himself (no he is NOT exaggerating) and then narrows down from there. how can logan possibly be in—

logan pastes on a smile rather than finish that thought.

⁂

hard cut to patton biting his lip as they pull up to the mansion.

"i told you we should have gotten going," logan tsks.

"we'll be forgiven once i mention pictures," patton says, unbuckling his seatbelt. "okay, um, roman, turn up the charming to eleven, i'm sure she'll love you because you're logan's friend. you're a natural at this. also please keep logan entertained. logan, i know these parties aren't your favorite—"

"ugh."

"—but behave, we're having the sideshire extravaganza tomorrow."

"dad, i should warn you," logan says, as they get out of the car, "i think dee slange will be here."

patton stiffens. "that dee slange?"

"it's not a common name, dad."

"she invited," patton began heatedly, before he huffs, shaking his head and muttering to himself, "i will not fight with a teenager at my son's birthday party, i will not fight with a teenager at my son's birthday party—"

"i could," roman suggests.

"no," logan and patton both chorus, and logan steps forward to knock at the door.

the door swings open almost immediately, like she was peeking through the window. she's beaming.

"there he is, the birthday boy," she declares.

"hi, grandma," logan says, as they step inside. "this is roman prince, he's my—my friend."

emily's eyes sharpen in a way that patton is familiar with at that particular stumble, but roman sweeps forward before she can say anything, taking her proffered hand and bowing to kiss the back of it.

"ma'am," roman says, having taken patton's advice. "it is an honor to meet you. thank you for being gracious enough to invite me to your beautiful home."

emily looks immediately mollified. "well, it's nice to meet you, too. i should have known a friend of logan's would have proper etiquette."

etiquette, roman mouths at logan as soon as her back is turned. logan pulls a face.

"wow, mom, you really went all out," patton says, attempting to shuffle out of the way of a pair of caterers toting trays as some servants straightened up the room.

"well, i wanted everything to be perfect," she says. "what do you think?"

"it looks great," patton says. he wants to keep the peace, he wants it so badly, and—

"grandma, i think i might give roman a bit of a tour, is that all right?" logan says.

"we'll call you down as soon as the first guests get here," patton says, and roman grins, bowing and gesturing the way ahead for logan.

"after you," he says, in a deep voice.

(as soon as they have rounded a corner, logan shoves him a little, which turns into a jostling session, which nearly turns into a hand slapping fight but they're spotted by a pair of decorators just in time to realize where they are.)

they do get called down, right as roman is attempting to bribe logan with even more birthday kisses to convince him to pull off a heist so he can steal a sword. logan is grateful, because his cheeks were so warm it was likely indicative of an incoming fever or something. not for any other reason.

"okay," patton says, juggling glasses as they descend the steps. "shirley temple with extra cherries for roman, a sprite for logan, and—"

"what are you drinking?" roman asks. patton looks momentarily guilty, before tipping his glass towards them so they can smell it. they both pull identical faces at the strength of it.

"sazerac," he says, so no one can hear. it's the strongest cocktail he knows of that can masquerade as just a fancy drink. "i might need you to drive."

"got it," logan says.

"i'd recommend sticking to the foods you can recognize that don't smell funny," he says, in the same undertone. "um, roman, logan's grandparents will probably drag him away, so—"

"i'll stick with one of you, got it," roman says. "how often do you think i should slip into spanish to make the old white people uncomfortable?"

patton looks severely tempted by this offer.

"logan!" emily says, interrupting the conversation before they could settle on a specific code word or gesture. "there you are. come, there's some people i want you to meet."

logan gives roman a help look as he's tugged away. behind roman and patton, a voice says, "patton?"

"yeah?" he says absently, turning, and then— "oh my god! oh, mitzie! wow, i haven't seen you since—"

"your seventh month!"

"jesus christ," roman says, mouth hanging slightly open.

"i was going to say high school, but okay," patton says, shooting roman a patton-ted dad look.

"oh, no, did i say something rude?" she asks, distressed.

"no, no—"

"no, i did, i said something rude," she frets. "i've been trying to work on that."

"well, we've all got things to work on," patton tries.

"ever since my divorce, that's been my line of thinking," mitzie says, nodding rapturously. "you know, i just—i just want to grow."

"yep."

"wow. patton sanders, the scandal g—um, person!"

roman's eyes narrow dangerously.

"now, tell me," she continues, "whatever happened with christopher?"

"oh," patton says. "well, he's out in california, and—"

"oh, god, i'm so sorry, is this painful for you to talk about?!"

"um, well—"

"when did he last call you?!"

"god, you're making progress with that rude thing," roman says, and mitzie blinks.

"do i know you?"

"this is roman prince, he's a good friend of logan's," patton says, happy to change the subject.

mitzie blinks. "who?"

"logan? my kid!" he says proudly, and turns to point at where logan is surrounded by a gaggle of old women.

"oh, wow!" she says. "you can really see the christopher in him, can't you?"

"he's like a carbon copy of patton," roman says, frowning. patton takes a healthy gulp of his sazerac.

"you know what, mitz, it's been great to see you," patton says, "but i see someone i wanted to introduce roman to, if you'll excuse me."

they make a retreat.

"are they all like that?" roman says.

"oh, no," patton says. "not all the time, it's usually—"

roman's staring at him, like, uh-huh, suuuure. patton fidgets, and says in a lowered voice, "this is the first big party i've gone to other than the yearly thanksgiving and christmas parties since logan was born."

"oh," roman says, and that absurdly strong cocktail is starting to make sense now.

"yeah," patton says. "so i'm just a little... nervous. that's all."

logan has managed to circle back, holding a tiny pile of envelopes and looking confused.

"i'll take those," patton says, scooping the pile out of his hands and tucking them into an inside pocket of his jacket. "how are things going so far?"

"i think one of grandma's friends just asked me if i wanted to go for a round of golf, even after i told her i don't play."

patton grins. "big beehive hairdo?"

"yes."

"that's gloria," patton says, and imitates his father's tone in a whisper. "the most odious woman alive. i would have thought that they'd squirmed out of feeling obligated to invite her to most things, by now. god knows mom came up with thirty different schemes when i was in school."

the evening passes like that—patton or roman holding down a corner as logan's trotted around and shown off to various guests. patton's cheeks get pinker and pinker and he gets gigglier throughout the night. roman listens raptly to patton's decade-old gossip, or tries his best to make the old women giggle and blush and pinch his cheeks, or does his best, most daring getaways to sneak off as many birthday kisses in private to logan as he possibly can.

well, it passes like that mostly until logan retreats to their corner and frowns to see patton alone.

"where'd roman go?"

"i think he went to brave the catering," patton says, and presses the back of his hand to his cheek, feeling how cool it is compared to his face. "is it warm in here to you?"

"you're intoxicated," logan says, "and i am not, so no."

"oh, that's what it is," patton says musingly.

(patton's not much of a drinker—he's got a kid at home, after all. he has the occasional glass of wine at a meal, if it's sweet enough, and he doesn't like beer. cocktails on occasion, and almost never more than one. he left most of his drinking days back in his wild teenage years, though virgil did take him out for his twenty-first birthday... but that's a whole other story.)

"i think i might check the catering too," logan says. "see if there's anything other than cheese, crackers, and grapes that are, you know. edible."

"godspeed," patton says, and tilts his cup at logan in a toast.

"you're all right here?"

"i'm fine," patton says fondly. "i'll hold down the chairs, and all your presents, go on."

logan nods, says, "drink some water," and turns on his heel to hunt after roman.

he's waylaid by his grandfather and a group of dour businessmen, who present him with near-identical envelopes that he thanks them for by rote and tucks into his coat's pockets before he chances upon the library, glancing in, and—

logan's striding forward before he can think of it, and dee turns, smiling at logan smarmily.

"roman," logan says.

"hey!" roman says. "i was just talking to someone from your new school, um—"

"dee," logan says. "dee slange."

the smile drops off roman's face. he takes a brief step back. "oh."

"now, now," dee says to roman. "we were getting along so well, weren't we? i see you haven't heard the best things about me. logan, tsk tsk. wasn't this invite a gesture toward letting bygones be bygones?"

"you know full well i didn't invite you," logan snaps.

dee spreads his gloved hands. "and yet here i am."

"yes," logan says distastefully. "you've made your appearance, now go."

dee smirks, tweaking his bowtie. "perhaps i will."

"you should."

"and perhaps you shouldn't tell roman what opinions he should have, he's a big boy who can think on his own," dee says. "or do you not think so?"

"get out."

dee laughs mockingly, even as he leaves the library.

"ugh, what a creep," roman huffs. "i can't believe i thought he was nice."

"he's good at getting into people's good graces," logan says. "good at telling people the exact things they do or don't want to hear, depending on which will further his own interests."

"he wasn't dressed quite as much like a disney villain today," roman says. "i thought patton said he looked like a disney villain."

"he usually pairs a cape with the bowler hat and gloves," logan says dryly.

"oh, okay. now i can see it."

logan realizes that they're now alone in the library, with no fear of interruptions, for the first time since they've been called down to greet the guests. logan wants to reach out and touch roman's shoulder, amongst other things, but instead he sighs and clenches his hands in fists behind his back. he has a boyfriend, he reminds himself, he has a boyfriend, he kisses you because it's tradition and he has a boyfriend now.

“how is everything going? with jess,” leaps out of logan’s mouth before he can really even stop it, and roman looks startled.

“i—oh. i mean it’s.... going,” he says, and then, hastily, “going well!”

“oh?”

“he’s been,” roman says, and glances around, then back up at logan to look him in the eyes,. “i know the way the first date ended didn’t give the best first impression, but he’s been a perfect gentleman. i really... it really is going well.”

logan isn’t sure if he’s pleased that his best friend’s relationship is going well—he isn’t lying, logan can tell by the look in his eye, he can tell that roman really likes him—or, well...

“good,” logan says. “i hope i wasn’t interrupting anything, earlier today. when you met me at the bus stop.”

“oh, no,” roman says. “no, no. we’d just facetimed a friend of his, from back home. we’d just finished when i realized the time and i figured it would be nice to meet you.”

“a friend of his?” logan repeats.

“yeah,” roman says, and smiles up at him. “he reminds me of you, kinda. well, him and jess remind me of me and you. they’ve been best friends since they were in kindergarten, too.”

logan feels the corner of his lip quirk up, bitter, without his meaning to. he reminds me of you. jess and his decidedly platonic friend, who he introduced to his brand-new boyfriend.

“i’d like you to get to know him better,” roman says. “i know that your schedules are kind of exactly the opposite, but—“

“no, of course,” logan says. “of course. if it’ll make you happy.”

and he means that. really. if jess will make roman happy...

then it means that roman will be happy. and that’s what’s important to logan.

roman smiles at him, and there’s something in his eyes that makes logan want to tilt his head, get in closer, investigate, but roman turns his head to glance around the library.

“gotta say,” he says, voice light, “i’d think a few more swords would make me a bit happier. bet we can steal up the stairs right now and make our daring escape from the latest gathering of the walking dread.”

when he turns his head back, his eyes are glittering with mischief, with a joke. the prior thing must have been a fluke. an effect of the lighting. he supposes.

"i know this party can't be very fun for you," logan says. roman shrugs.

"it's not so bad," he says. "your dad's getting tipsy, and that's kinda funny. plus he apparently has a really good memory for super old gossip, i've been hearing all kinds of stories."

"speaking of stories?" logan hedges, and roman grins.

"ah, you've been unusually quiet about it this year."

"just one hint," logan bursts out.

(this is a tradition too—roman is not free from logan's curiosity. roman traditionally writes him a story for his birthday. for example, last year's featured logan gallivanting through old-timey london with hercule poirot. every year the setting is different. every year it seems to get bigger and better.)

"nope," roman says, grinning. "it'd give everything away—"

his eyes widen, and logan looks triumphant.

"you've linked presents!"

"i didn't say that!"

"no, you said it'd give everything away," logan says, eyes gleaming like they always do when he gets a hint of a mystery, the bittersweet news of roman’s relationship with jess almost forgotten. (almost.)

"which means you'd give someone else's present away. whose is it? virgil's? dad's? both?"

"oh, my god, just take me somewhere i can find decent food in this house," roman grumbles, leading the way out of the library.

"but you probably collaborated with them," logan continues, even as he's practically skipping with the reveal of a clue, a clue, a clue!!!

(roman's smiling. it's probably because it's just funny to see logan act undignified. not because of the pleased gleam in his eyes or the way he smiles at roman or the way he turns gleeful about a mystery or anything.)

(shut up.)

"which means that there's likely a common theme or thread to the presents. patton got me a puzzle, which means i could attempt to deduce your story idea with that clue and work from there—"

"logan, there you are!"

logan nearly groans and roman barely manages to stifle a laugh.

"i think it's time you said a few words to your guests."

logan turns from gleeful to slightly panicked so fast it makes roman a little dizzy.

"what?"

"just a little speech to say thank you and tell everyone how it feels to be one year older," emily says.

logan clears his throat. "i'm not one for particularly grand gestures."

"no, but i am," comes out of roman's mouth. "would it be all right if i did a toast instead, mrs. sanders? it's a bit of a tradition back at sideshire for—well, for someone else to toast someone on their birthday."

particularly, it's tradition for patton to toast logan on his birthday, but, you know. partial truths are still true. right?

"logan can thank everyone as they're leaving," roman says, warming to the idea, and logan looks a touch relieved—that's a social script he has memorized, not something sprung on him willy-nilly.

"well—"

"great!" roman chirps over her, grabs his mostly abandoned shirley temple from patton, and an abandoned spoon before she can say anything else. he gently clangs the spoon against it with a subtle ting-ting-ting that has the room quieting obediently.

roman clears his throat, and puts on his most dazzling smile.

"hello!" he says, jovial. "i'm afraid i haven't met most of you yet, so i may as well introduce myself. i'm roman prince. my best friend is someone who happens to be turning sixteen today—just there," he says, pointing unnecessarily. logan's reclaimed his sprite, staring at roman, like the rest of the room is.

does roman love performing? yes, of course, he's a prince, it's in his blood. does he still get a little nervous? yes, of course, he's a human person, it's in his blood.

does it all fall away, when he focuses on how logan's staring at him intently? well. yes, of course. he's roman prince. it's in his blood. how he feels about logan is as unchangeable as his blood.

"so, it's actually a bit of a tradition, where we're from, for someone to toast someone on their birthday," roman says. "usually, it's his dad, but today, logan's letting me take over, which i assure you is not a sentence i can say often."

a soft chuckle.

"but, um. i met logan when i was five, but a lot of my life i can't remember before he was in it," roman says. "i think a lot of it wouldn't be worth remembering, anyway, without my partner in crime, the sherlock to my john watson, the spock to my kirk, the hercule poirot to my arthur hastings. i'm really not sure who i'd be without him. i don't think i ever want to find out."

silence, now. complete and utter silence. logan's still just... staring at him. roman takes a breath in.

"logan. you're smart, you're ambitious, you're witty and clever and funny, you're stubborn as hell. you're passionate and thoughtful and intense about the things you care about. it's been an honor to be one of them. it's been an honor to grow up with you. the first sixteen years of you have been so good, i cannot wait to see how the rest of them turn out. to logan."

he lifts up his glass, and the other party-goers chorus "to logan!" and there's the clinking of glasses as people cheers and drink and roman takes a cursory sip before he steps back toward the corner, where patton had gotten out his phone to record and is pressing his fingers against his lips again, smiling huge, and logan is still staring.

"happy birthday," roman tells him.

logan's staring.

"sorry if you really wanted to make a speech, i know you sometimes like that kind of thing and i kind of took over fast."

staring.

"...hello? earth to logan?"

very suddenly, logan's arms are around him, and just like that, logan is hugging him.

logan is not a hugger. he tolerates hugs for the people around him—see roman's birthday tradition of tackling him every year, or even birthday kisses. roman initiates, logan tolerates. it's the way he is. in moments of weakness, he maybe leans into it. but roman cannot remember a single time that logan has initiated a hug.

roman can't help but close his eyes, though, and squeeze him closer, because—because logan's hugging him.

"i really mean it," roman whispers into his ear.

"i know," logan says.

"but if you tell anyone i meant it, i'll blackmail you with the fact that you hugged me. of your own free will."

"i know," logan says again, except this time there's a laugh in his voice, and he pulls away.

his lips aren't laughing. neither are his eyes. they're staring at roman, like—like he's the clue that logan wants to solve. like he's the mystery that logan wants to dissemble and lay bare and analyze breathlessly, making sure every single little detail is correct before writing an article about it, and—

"well done," emily says from behind him, delighted, and roman forces himself to turn away from logan, from that look in his eyes.

"thank you," roman says.

"are you an orator?"

"roman's the star of sideshire," patton pipes up, and oh god, patton had seen all of that, hadn't he? and patton knew. "he's a dancer and a singer and an actor. triple threat."

"are you?" emily says.

"my mother's isadora prince," he says proudly, and oh, yeah, his mom's name still gets awe and attention. take that, people who thought she wouldn't be a star.

"is she," emily says. "goodness, i wondered, it's not exactly a common last name, and logan mentions the dance studio so often..."

there's an analytical look in her eyes as she stares at him. "have you considered pursuing it professionally? ballet, i mean."

"a lot," roman admits. "i'd want to go back and teach at the studio, too. even if i don't make principal dancer somewhere—"

"you will," logan says. "if you go out for it, you would."

roman smiles at him, just a little.

"i simply must introduce you to my friend at tisch," she muses, and roman nearly chokes on his tongue.

"the—the new york tisch?" roman asks. the widely-regarded-as-one-of-the-best-ballet-programs-in-the-country, tisch?? his-wildest-secret-dream-top-choice-for-college, tisch?!?!?!

"my dear, i'm sure you'll be remarkable," she says warmly. "but when you ascend to stardom, you just remember who discovered you."

roman's over the moon. he's over the stars, in fact. logan and patton exchange a slightly uneasy glance behind his back.

the party passes pretty smoothly from there. logan stands at the door and thanks each person for coming. he returns to find roman and patton and his grandparents in the living room, chit-chatting.

"is there anything we can do to help, mom?" patton asks her warmly.

"no, no, no," emily says. "the servants will take care of it."

"right, yeah," patton says.

"thank you again for inviting me," roman says. "and—and thank you again, for offering to talk to someone at tisch."

"talent like yours, my dear, should never be hidden," emily says. "i must see you dance sometime, and meet your mother."

"the sideshire dance studio loans out with the ballet here in the city for the nutcracker every december," roman says.

"then i have seen you before!" she says. "richard and i go every year."

"i'm the sugar plum cavalier this year," he says proudly, and her eyebrows shoot up.

"my, aren't you young for it?"

"like i said," logan says. "he's very, very good."

roman smiles bashfully at logan, who smiles back.

patton then says something suddenly that he will blame on the alcohol tomorrow.

"mom, you and dad should come to logan's party in sideshire tomorrow."

she looks startled. even a little shocked. then—

"well, that would be... lovely."

"it'll, um," patton says, scrambling, because he just invited his parents to his house for the first time EVER. "it'll be different than this one, but it'll be fun, and—"

"logan is my grandson," she says. "we'll be there."

"right," patton says. "um, great. it's at seven."

"you boys should all get going," she says. she still looks slightly confused, but—pleased? "it's a long drive."

logan tolerates his hug, roman kisses her hand again, and patton says, "um, boys, why don't you warm up the car? i'll be right out."

they take the keys. then patton does something that shocks emily even more.

he leans forward to hug her—quick, bright, heartfelt.

"i'm really happy we're getting to know each other, mom."

"i already know you," emily says. "you aren't some huge mystery to me, you're my son."

it isn't the usual barb that might be, even if there is a slightly sharp undertone to it. but that's better than nothing. especially since she said my son—no hesitation, no sneer. matter-of-fact. my son.

"well," patton says, and draws back smiling. "everyone can get to know someone better, even someone they've known for years. learn something new every day, right?"

"i suppose," she says, then, "you aren't driving, are you?"

patton laughs sheepishly and rubs the back of his neck. "no, no, logan is."

"good."

"the cocktails are stronger than i remember."

"you ordered sazeracs."

"mom—"

"they have absinthe, patton, i really don't know what you could have expected other than an absurdly strong cocktail. are you always this libatious at parties, or is my party a special occasion?"

"okay, mom, gotta go, bye!"

#text #wyliwf #moxiety #logince #sanders sides #sanders sides fanfiction #my fic

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iamkatehardy · 5 years

Text

Chaos (Bane x Reader) - Chapter 6

Warnings: Swearing, Bane fluff

Author’s Notes: I’m sorry I took so long to update this 😥 I’m still trying to dive in the universe of this story again 😜 Hope you Enjoy it ❤

You can find the Previous Chapters in my masterlist , go check them out 😘 Your feedback is always appreciated, including criticism.

Tags: @markusstraya

Chapter 6

As time passed by, you let your walls come down, and so did Bane. He allowed you to visit him in his private chambers in the sewers, where no one in their right mind would dare to go, and you got to know him better by observing his “man cave”, and by his behavior when you were alone there, on in your penthouse.

Bane was far more than muscles and cruelty; you started to see that more clearly by the way he treated you. He wasn’t the typical sweet, but he had his own ways of being lovely and showing you he cared, when he wanted to.

You knew that having feelings for Bane was a terrible idea, but that never stopped you anyway. You couldn’t describe these feelings you had for him, even if you wanted to, but you knew they were a dangerous mix of admiration, attachment, affection, attraction, care, engagement, and even if you didn’t want to admit it, there was a pinch of love. The more you tried to deny them, and the more you got to know Bane, the more those feelings grew.

There was some humanity left in you, but was there any humanity left in Bane? Could he understand how you felt, or see himself through your eyes? Probably not, you thought, so you decided to keep your secret to yourself. You had a mission, it was crucial to set your emotions aside, and focus on your role in Bane’s plans for Gotham.

Jonathan Crane often popped up in the sewers, to discuss business before making any decision, he knew exactly what would happen to him in case his actions displeased Bane. Bane often received him, but if he wasn’t fit to do so, you did. This was the case.

“Hello, miss Bane…” – He smirked, mocking you.

“You know, I do have a name, and that’s not it mate.” – You didn’t even bother looking at him, and put diamond rings on your fingers.

“I need to see Bane.”

“No shit, Sherlock…” – You smirked and did the same on the other hand. – “Look, he’s not available right now. So, you can either wait or tell me what you want and I deliver him the message.”

“I believe it is better if I talk to him in person…”

“Hmmm… We’ll see about that.” – You wrapped your hands in black cloth and then clenched your fists, throwing a punch and breaking a pile of bricks with a blow. – “This is really nice! I feel like I could even beat Bane’s ass now!” – You looked at the wraps in your hands and laughed.

“Can you?” – Heavy steps could be heard coming from behind you, you saw a shadow and turned. It was Bane.

“Well, no… But just because I wouldn’t want to hurt you.” – You smirked. – “You’ve got an unexpected visitor.” – You pointed to Crane.

“I’m seeing…. To what do I owe the pleasure, Doctor Crane?” – He crossed his arms.

“I think I found the last of Batman’s disciples.”

“I’m all ears.” – Bane opened his arms, waiting for answers.

“John Blake, some fucking detective who’s still out there, plotting against you…”

“Alright, and what do you suggest we do to him?” – Bane observed him, with narrowed eyes.

“I suggest we skip the whole Court thing. Seeing a disciple of Batman might give stupid ideas to some people.”

“Very well…” – Bane looked down, pondering.

“(Y/N).” – Crane called you.

“Let me guess… I fit somewhere in your plans.” – You clasped your hands and sucked your lower lip.

“I thought maybe you could fool him. You could lure him, in whichever way occurs you, and then finish him.”

“Hmm… So, let’s get some things clear here. First of all, how can ONE single guy represent a threat to our army? How can he be a threat when Gotham is completely immersed in chaos?”

“He could…”

You interrupted him.

“Second, I don’t fucking seduce or fool people…”

“Lure…” – He adjusted his glasses.

“Seduce, lure, whatever fancy word you chose to use, to describe what you want me to do. That’s not how I work, I’m no fucking bait.”

The plan of you seducing Blake didn’t please Bane, at all, but he wouldn’t say it out loud. Relief, this was what he felt when you denied to play along in Crane’s plan.

“Last but not least, I WON’T kill John Blake, YOU won’t kill John Blake , NO ONE will. You can give him a lesson if you want to, but you won’t kill him. Honor is something I value, and he might be the last creature in Gotham who possesses such virtue. We all know how to be an orphan is, and how devastating it can be if you have no one to cling to. Blake is the only person who takes care of those children, the only one they can count on… And yes, I’m a fucking bitch, but not enough to be the one taking that away from those kids. And I’ll kill whoever does. Are we clear?” – You got closer and Jonathan swallowed hard, that was the only answer you needed. - “Good.” – You turned on your heel and left that room.

“I think you better leave; we’ll decide what to do later.” – Bane told Crane.

Jonathan Crane left the sewers, and Bane searched for you. He knew Crane’s plan upset you.

“(Y/N)?” – He came to his chambers, finding you sitting on his bed, and sitting beside you.

“I’m sorry; this was the only place where I knew I’d be alone.”

He rested his hand on your knee and you lifted your head, meeting his gaze.

“Do you have feelings for that John Blake? Is that why you don’t want to kill him?”

“WHAT? No, I don’t have feeling for John Blake , Bane, I don’t even fucking know him, just heard about him. I have feelings for…” – You sighed heavily, stopping yourself on time. – “Listen, I explained you both why, I meant that. You had a rough childhood too, you rescued Talia because you didn’t want her to have the same rough childhood you did, so I hope you understand my point here… It’s not about John Blake, it’s about the children he’s protecting.”

Bane looked down at you and pulled you closer to his chest.

“Let’s not think about that. I don’t want you to be sad, ok? I won’t do something you disapprove (Y/N).”

You held onto Bane’s arm and planted a kiss on it.

“Thanks for listening to me, when no one else does. It means a lot.” – You bit your lower lip and hid your face in his chest.

Bane viewed you as a strong woman, but even though you were both criminals, sometimes he couldn’t help but seeing you as the most fragile thing in his world, which lead him to feel an immense need of protecting you. He let his guards down around you; sometimes you could see the man behind the mask. Being with you, protecting you, his presence in your life…It wasn’t about having power over you, it was about love and a desperate need he had to make things right with you, hoping things between you would work.

“Do you want to the stay the night?” – He asked with a smile in his eyes, stroking your hair. Bane was getting used to your presence, to your smile, to your smell.

“I do.” – You turned your head lightly, just enough to be able to kiss his hand.

He tucked you in his bed, laying by your side, his elbow resting on the pillow, with his face on his hand, just watching you as you fell asleep. Bane didn’t sleep that night; he just drifted in his own thoughts. He knew the weight of his secrets, but what consequences would they have, if you found out about them?

You knew something was going on , because Bane was acting weird; sometimes he was the sweetest, other days he was distant and seemed to lose his typical focus and control. You wouldn’t ask why, you’d just wait for him to get it off his chest if he wanted to.

In the next morning, when you woke up, Bane wasn’t there anymore. You got up and searched for him.

“Bane?”

You heard nothing but deafening silence. Maybe he was out, you thought, although he didn’t usually leave without you, or at least not without warning you. You kept searching, and found him exercising; he didn’t really need to, he just did it when he needed to unwind. This only confirmed the suspicion that something was off.

“I thought you had left the sewers already…” – You sat down, watching him.

“As you can see, I didn’t.” – He just kept doing an insane amount of push ups.

You realized he wasn’t in the mood for talking so you got up.

“Ok…” – You turned to leave.

He got up and you could hear his steps behind you.

“When this mission ends, what will that mean for us?” – His hand rested on your waist, and he gently turned you, making you face him.

“One of two things…” – You smiled and he looked at you expectantly. – “Success or death.”

“That’s not what I…” – You hear a sigh, muffled by his mask. – “I guess you’re right.”

“I always am…” – Your fingers brushed his forearm, in a gentle caress.

“But will we still be together?” – His eyes followed your fingers and then stared back into your eyes.

“Maybe in Blackgate, maybe in Arkham Asylum, maybe in the cemetery…” – You wrinkled your nose. – “But yes, we’ll be together. I’ll stand by you, as long as you want us to.”

Bane wasn’t sure if your answer made it easier or harder for him to make decisions. He was now torn between the two women of his life: he wanted to help Talia with her goal, but now he cared about you as well; he didn’t know if he wanted to be a part of that suicidal mission anymore, much less if it would cost your life, when you didn’t even know it would. He used to think his only purpose was destruction, but when you came into his life, he started to wonder if there could be more, if there could be a whole new life beside you.

Your moment was interrupted by the frenzy in the main part of the sewers. You could hear Bane’s men shouting and calling him, in the distance.

“Trouble in paradise…” – You rolled your eyes and walked with Bane, to check what was going on.

Heavily armed men were dragging a familiar figure, with green hair and heavy makeup, who laughed uncontrollably.

“Bane, we found him roaming around the sewers.”

“And what would you want from me, clown?” – Bane crossed his arms, clearly not satisfied, and you feared what he could do to Joker.

“Nothing.” – He plastered an evil, maniac smile on his face, liking his lips and then looked at you. – “But you, I would love to have a word with you!” – He released from the men’s grip. – “There’s no need for such hostility; we’re among friends, right?” – He shrugged and slid his hand on his greasy hair.

“What are you doing here?” – You looked at him, surprised he was there.

“Oh, my Queen of Hearts, I expected a warmer welcome… But I can explain, I went to your house, and you weren’t there, so I thought you’d be here, with your…” – He clasped his hands, with a dark expression, and looked down at them. – “Partner.” – He said this last word bitterly, almost venomously, and then looked back up.

“What do you want?” – You came closed.

“I would like to talk to you…” – His cold fingers traced your cheek, giving you chills, while he looked at Bane and his men. – “Privately.”

“Hmm…”

“And with no guns on my face, please, that’s extremely uncomfortable.” – He rolled his eyes, licking his lips.

“There’s no way…” – Bane begun to talk, but you interrupted him.

“I got this.” – You dropped all the guns you had on you. – “Shall we?” – You gestured with your hand, showing Joker the way.

“See? That’s how I like it!” – He put a hand on your waist while walking with you, knowing it made Bane go crazy, but that he wouldn’t do anything, because of you.

“Are you mad? Bane has a short temper, he could fucking kill you.” – You told him, as you arrived a more secluded part of the sewers, where you could both talk without unwanted guests.

“No, I’m not mad. I’m just a different kind of sane (Y/N). And he won’t kill me, because maybe I’ll kill him first.”

You gave him a disapproving look.

“No, you won’t.”

“You’re right, I won’t. YOU will.” – There it was, that dangerous smile of who had something evil in mind.

“What? That’s it, you fucking lost what was left of your mind.”

“I didn’t, and soon you’ll understand me.” – He took a detonator out of his left pocket, moving it from one hand to another and chanting the word “Boom”.

“What’s that?” – You stuttered, because you feared how far his madness would go. He threw the detonator to you, and you caught it.

“I think you know what that is, but please, let me describe it in other words: That, my dear, is your chance to revenge from someone who has been playing you aaaaaaall along, deceiving you from the beginning.”

“Are you nuts?” – You frowned. – “Forget I asked, you are.”

“I know you don’t believe me, even though I’m telling the truth, but soon I’ll have proof.” – He circled you, liking his lips quickly. – “Blind trust is a weakness, sometimes. Somewhere along the way you forgot this valuable lesson, maybe because you let your feelings get in the way…”

“What, I have no fee…”

“Come on, you can try, but you can’t to lie to me (Y/N). But more important, don’t lie to yourself. Now, as I was saying, those feelings made you gullible enough to think you were his true partner.”

“I am!” – You clenched your fists.

“No, you’re not. I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but he’s loyal to someone else. He’s just playing you, you’re a mean to an end. I’m here just to open your eyes.”

“I don’t believe you. Why are you trying to turn me against him?” – You looked at him, on the brink of tears, feeling frustrated.

“I’m not. I’m trying to make you see the truth, which you deliberately chose to ignore.”

You sat down, not knowing what to believe anymore.

“Talia al Ghul, an... old friend of the big guy there.”

“I’ve heard about her…” – You swallowed hard, Joker’s story seemed more believable now.

“She’s in Gotham, I’ve been told. SHE’s his partner; she’s the one he’ll give his life for.”

“No, he would’ve told me.” – You barked.

“Oh my fool little girl… How would he get you into that suicidal mission of him, if he did? Oh, yes, in case you didn’t know, that bomb he threatens Gotham with, it’ll blow, no matter what. I bet he didn’t tell you that, did he? And guess who’s in charge… Not Bane. Talia uses Bane, Bane uses you… Like a cycle of fools.”

“That’s impossible.” – You closed your eyes, trying to convince yourself it wasn’t the truth, but the seed of doubt was already feeding your fears and worries, poisoning your soul.

“(Y/N), when the time comes, I will give you proof. You’ll be the one to push that button when I do, not me. You have more right to do it than I do. Push the button, and he, his tank, and his fucking lies will turn to ashes…” – He whispered the last part in your ear. – “ I’ll let you think about the subject, but you’ll hear from me soon” – He turned and disappeared in the darkness.

You just sat there, putting the detonator on your pocket and thinking about the remote possibility Joker was being honest with you, but it couldn’t be, you couldn’t bear such betrayal, not from Bane.

Sometimes you thought Bane could read your thoughts; anytime you were thinking about him, he just appeared.

“Has the clown left yet?” – He inspected the surroundings.

“Yes.” – You were looking at the floor, with saddened eyes and heart.

Bane sat by your side, turning his head, to face you.

“What’s wrong?” – He could read you too well.

“Nothing.” – You tried to lie.

“We both know he said or did something that upset you.” – He played with a lock of your hair.

“It doesn’t matter now. “ – You smiled faintly.

“I don’t like when he’s around you…” – Bane took your face between his hands, making you face him.

“He didn’t mean any harm, don’t worry, alright?” – Your hand involuntarily moved to caress his.

“Even so… I don’t like him or any other fucking idiot around you.” – He looked down, in deep thought.

“Why is that? I’m a big girl , I can take care of myself.” – You giggled, kissing his shoulder.

“Because you’re mine (Y/N), just mine, and I want to be the one to take care of you.” – His eyes darted back at you.

For a moment there was only silence. The doubt that was eating you from the inside was gone for a little while.

Your fingers intertwined on his. His eyes were different now, they were softer than ever, the portrayal of who he really was, and of how much he really cared about you. Your pensive look turned into a warm smile, the one he would kill or die for. There was something about his gaze you knew you could never find in someone else, as if in that moment your souls had connected. Could someone who made you feel like this be able to betray you?

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