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bluejaysandblackbats · 3 months

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Catch and Release

Fandom: DC Comics, Batfam

Summary: AU where Jason doesn't die in the explosion and he and Tim end up attending the same high school months later.

Chapters: 8/?

Characters: Jason Todd, Bruce Wayne, Alfred Pennyworth, Tim Drake, Dick Grayson, Barbara Gordon, Sebastian Ives, Jack Drake, Janet Drake

Relationships: TBA

Additional Tag: Jason Todd Lives, Jason Todd-centric, POV Jason Todd, POV First Person, Tim Drake Has Issues, Tim Drake Has Issues, Tim Drake is Not Robin, Jason Todd is Not Robin (Anymore), Bruce Wayne Needs a Hug, Alfred Pennyworth is the Best, Alfred Pennyworth Knows, Stalker Tim Drake, Jason Todd Has Chronic Pain, Jason Todd Has PTSD, Angst with a Happy Ending, Unlikely Friends, Injury Recovery, Emotional Baggage, Rage, Bruce Wayne is Bad at Communicating

Chapter Eight: Pain in the Head

I hung out with Tim's friends and worked on character sheets. I spent three hours there before I told Tim I had to go. I had a great time. Don't get me wrong. But I was nauseous and didn't want to be sick at his house. Ives planned on sleeping over at Tim's place, so I didn't have to feel bad about leaving him home alone. I got a ride to the manor, and Bruce sat on the porch waiting for me as soon as I arrived. "Where have you been?" Bruce asked.

"I could ask you the same thing, Bruce... Can I go inside now?" I asked.

"You're pale," Bruce replied.

I wanted to lie down and nap, but I could tell Bruce didn't plan on letting things go. I didn't have the time or energy to explain myself, so I did what any reasonable teenager would do. I made myself throw up and burst into tears. "Jason," Bruce sighed before helping me to the family room. He couldn't accuse me of anything while I was sick. That and throwing up stopped the onset of a migraine.

"I'm so sorry, Bruce-."

"It's fine... When is the last time you took-. I swore I wouldn't ask you that," Bruce replied.

"I didn't think I needed them anymore... I thought I'd been feeling better lately," I replied. Bruce felt my forehead.

"I've been home for two days, and you-. Jason, I'm sorry for walking out on you. I wasn't trying to hurt you... I'm-. Our bond is different from the bond I have with anyone else. I'm holding on for dear life with you... And I know I'm losing you. I feel like you're slipping away when I look at you.

"I can't take the thought of knowing you suffered because I chose to leave you alone that day. Jason, you're so precious to me... And I'm terrified that if I let you talk about what happened, you'll say what I've been most afraid to hear," Bruce confessed. I wasn't in the mood for a serious conversation, but he was finally willing to speak about what happened to me.

"I don't hate you... And I don't blame you for what happened. I've been trying to tell you all this time," I paused, "I'm sure Dick told you I wanna die sometimes... But you don't realize what I have to experience every day."

Bruce exhaled through his nose. "Go ahead..."

"I wake up under debris almost every day... And then I lie about my nerve pain, which I know everyone can see. By the time I get to the mirror, I'm already so disheartened by the countless efforts I've made to appear normal that I barely notice my scars anymore. When I shower, my skin still hurts like the burns are fresh, and I want to cry, but if I do, I'd never get anything done. Then, I come down for breakfast... And sometimes the medications I'm on make me so sick I don't want to eat, but I know I'd be worse off if I didn't.

"Then I go to school, and you wouldn't believe what they say about me," I swallowed hard.

"Jason-."

"But I endure it because I know I have to... What I can't stomach is the isolation. Don't ice me out, Bruce," I begged. Bruce sighed.

"I don't know how-. I can't pretend that almost losing you didn't change the entire way I had to look at our life. You can't be Robin anymore, Jason, and I feel awful for having to take that away from you," Bruce whispered.

"You're saying our, but you mean mine. How can you expect me to step down from being Robin when you can't even walk away from being Batman?" I asked.

"Jason, it's been over a year, and you're still healing. I can't risk putting you out in the field again. Gotham needs Batman-."

"Bullshit," I snapped.

"Language-." "Oh! Go to hell! I told you about all my issues, thinking you would finally see me, and I realized you're no better than the rest of them!" I yelled. I couldn't help but get mad. I should've seen it coming. He'd never had the guts to say it, but I knew this was his way of shutting me out for good. It pissed me off. I threw my crutches and hobbled upstairs.

"Jason! Jason, you can't-!"

"Screw you!" I yelled as I went to my room. I slammed the door and packed my bag. I almost forgot I felt sick. He saw me as weak. That was the worst thing he could've ever opened his mouth to admit. He was no better than everyone that gaped and gawked at me. I was his walking tragedy, and I'd be damned if I let him treat me like a ghost.

I started packing with tears in my eyes. I wanted to get out of there before I said something vile. "Jason, don't be like this! Please come out and talk to me-."

"Bruce, I need to get the hell away from you before I say something I regret!" I hollered. "And I guarantee that if you follow me, I will never come home! Leave my crutches and get away from me!" I sat down and texted Tim. He was the only person I could trust at that moment. I asked him to come to get me, and he texted me immediately. I waited in my room until Tim texted me, and I left my bedroom. Bruce left my crutches in front of the door and retreated like always. I slung my duffel across my body like a messenger bag, hoping it wouldn't throw me off balance.

I swung the door open and left it like that. Tim took my bag and opened his mouth to ask if I was okay, but he kept quiet. It was for the best because I was in a particularly heinous mood. I fell asleep in the car and woke up in Tim's guest room. He was on the floor with Ives, eating pizza. My head throbbed, and I felt sicker than I did earlier. Ives glanced at me and got up to turn the lights down. "Sorry, were we too loud?" Ives questioned.

"No, I-. How long have I been out?" I asked.

"Thirty minutes... Maybe an hour," Tim answered, "Do you need an aspirin?"

I pressed my palms against my eyelids. "No thanks... Tim, do you-? Who carried me in?" I asked.

"We both did. Tim got you out of the car but wasn't strong enough to get you up the stairs. It was a team effort," Ives answered, "You're heavier than you look." I let out a soft chuckle despite the pounding in my head.

"Know how I asked you to move in with me?" I questioned. "Could it still work if it were the other way around?"

"You wanna live here?" Tim asked. I nodded. "Alright." I was shocked. I thought he'd say no, but he looked thrilled.

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ecstarry · 2 months

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Fic: Past Lives, Chapter 3

He smiles kindly and nods in confirmation, gently releasing our intertwined fingers. As I turn to head back to my room, I felt his gaze lingering on me until the very last moment. Evan's words echo in my mind, reassuring me that allowing myself this was not a bad thing.

Once in my room, I collapse onto my bed and find myself staring blankly at the ceiling. I can do this, I repeat to myself as a mantra, the only one I can think of right now. I remain there, lost in my thoughts, until the last possible minute before I have to start getting ready. Opting for a dark green sweater and a pair of brand new black trousers, I can't help but wonder if new clothes hold any significance in heralding new beginnings.

In perfect timing, I watch as the second hand marks 7 o’clock and there’s a knock on my door. James is here.

You can read the rest of the work here

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athousandbyeol · 3 months

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heartlore. [forcebook fanfic]

kasidet thinks jiratchapong is breathtaking—or maybe it's the wine talking. but possibly, he's not the only one trying—because jiratchapong knows it's never enough—wanting.

chapter 1. / chapter 2. / chapter 3.

#thai rpf #forcebook #force jiratchapong #book kasidet #alternate universe - office #pov first person #slow romance #crushes #love at first sight #slice of life #social commentary #fluff #hurt/comfort #intimacy #stream of consciousness #this story is set in the 80s and forcebook (along with jimmysea) are slightly older than their real age by 1~2 years #this is just feelings tbvh #na writes #for forcebook

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kcvulpinestudios · 10 months

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POV: You're approaching a railroad crossing out in the Mojave Desert. I drew this piece as a fun practice with car interiors and POV shots. It turned into a mini self portrait of sorts, despite the fact that I don't drive or own a Volkswagen Beetle. Anyway, enjoy this warm sunny drive into the desert.

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elmundodeflor · 7 months

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No me queda nada, sólo el recuerdo.

Quizás, es por eso que dejo que la imaginación revolotee. Que mis manos te pinten, como si de un cuadro se tratara.

Nunca pudimos sacarnos una foto. Plasmar, casi inmortal, todo lo tangible de aquello que no nos decíamos. Pero rebusco entre los cajones. Allí, en lo profundo del alma. Hago lugar, saco las cajas polvorientas. Y aunque las palabras no resbalan, ni salen a borbotones de entre las sombras, te encuentro.

Puedo sentirte, acá conmigo. Dicen que a veces la mente bloquea las memorias que aún desgarran para mitigar el dolor. Que nos engañamos, al menos por un ratito, para que los agujeros negros no nos consuman.

Yo nunca supe engañarme, Hanji. Creo que vos podés verlo más claro que nadie. Te reías de mi hablar crudo, y me susurrabas al oído, y limabas mis asperezas— tal vez, con el afán de hacerme parecer más suave. Hacerme pensar que este corazón viejo y cansado tenía un espacio pequeño dentro del tuyo.

No me arrepiento, igualmente. De las palabras que callamos, o de no tener fotos tuyas, o de nunca haber sido digno de tu amor. Las fotos envejecen, se destiñen bajo el arrullo del tiempo. Pero yo puedo moldearte bajo mis palmas, casi como si te conociera de memoria. Si cierro los ojos, puedo bordear tus recovecos, llenarte de color.

Es que eso eras, Hanji. Una explosión del color más vivo y vibrante. El brillo de los fuegos artificiales, el neón del atardecer. Eras tu melena alocada en el viento, encrespada como el vaivén de las olas. Los lunares que salpicaban tu barbilla; casi constelaciones lejanas, inconexas.

A la noche, cuando las luces se apagan, tu imagen se me aparece de entre los rincones. Al principio dolía, un dolor tan demoledor que calaba hasta los huesos. Ahora, creo que duele menos. O que aprendí a vivir con el dolor. Como cuando aceptamos que la luna tiene cráteres, huecos, oscuridad incluso bajo la luz.

Quizás, es porque cuando te veo, te veo sonriendo. No hay rastros de guerra, ni de pérdida, ni de lo poco que nos quedó de humanidad. Vestís de blanco, con coronas de "no-me-olvides" en el pelo. El sol te acaricia, igual de suave que como yo hubiese querido hacerlo. Y me decís: "suficiente, Levi". "Ya pasó, Levi".

Y entonces te creo.

Me siento con vos, y permito que la eternidad flote entre nosotros. Te preparo un té con mis mejores hierbas, observo atento cómo el rubor te arde en la piel. Me digo que ya no importan; el dolor que demuele, los secretos bajo llave, las fotos arrugadas, o las que no pudimos conservar.

Si cierro los ojos, puedo delimitar tus facciones. Las líneas rectas de tu nariz, el arco de tus pestañas. Puedo inhalar el calor de tu cuerpo, hablarle a las estrellas.

Y hay semanas, o meses, en los que quisiera volver atrás, gritarte que no te vayas, que sin vos el mundo es una imagen en blanco y negro. Pero, ¿sabés, Hanji? Hoy, que puedo grabarte en acuarelas, entiendo que con eso me basta.

Por eso, te hago un lugar en mi mesa, y en todas las grietas del alma. Limpio la casa para recibirte, desempolvo las cajas. Ya no hago preguntas, aún convencido de que no tengo las respuestas. Dejo que tu voz cante, y entreteja en mil paisajes las maravillas que siempre supiste tararear. Te escucho, como un niño desbordado de ilusión. Y en mi alocado desvelo, te guardo conmigo; en cada parpadeo, en cada amanecer, en cada latido.

Porque estás ahí, todavía. Lo sé, Hanji. Un día, los velos del olvido van a llevarme a mí también. Las galaxias van a tragarme, como polvo de estrellas, y voy a tener todo el aire en el espacio para pensar en cada madrugada en la que fallé.

Pero no me arrepiento. De nada. Qué extraño, ¿no? Si pudiera, te juro, lo haría casi todo de nuevo, así tal cual fue. Las heridas que nos vendamos, el reír a carcajadas, haber sido cómplices en cada pedacito de vida. No lo cambiaría. Y menos aún, si es que pudieran asegurarme que voy a cruzarme con tu sonrisa otra vez. Como cuando me susurrabas al oído. Como cuando mis sueños te pintan.

Entonces me duermo, incluso estando despierto. Cierro los ojos, y mi mente me arrastra hasta ese lugar en donde todo está en pausa— un claro en el bosque, la casa que construimos. Me contás, como siempre, que Erwin está más tranquilo. Que mi mamá te adora. Que Eren y Sasha no paran de pelearse.

Y sonrío. De esas sonrisas que sólo vos podías arrancarme. El té se nos enfría, el sol se derrite tras la ventana. Pero estás ahí, Hanji. Estás ahí, aunque no pueda tocarte nunca más.

Me acuerdo, todavía, de esa vez en la que vimos la luna. Era primavera, y los chicos entrenaban cerca del arroyo. Te pregunté, por qué no brillaba igual que al caer la noche; “¿no debería brillar más ahora, con la luz del día?”, dije. Te relamiste los labios, como siempre que ibas a salpicarme con historias, y respondiste, claro y sencillo: “algunas cosas necesitan de oscuridad para ser descubiertas.”

¿Será por eso que te siento adentro mío, enlazada a cada exhalación? ¿Que nuestro escondite en el bosque es una rendija de cielo, donde nada quema ni lastima? ¿Será que me estoy escurriendo, y en mi afán obsesivo me aferro a tu amor? ¿Que en el vacío que dejaste, sólo hay espacio para sembrar estrellas?

Quizás haya perdido la cordura, Hanji. No lo sé. Pero empiezo a pensar que te transformaste en luna. En cuarto creciente. Con cráteres y todo. Que tu destello rasga hasta las penumbras más negras. Es un faro de esperanza que guía las mareas. “Suficiente, Levi”, repetís, casi como un arrullo de cuna, con tus manos en mi pelo y tu boca en la mía. Y entonces te aprieto, bien fuerte contra mi pecho. Y dejo que llenes las grietas, y las cajas, y que tiñas de color cada foto que no tenemos.

“Estoy bien, Levi”, me asegurás. “Vamos a volver a vernos.”

Y entonces, porque nunca supe hacer otra cosa, o porque ya no me queda nada, te creo.

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leomonae · 4 months

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Summary:

An undercover illithid, their vampire partner, said partner's family, and an Underdark camp filled with thousands of starving vampire spawn none of them actually asked to be responsible for keeping alive. Apart from the illithid's ghost in the machine, of course. Tav POV. Updates Saturday.

Next chapter is up! Featuring: can I really do a sudden POV switch 20k words in, then switch back halfway through the same chapter?

The not-actually-dead ghosts of various more experienced writers, echoing down through tumblr: ~~yoooou can doooo whatever yoooou want~~

#baldur's gate 3 #hyperfixation ahoy #my writing #astarion x tav #illithid tav #we shall not all die verse #pov first person #but also third person this time whooo #living on the edge here i tell ya

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stargreen-fan · 1 year

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Chapters: 7/7 Fandom: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera - Gaston Leroux, Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Raoul de Chagny/Christine Daaé, Comte Philippe de Chagny/La Sorelli, Raoul de Chagny & Christine Daaé Characters: Genevieve/Georges de changy, La Sorelli (Phantom of the Opera), Armand Moncharmin, Little James (Phantom of the Opera), Police Commissioner Mifriod.(Phantom of the Opera), The Persian (Phantom of the Opera), Erik | Phantom of the Opera, Raoul de Chagny, Christine Daaé Additional Tags: Trans Male Character, Autistic Coded Character, Ballet, POV First Person, Canon Disabled Character, Out Of Character Erik (Phantom of the Opera), Fluff, Minor Original Character(s), Comfort, Original Trans Character(s) - Freeform, Self-Insert, Established Relationship, Post-Canon, Sequel, Phluff, Happy Ending, PotO Queer Week 2023, Original Character(s), Trans Joy, disability own voices, Trans Male Own Voices, autistic Own Voices Summary:

Genevieve, Raoul and Christine's niece, and Philippe and La Sorelli's daughter, feels the restrictions placed on girls in Bourgeoisie society until Christine against Raoul's wishes, takes six-year-old Genevieve to the Paris Opera Ballet, where she sees a Dancer En Travesty and feels an empathy, a powerful connection, which she doesn't put into words...

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fuunhyde · 7 months

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Fictober 2023 Day 11

Another ShadowPeach fic from LEGO Monkie Kid fandom~~~~

Prompt for today:"You lost it. Well, we lost it."

Yeah so it's the mandatory Macaque's death fic; I'm doing first POV for this one! I kinda cried while writing it---

See ya tomorrow!

#fictober23 #lego monkie kid #ao3 #lmk macaque #lmk wukong #shadowpeach #hurt no comfort #angst #major character death #no happy ending #pov first person

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hausofmamadas · 2 years

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| Every alley in Mexico has its own ghost |

⁂

Pairing: Ramón Arellano Félix x David Barrón

Written especially for @kesskirata - Narcos Fanfiction Exchange 2022

Word count: 3K

I’d never met anyone like him. Which made sense. The planet would likely combust if it had to contend with the rabid, spitfire energy of more than one Ramón Arellano Félix.

David Barrón has spent the last few months “not noticing” Ramón Arellano Félix, but even the will and self-denial of a deeply repressed convicted felon/cartel assassin isn't enough to withstand the fatal charms of the youngest Arellano.

⁂

I leaned over the warehouse railing, trying hard not to pay attention to what was missing from the main floor below. The empty spot in the middle where that tall kid with the crazy hair should be gesturing wildly with an ice pop in one hand, shooting Nestor with his BB gun in the other, laughing every time he winced, fighting with Mín over where the trucks should go once they arrived. That tall kid with the crazy hair was miles away and I was trying hard not to notice.

Mín’s office door slammed and I turned around just in time to see Pancho chuck something in my direction. His throw was short and whatever it was - looked like a balaclava of some kind - ended up plopping half a foot from my shoes. When I picked it up, I was smacked by the smell of latex and formaldehyde. Inspecting it more closely, I realized it was a Halloween mask. A kitschy calavera skull to be exact, black and white with tacky accents of orange and purple lining the eyeholes. Something you’d find at Party City or some scrappy stand on the pier at Pacific Beach. Ridiculous but something else to think about.

“Barrón? Are you coming?”

I held up the mask with two fingers like a pair of dirty socks and looked at Pancho, dubious.

“Que cabrón? Qué pedo?”

I didn’t have to say anything. I wasn’t going anywhere without an explanation. Pancho knew this.

“Pinsh— tu eres el cabrón mas shingada obstinado que he conocido pues. Lo sabes?”

I knew it, but still said nothing. Let silence reverse-engineer the conversation. People like Pancho who were uncomfortable with silence were particularly susceptible to the dangers of filling it with chatter. Sometimes the chatter was useless. But if you held out long enough to convince them that supplying answers might end the noiseless agony, the chatter contained a lot of those too. They’d break, give you something for nothing at all. Friends for years, and still, Pancho fell for it every time.

“Par de independientes,” he relented, raking his hand over his face and sighing, “from your neck of the woods are pushing product, pero no han pagado la pisa. Dina got the bright idea to collect without enough backup. Món and Mín aren’t back from Ensenada yet. Entonces, somos su espaldos.”

My neck of the woods? That couldn’t be right. No one would be that stupid with Ziggy as the Logan Heights llevero. Even if I hadn’t been with the AFO, all work and no play makes Ziggy a cranky boy, sensible ‘ole Ziggy Morenas would never risk all-out war with the Arellanos by sending some back-alley greenhorns down here. Carnales would have his cojones before he could give the order.

“You sure they’re Logan Heights?”

“Pues, no se, it’s what Mín said.”

As discerning as Mín could be, he was blind regarding anything me-related. He must’ve heard the names of one of the other San Diego clickas and mistook it for Barrio LH. Probably only heard the “Heights” in Sherman Heights and thought the worst. All shoot first, questions later. I needed to call Ziggy.

When I didn’t move, Pancho threw up his hands. “Qué pedo pues ya? Qué quieres que te diga?”

“Wanna know the best way to get pinched?”

He scowled at my cross-examination.

“Theatrics. So,” I jiggled the mask, “the fuck are these for?”

“Pues si, pero estos pendejos decided to take advantage of the gabashos in town for Dia de los Muertos. The place we’re going is smack in the middle of the parade route.”

I stood corrected.

“Any more questions?”

All work and no play made Pancho a cranky boy. I always did attract the prickliest of kindred spirits. He and Ziggy should meet one of these days.

I nodded my head, “Listo pues.” But instead of following, I brushed past him patting his shoulder, and headed for Mín’s office. He looked a comical mix of outraged and bewildered but if this call prevented an all-out war, the grumpy fuck would thank me later.

For someone so uptight and particular, it always surprised me how much of a mess Mín’s office was. The file cabinets that lined the wall were covered in half empty Banker’s boxes, loose files, paper clips, and pens. I had to move stacks of papers just to get to the phone. I dialed Ziggy’s home number, hoping I’d get him and not his girl León, or his grandma. This wasn’t something you could have a little old lady jot on a steno pad to pass on later.

“Diga.” Ziggy’s voice was flat bored.

“Zig, it’s me.”

His voice brightened from flat bored to mild disinterest. “Ay, there he is. I heard ‘round the way you were in town a few weeks ago. Hurt you didn’t call.” He oozed disaffected sarcasm but Ziggy always told the truth.

“So you do miss me,” I teased. “Nah, got strapped for time. Had to cut early and get back.”

“Yeah, Tijuana. How’s it going? Gotta be better than mediating for a bunch of wiseass baby cholos.”

“Few months and already sick of being key holder?”

“I was never much for people.”

I laughed, “Shoot, true. But you got sense. Mando knew that. Speaking of sense, you didn’t send some newbie triflers to sling down here without clearing it with the Arellanos, did you?”

He coughed out, “Uh, pardon?” No one can fake that kind of cluelessness.

“Didn’t think so.”

“What the fuck. Who’s saying it was us?”

“Don’t know. Any new beef with the paisas up there, other clickas?”

“I mean. Does the sun rise and set everyday?”

“C’mon fool, I’m serious.”

Zig chuckled, “Not more or less than usual. Shermtown just dropped three of our guys last week. Some kind of family vendetta against one of my gunners. Fue una poca mierda.”

Shermtown. Sherman Heights. I’d called it. Probably.

“Hmm. Alright. Gotta bounce. Gracias, primo.”

“Woah, woah, hold up. You don’t think you should explain this to me? I don’t want any fucking surprises up here.”

“It’s not like that. Someone fucked up, but shit’s going down here. I’ll hit you with what you need to know when I know.”

“Whatever, chiflado.”

“Cool it, cranky. It’s me. I got you.” The sound of Ziggy laughing shrank as I pulled the receiver away and hung up.

Pancho was in the doorway when I turned around, leaning, arms crossed, leg shaking. He wanted to hit me. I could tell.

“Que estás haciendo, cabrón?”

I narrowed my eyes, boring my gaze into his forehead. “Independientes from ‘my neck of the woods?’ Not Barrio LH.”

He kicked off the doorframe like he’d been nodding off and just woke up. “So?”

“So, either Mín fucked up, or someone’s smearing my neighborhood to sell, tax-free, in yours.”

----

We flew down the warehouse’s metal-grated steps so fast and I thought of those homeless tap dancers in Old Town downtown San Diego, peddling little routines for some pocket change and leftover French fries. We piled into the SUV parked outside. I shouted as casually as I could above the engine turnover, “Has hablado con Ramón?”

Pancho rolled his eyes as he checked the mag on his .45, “Supposedly, he’s meeting us there. They were already on their way when I got the call and pinshe menso’s trying to book it. Who knows if he’ll make it in time.”

I wished he wouldn’t. I wasn’t excited. I stared ahead and grabbed hold of the door handle as we pinballed side-to-side with every gaping pothole. Back home, people - well, usually gringos - liked to say the streets of Mexico were paved with blood. That always cracked me up, thinking about all these vigilant little tourists, popping down to Tijuana for a voyeuristic thrill, tip-toeing around the city, whispering words of warning to each other; the Underground Railroad for spring breakers. That is, if they weren’t hammered on the beach at one in the afternoon. Little did they know, the streets of Mexico weren’t fucking paved.

Pancho rolled down the window and stuck his hand out, yelling over the gusts of wind, “That’s why Món told me to bring you. In case he doesn’t make it in time.”

“If he hadn’t? Youd’ve gone without me?” I strained not to sound offended.

“Que shinga no, guey." A devious smile lit up Pancho’s face. "I just thought you’d wanna know you’re in good with him."

I shook my head, and pulled the mask on. It did just the trick even if it made my face sweat from the heat that flooded my cheeks. The smell of latex was stifling and I thanked my lucky stars it wasn’t summer.

The AFO warehouse wasn’t far from Mercado Hidalgo, Tijuana’s oldest, largest open air market and host to the city’s annual Dia de los Muertos celebration. Not five minutes into the drive, we met with the dense crowds of the parade. There wasn’t one blank face among them. Pancho was right, the masks were a good call. Everyone was decked out in the familiar campy, macabre Catrina costumes - a churning sea of black and white under a mist of windswept desert dust and a full, flat, honey-colored moon. It looked just like my memories. I thought of what Cheli’s grandma said how ‘every alley in Mexico has its own ghost.’ Or, maybe I’d read it in a book somewhere.

Pancho directed the driver, “Left here at Calle Zaragoza. Right on Boloyan.”

Finally, we pulled into an alley behind a slummy, rundown apartment building. I started sizing up the exterior. Only one door in the front and one out back but the building was fitted with fire escapes. Handy for us. Handy for the other guys too. I hopped out and walked around back to the open trunk where Pancho was passing everyone their gear.

“Are we going in cold?”

Pancho looked puzzled.

“Anyone do recon? Do we know what we’re wal—” My voice was drowned out by the beefy engine-revving of a Chevy Suburban. It pistol-whipped around the corner into the alley and skid to a halt, bumper nearly grazing my knees. Pancho had shot back so far and so fast he was almost halfway in the trunk. I took aim at the tinted windshield on the driver’s side and took a deep breath in. Three. Two. Exhale, on—

“Que pedo, cabrones! Nice to see you fresitas are awake!”

Just as I was about to get a shot off, that tall kid with the crazy hair rolled down the window and poked his head out, laughing that Evel Knievel laugh of his. Before I knew it, my mouth cocked up in a half smile. Loco. He had that effect on people.

Pancho was livid. “Shingamadre pendejo, nice of you to join us. Are you tryin’ to wake up the whole fucking neighborhood?”

Món hopped out of the SUV and strode over with all the swagger of a frat boy walking into a strip club. “Aaah, no mames. I didn’t want to miss out on all the action. Besides,” he waved in the direction of the parade crowd out on the main street, “no one’s sleeping with all this pinshe noise.” He looked down and locked eyes with me. Then tapped on my mask, “Hey these are cool. Where’s mine?”

Pancho rolled his eyes, “You’re lucky I brought extras.” He dug around in the trunk for another one.

It took a moment for the whiplash rush of adrenaline to ease up, but when it did, I registered what Món was wearing. He showed up to boost a stash house and get his sister out if this jam wearing expensive suede loafers, leather pants, and the loudest, red and yellow silk button-up I had ever seen. It wasn’t just impractical. He stuck out like a sore thumb.

“Dropped off your brother?”

He nodded enthusiastically.

“Didn’t have time to change?”

Món scanned himself from his shirt to his shoes and grinned. “Too much?”

I held up my thumb and forefinger.

“Yeah, you’re probably right. They’d be able to pick me out of a lineup, si cualquiera tuviera los huevos.”

He had a point. I always forgot that this wasn’t the US. Eyewitnesses weren’t worth shit in this backwards-ass town. Suddenly, he pointed his finger in my face. I wondered what he might do if I just leaned forward and bit it.

“But you don’t blend in as well as you think."

Even with my face covered, I was sure he could see how high my eyebrows shot up. "What're you tal–"

"I clocked those pinshe lobo eyes even with that thing on. I'd know those eyes anywhere.”

“Shoot, I almost killed you, fool.”

“Ahuevo, lobo. And I couldn’t think of a sweeter way to go.” He shoved my shoulder and winked, almost giddy. My heart fired off like a Gatling gun. I couldn’t help but think about how right Pancho had been about these masks. I made a mental note to set up some kind of alter or shrine to pay it proper thanks later.

He was in one of those moods. Not the ones that Dina and Mín were always so vexed about, sus humores. I overhead them talking about those once. Apparently, he'd gotten in trouble for stringing up a bunch of tuna from the farmer’s market on a clothesline and lighting them up with an AK at a public park. Ruined some poor kid’s birthday party. I could never relate to the lack of impulse control but I understood the impulse. From what I could tell though, Món had other moods. Worse ones. Moods like the Sun. Moods like today. Today, he was in love with the world. When Món was in love with the world, it was viral. No choice, you just had to love it too. I’d never met anyone like him. Which made sense. The planet would likely combust if it had to contend with the rabid, spitfire energy of more than one Ramón Arellano Félix.

Finished with his trunk excavation, Pancho turned around, “Oye, quit flirting with the help.” I nearly choked on my own tongue. Món just grinned like a loon. “And put this on. You already stick out like a sore thumb.” Pancho shoved the spare at Món, right at the spot between his collarbones where his little gold chain got all kinked, stuck to the sweat on his skin. I started worrying about my heart, pounding too fast. I didn’t notice. I didn’t notice anything.

Món yanked the it over his head, then coughed and pulled a sour face. “Que verga, why does this smell like chemicals?”

I smirked and the mask slid, brushing under my eyes. “Right.”

“Not half as bad as your aftershave, cabrón,” Pancho teased.

Món flipped him the bird, but I could tell by the shine in his eyes he was still grinning. I wished his aftershave smelled that bad. Would’ve helped matters. This once-innocent camaraderie, once-platonic banter, was warping into something messier, something I didn’t know how to handle. I looked over at Pancho, who went back to passing out gear.

Really, all of this was his fault.

At Donovan prison, Pancho earned the nickname, “Rey del chisme,” an elegant title denoting his supreme status as a professional shit-stirrer amongst the other inmates. He could single-handedly incite a cell-block riot after an industrious afternoon spent just gaining and betraying confidences. He did it for sport. He did it because he was bored. And really, what better way to break up an afternoon than watching two vatos beat the tar out of each other because one stole the other’s toothbrush, or fucked their sister, or killed this or that homie. The tedium of prison really brought out the strange in people. But Pancho was effective because he never needed to distort the truth to rock the boat. All it took was a well-timed observation to some already angry güey that such-and-such rival güey seemed to have more pull with the block’s key holder. So, of course that monster, El rey del chisme, was the first to clock the "Món thing,” whatever it was, before I was even aware. I still wasn't. And once he did, he couldn’t let it go.

‘All I'm saying ... existe una vibra entre los dos.’

I was incensed. I could've strangled him and regretted it for the rest of my life. It was the kind of indignation only ignited by the recognition of some hidden truth. Hidden from you, by you. Real, despite your best efforts.

‘Don’t feel bad, carnal. Mira, it makes sense. Growing up, everyone always said Món and Dina look the most alike out of all the siblings.’

Of course, he just had to throw that back in my face too. Perhaps there was some sense to it, though. Maybe this newfound … affection was nothing but an extension of that first crush on Dina. Dina, who wouldn’t give me the time of day, who wouldn't wink at me and talk about my lobo eyes like she spent hours studying them, who didn't have moods like the Sun, who wasn't in love with the world. The more I considered it the more it made sense. Yeah, yeah. That must've been it. Had to be it.

I was sweating. I had to get this mask off. Take a breather. As I slid it off, the blissful feeling of non-stagnant, cool air on my face almost leveled me. I looked over at that tall kid with the crazy hair. Framed by the paper lantern lights in the sky, and bathed in the sinister orange glow of the street lamps, he looked obscene. Beautifully so. He caught me staring. Like some kind of contest, I refused to look away. We locked eyes like our lives depended on it. He shot me the most carefree, daredevil smile then pulled the mask over his face. And I stopped worrying about my heart so much. Some things needed to be understood just for what they were.

⁂

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thegreatwicked · 6 months

Text

Mending Feathers

Summary: Warren, having escaped the cagefighting underground, seeks refuge in a broken church, feeling crippled and directionless with his damaged wings. During a stormy night, he discovers an unexpected visitor seeking sanctuary in his church. Initially resistant, Warren is taken aback when the visitor reveals the ability to heal and restore his wings. With his ability to fly restored, Warren is free again, but questions arise about the mysterious girl and what lies ahead for him. Grappling with gratitude, Warren contemplates the next chapter of his life and wonders how he can express his thanks. Takes place in an AU in the church Apocalypse finds Warren drinking his sorrows away in, I've also set it in London.

Pairing: Warren Worthington III x OC Ivy

Rating: Explicit; smut, you know why you're here.

Content Warning; descriptions of healing that may be somewhat graphic and painful.

Final note: This is my first story written from a character with an accent, its' Warrens POV and I REALLY tried to get this ounding like him so please be gentle in your critiques of my writing of a British accent!

Staring into the fire, lost in the bloody chaos swirlin' in my mind, like it's the only thing with the answers I need. The storm outside, it's like a mirror to the mess I've turned into; turbulent and wild. Been ages since I busted out of that cage, the night when everything went pear-shaped, and I've been rotting away in here since with wings that won't heal, can't fly, and feel like they're pulling me down each day. Can feel me body slowly dying a piece at a time.

Me wings are in a right state, I'm in a sore state, but it's nothin' compared to what's simmerin' in my head: It's the memories, they're like a nightmare on repeat. All the dodgy things I did to survive in that place, they're gnawing at me like a hungry dog, tearing me apart from the inside, but I can't shake 'em. Can still see their faces, hear their cries, begging me not to finish 'em off. But it was kill or be killed, and I chose to survive.

That was the worst bit seeing the desperation in 'em when they all realized that it was them or me, that's when the light inside 'em all went out. That spark that keeps us all going. Now, their ghostly voices haunt me, remindin' me of what I've done. And for what? Some sick entertainment for the bloody masses. And they have the nerve to call us the freaks. Bloody hypocrites.

The fire crackles and pops like a symphony, and every little snap makes me twitch a tad, giving my mind a short break from the constant chatter inside my head. It’s the only thing keeping me from going mad in this place. But something feels off, and then I hear it; sounds that shouldn’t be there; I’m not alone and I prefer it that way. There's no room for unwelcome guests in my space. Panic creeps in, because I’m not in any state to go brawling but I'm not about to let it paralyze me, I’m too pissed off to do nothing. This is my turf.

I keep to the shadows, strength’s not on my side but I can be quiet as a church mouse, moving up on the intruder, watching as they slide through the busted window. It's a girl, 'round my age, soaked to the bone like a stray dog, looking as miserable as a drowned rat. She lands with a thud and starts scoping out my church, muttering to herself. "Could do worse," she says rubbing her arms like she’s trying to warm up, making me wonder what's worse than this place. As she glances around, maybe she's thinking what I thought when I first stumbled in here, eyeballing the statues of the saints, feeling judged as all hell, looking at the stained glass windows and wondering how they'd shine with sunlight instead of moss and rain. She freezes, her eyes locked on something near the altar, one of my feathers, stained with blood.

She picks it up, staring at it like it's some ghost. "Didn't think angels existed," she mutters, clueless that I'm watching her.

Any sympathy I feel for her is quickly knocked out of my head with the simple logic of 'ain't nothin wrong with her, she can find someplace else.' I can't let her stay. I step out of the shadows, my voice sharp and cutting through the air like a blade.

"Oi! What's your game, then?" My voice echoes off the walls and pillars amplified in a space this grand and sounds ten times larger than it is, making her jump like a startled cat. She looks my way, seemingly taken aback by the fact that she's not alone, but she doesn't even take in my wings.

"Clear off!" I demand, not giving her an inch. She babbles about waiting out the storm, but I won't have any of it. She's got to clear out of my church

"Your church? Last time I checked churches were sanctuary for all." She shoots back with a tone that tells me she's no pushover, the kind of lass who's never afraid of a tussle, I get the feeling tongue as sharp as hers has probably landed her in trouble as often as mine has for me. She's got fire in her, I’ll give her that. I can tell she's got some fire in her, and, of course, she's American, because they tend to think they can roam where they want and do as they please.

“Not this one.”

She seems like she's about to give me a piece of her mind for being a jerk, fair enough, I am a jerk, but then she stops when she notices the state of my wings. Her eyes widen like she's seen a real biblical angel, "Jesus," She mutters to herself, not here, he ain't. "Are you okay?" Her voice goes soft, filled with something that sounds like fear. Her voice goes all gentle and filled with something that sounds like concern, making me feel more exposed than I'd like. Can't have anyone see me in this state; I'm feeling fragile, too weak.

I'm not a welcoming bloke, and I've grown pretty used to being on my own, especially in a place like this. But when I notice someone trespassing in the church during the storm, I can't help but get my feathers ruffled.

The storm ragin’ outside, raining cats and dogs, the lightning flickerin’ through the stained-glass windows, and now I can see her a bit more clearly. She's a looker, with long ginger red hair that's probably a mum's dream to braid and play with. Her lips look like they might be a real treat to kiss. I can't quite make out her eyes, but I feel small and naked under her gaze. Don't like that feeling one bit. It's late, I'm knackered, and I can't be arsed for a fight.

She's fixated on my wrecked wings, looking at me as if I'm some sort of charity case. "Does that hurt?" Bless her heart, she's gorgeous, but dense as a brick.

"Nah, not at all, feels like a tickle," I say, snappin’ back when she takes a step closer, trying to reach out to me like I'm some bloomin' pet or something. "Course it bloody hurts! You got any idea how much it hurts to be draggin’ ‘round a busted piece of your body without a hope in hell of it ever gettin’ better?"

Then she says it; the second daftest thing I’ve heard.

“I can help.”

She just won't back off, will she? Bloody persistent little thing, it’d be inspirin’ if it wasn’t so ruddy annoying. I'd bet my last quid she's the type to take in every stray cat and dog she finds in the rain. All the beauty in the world ain't worth it if she's completely off her rocker. Her tone changes, though, and she goes from being snappy, clever, and full of sass to surprisingly accommodating for a stranger. I’m rolling my eyes, should ‘ave sent her packing when I had the chance. Now, she's like a stray cat I can't seem to shake off.

"Wait a sec, I’m serious, I can help you!"

My temper flares up, gettin’ the better of me, and something inside me just snaps. I can't fathom what kind of magic tricks she thinks she's got in her bag that could possibly fix me. I’m angrier than I should be, but maybe cause I’m just so tired of being broken. How’d you fix this? It’s almost insulting, one things for sure if she gives me some line about prayer or spirit healing I’ll send her packing this time, don’t care how fit she is.

"How d'you reckon you can help me, then, eh?" It ain't her fault I'm in this state, she didn't cripple me, but she's sure as hell payin’ the price for being so damn optimistic. "You got a plaster big enough for this?"

The concern vanishes, and she's got that fiery look in her eyes again, like she's got something to prove. Before I can even process what she's doing, she walks to one of the busted windows and gives it a hard kick, sending glass shattering and letting more of the storm in. Then she snatches up a shard of broken glass, and takes it to her hand as if she's openin’ a parcel from the post.

"Oi! What’n the hell are you doing?!"

Panic shoots through me as I hurry to wrest the glass from her grip before she can do any more harm. I'm in a frenzy, though I don’t know why, all to prevent this complete stranger from harmin’ herself. And the whole time, she's actin’ as if she hasn't just maimed herself right in front of a bloke she's never met before. Like it's just another Tuesday for her, ain’t it?

The glass shatters as it hits the ground, and I've got her hand in mine, trying to get a proper look at her, but then something absolutely mental happens. It's her hand; I'm watching the cut bloody heal right before my eyes. What the hell is going on here?

She's back to banging on about how she can help me, and maybe she can, but my brain's spinning, considering if this could be some sort of trick or if there's even a sliver of hope I could soar once more. Dunno why but I touch her hand, where the gash was an it’s just fine, skin soft and whole.

"I won't hurt you," her voice is warm, like a cozy jumper on a chilly day. This girl, she's a bit loopy, but I'll be damned if she isn't genuine. “Look, just let me help you and I’ll go.”

She won’t hurt me? Now that’s downright precious, as if someone as pint-sized as her could get the jump on me, busted wings or not I’m no slouch in a fight. Still, she inches closer.

"What's your name?" No way I can manage an answer, too busy tryin’ to make sense of what just happened. "I'm Ivy," She keeps closing in, moving like she's trying to corner a spooked animal, maybe that's what I am.

Suddenly, she's right in front of me, eyes fixed on my wings and the scars etched into the rest of my body, I must look a mess. Eventually, and I can’t believe I’m entertaining this nonsense.

"Will it hurt?" My voice is weaker than I’d like, but really? I’m terrified.

"I don’t know, all I have to do is touch you." Her hand's right there, closer to me than anyone's been since my cage days. I jump back for a moment, hit with a surge of panic. She's too close, too kind, too real, it can't be real, can it? Says the bloke with wings, I know.

I mean, we're in a bloody church, the Big Guy's gaff where miracles are supposed to go down, and what kind of tosser would I be if I didn't have a bit of faith in Him, even after the rubbish hand I've been dealt? I swallow down my nerves, what’s the worst that could happen? Best case scenario, she patches me up, and I'm whole again. Worst case, I look like a right idiot, either way, I’m no worse off.

Fuck it, I grab her hand, pulling it against my cheek as if ripping off a metaphorical plaster, and I can feel her other hand gently takin’ hold of my wing. Then, I shut my eyes tight.

It ain’t painless, not by a long shot. It's like an electric shock coursin’ through my entire body. Like being torn apart and pieced back together and there ain't no rhyme or reason to it. Every inch of me is screamin’ to push her away, to tear her hands off me. But then I see her face, focused and intense, and I can’t help but think that she's got this under control.

The pain’s almost unbearable, the kind that shoots up your spine when you pop a dislocated shoulder back into place. One moment, I’m all broken and torn, but the next, I can feel things clickin’ back into place as if some invisible force is yankin’ my body around like a rag doll. Bones creakin’ back into proper position, nerves sparking back to life, skin stretchin’ to cover the gaps, tendons, and muscles knittin’ themselves together, all at once, after months of being in disarray. It's a symphony of agony and renewal, a bluster of snapping and shifting.

I grit my teeth, tryin’ not to scream, but a low, guttural groan tears its way out of my lungs. My back arches involuntarily, and I can feel the sweat pourin’ down my face. Every muscle in my body tenses, and my heart’s racin’, it's a chaotic whirlwind of sensations, a rollercoaster of pain and relief.

I can feel a pulse and crackle of energy in the air, the faint hum of somethin’ ancient and powerful, and it feels like it's crawling under my skin. I reckon I've got no faith in God, but I've got faith in Ivy, and right now, that's enough. It's excruciatin’, and I'm on the verge of passing out from the sheer agony. As the seconds drag on, I can feel my strength ebbin’ away, my body changin’ and mending in ways I didn’t know were possible. I sink to my knees, muscles tremblin’, and Ivy holds onto me like she's afraid I'll slip away, just as everything starts to blur, to meld into a haze of pain and darkness, I can't help but think that maybe, just maybe, I'll be whole again when I wake up.

When I finally force my eyes open, I see blurry outlines, and my wings feel... different. It's like I can actually feel it, strong and whole. It's overwhelmin’ the way my body’s speakin’ to me again. Ivy's face hovers above me, an her eyes are full of concern. The room’s lit up in a faint glow but I can’t tell from where or what, the air’s heavy with the scent of rain and something else, something like life and renewal.

"Easy there tiger," I'm sprawled on the cold floor, feeling like I've been hit by a double-decker coach, my limbs heavy as lead, and Ivy's right there, holding me up, the pain all but vanished but I'm still aching all over. "I've got you," she says, helping me sit up.

"Did it work?" I ask, feeling like I've just come out of a rough night at the pub, sick and battered. She gives me a shake of ‘er head and this sympathetic smile like I've just asked the daftest question in the world.

"See for yourself."

I've never been so nervous to look over my shoulder, but sure enough, the blood's gone and I see full feathers, and I push myself up, testin’ the movement cautiously. They respond smoothly, without even a twinge of the previous stiffness and pain. A wave of relief crashes over me, and for the first time in what feels like ages, I feel like I've got my whole body back under my control. No pain. I'm whole. Ivy's healing touch has done what I thought was bleedin' impossible.

Can't believe it, and I was this close to giving this bird the boot. I almost missed out on getting my wings back. She's got this cheeky grin on her face, like she knows she's just pulled off something bloody brilliant, and she plops back down on the floor. She looks absolutely knackered, like she's just run a bleeding marathon. No doubt fixing me up took a toll on her. She did that for me, a complete stranger. I could kiss this girl.

“What’re you waiting for? Try ‘em out.”

I don’t need to be told twice and I jump up my wings carrying me with ease for the first time in months, I’m in the rafters before you can blink and I can feel the smile creeping on my face. I’m flying. I’m weightless again, never thought I’d take to the skies again but here it is.

I’m on top of the world after soaring, even if it’s just in the cathedral hall, feeling the exhilaration of flight once again. My mind’s racing with the possibilities, places I can go, things I can do — I feel free again. And no one’s ever gonna put me in a cage again, not as long as I have breath in my lungs.

I need to go higher, feel the wind on my face, and let the rain drench me. A bit of rain ain't gonna hurt. There's a gap in the rafters where the old roof gave way, it’s my way out. I take a leap, and push myself up through the ceiling, out into the open. Soaring higher and higher, as fast as my wings'll take me.

The rain's pelting my face, soaking me to the bone, clothes sticking to me, but honestly, I don't give a toss. I'm free, that's all that matters. I'm pulling off some mad aerial tricks, spinning and looping through the sky like a bloody circus act. I'm doing every crazy move I know, because I can. The buzz is unreal. I've missed this, more than I knew. Up here, nothin’ can touch me. No one can lay a finger on me. I'm probably giving people a proper shock, might even turn a few doubters into believers if they happen to catch a glimpse of me.

I'm as light as a feather, climbing higher and higher, feeling the adrenaline rush. Time's got a mind of its own up here, and I ain't payin’ it any attention. It's only when I start feeling the cold from the altitude and notice my teeth are chatterin’ and my body shakin’ that I clock it's time to head back down and warm up.

I've got to find that fiery lass and plant a good one on her lips, I don’t care if I get smacked. Might not be the best at saying thanks, but I've got to let her know – thanks for saving my arse.

I make a soft landing inside the church, and the pigeons up in the rafters scatter like they've seen a ghost. Pigeons, the church's most faithful congregation, it seems. The excitement courses through me like electricity, pure joy that's been absent for a while. It feels like the very first time I ever flew.

"Ivy!" I shout, my voice is brimmin’ with enthusiasm. "Ivy, where are you, Love?" But there's nothin’ but silence. My heart drops like a lead weight. She's gone. The church door is still locked, just as I left it, so I glance toward the window she used to come in. It's my best guess – she must have slipped out the same way she came in. But why? Where's she off to? Without much thought, I burst through the ceiling again, eager to catch up with her. Why'd she leave me hanging like this?

"Women," I mumble, feeling a twinge of frustration.

I’m soarin’ through the rain-drenched skies, scannin’ the area for any sign of her. But it's as if she's vanished into thin air. Why the bloody hell would she do this?

I'm on the verge of giving up when I finally spot her, trudging along a dimly lit side street. She looks like she's been dragged through the mud, drenched and downcast. She doesn't even need to face me – I can see the sorrow in her gait. There's somethin’ about how women walk when they're hurtin’ as if they don't care where they're headed, just that it's somewhere far away from their problems.

Hugging herself, arms wrapped ‘round tight, against the cold and the world – it's as if she's saying, "If no one else’ll protect me, I'll do it myself."

I could've left her to it, pretended I didn't give a toss. After all, she was the one offerin’ to help me, wasn’t she? At least that's the story I want to buy. But life’s got this funny way of throwing choices right in your path, makin’ you pick a road, and tonight’s no different.

There I am, watching her pass that dodgy old warehouse when a couple of blokes start tailing her, sneaking out of a dingy alley like rats on the prowl. Another shadow joins in, and then a third. This doesn't feel right at all.

My blood goes icy, and me fists clench at the sight of those blokes, slitherin’ after Ivy like sharks on the prowl for an easy catch. All I can think about is them snatchers, the wankers who cracked me over the head and chucked me in that bleedin' cage. My anger bubbles up as they close in, and Ivy starts legging it. No chance I'm letting that happen on my watch.

I drop down, making a splash as I hit a muddy puddle, throwing my wings wide. You know the saying, make yourself look bigger, and even the dodgy sods tend to scarper. Them blokes take one look at me, and I reckon they either think they're seeing things or that I've brought down the wrath of the gods, 'cause they bugger off faster than they came.

Now I've got Ivy to deal with, and she's looking rather gobsmacked at the sight of me.

"You pester me for a place to crash, and then you just bugger off?" I’ve got to practically shout to be heard over the pounding storm; it’s deafening.

She just stands there, staring at me, like she ain’t got the faintest idea why I'd shown up. "That was the deal, remember?" She don’t seem half as annoyed as I am about her disappearin’ act. Admit I got so caught up in my own head, all I could think about was getting patched up. Completely missed the whole 'let me help you, and I'll go’ part.

"Don't remember making any bloody deal," I tell her, my exasperation making me snap. Women and their dramatic flair, I swear.

"You made it pretty clear you weren't looking for company," I can’t argue with that. At the time, I just wanted to be left alone, but that was also when I thought I'd never fly again.

"Oh, for God's sake!" I groan, she’s milkin’ this for sure. Truth is, I never really intended to kick her out. But I'm a bloke, and us blokes can be stubborn idiots when we're hurting.

She's lookin’ at me like I just accused her of stealing the crown jewels, like she don't have a clue what to say.

"What're you so upset about? Thought you wanted to be alone? It’s not like we’re friends. I don’t even know your name."

Suddenly, I feel about as big as a sodding ant, not sure what to spit out in response. A smarter bloke might come up with some slick line like 'I'm sorry, let's sort this out,' but I'm no Einstein. We're all daft sods, incapable of admitting when we cock things up. Instead, we act like it's their fault for our piss-poor choices.

"Look, you’ve got your wings back so you don’t need me anymore, just go back, I'm fine." I'm an idiot, that much is clear, but even I know that when a bird says 'she’s fine,' she really ain't.

I snatch her arm, and the words "Just come back" feel foreign on my tongue, sour and bitter, but I can't figure out why. Actually, I know why, I’m missin’ the apology part. She's a decent lass, and I've been a right arse to her since she came into my life. Maybe it's my pride getting in the way, who knows? "Look, I'm sorry it ain't exactly the Ritz-" Classic deflection, ignorin’ the real issue at hand, as if that'll help my case. I just want her to stay, and maybe give me a chance to make things right.

She’s quick on the comebacks though, "Yeah, 'cause that's exactly what I'm hung up about, a fancy hotel instead of a safe place to sleep." For some daft reason, her choice of safety over luxury hits me square in the gut. “I’m fine on my own too, the difference is I don’t wanna be.”

"Where're you goin’?" I blurt as she tries to leg it for the umpteenth time.

"I'll take my chances with the storm, your Highness."

Your Highness? That’s a bit much ain’t it? She's got a fiery, sassy attitude, looks like I've royally pissed her off. Can't say I blame her, my attitude hasn't exactly been top-notch.

It's not like my name will miraculously make things better, but calling me ‘Your Highness’ definitely ain't meant to be a compliment. There's a pause, a moment of tension between us where the rains makin’ more conversation than we are.

"Warren," I just sort of blurt it out, as if it’s the magic word that’ll fix this mess "My name's Warren.” Something works though, because she stops, she ain’t lookin’ at me but she’s stopped. “Look, just come back, dry off, and stay for a bit, alright?"

I've got my pride, and she's got hers. You’d be hard-pressed to find two people more stubborn than us. But it doesn’t hold, she just looks over her shoulder at me then wraps that sad little jacket tighter ‘round herself.

"Have a nice life, Warren," There’s sadness in her voice an’ I can see the ocean of hurt hidin’ behind her eyes, maybe even a couple of rain-soaked tears. She's trying her best to hold it together. It hits me, she’s really just gonna leave, off into the night like it’s nothin’. Crazy bird. She’d rather walk of finto a bleedin’ monsoon than come back with me, yeah, I’m an idiot and it’s my fault we’re here, but I’m tryin’ to mend things already. Can’t apologize to the back of someone’s head.

Alright, I've had enough of this stalemate. She's not just going to walk away from me, not after what she's done. Without giving her time to react, I grab her wrist, and lift her up into my arms like she don’t weigh a thing, and in the blink of an eye, we're risin’ up into the skies, not going anywhere now, is she?

She's got her arms wrapped around my neck in a second, clutching me like a boa constrictor. Gone is the smart-mouthed attitude, replaced by that quick and panicked "Oh god, oh god, oh god!" as she’s clingin’ to me for dear life.

Where’d all that sass go, eh? I reckon she might've left it on the ground. I can't resist teasing her a bit when I throw in a cheeky remark once we’ve made it up high enough that the storms beneath us.

"I'll bring us back down if you stick around," She’s noddin’ like she's trying to outdo a bobblehead, steals a look at the ground, then decides it’s a bad idea, and squeezes me tighter. She agrees in a heartbeat, burying her head in my chest, practically begging.

"Ok! Ok! I'll stay, I promise! I'm sorry! Just let me go! — Wait! No, no, no! Don't let me go! Just take me back down! Please!"

It's a bit funny to see how she switches from fierce to frightened as soon as we're up in the air, but then she hits me with that ‘please’ and something churns in my gut. What she doesn't know is that up here in the sky, she's as safe as can be with me.

I ease us back down a bit, and the storm is starting to let up, and the rain’s turning into a gentle mist, but it's still chilly enough that I can see goosebumps on her. I need to get her warm and dry again, so I pick up the pace. It's smooth sailing as I take us back to the church, slippin’ through the rooftop like before. She's still holding onto me, and hasn't quite realized we're back on solid ground again. Poor thing.

"Hey, s’alright, love. Back on terra firma."

It takes a sec but finally, she looks up, her gaze sweeping ‘round the church as if she's just realized we're back inside. Her feet are planted firmly on the ground, and she eases her death grip on me a bit. I can feel where her fingernails diggin’ into my skin, and her hands are tremblin’. It's like she's making herself let go of me, but maybe she doesn't want to, not just yet.

"I've never flown before, not even in a plane," Her voice quivers, and it takes her a moment to get the words out. A pang of guilt hits me as I realize how scared she must have been. Flying's as second nature to me as breathing, and I've never feared it, but I can't blame her for being terrified. I guess I have two things to apologize for now.

The front of the church is where folks gather for worship, and it's open and welcomin’ but the back? Well, that's where the priests get to live all snug and cozy. Church leadership usually has it that way. I take us to the rear of the church nice an slow, where I've got a little setup in one of the parish apartments. It's warm and snug in here, with the cracklin’ heat from the fire I had the sense to light earlier.

She's leanin’ on me, walking with that soggy grace like she’s ahd one too many, and I can see she's waiting for her stomach to stop doing somersaults. She's soaked to the bone, shivering like a leaf but whether that’s from nerves or the cold is hard to tell.

"Hold tight, love, let's get you sorted with something dry." I don't have much to offer, but I rummage around and manage to scrounge up some of my clothes. Just a t-shirt and a pair of joggers, probably going to swallow her whole, but they're warm and dry. She looks at the clothes, then back towards where we came from, a bit dazed. I give my wings a playful flap to get her attention, not as a threat, just teasin’.

"Not thinking of doing a runner on me again, are you?" I’m only half joking. She shakes her head, those eyes of hers are wide like a deer in headlights, clearly rattled from our aerial escapade.

"Alright, then," I give her a nod, offering the clothes. She's a bit hesitant at first but then must recall the perks of being dry and warm, glancing around for some privacy. Not much of that in here, so I turn ‘round to give her some space, throwin’ out my wings just a bit, like a partition. A bloke's gotta be a bit considerate, right?

It’s silent for a few moments, and it's as though I can hear the cogs turning in her head. The quiet gets on my nerves real quick, I hate long silences, makes me worry she might take off any minute, and it makes me realize how much I don’t want her to go. It’s a relief when I can finally hear the sound of her tugging off her wet clothes, seems she's chosen to stick around. Well, time to start talking and clear the air between us.

Cracking your knuckles is a bad habit, I know, but I can’t help it, just something to fill the quiet gaps while I try to figure out what exactly to say.

"Look, I'm sorry," I ain’t usually one for spilling my guts, but there's something about Ivy that makes me want to open up. I genuinely am sorry, sorry for scaring her, sorry for being a prat. She doesn't say anything, though, and I decide to reveal a bit more to this girl who's done more to save my hide than anyone else ever has. "I've been on me own for a long time, and I sort of got used to it, you know? Forgot that there are still some genuine, decent people out there, kind that just want to help."

It feels strange but also liberatin’, talkin’ to her. I can hear her pitching wet clothes on the floor, you know the sound; that wet slop when they hit the ground in a heap, and I'll admit I'm tempted to steal a glance. After all, I'm still a bloke, and that cheeky little devil on my shoulder is throwing up some enticing ideas. However, I can't help but catch the fleeting reflections of her in the glass of the cabinets across from us. Nothing racy, but it looks like she has some tattoos, a bit intriguing, that. I keep talking, laying it all out there, telling her about my life's story, the whole bloody thing.

"I've been fighting for my life all my life, and I can't remember a time when I wasn't in pain, being hurt, or alone. When I thought I lost my wings, I thought that was the end of it for me." I’m fallin’ back into memories and that dark place in my head, an’ its physically weighing me down, like the past don’t wanna see me fly.

Then there’s a hand on my shoulder, cool and gentle, like porcelain, giving me the ok to turn ‘round. Sure enough, the shirt I gave her is way too big, more like a mini-dress, but it’s kinda cute. She looks good in my gear.

"So your response to the first person to be nice to you, was to be an ass?" I shrug, got no real excuse for that.

"Yeah, not my best moment." I start to open up about my long break from flying, the horrors of the cage fighting underground, and my time in captivity. "I did some awful things to survive, Ivy.” The words come out slowly, like they've been stuck in my throat all this time. Funny thing, as I start speaking my peace, them voices that wouldn't shut up earlier, they begin to fade into the background. “I killed mutants, like us. After all that, I figured it was better for me to be alone."

"Because then nobody can hurt you," She's not exactly questioning, more like she understands that feeling all too well. It's got me wondering what Ivy's story is. She said she'd never flown before, not even on a plane, so how’d she end up here in London?

Dunno how it happened, but Ivy's not feeling like a complete stranger anymore. She’s more like a friend, the kind who sticks around even when you’re being a right arse, even when you hurt 'em. Like, she reckons there's more good in me than them broken bits. She's giving me that soulful gaze of hers, like she's got me all figured out. But at the same time, she's givin’ me that look that says she thinks I'm a proper idiot, and honestly, she's probably spot on.

I’m shakin’ my head. This part... it's delicate, touchy even. If this don't get me a smack, then I don't know what will, and let's be honest, I probably deserve it. There's only a step or two between us, and I just need one to reach her. So, as smooth as I can manage, trying not to come off like some sort of creep, I lean in and press a kiss to her lips, soft as a feather. Not the kind of kiss that says 'Let’s get it on,' just a simple one, nothing more than innocent. Her lips are as soft as I imagined, a real treat.

It's just a brief brush of lips, nothin’ that would make the Vicar choke on his tea, and it’s over pretty quick. But when I pull away, she's got this dreamy look on her face, like she's lost in thought, all starry eyed.

"Is that because you scared the Hell out of me?"

"No, well, a bit of that too. It's more 'cause I've been a proper fool since I first set eyes on you, haven't even said a 'thank you'—you -- you've no idea what this means,"

Can't put it into words, can ya? I mean, how do you even describe something like this? It's like givin' sight to a blind bloke or makin' a cripple strut their stuff again, but in a way, ain't that what she's done? I turn ‘round and slowly lift my wings, not to show off or anything, but just so she can get a proper gander at 'em. She saw 'em when they were shattered, hangin' by a thread, slowly fallin' to pieces and takin' me with 'em. Somehow, I reckon if I can show her how powerful they are now, how I love takin' off into the sky, it might finally hit her just what she's achieved. They're massive, near five meters, and I ain't been able to hoist 'em like this in months, not like this. She's mended me, healed me. It's like a proper miracle, somethin' out of a chapter in the Bible itself. "Cheers, love."

"You're welcome," she says, still a bit breathless and looking a bit lost for words.

She’s still wearing that starstruck look and can’t help but think how nice that kis was but I know better than to push my luck with another one. As much as I'd love to but she's givin’ me a slow once-over, and it's got me feelin' a bit self-conscious, mate. Ain't never had anyone eye me up the way she's doin' right now. But I know that look, and it's tellin' me she likes what she sees.

"You gonna change into some dry pants, or is hypothermia to be your idea of a good time?" She’s quick with the sass, must have it on tap, I let out a scoff, can't help myself, and decide to let her in on a little secret.

"You're wearin' the only other ones I've got."

She lets out an "Oh," and her reaction's a mix of surprise and a touch of embarrassment. But it ain't slow in changin' her mood. She promptly shimmies them down her legs and hands 'em back to me, just like that, like she ain’t standing half naked in front of me.

I'm a bit gobsmacked, to be honest. She's just there in my shirt, which don't exactly cover much, but she don't seem to give a toss. She just gives me this little cheeky smirk and turns ‘round, just like I did for her. Got a decent gander at them tattoos I spotted earlier, just peekin' out from under my shirt. But instead of gettin' caught oglin' her backside, I start working on my boots, tryin' not to make it too obvious that I'm stealin' glances at her legs, like I said, the shirt don’t cover much. Can't help it though, they're right at eye level, and it's not a bad view. She does this thing where she uses one foot to rub the top of the other, like she's cold or somethin'. Makes sense though don’t it, toes are always the first things to freeze. Comes off as cute, it does.

I kick the boots near the fire to dry and make fast work of my trousers, feelin' the chill seep into my bones as soon as air hits my skin and I’m steppin' into the joggers, quick as I can. I gotta admit, it's bleedin' nice to feel a bit drier, even if I'm still shiverin' from the rain. The fire's cracklin' away, castin' a warm glow over the room, and I can see her silhouette against the flickerin' light.

"Alright then, love," I clear my throat, trying not to overstep by touching her, not after practically manhandling her earlier and that kiss I just stole. She's lookin’ at me proper now, can practically feel her eyes burning into me.

"See somethin' you like?"

Can’t help but be a bit cheeky, can I? I’m expecting the usual response: a blush, a look-away, or a tell-off, like most birds do. Not Ivy, though, she ain’t most birds. She meets my gaze dead on, sporting a little look that’s pure mischief if I’ve ever seen it, before going toe to toe with me, reaching for the back of my neck and pulling me down, planting one on me. It ain't the kinda kiss that'd make a priest blush, but it feels like a million quid.

"What's that for?"

"Because I didn’t think you’d do it again," Well, she ain't exactly wrong, but if I'd known she was playing that game, I'd have skipped giving her clothes to change into and headed straight for the main event. You don't kiss a bloke like that unless you're lookin' for trouble.

"All you had to do was ask, love," Women, they're all over the place, ain’t they? Here I am thinkin’ she’s just some shy girl but nah, she's the type who'll snog your face off until you forget your own blinking name.

"Are you sure about this? You barely know me," Am I really bein’ the voice of reason here? The bloke is the one pointin’ out how crazy it is to shack up with a stranger? She takes a step back, maybe wonderin’ if I'm havin’ second thoughts. But that ain’t the case at all. I slip my arm around her, stoppin’ her retreat, letting her know I'm more than interested, just a tad wary. "It's just... seems a bit reckless, you know? Hooking up with a bloke you've only just met." As soon as I hear my own words, I kick myself for being such a twit and pray to anyone listenin’ that she don’t get cold feet.

She flashes me a grin, one that's teeming with mischief and a hint of wicked intentions, and it puts me at ease. It's clear that Ivy is doing exactly what she wants to do at this moment. We're just a pair lookin’ a bit of comfort tonight. She’s kissin’ me and each one is hotter than the last, and she knows how to keep a bloke yearning for more, that's for sure. In between those lips of hers, she starts talking to me.

"Your name's Warren, you've got goddamned angel wings and can actually fly." She says before locking lips with me again. "You might come off as a bit of an ass, but you're one hell of a kisser." Is that about right? "You're feeling lonely, and I've got my moments too. And if even half of what you just told me is true, it looks like you could use someone to spoil you a bit."

Blimey, did she just say all that? My blood's runnin' hot, and it feels like my heart's ready to burst out of my chest. She's got my undivided attention now, if she didn't have it before. Ain't even heard this girl so much as swear, but now it's all 'goddamned this' and 'you're a good kisser.' And she wants to spoil me? Bloody hell. Who is this lass anyway? Hang on, you know what? I couldn't give a toss. She can do as she pleases, and I'm not going to complain.

I feel her arms cinched tight around my neck, her voice oozing with confidence as she peppers me with kisses, and my daft brain is stuck on the fact that she reckons I'm a good kisser and wants to treat me, mullin’ over how she'll manage that, as if she hasn't already done more than enough for me.

As if she hasn't already put me back together; complete.

As she's layin' them on me, I'm takin' in more than just her taste, the faint hint of rain on her, mixed with that sweet, addictive flavor that's all her. I can feel the warmth of her soft lips pressin' against mine, and her breath, it's got that soft tickle, like a whispered secret that makes the hairs on my neck stand on end. The sweet scent of her skin mixed with the fresh rain lingerin' in the air gets my senses all stirred up. Her fingers are tangled in my hair, tugging at it just enough to send shivers down my spine, and my heart's drummin' a wild beat, like I'm at a bloody rock concert. Every touch and taste's screamin' at me, and I can't help but want more of it. The way she presses her body against mine, hips fitting perfectly with mine, sends a rush of heat through me.

It's like I'm on bloody fire, and it's all her fault.

Solitude wasn't ever my cup of tea, and who in their right mind would want that anyway? Who wants to miss out on moments like this?

As my knees hit the sofa, I tumble back, my wings instinctively unfoldin' to help me keep my balance. It's a move I've missed, a little habit that ain't been possible for months. Must make for quite the sight. She perches herself on my lap like she belongs there, eager for more. A right stunning bird's got me pinned to the sofa in front of a crackling fire, and I sure as hell didn't reckon this mornin' would lead to this steamy rendezvous. Feelin' that pleasant haze wash over me, the kind that makes you a bit drowsy 'cause you're just so damn relaxed and every touch is pure bliss. Missed this, bein' kissed, and feelin' them gentle caresses. The fire in my gut's roarin', tellin' me a night of wild passion's on the horizon, and sleep ain't even a consideration.

She's all in, her hands tangled up in my hair as our lips, teeth, and tongues doin' this fiery tango. I like a bird who knows what she wants, and Ivy is proving to be nothin' short of electrifyin' and I'm more than happy to fly a little closer to the sun.

That tongue of hers, it’s makin’ my head spin, and got my cock wonderin' what other talents that tongue possesses. My entire body's pulsing with the kinda want that makes you feel like a teenager again.

Her hands are all over me, up my shoulders, around the back of my neck, and just where my wings are. It's a touch I haven't had in ages, and I've bloody well forgotten how good it feels. That spot's a bit sensitive, it's ruffling my feathers in every sense of the word. It's like tugging on strands of hair, sending shivers down your spine.

She's caught me off guard, that's for sure, but I'm not so daft that I forget how to treat a girl. It just takes me a second to get my bearings. It's hard to keep your wits about you when most of your blood's rushing south, if you catch my drift. Her hair feels like silk through my fingers, and while I’m enjoying that mouth of hers, I wanna taste more. She's making these little sounds when I start kissin’ her neck, somewhere between a sigh and a moan. Music to my ears, it is.

Every bird's got her soft spots, those secret places that make her jump, whimper, and get all squirmy and hot for you when you kiss or touch her. With her long hair, I'd wager my last quid that hers is on her neck under her ear. A little love bite tells me I've hit the mark. When I give that spot a little nip, she clings onto my hair tighter, and her hips start pressin’ into mine. Kissing is top-notch, but it's clear we're both itching for more. I want her on her back, legs wrapped around me as we lose ourselves in the heat of the moment. Call me chivalrous, but I reckon I owe this girl one hell of a ride tonight.

I want her to see bloody stars and take her so high she won't want to come back down.

Her legs are tremblin’ when I touch her, but I think it's got more to do with how much she's loving it and less about being nervous. I think I'm getting to her, but it's not enough; I need her closer. I want all these clothes between us gone, and every inch of her skin on mine. Though I'd love to rip her damn shirt off and toss it aside, I'm waiting to see if she has a change of heart, plus I don’t exactly have spares. Girls lose their nerve sometimes, you know. I've got quite the tent pitched, and it'd be a shame if I had to take care of it myself.

Ivy's just as eager as I am, giving me a hand as I lift her arms, and the shirt slips off in a flash. She wasn't sportin’ anything beneath it, and I can feel her pebbled skin against mine and I groan. It’s hard to keep me eyes open but when I do I catch a glimpse of black knickers, maybe something silky like satin, with a hint of lace. They look stunning, but they've got to go. Seeing a girl like this is a breath of fresh air: Her hair's all tousled, and her breathing sounds like she's just finished a marathon, mad with want. With each kiss, she's becoming more and more insatiable, and now there's one less thing between us.

Can't really explain it, but I'm still a bit on edge about touching her, daft as it sounds. She's starkers on my lap, her tongue's down my throat, tits pressed into my chest and she's grabbing me, grindin’ into me, making all those noises that drive a bloke mental. She's snagged my lip between her teeth, and them hands of hers are scratchin’ their way down my stomach till she's got at my joggers, rubbing my hips, hips rocking against mine. It's embarrassing, the sounds I'm makin’ but she seems to like 'em just fine.

Can't help but grab her by the backside and pull her right against me, showing her what them kisses are doing to me, I’m hard as bleedin’ steel, can feel my cock leaking beggin’ to be touched. It's been ages since I've had a good shag, and it didn't feel half as good as this.

That tongue of hers, it's gonna be a proper challenge, innit? I mean, ain't no bloke gonna complain about a girl with skills, but the issue is she's too damn good at it. Feels so good it's like walking a tightrope, ya know? Gotta keep my composure and make sure I ain't done before the main event even starts. Gotta slow things down or switch gears, anything to keep control, mate.

Here's the thing about girls when they're into you, they like looking right into your eyes. Can't say for sure why, but I reckon it's 'cause they want to see us at our most vulnerable. Or maybe it's 'cause they're seeing a side of us no one else does. Not even our closest mates get that look. It's all just for them. And that's when I get my chance to turn the tables a bit more in my favor.

She's breathing heavy, pulling back from a kiss, and looking at me like she's lost in a fog, same one I’m stumblin’ my way through. Feels like she might say something for a minute, but I reckon her brain's working about as well as mine is.

Her expression is a treat when I manage to snake a hand between us, slippin’ beneath those black knickers to find she's in a right state, all heated up and practically on fire, drippin’, and desperate as they come. She seizes up, and I can see the shiver that travels from the top of her head down to her toes when I find that little spot between her legs, the one that makes her moan. Her mouth falls open against mine, not kissing me, not uttering a single word. It's as if she can't even form proper sentences. That's the sweet spot, the one most blokes overlook, thinking their cocks are all that's needed to satisfy a woman. But that's not the case; you've got to give attention everywhere. Gotta to take your time with them. Trust me, it's well worth every second when they've got that look in their eyes. You know the one, that wild gaze that says, ‘We're not going anywhere until I've had my fill of you.’

Eyes wide, lips quivering, body shivering, that's when you've found your rhythm and I’ve found hers. Rollin’ her hips against my hand, an’ she's letting out these little moans with each little twirl of my thumb. She feels like silk, hot, wet and soft.

"How's that, love?"

I know I've got her right where I want her, she's falling apart in my lap. Can see her brain short-circuiting on the spot, words are a struggle, but her body's telling me everything I need to know. She manages a nod, though. It's like she's had a few too many, eyes heavy, chest heaving. Her back’s arching and she’s biting down on her lip, I can tell she's getting close. That didn’t take long, I’m either readin’ this girl like a book or it’s just been that long, and anything will set her off, though I’m hopin’ it’s the first one.

Seeing her like this, it's a far cry from the scrappy ginger girl who climbed in through a busted church window and traded barbs with me. She's gripping onto me, burning into my eyes with hers, and I thought I had her then and there, but then I feel those fingers of hers on the back of my neck, making their clever way down near my wings, and I know I'm in trouble. Guess she picked up on my sweet spot. I can feel the tips of her fingers dancing between my shoulder blades, my wings barely touching, a caress so soft that if I didn't know better, I'd think it was just a breeze. But I do know better, and this little minx is doing it on purpose.

The little smirk on her lips is just confirming what I already know. She's trying to hold off, thinks she can outlast me. Well, two can play at this game.

"That’s lovely, darlin’ but I bet you go before I do," It’s hard to keep the stutter out of my breath.

But then there's that look in her eyes again, the one that tells me she ain't gonna make it easy on me, and I believe her. She leans in close like she's gonna whisper something only I can hear, and I can feel her lips and tongue on my ear, and it's bloody hard not to shudder or make a sound.

She’s got something up her sleeve, and when I feel her teeth tugging in my ear she says it, the thing that comes close to making me cummin’ in my damn joggers.

“Warren, please make me cum baby,”

Bloody hell. I'm biting my tongue so hard I’m waitin’ to taste blood. At least, I’m tryin’, until she lands a kiss on me and licks her way into my mouth. Hearin’ her say my name like that, feelin’ her teeth graze my skin, she actually said ‘please’. Called me ‘baby’ like I’m her fella. She’s beggin’ me to get her off, no joke.

Never had a girl get me fired up like this, never wanted anyone half as much as I want her right now. Never growled at a girl out of sheer hunger. But that's exactly what I'm doing. I've got a handful of her hair wrapped around my fist to pull, just enough to get at her neck.

"Asked you a question," It's a bloody challenge to keep my cool and not just dive right in, rip those knickers off and sink my cock into her right here, right now. "How's. That?" I give her a couple of gentle love taps, and she's jerkin’ in my lap, letting out these desperate little whimpers. It's like I've thrown petrol on the fire between us, and she's not the only one who's getting worked up, my cocks so hard it hurts.

I might have the wings of an angel, but I can play the part of a devil just as well.

She's fumbling for the right words, trying to get 'em out, but it's like she's swallowing her nerves and revving up her brain at the same time. No doubt I've got her all riled up. I can hear the desperation in her voice, but she's back to kissin’ me like she means it, like she's starved for it.

Her lips on mine ain't gonna change what I'm waitin’ to hear from her. It's not gonna distract me for long, either. I'll keep her right on the edge if I have to. Slowing down those little circles on her clit till she practically sobs, just need her to tell me and I’ll finish her off.

"G– Good. God, it's good!" There it is. "Warren!" I could get used to hearing her say my name like that, like she's pleading or something. Ask and ye shall receive, then, eh? As promised I start up again on her, working my thumb in circles faster and tighter, it’s tempting to slip in a finger but I’m pretty sure if I do that’ll be the end of it for me. “Fuck!”

Can't explain it. Don't know what it is about hearing Yanks curse, especially the ladies. Even more so when they're letting out those choice words while you've got your hands all over them and they’re getting close, it's a real turn-on. Some might say Americans throw the word ‘fuck’ like we throw out the word ‘bloody’ but in the heat of the moment, it's like a fiery exclamation mark it's like music to my ears, especially when it's Ivy saying it, and I love it. She's ready to fly, not giving a damn about anything else and I'll make sure she gets there, just needs one final nudge...

"Ivy, want you to kiss me, then I want you to come," I tell her, and she does, our teeth clinking together as she kisses me hard, that the last bit of resistance in her breaks, and she comes undone. She's moanin' into our kiss, her hands are clawin’ at me like she can't get enough and writhin' against me.

Could be a spot for some fun here if she’s not too sensitive, gotta be careful, don't wanna mess up the vibe. I’m barely touching her now, occasionally grazing hte inside of her thigh, I can tell by how she's squirming that she's a bit sensitive, most girls are, but I’d bet money I can have her thrashin’ again here soon. There's something about watching a girl lose herself in an orgasm like that and knowing you're the reason, it's a proper power trip. She's looking at me like she's famished, and I slip my hand from her knickers, trying not to startle her. But she gives me a surprise when she snatches my hand and slips my thumb past her lips licking it clean, all the while keeping her eyes locked on mine. My cocks harder than it’s ever been and ready for attention, something about that feeling, having a girl suck on your fingers, let’s just say it leaves little to our imaginations.

She's on me again, layin' kisses down my neck and chest, gettin' lower and lower, then she sinks ot the floor and I'm strugglin' to keep my breathin' steady. I've seen that look before, know what's comin' next, and damn right, I've earned it. Feels like I'm frozen, seeing her look up at me, all that anticipation's gonna do me in. But she's takin' her sweet time, not rushin' for nothin'. I can't even look away, not when she's pullin' at my joggers and my blood's startin' to boil. Next thing I know, she's chuckin' 'em over her shoulder and takin' me in hand, givin' me these slow, soft strokes. My breath's caught in my throat, like I'm breathin', but no air's comin' in or out, just goin' through the motions. It'll catch up in a sec, and bloody hell, it's amazin', never felt better.

My eyes are drooping, and I can't keep my head up anymore, so I lean back and let the it all wash over me. Closing me eyes, takin’ it all in, just feeling everything. Her hands are warm, her lips soft, and her touch is just right. It's absolutely spot-on. Every touch sends a jolt through me, it's ramping me up a bit more, but I've got to say, I'm not in any hurry to take the reins. She said she wants to spoil me, and I'm dying to find out what that's like. Normally, it's a mutual affair, both of you getting into it, but this? It's not the usual back and forth, both of you going at it. This ain't like any other time with any other girl. Ivy, she's taking her time, making sure I feel every bit of what she's got to offer, and If tomorrow I'm a goner, then I'll go out with a smile on my face.

It's like a proper enchantment, the world's gone all soft, and all I can bloody feel is pleasure, not a lick of pain, and I couldn't give two figs about being naked right now, even though we're in a church. My mind's gone off to the races, too far gone to care about being self-conscious, thanks to the magic Ivy's working on me.

When she's finally done teasing me, that mouth of hers swallows my cock whole, and a groan tears itself from my throat, and I couldn't care less if the whole world hears. I'm throwing every bloody curse word I know, but none of them seem powerful enough to describe how damn amazing this feels. It's a sensation I haven't had in ages. And just like that, my eyes snap open, and my hips jerk as if I've lost control over myself. All I want is more, more of what she's giving; hot, wet, and sweet.

I can't help the noises escaping my mouth, growing louder and louder, which might sound a bit pathetic, but honestly, I couldn't give a toss. I just need her not to stop, not with that clever mouth of hers or those wicked lips. My hands are tangled up in her hair, not that I'm trying to pull, but it seems to encourage her, spurring her on.

Takes me a full minute to realize she's slowing down and planting kisses low across my stomach. Finally, I can catch my breath, and some thoughts are making their way through my foggy brain.

"Warren?" She asks in between kisses that seem to whisper, 'I want you,' and devious love bites that scream, 'You're mine.'

I manage to croak out a response, "You're not done, are you?" I sound like I've just run a flaming marathon, all out of breath and barely hanging on. I know it's selfish, but when it's been this long and she feels this good, you can't blame me. She shakes her head and lays another kiss on me, sucking on my skin hard enough to leave marks.

"No, I just need to know something." Her mouth might have stopped, but those hands of hers haven't; they're stroking, touching, keeping me right on the edge.

"Y—yeah, love? What's that?" Can't believe I've managed that much.

"Slow or fast?" My eyes pop open again, and I'm gobsmacked. She's giving me the choice? I don't know, and I don't give a toss, as long as she doesn't stop. But the longer I look at her, it's clear she wants me to pick, and now I'm in a proper bind. Fast is smashing when you're in a rush to get off, but I'm in no hurry, and I want this to last as long as it bleedin' can. Slow? Well, slow takes a load of discipline not to give in as it all builds up.

"Slow." Dunno if the angel or the devil on my shoulder picked that one, but this is one of those times when there's no right or wrong answer.

And a second later, she grins and says, "Good answer," and gets back to it, taking my cock back into her mouth slower this time till I hit the back of her throat. Bleeding amazing. It was a right bloody good answer.

My throat's gonna be raw tomorrow, not that there'll be a cuppa strong enough to sort that out, but that's the last thing on my mind. Licking up and down slow, lapping at the crown of my cock, then sucking hard and slow, flicking her tongue in all the right spots. Her hand’s wrapped ‘round me, stroking and between the two it’s a miracle I’ve not already spilled into her mouth yet. All I can think is 'Not yet, not yet' as Ivy's got me hurtling closer and closer to that mind-blowing finish line. Stupid as it sounds, I'm powerless, couldn't move even if I wanted to. My body's gone and taken over, saying 'Sit down, mate, and enjoy the ride.'

"Ivy! Love, y--you've gotta stop. Ain't gonna last much longer,"

I manage to choke out, but she don’t seem to care, just looking me dead on and moaning as she swallows me again. If anything, she speeds up a bit, the pace still slow and steady, but now there's a sense of urgency to get me there. She's bloody brilliant at this, I was right about that tongue of hers, licking me like a goddamned lolly, I can feel my eyes fluttering shut, and my limbs turning to lead. I'm stuck, just caught in this blissful trance, letting Ivy take charge as she's dead set on seeing me through.

Is this what they call heaven, then?

Y'know, there comes a moment when you've crossed the point of no return, when it's all steam ahead and no brakes, and for me, it was when Ivy shot back her answer. I told her she needed to slow down, so I could take her right, but this girl, this devil in an angel's guise, just gave me this cheeky grin, mouthful of my cock said:

"You will."

Well, that’s the end of it.

My gut tightens and it hits me like a bloody freight train, ripping through my body like a burst dam. Just spillin’ everything I’ve got, can feel her swallowing, and I dunno how she’s doin’ it but she doesn’t miss a drop. No control left, hands in her hair, pulling like a madman, going at it like a wild animal, growling and moaning like I'm barely even human. It’s hard not to grab her hair and fuck her mouth, it's too much, like an electric shock running through every last nerve I've got, sending ‘em into overdrive.

All I’m seein’ are these bloody fairy lights, then black spots start cropping up in my vision, and it's just too damn intense. But Ivy, she, don't, stop. No, she keeps at it, working me, taking everything I've got to offer, she just keeps swallowing.

In the heat of the moment, I'm blurting out her name, begging her not to stop, tellin’ her how damn good it feels, and I might've even told her I love her, though I'm not entirely sure.

I’ve never cum so hard in my life. And she swallowed every bit of it, like I was the treat and not the other way round. Never seen a girl take as much pleasure in a fella like Ivy just has, taking her time with me, leaving me in the aftermath, shuddering all the way down to my toes. I’m a sweaty mess but I’ve never felt more alive and wanted.

After something like that, I figure I'll need a bit of a breather before I'm ready for another round, and believe me I want one. When she's finally had her fill of me, she climbs back into my lap licking her lips like a cat who’s just got the cream, but that look on her face makes me wonder what's going on in her head. Never been one for kissin’ right after a girl's had her fun swallowin’ my cum down like that, but Ivy lays those kisses on my skin, moving slowly up my chest until she reaches my lips, and suddenly, I couldn't care less about what's happened before. I want to kiss her till she's trembling, make her feel a fraction of how good she made me feel.

Her kisses are easy and slow now, and she fits perfectly in my lap, like she belongs there. And I reckon she does.

"Love, that was bleedin' amazing." She grins lazily and kisses me again. "Wish you'd stopped, though. I'll need a few minutes ‘fore the man downstairs is up again."

When a girl lets out that low, sexy laugh, you know she's got something up her sleeve. And Ivy's laugh tells me she’s playing with a fixed deck.

"Wha’s funny?" I ask, trying to get in on the joke. Then, I feel her hands around me wrapping ‘round my cock again and my head falls back a second.

“Fuckin’ hell!”

I'm waiting for the pain that comes from bein’ so damn senstitive after cumming, but it never arrives. I look down between us and it's quite a shock when I realize I'm ready for another round a lot sooner than expected. She did this, I'm sure of it. ‘Fixed deck’ doesn't even begin to cover it. She's rigged the entire bloody game.

"Told you," She says with a grin and a wink before pushing me back against the sofa.

No way, not a bleedin' chance. Except here I am, starin' at the evidence that tells a different story. I'll have to give myself a right bollocking later for nearly scarin' off this rare bird. What kind of tosser was I being? I'm not usually one for believin' in love at first sight, but Ivy here might be makin' me rethink a few things.

Sure enough, I'm ready for more, and once the shock's worn off, I'm all for it. I pull her into a kiss that has her meltin' against me, arms wrapped around my neck. There are a few ways we could do this, but I'm likin' the position we're in. I can see her face, kiss her, and she's right here with me, sharin' the same breath. I wanna see her when she sinks onto my cock. Wanna watch her fall apart again for me. Wanna see those eyes of hers locked onto me because I'm the only thing that's making her feel this good, and I plan to.

I'm up for takin' control now, but she stops me with a hand on my chest and a shake of her head. It seems she's not done havin' her fun yet. Alright, I'll let her take the lead a bit longer. I did say I like a girl who can take charge, didn't I?

"How do you want this, love?" She can have me any way she likes.

"Keep your eyes open." What's that? She wants what? "I want to look at you."

Whatever the lady fancies. She wants to have a good look at me, see when my eyes go wide and bore right into me. Doesn't bother me, but odds are all she'll see is my eyes rolling to the back of my head. A suck off is brilliant and all, but nothing beats the proper deal, and it's been a bit since I've had both in one night. It's usually one or the other. Oh well, if that gets her off, it's fine by me. Fine by me.

I know she’s trying to stand to shimmy those knickers down but it’s too far, and God, I need to feel her squeeze my cock, right now. So I grab her hips, keepin’ her right where she’s at, pulin’l ‘em to the side and tease her for a minute, close enough. Can feel how hot and drippin’ wet she is, one hand wrapped ‘round her waist the other on my cock pumpin’ a few times for good measure before I push in. Lettin’ her sink down nice and slow, giving her as much time as I can to settle from how much I’m stretching her. Holy fucking hell, I’m struggling to not just start driving up into her, it so fucking tight and it’s a struggle to keep my head in straight. It’s harder to keep my eyes open than I thought. Ivys gone a bit limp in my arms, her mouth’s just hanging open and she lets out this sweet little whimper all the while having a staring contest with me as we sit there together for a sec, gettin’ used to one another.

Can feel tremors race all over me as she squeezes my cock, it’s fucking perfect. There’s something so intense about how she’s looking at me and I tell ya, it don’t look like the same bird I met tonight. The longer I look at her the more she looks like an Angel. My chest is heaving again and it takes a solid minute before I can move or speak again.

"Alright, love?"

I'm praying she says yes, tells me she's never felt better, asks me to fuck her nicely. There's a blush coloring those cheeks of hers, just a bit, and it's lovely. She's lovely like this. No barriers between us, as real as it gets. It feels good, lettin’ her see all of me. Can't explain why I want to kiss her fast and hard but fuck her nice and slow, it just feels like the right thing to do.

"Just give me a sec!" She says, nodding, still getting used to the feel, looks like it’s been a bit for her too. "Fuck, you feel good." Well, if that doesn't stroke a bloke's ego, I don't know what will. It's sure as hell stroking mine just fine, my cocks twitching inside her like it’s tryin’ to kickstart this whole thing.

“Been a minute for you, love?” She gives me a nod, ain’t that a shame?

“Yeah, a little bit.” Can't help but chuckle a bit and give her a long and slow kiss and I reach up for one of her nipples and start teasin’ it while I give a lazy thrust.

“That helping?”

She nods against my lips and grins, wrapping her arms around me again. “Yeah, do that again.” She's moaning with each little movement, and I give her a nod and shift her a bit in my arms, setting her down in a way that's a bit comfier for us both. "Go slow."

"You're gorgeous." Like she asked me, I go slow, slipping out just enough with a groan before going back in. It's intense, letting her feel all of me, sending chills down my back, and she's gripping me like a vice. "Sexy as hell." Out again slowly. "Razor-smart." And back in. It's gonna be hard to keep this pace. It's enough to drive a bloke mad. "So fucking hot, and tight for me, yeah?” Each time I say something like that I can feel her clenchting me harder. She likes it. Could tell her all the thoughts runnin’ through my head right now, tell her how I wanna throw her on her hands and knees and fuck her till she screams my name, tell her I know she likes hearing me talk to her like this cause I can feel her squeeze my cock.

Gotta remind myself to slow down, plenty of time for the harder stuff later, right now I’ve got my cock buried in her and it’s killing me to go so slow, pretty sure she can tell cause after a few thrusts she bucks against me and tells me to go faster and thank God for it. I give her a quick thrust and she jolts then melts back against me.

“Like that?” My voice is harsh and I’m gonna news a cuppca tea after this.

“Harder.” Whatever you want, Ivy.

It’s gonna be hard keeping a rhythm like this, I love having her on my lap where I can see her face, see those tits of her bounce each time I rut against her but I can already feel it killin’ my legs. Need a change of position to keep the pace,

“Hold tight,” I wrap my arms ‘round her legs and put her on her back, that red hair of hers is fanned out and now that I’m driving my cock into her properly I watch her eyes roll back and I see she’s got freckles, all over her cheeks, down her neck and across her chest.

As we find a rhythm that satisfies both of our cravings, my eyes flicker between Ivy, lost in her own little nirvana, and the statues of saints and religious paintings watching us – like some voyeuristic audience. It's safe to say this ain't your typical Sunday service. Can't help but let out a chuckle in my chest; it all depends on what you're worshipping, doesn't it? Two thoughts cross my mind. First, I'm probably heading straight to hell for this. Second, and more importantly, I don't give a damn. Maybe I'll get lucky, and it won't count against my soul. Is a church still a church if the only parishioners it sees are pigeons? I've had a right mess of a life from the day my wings popped up, and if eternity's taking a southerly route, might as well savor it – every touch, every kiss, every thrust, every sound. No sense in second-guessing it now.

I've nearly died, been maimed, imprisoned, jeered at, and left broken and alone. In the grand scheme of things, the world tearing itself apart over mutant or human, all that, this feels right. No pain, no judgment, no wrong – just right. Is it dumb luck that brought Ivy to my church, or is it something else? I'm not a man of faith, other than the belief that bad things can and will happen. Maybe I've earned some grace. I don't even realize I've slowed my pace until I feel Ivy clawing at my hips, her look a mix of 'What’s wrong?' and 'Get on with it'. Most blokes think of dirty things when they're with a girl; here I am, having existential thoughts on fate and destiny. What's wrong with me? Ivy takes charge, wrapping her legs around me, pulling me into more of those kisses that warm the cold parts of your soul and make your head spin like a record. The contrast between the sacred surroundings and the intimate act only adds to the thrill of it all.

The room's quiet now, just the rhythm of our breaths, the soft hymn of skin against skin, and the occasional pop of the fire. It's a soundtrack I'm itching to play on repeat in my head for as long as I can remember. Each note is like a tattoo on my brain, proof of the intensity we just shared, something I could get used to.

I probably look a bit spaced out because Ivy's hand reaches up, bringing me back to the present. She's got this concerned look breaking through. "Hey, where'd you go?"

Good question, where did I go? Not where I should be, that's for sure. I should be right here, soaking in every moment with this stunning girl who's got all my attention.

"Nowhere important," I mutter, only half sure about that. There's a nagging voice in my head, tossing questions I don't have the answers to. What happens when the heat cools down, and we've had our fill? Do we part ways, or maybe stick together for a bit? Being alone isn't all it's cracked up to be, and some company wouldn't be half bad, especially if it's Ivy. Feels like I'm some teenager pondering his first crush, wondering if she 'likes' me likes me. Don't have the answers to those questions right now, but what I do know is that I want more of this. More of Ivy; more of her lips, her smile, her touch, and those noises she makes when I hit her sweet spots.

"What's going on up there?" she asks, her gaze drilling into me, like she ain't quite buying my story.

"Wanna know where my head's at?" I shoot back, with a cheeky grin, cooking up a plan to shift focus. "Right here," I say with a sly snap of my hips, snatching her breath in a surprised gasp. I’ve no idea what’s going to happen, but with Ivy in my arms, there's nothing I want more than to dive back into the chaos we've just cooked up together.

"With this gorgeous girl, causing a bit of a stir, doing things that’ll make a vicar blush." I get back to ramping up the pace I lost, and it seems to satisfy Ivy in more ways than one. Existential dilemmas can wait; right now, it's about us, our fire, and the sweet mess we're making. I'm kicking it up a notch, done with the slow and steady rhythm, now I want it harder and faster.

She's clinging to me just like she did up in the air, but this time, there's no fear in her eyes, maybe just a bit of fear that I might hit the brakes. Those lips of hers are on my neck, marking me up good for all to see, moving with me as I rock us nearer to a spectacular finish. We're damn close now, just a breath away.

I'm delving in deeper now, and with each thrust, I can feel her squirming against me. She's desperate to get her lips back on mine, and that suits me just fine. I’m lost in this, I feel as high and untouchable now as I do when I'm soaring through the skies. She's crushin’ me tighter, and the way she's bucking an wrappin’ her legs around me, tells me she's not far off either. She ain't even looking at me anymore, eyes shut tight, hands clenched into fists above her head, like she's trying to savor every bit of how good she feels. She looks bloody amazing like this.

"Ivy," I murmur, and those emerald eyes of hers snap open. I only now realize they're the greenest eyes I've ever seen. "Look at me." She's got that blissed-out look, but she keeps her eyes open, and our fingers intertwine, somehow bringing us even closer. "Alright?" She just nods with a desperate look in her eyes, and I watch them roll back as she tenses up, back arching, lips quivering until I kiss her, swallowing up the sounds she makes. It's a sight, watching her let go. Knowing I did that to her. Still, it doesn't come close to repaying her for what she's done for me. But the night's long, and we're not hurting for time.

She's grinding against me, and I can feel it when it hits her, riding the wave of pleasure, and it's bloody amazing. Can't believe I've managed to last this long. But, bugger it, a few seconds of Ivy losing it is my undoing, and I go over the edge right after her, free-falling into that blissful abyss. Keeping up the pace like a damn jackhammer, I go stiff when I finally hit the mark and bury myself deep. It all crashes over me—hot, tight, and fast. Every nerve's on fire, and I can't hold back the groans, spouting curses and telling her how fuckin’ good she feels. Then, those fairy lights start flickering back into my vision, creating a halo around Ivy.

Fuckin’ hell, it’s a proper knockout. Loads better than the first one, hitting me like a bloody lightning bolt. It's unreal, nothing's come close to this before. No girl's ever taken me over the edge like Ivy is right now, leavin’ me shaking, feeling like I'm about to collapse.

My elbows on the ground are the only things keeping me from going completely arse over tit. I'm gasping for breath, and it feels like I can't suck it in fast enough. My hips start to stutter to a stop, and I nearly jump out of my skin when I feel Ivy's hand on my shoulder blade, stroking my back. My body's turned into a live wire, every touch from her feels like it's pushing me to the edge again. I swear I can feel my wings vibrating, and that's a new one, don't reckon that’s ever happened before.

The tingling of Ivy's fingers over my back adds to the sensory overload, and I collapse against her, burying my face into her neck, and for a few minutes, I don't move, I can’t.

"You okay?" I'm lying here, completely knackered. I give her some muffled reply that probably sounds like gibberish, that she can't quite catch, adding a bit of humor to the situation. "Say what?"

It’s a chore but I manage to lift my head, ”Never been better. You?” She grins and gives me a lazy smirk.

"I'm good for round three." My eyes go wide as saucers, clocking the mischievous glint in her eyes, and I quickly capture her hands before they can venture lower.

"Are you trying to kill me?" She chuckles, “Look, hate to break your heart love, but after the day I’ve had, I really am gonna need a proper breather.”

She gives me a nod and a heavy sigh like she’s a spoiled princess not gettin’ what she wants, and I roll onto my side, let out a deep breath, and lookin’ at the ceiling. Ivy pulls herself up and looks back at me combing a hand through her tangled hair, lookin every bit as temping now as she was a bit ago. Then she looks around and makes a grab for my shirt but I’m not havin’ any of that and I give her a tug round the waist pullin’ her back against me wrapping my arms around her. "Just let me get a few winks before you go waking me up again, yeah?"

Ivy's worn me out; haven't been this knackered in ages, and I definitely need some shut-eye before we dive back into the fun and games. From the sounds of it, I'll need it because Ivy's up for more. It’s only been a few minutes and she's already starting to drift off, I can feel her breath tickling my chest, her legs tangling with mine. It feels good to have her in my arms, my hand stroking her back. She lets out this content, sleepy, little sigh—pretty cute, and she snuggles into me, making herself at home, and it feels nice to have her close. So nice that I feel a twinge of panic for a second.

"Ivy," I say. She gives me a sleepy little 'Mmhmm.' I can't explain why it's so hard to get the words out—well, that's not true. I know exactly why it's hard because she's close, and she said it perfectly earlier: 'People can't hurt you if you don't let 'em in close.' Rip the plaster off, Warren… if I wake up and she's gone again, at least I've spoken my peace. "You gonna be here when I wake up?"

For a second, I wonder if I took too long to get the words out and she fell asleep, but when I feel her laughing and she traces little designs on my chest, I know she's awake.

"D'you want me to be here when you wake up?" It's a simple question but not easy to answer. Ivy's come into what was left of my life and turned it all topsy-turvy. It feels good to have her here with me. Oh, hell with it, what's the worst she can say?

"Yeah, I do."

She plants a sweet little kiss on me that makes me feel warm. "Then I'll be here." I don't even bother trying to hide my relief. She'll be here. She said she'd stay. She'll be here when I wake up.

Yeah, she said that, but why don't I believe her?

I didn't even realize my breathing was picking up until Ivy sits up, planting another kiss on me. Lips brushing mine, making those voices a bit quieter, like she's putting my worries at ease. "I'll be here, promise."

It's a stupid reason to trust someone, just because they ‘promise’. How many billions of promises have been made and broken? But I can feel it in the way Ivy kisses me, an how she’s lookin’ at me. Guess that makes me stupid. If Ivy says she'll be here, then I believe her. That makes it easier to drift off to sleep—the first peaceful night's sleep I've known in a long while.

#i have too many stories #fanfiction is life #original character #alternate universe #x men apocalypse #warren worthington iii #X-men angel #archangel x men #warren Worthington iii x original female character #smut #pov first person #british character #warren worthington smut #warren worthington imagine #warren worthington the third #one shot #warren is angsty #church smut #going to hell for this

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serendipitouswasteland · 1 year

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Note: This was transcribed from my AO3.

ship: buddie pov: outsider, first person written: March 30, 2022 first published: March 30, 2022 word count: 1,038 - summary: Two men wearing nice suits walk into the room, shoulders brushing as they walk past each other. One is slightly taller than the other, the former wearing a maroon suit over a black turtleneck, his counterpart wearing navy blue. The one in navy has brown hair and some stubble, an amused look on his face as he adjusts a gold watch on his wrist. The one in maroon has dark copper curls, his face being more serious. They one in blue looks at the other, stifling a slight laugh that slips out and pulling his mouth into a closed-lip smile, shaking his head. I turn to Simone, asking for his input.

"What do you think?" I ask, and Simone takes a moment, nodding when he's made his judgement.

"They love each other."

"You think so?"

"Oh, I know so. Look at how they react to each other. They remind me of you and I when we were younger."

or a fic from the perspective of the two men and the (unseen) bartender off to the far left in the photo of buddie playing poker. - A/N: The mere thought of these two guys and the bartender gossipping about Buddie and doing some people watching makes me so freaking giddy. Like, you can't tell me that's not what they're doing. (Well, technically you could, but I just wouldn't listen.) I really hope you guys enjoy this one, as it was really fun to write. Really, it's just to give us all a good laugh (seriously I can't stop giggling while writing this, that's how ridiculous it is).

Simone and I sit at the bar counter, talking away with the bartender as we share life stories. After just over thirty years of partnership, ten of those having spent being married, we've garnered a lot to say. Our favorite thing, though, isn't sharing our own stories, but admiring other's stories from afar. Watching as their lives unfold or fall in place right in front of them, sometimes without them even realizing it, is truly beautiful, even when what's happened isn't necessarily good. I take Simone's hand, getting another drink from the bartender, the three of us talking about the different people in the room. That's when a certain pair catches my eye.

Two men wearing nice suits walk into the room, shoulders brushing as they walk past each other. One is slightly taller than the other, the former wearing a maroon suit over a black turtleneck, his counterpart wearing navy blue. The one in navy has brown hair and some stubble, an amused look on his face as he adjusts a gold watch on his wrist. The one in maroon has dark copper curls, his face being more serious. They one in blue looks at the other, stifling a slight laugh that slips out and pulling his mouth into a closed-lip smile, shaking his head. I turn to Simone, asking for his input.

"What do you think?" I ask, and Simone takes a moment, nodding when he's made his judgement.

"They love each other," he says, his accent thick, and I smile as I look back at the two men.

"You think so?"

"Oh, I know so. Look at how they react to each other. They remind me of you and I when we were younger," Simone says, and I let my mind wander for a moment down memory lane in search of the memories he's reminded me of. "I just don't think they know it yet."

The one in blue pulls out a chair for the other at a poker table in the center of the room, the two sitting unbelievably close. Looking around, I notice the amount of room they have. They could have their own personal space, be in their own bubbles, but they're choosingly sitting as close as possible while remaining in their own seats. They seem to know the woman to their left, quickly engaging in conversation with her, the three of them smiling. The smile on the man in maroon's face disappears quickly, though.

"What should we call them?" I ask, this time getting a response from the bartender.

"They're firefighters," he says, and both Simone and I turn to him.

"How do you know?" Simone asks, as intrigued as I am.

"Well the one in maroon was one the news forever ago when he saved a bunch of people from a rollercoaster. He was also on the news after a ladder truck crushed his leg. The other was on the news not too long ago, a year or two maybe, after getting shot by this guy targeting firefighters."

"Jesus," I say, shaking my head. "What a line of work to be in."

The bartender shrugs, cleaning some glasses. "There's been worse. Besides, either of them could have died. More than once. I think there's a reason they're still alive."

"Told you," Simone says, and I give him a kiss on the cheek while I pat his hand. "They don't know that they're in love yet."

"That still doesn't answer my question," I say, and the bartender nods.

"The one in maroon is Evan Buckley. The one in navy is Edmundo Diaz."

"Evan and Edmundo," I hum, seeing the appeal.

They look like an Evan and Edmundo with how they're dressed, their fancy suits sounding like they need proper names. Something tells me, though, that those aren't the names they go by. Then, I hear it. A loud exclamation from Edmundo, a frustrated smile on his face as he hits his palms on the table, shouting 'Buck'. So, Evan does not go by Evan, but 'Buck'. It's a shortened version of his last name, I assume, making sense with his job. It would be easier for his fire captain to call him Buck than Buckley. As for the other, Edmundo still feels off. It's in the way he smiles, I can see that it's not what he has people call him. I continue listening, waiting for the one in navy to say something, but he doesn't. He remains mostly silent, few words coming out, and they aren't relevant to what I'm searching for. Then—

"Eddie– Eds," Buck says, and he's laughing, and he's hitting his hand on the table as he doubles over, his other hand falling onto Edmundo's– Eddie's– shoulder, slowly falling until it's sitting on his knee.

"Buck!" Eddie shouts, falling into laughter too, his hand following Buck's.

Their laughter stifles, the two smiling at each other as they lock eyes. It's a beautiful sight to see two people so in love. Eddie pulls back first, Buck following suit. They turn back to the poker table, each one giving the other a glance one right after the other without each other seeing. Their game goes on, and it seems as though Eddie is doing really well. There is, though, the body language of the dealer that suggests she has a thing for Eddie, likely flirting with him in some way. He simply smiles and laughs, and I notice Buck is staring at him without him noticing, a look of jealousy on his face. When prompted by the woman to his left, however, all of that washes away, and he's back to being focused on the game. There's more to the story, but I don't dare go up and ask. I take Simone's hand, bringing it up to my mouth and kissing his knuckles.

"I think that's enough people watching for tonight," I say, setting more than enough money under my glass to pay for our tab. We leave our seats, arms linked, and as we're about to exit I take one glance back at the poker table to find both Buck and Eddie staring back at me. Maybe my thoughts about them aren't entirely out of context after all.

#buddie #evan buckley #evan buck buckely #eddie diaz #original character #people watching #pov first person #pov outsider

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bluejaysandblackbats · 3 months

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Catch and Release

Fandom: DC Comics, Batfam

Summary: AU where Jason doesn't die in the explosion and he and Tim end up attending the same high school months later.

Chapters: 14/?

Characters: Jason Todd, Bruce Wayne, Alfred Pennyworth, Tim Drake, Dick Grayson, Barbara Gordon, Sebastian Ives, Jack Drake, Janet Drake

Relationships: TBA

Chapter Fourteen: Needed

Tim settled in on Dick’s couch while I made dinner in the kitchen. “Are you sure he won’t be mad?” Tim asked as he flipped through the channels on Dick’s TV.

“Have you seen the inside of the fridge? Dick hasn’t had a homecooked meal in over a week,” I replied, “He’ll be happy to come home to dinner.”

“Are you sure?” Tim asked.

“Do you want mac and cheese or not, Tim?” I questioned.

“Shutting up,” Tim replied.

I took the mac and cheese out of the oven and removed the tray of wings from the top rack. “He’ll be here any minute. I’ll put his plate in the microwave. Do you wanna eat now or wait for—? He’s here,” I whispered as Dick came through the door. “Hey, Dick. Surprise—.”

“Hell no,” Dick interrupted, “No, you can’t be here. You cannot be here right n—. Do I smell hot wings?” I smiled and nodded.

“But if you can’t spare one afternoon on your brother’s weekend away from school… I guess,” I sighed, “I have no choice but to take our dinner to the crappy motel down the street. Come on, Tim. Let’s see if that motel will let us rent a room for the night without an adult.”

Dick held his hands up, reaching for me before balling his fists and shoving them to his sides. “Fine. Stay,” Dick replied, “Hi, Tim. Sorry, I wasn’t expecting you guys.”

“It’s okay,” Tim replied as he checked his phone. He didn’t look up. Not even to acknowledge Dick. And I thought Tim would be thrilled to see him.

I served dinner, but Tim didn’t move from his spot on the couch. He was glued to his phone, which wasn’t like him during dinner. I set his plate on the coffee table and messed up his hair. “Earth to Tim,” I smiled. Tim looked up at me with big puppy dog eyes and showed me a news clip from an hour before.

“What’s wrong?” Dick questioned.

I didn’t answer. I couldn’t speak. I stepped out into the hall and called Bruce. He answered immediately. I didn’t expect anything less from him. “What’s wrong?” Bruce asked.

“I need your help,” I replied.

Bruce met me on the roof of Dick’s apartment at ten o’clock. “Likely, they’re still alive. Don’t worry, I’ll see what I can do—.”

“They’re his parents. I need you to bring them home safe,” I interrupted. My stomach was in knots. I couldn’t stomach watching Tim go through what Bruce, Dick, and I went through. It was no time for me to be prideful. I was scared and trusted Bruce more than anybody to find Tim’s parents. If he couldn’t bring them home, no one could. Bruce nodded in full Batman cape and costume… Like he was hiding from me.

“I’ll do everything I can. Stay with Tim… I’ll let you know if I find anything out,” Bruce replied. He reached for me but ultimately decided against physically comforting me. He disappeared into the night, leaving me with Dick, Tim, and my feelings. I took the stairs back to Dick’s apartment, quietly resenting Bruce’s lack of outward emotion. I knew he cared, but I wanted him to show it. I wanted him to be human with me for a moment. I wanted a sign that I mattered more than the mask he wore. That felt like an answer.

I sat beside Tim on the couch, nudging him gently. He laid his head on my lap, curling up there with tears in his eyes. “I should’ve begged them to stay home. I should’ve listened to you—.”

“Tim, this isn’t your fault. I called the GCPD, and they will do everything to get your mom and dad home. Okay?” I lied. Not to Tim. To Dick. “You should get some rest. Tim, I’m here with you.”

“There’s nothing to do but wait,” Tim mumbled.

“Mhm, but your parents would never—.”

“They’re your parents too… We’re brothers, remember?” Tim interrupted. Any words I had in my head were lost to me after he said that. I choked on every word I tried to say as he sat up, locking eyes with me. We were never more related than we were at that moment. United in fear of loss. United in helplessness. I was his older brother, so I swallowed it and pulled him into a hug so he couldn’t see how scared I was.

Dick glanced at me while he ate at the kitchen island, and I nodded. His phone rang, and he licked his fingers before answering. “Hey, Donna. It’s not a great time—. My brother and his little brother are here,” Dick answered. He swallowed hard. “A family emergency… His brother’s not mine. Yeah… I’ll let him know you asked.” I nudged Tim, and he stood up while I pulled out the couch. “Yeah… I love you too.” Dick hung up. “Jason, Donna wants to know if she can see you tomorrow morning.”

Donna and Roy were the only ones of Dick’s friends that came to see me in person when I was in the hospital. Donna thanked me once when she visited, but she thought I was unconscious. She thanked me for letting her vent when she wasn’t sure of herself. I never had the heart to accept her gratitude. Working with the Titans felt like it happened an eternity ago. I wasn’t the same person. I didn’t have all this rage back then. I wondered if she saw me—. I wondered if she’d see how quickly my insides rotted. I wondered if she’d see how far I’d fallen. I lost my hope, and all I had left was my anger, frustration, and stubborn desire to claw my way back to the person I used to be. I liked that Jason a lot better… And I think I was that Jason with Tim.

“Jason?” Dick asked.

“Okay,” I replied, “Did she say—? Was she just—?” I couldn’t ask him what I wanted to.

“She’s gonna flip when she sees you. The last time she saw you—...” Dick trailed off. I was half out of my mind. The doctors didn’t think I would make it, so they’d put me on morphine. When I could speak for myself, I had them take me off it. I couldn’t hear a thing she said over the pounding in my chest. I must’ve cried the entire time. I was a mess. I wished I was dead. I couldn’t look away from her, and she wouldn’t have let me. Everything after that was fuzzy.

I turned toward Tim, forcing myself out of that terrible memory and back to the present. Tim lay curled up without a blanket, asleep on the couch bed. “Dick, do you have extra blankets? Tim’s gonna freeze half to death,” I mumbled. Tim. I had to take care of him until Janet and Jack got home. I knew that’s what they’d want me to do.

Dick grabbed a few blankets from the hall closet and gave me two pillows before messing up my hair. “Are you ever gonna go home?” Dick asked.

“I don’t know, Dick. Even if I wanted to—. I don’t want to, but—. I’m never going to leave Tim. I know you don’t get it, but—.”

“You’re his brother, and you wanna look after him… Unlike—.”

“Dick, I don’t resent you. You had your own problems back then. So did Donna and Roy—. Heck, all of your friends were struggling. I get it... You came to the hospital. You joked around with me when that was the last thing I wanted… Because you knew I needed it. You don’t have to keep beating yourself up,” I interrupted, “And you don’t have to worry about me so much.”

“I know. It’s just—. It’s nice to see you smile again,” Dick replied. I half-smiled and nodded. “Get some sleep. I’m not going anywhere tonight.” And he meant it. Even though I couldn’t sleep, it felt nice having Dick there, watching from his chair until he couldn’t keep his eyes open. I got up and draped a blanket over him.

Then, I whispered something to Tim that I wished I hadn’t. “Everything’s gonna be okay.”

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celia-bracali · 2 months

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"The Old Guard" fic recommendation:

"An Unlikely Hero" Morvith

Summary:

Merrick built them the perfect prison: six single cells, restraints, cameras, Keane's hand-picked guards, only one way in... A veritable fortress and with Nile and Quynh captured and Copley dead, there's no one out there to storm it. There's no help coming. From the outside.

Fortresses always fall to treachery.

#tog #the old guard #tog fic #fic #nicolo di genova #yusuf al-kaysani #joe | yusuf al kaysani/nicky | nicolò di genova #nile freeman #fanfic #fanfic rec #andy | andromache of scythia #quynh the old guard #booker | sebastian le livre #alternate universe - canon divergence #pov first person #original female character(s)#captivity

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athousandbyeol · 1 year

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Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: ชอกะเชร์คู่กันต์ | A Boss and A Babe (TV 2023) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Gun Gungawin/Cher Saran Characters: Cher Saran, Gun Gungawin, Mentions of A Boss and A Babe Characters Additional Tags: POV First Person, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Domestic Fluff, Comfort, Slow Romance, Tenderness, Night at the beach, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Holding Hands, Attempt at Humor, Fluff and Crack, Cutesy, Slice of Life, Purple Prose, Introspection, Bittersweet Series: Part 4 of for guncher Summary:

cher and gun at the beach. they lie on the wet sand and watch the night sky roll by. cher thinks a thousand thoughts per second he can't say. yet, gun understands them well enough.

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diavolodigitale · 9 months

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Dusk I

The concealed marble limb is outstretched in a warm welcome, and the past and what is to come flashes before my eyes, moving pictures of my future bittersweet suffering hypnotising me. I have yet to explore countless scenarios, but in this moment, I sense the outcome before anything has even begun. He is the harbinger of death.

Genres: Angst, Anxiety, Blood and Injury, Short, Violence

Pairing: White Mask Varré/Tarnished

Characters: White Mask Varré, Tarnished

Rating: NC-17

Size: around 1150 words

When he told me I could go and die in a ditch somewhere, I thought that I definitely would, were it a ditch he himself had dug up for me.

He was the first thing my gaze landed upon when I was out, lost and confused. With only proverbial darkness around me, I saw him there, not the shining beacon of light to lead the way, but a carnivorous beast relishing in pitch-blackness, only the two glowing embers of his eyes visible through thick musty fog of my ignorance.

I sometimes look into those eyes in search of his true feelings and thoughts when he speaks of my bearing and destiny.

“My sweetest soul,” he says as his long gloved fingers, beautifully nasty fingers penetrate my ribcage, “my guideless Tarnished. What a cruel twist of fate indeed, to be reborn only to wander aimlessly with no value to your existence.”

“Let me help you,” he says and crushes my heart in his fist.

My body contracts in a spasm and sharp pain takes hold of my mind, depriving me of the ability to think. A blood clog that I cannot swallow is rising in my throat, so producing something apart from a few gurgles is nigh impossible. It is of no concern though, for he does not really need to hear my answer.

When I see him at the church entrance, I realise it is only the second time we meet. I saw him only once thus far, everything else has been a dream. Although, dream might be too graceful of a word to describe this horrible of an image. Everything else has been an unending nightmare, clinging to reality in such a desperate embrace that I cannot distinguish where one ends and another one begins. I have seen his pallid mask only once and have only heard him mock me scornfully, but now it seems like I know him almost better than I know myself. He has not yet revealed his true intentions, but my gut twists in a painful knot in anticipation of the worst when he looks at me.

I hear a song in my head that he never really sang, except for in my dreams.

Mindful traveller, stop for a change

For your purpose is far out of range…

I cannot recall what follows next because all I remember is the sound he made when biting off my finger. A terrible crunch, really. Blood dripped down on the floor and when there was enough of it to form a little puddle, I heard a splash every time another drop fell down.

Yet while a nightmare in itself is quite a harrowing occurrence, it is hardly the worst out of all. The worst is the knowledge that I always come to him on my own.

The vivid memories of our prior meetings are an intrinsic part of me that never goes away, so each and every time I return I am fully aware of what is to come. I am anxiously waiting for yet another encounter. Anxious with giddy excitement and dreadful fear. It is so terribly vain to think that he awaits me there, only me, or so it is to my knowledge, and so very gut-wrenchingly horrible that it makes me trepidatious. It is he who awaits me after all.

“Ah, there you are,” he says curiously, and all I am able to think about is that I do not even know if he can wield a sword. Could he truly kill me? And if so, would it really be as painful as I expect it to be? If the pain that he inflicts on me is but a fracture of what he is capable of, how much worse can it be if or when he decides to end me?

“You claimed a Great Rune, and had your audience. With the Two Fingers, at the Roundtable Hold. What was your impression?” he asks. The scarlet rotting mass behind him burbles and squelches repulsively, defiling the once holy place it is in by its mere presence. What a fitting sight to accompany him.

The choice is between what I want to say and what he wants to hear. My knees weaken, but my shield is with me to protect me from a blow and my sword is at my side to strike. Wishing I had a talisman to shelter my mind from the madness that seems to hold it tight in its grasp, I am contemplating the purpose for which he is asking such questions. However suspicious his superficial composure, his intentions remain unfathomable.

I say that they are not to be trusted. That it was not what I expected and that I am having doubts about the affair.

He smiles a sated smile under his mask. I imagine it like this because of the way his eyes narrow in the eye-slits. He likes my answer and I feel a sudden surge of joy because maybe it is possible to make him proud and avoid the torture. The torture that has never happened.

He keeps on speaking of how the Two Fingers are corrupt while I consider how high my pain threshold is. A deceptive thought that if I establish a clear limit of how much I am both willing and capable of taking then I seize to be scared lingers in my mind. I still lack the resolve to continue descending deeper into the abyss, but it seems now like turning back requires even more determination.

I decide that when he asks something of me, I will commit myself to one path in accordance with my judgement. I will falter and refuse or steel myself and accept, but I will. When I know what he has on his wicked mind, after he speaks of it to me, I will become the judge and put myself on trial.

He does not ask anything. Only suggests.

A suggestion is bad as it makes me postpone my decision. It is even worse when uttered in a mellow voice like his and put in sweet-sounding words. Not a command, not a request, but a suggestion. It is still possible to refuse without having to voice it.

I take the Festering Bloody Fingers from him. He puts them in my palm softly and the weight of them, their coarse texture is sickening. There was but a slim chance, yet his own bloody fingers did not as much as come in contact with my hand, and I am relieved if a little saddened.

“Give it a try, won't you? And if it please you, may we meet again,” he says.

I have a strong feeling that it would surely please me. To meet him again, not to make use of his vile gift. But if the first requires the second, then there is really not much of a choice to make, is there?

#elden ring #tarnished #white faced varre #varre #fiction #fanfiction #pov first person #anxiety #varre x tarnished

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druckkugelschreiber · 1 year

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I was tagged for WIP Wednesday by @mxkelsifer but due to time zone shenanigans it’s now Thursday. Ah well, WIP Thursday it is. Also, I had a bit of a panic trying to figure out what to post as I am always working on too many things at once and the only other proper WIP I considered is in German, which didn’t feel fair for Kels and most of my english moots.

So I had to figure out which of my endless oneshots I wanted to take but couldn’t be arsed to edit the whole thing so you only get this snippet. Anyway, context for the WIP below it’s my Skyrim Elder Scrolls main fanfic, which has a bit of a MCU crossover in the form of Brock Rumlow (shock horror, what a surprise, I know).

I never write for it in chronological order, haven’t actually published anything for it either, but I like it.

The WIP in particular is right after an argument my Dragonborn had with Ulfric and she needs to clear her mind which she preferably does by beating things or people up. Insert Brock her best friend and captain of her Imperial Guard.

Brock kept pace with me on the way to the back courtyard. “You want to talk about it?”

“No, I want to fight about it, now shut up.”

Brock’s smirk merely grew.

Without warning I charged at him with my sword and chased him across the courtyard. He let me do my thing for a while before he started his counter attacks. Of course, he couldn’t actually beat me with swords, but I usually needed a good blow out with swords before we started hand to hand because I was actually in risk of hurting myself or my partner otherwise.

Brock was in excellent shape and nearly unarmed me twice. Kaidan was training him well.

Once I could feel a thin sheen of sweat appear on my forehead I paused. “Okay, let’s get to the nitty gritty.”

Brock bared his teeth in something too feral to be a grin. “Yes, let’s.”

We both put our swords to the side, but not our other weapons. It would take ages to take off all the daggers and both of us had a bit of a paranoia issue.

We circled around each other. My heart beat in my throat now that I knew I was about to lose a fight. I actually tasted a bit of iron on my tongue. When you knew you couldn’t win every fight, knowing with certainty you’d lose the next one, was exhilarating, even if you knew you’d survive. I had been an adrenaline junky as a teen, this was the next best thing in a world without roller coasters. Though dragons were also a good substitute.

Brock attacked first. He was absolutely merciless when he knew he could win a fight and never held anything back. Especially not when I needed to blow off steam. He was a great teacher when you came with the request to be taught, otherwise he just kicked your ass and I lived for it.

I ducked under most of his blows, got a good few myself in. Our gloves protected us from the sharp edges of the armour and the armour of course protected us from permanent damage.

Brock grunted as I got in a good hit to his ribs, right between the plates. Advantage of having designed and partially smithed that armour myself. He of course paid it back twice. I struggled to hold my footing. He swept my feet out from under me and planted me in a mean joint lock with my face in the dirt.

I struggled a bit, mainly so I felt the pain in my limbs and the struggle in my muscles. I wanted to test how far I could go and how far he’d go. Of course, Brock didn’t give an inch. “You done yet?”

I pressed my face into the dirt. Gods, he was sexy. “Yeah.”

He leaned forward and I felt his breath on my ear. “Are you tapping out then darling?”

#wip wednesday #but it's actually Thursday #Elder Scrolls Skyrim fanfic #skyrim fanfiction #mcu crossover #Brock Rumlow #overpowered dragonborn #beause why not #she's empress too #pov first person

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