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turquoisea · 3 years

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Family reunion

Pairing: Dabi/ Fem!Reader

Warnings: Kidnapping, Dub-con, Degradation, Brother/Sister Incest, Manipulation, Guilt-tripping, OOC, Smut

Contains manga spoilers. Minors DNI.

Words: 4130

Synopsis: You was kidnapped while on your way home from work. Turned out your kidnapper was someone you knew.

A/N: I don't own any of the characters. Please read the warnings before continuing and we're gonna jump straight to the scene after (y/n) had been kidnapped (because i was too lazy to write the former part OTL)

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Unable to escape from the kidnapper’s tight rope around your wrists, you helplessly let him carry you to somewhere that looked like an abandoned building. Not like you could exactly tell where it was, given the fact that your eyes had been covered ever since he captured you until you two “arrived” at the destination. Either had you been able to scream or to call for help, “If you decide to be a naughty little girl and make a fuss, or to even let a single person know about this and hinder my work, I can and I will burn your whole workplace while letting your watch every single second of it.” – the kidnapper had threatened, making panic surged within your body; the only thing you could blurt out to answer his “Is that clear?” was a simple “Yes.” Not wanting to involve any of your aquaintances, you decided to keep your mouth shut the entire time. You thought that it was a better idea to wait until you could learn about what he wanted, his motives behind this before trying to escape.

He placed you down on the floor after carrying you into a small room with the action being a little too gentle for a kidnapper, you thought and opened your eyes only to be met with a pair of turquoise gazes, slightly hidden behind his spiky black hair. Those reminded you of Shouto’s left eye color but they had a rather.. captivating effect, making you unable to tear your eyes off them. More like Touya’s eyes – the recollection passing your mind was quickly brushed off, given the harsh reality that Touya has been dead for more than 10 years. You cautiously opened your mouth to ask, still keeping eye contact.

"What do you want?"

“…What do I want?” He repeated the question before slowly taking off his black face mask. The way he did it was deliberate, elegant even, as if he was putting on a show to reveal what’s hidden behind the mask. In front of you was an abnormal façade: Purple skin lied under his eye bags, his lower cheeks and lower lip, all the way down to his collarbone; connected together with the normal parts of the skin by surgical staples. An audible gasp escaped your throat the moment you realized that the man who abducted you was the wanted criminal you saw on TV.

“League of Villains.. You’re.. You’re Dabi…”

“Dabi? Ah yes, people call me that now. But I thought you would recognize me now, you’re my family after all..” He trailed off at the end, as though he was rather hurt by your comment.

“Family? Stop joking now, we don’t even know each other!”

“You sure? Even when you used to call me Touya-nii with that sweet voice of yours?”

“I said stop!! Listen, I have no idea why you know about Touya but he’s not alive anymore, don’t bring him into this!” Your shaking voice resounded with rage. In the past few years you’d partly moved on from your brother’s death, even learned how to stop tearing up whenever someone mentions him. To say you was mad was an understatement, since the kidnapper crossed the line, pulled out those emotions that you’d tried so hard to hide them away. You couldn’t stay calm anymore. This villain and the audacity to even mention Touya, let alone making such an unbearable joke about him.

“(y/n)-chan,” The way he called your name was too familiar “you still have the habit of defending me after all this time.”

“Wh..What.. do you mean?”

“Don’t you remember? You were always there to patch me up every time I went out training on my own. Those nights that distress and hatred consumed me, you were the only one who was willing to give me a shoulder to cry on, to hear me rant about that stupid family. You were the only one who didn’t refuse to look at a “failure” like me while our father focused all his attention on that “masterpiece”. You made me feel like I’m not useless, (y/n)-chan. Sure you haven’t forgotten, right?”

“You’re.. lying.. Touya-nii is..”

“Yes, yes. Everybody thought so.” He interrupted. “But I escaped from the fire and as you can see,” He raised his hand to touch the staples. “I’m still here. If I’d died in that fire, I would have become a ghost, an evil spirit to haunt the hell out of Todoroki Enji.” The explanation ended with a snort.

But not for you, you couldn’t possibly laugh about it the way he did. You were nothing but speechless. The big brother you once thought wasn’t here, could never be here with you anymore was still alive and kicking. Thoughts of how Touya had managed to live since that day started to emerge your mind and probably because of the invisible connection, the blood connection between you two, you could feel his pain, his suffering, the dull ache that never go away in every single staple on his body… It must’ve been hard for a thirteen-year-old child to manage by himself after crawling out of a literal hell, you thought, mouth still agaped with astonishment. Tears neither stopped welling up, nor did they escape your shiny orbs when you looked at him through your blurry vision. You had so many questions to ask, but none of them could be voiced.

“But that’s the story for another day. Now, we have to celebrate the happy reunion of brother and sister, right?” He interrupted your thoughts before slowly approaching you. His tall body hovered over yours, enhancing the feeling of being small and helpless as your hands still being tied behind your back. He gripped your jaw with one hand, the other started to work on the buttons of your shirt while Touya’s slightly chapped lips met your own in a kiss that was soft at first but quickly turned passionate, sloppy with his tongue chasing every corner of your mouth.

“Touya..nii..” You panted between his kisses, trying your best to stop him from doing what you think he was trying to do. “We shouldn’t.. You shouldn’t do this.. We’re siblings..”

“Ah yes, you’re my favorite sibling after all, one more reason why we should do this, right?” His stapled mouth stretched into a huge grin, then he leaned back to take in the view of your body.

“My little sister has grown up.. To be honest, I didn’t have any of these dirty thoughts when we were children but now, I just want to fucking ravish you until all you can think of is me and my cock.”

His dirty talk sent a shiver thorough your body and you started to feel heat coiling up in your core. As if amused, turned on by your reaction, Touya grabbed one of your breasts and gave it a squeeze, causing a soft moan to escape your pump lips.

“What was that? Don’t tell me (y/n)-chan is aroused by her very own brother, hm? I’ve been stalking you for a while, my little sister. ‘Twas hard to find you since you don’t live at that house anymore. Can’t believe behind all those innocent act is a little whore who gets aroused easily by her Touya-nii.” He spat out, specifically emphasized the phrase you used to call him. Blue eyes looking down at you as if you were indeed what he said – a slut waiting to be bred.

“Touya-nii.. Please stop it.. I don’t want this..” Looking up at him through your wet lashes, you said with a whimper, begging him to stop.

Little did you know it had no such effect for Touya. Seeing your vulnerable face in a helpless state only boosted his ego; he felt as if he was the only one you could rely on, the only one who was able to decide your fate and damn, he could never get bored of this.

“What a pity, (y/n)-chan, because I, in fact, DO want this.” Touya murmured between kisses, leaving red spots blossoming all over your breasts, your shoulders, your collarbone. “Don’t you want to make your Touya-nii happy (y/n)-chan? You see, there hadn’t been a single day in which these staples stopped hurting me whenever I move. My tear glands were burned ever since the fire. I couldn’t cry because when I do, it hurts and blood flows out of my eye bags.” His fingers indicated the purple skin underneath his eyes as he continued. “I've lived with emotional numbness ever since. Your big brother doesn't feel anything anymore, (y/n)-chan..” Touya trailed off.

“But you, the only one who didn’t refuse to look at me... Having you here with me really makes me happy, and the kind little sister I know wouldn’t want to take that happiness away from me right?..” Turquoise orbs looked up at you through black strands of hair. As if wavering, as if pleading, as if he was asking you for your consent.

All to hide the fact that he guilt-tripped you into this.

And with him being a quick-witted, perceptive man, Touya’s tactics were never fruitless. He could tell your conscience would be troubled if you’d turned him down, especially when he phrased the words like that. He took advantage of the shocking state you were in, making you feel pity for him and overlook his immoral behaviours.

Touya waited with bated breath, eye contact still maintained.

“I..I want Touya-nii to be happy..” – your reply after a moment of thinking only caused a chuckle to escape his mouth and it’s almost like this was all he had been waiting for, all in his anticipation. This was the exact reaction that Touya wanted and as your best big brother ever, he couldn’t possibly put off anymore without his hands as your bra, nor could he wait any longer to secure this “happiness”.

“Knew my favorite sister would say that.” Touya couldn’t hide his triumphant expression when he quickly made his way down to your skirt, lifting it up so he could see what’s underneath. Gently, he palmed your groin before dragging his middle finger between your clothed slit only to find that your panties was already soaked.

“Oh? I already knew you were a whore behind your innocent façade but didn’t think you would be this shameless.. Tch.” He clicked his tongue. “Getting all nice and wet for your own brother. You said you wanted to make me happy but in truth, you just need to feel nii-san’s cock inside your hole right? Shameless slut.”

You groaned in exasperation and opened your mouth to protest but before you could even say anything, he ripped your white panties apart, making you squirm in awe. The rough pad of his thumb dragged over your clit while his knees spread your legs wide and held them in places. Touya’s finger slowly rubbed your clit in a circular motion and you couldn’t help but wanting more of those frictions, your hips involuntarily bucked forward.

“I was going to eat my favorite little sister out, but it seems like you can’t wait any longer huh? Look at this little pussy..” He said while using his index and middle finger to swipe at your entrance, gathering your juices on them, his eyes didn’t miss the way it clenched around nothing. “You must be so, so desperate to feel anything inside your pathetic hole, right? Will my fingers be enough to satisfy it?”

“Touya-nii..”

“Don’t be vague, (y/n)-chan. Sure you don’t want to hump a pillow like a dumb slut with her hands still tied while watching me masturbate to the sight of you right? Because if you don’t use your words now, I might let us do that for real.”

“Please, Touya-nii, I don’t want to! I want.. to be filled up by you instead..”

Upon hearing your words, Touya started palming the large bulge of his pants before unzipping the fermeture, gently pulled his boxer down to show you what’s underneath. Your eyes widened at the sight of Touya’s veiny cock. It was not as big as what you usually see on movies (not that you don’t know the porn industry isn’t anywhere near realistic), but rather thin and long as it was hard, practically throbbing in his palm whenever he stroked the shaft. However, what made you surprise was the shiny Prince Albert piercing located on the glans, signaling a hard time in the near future for your cervix.

Seeing your face expression only made Touya’s smirk grew wider and he looked like the cat that got the cream when he continued making you use more of your words, making you beg for his cock.

“And you want to be filled by what?”

As hesitant as you were after seeing his cock piercing, the way his fingers ignited sparkles of fire inside your core had your pride, your uncertainty wavering. You’d rather be fucked until your mouth can’t even form a coherent sentence than be left naked and needy while watching him masturbates until he cums anywhere that’s not inside your pussy. So you used your words, like a good girl should.

“By your cock, Touya-nii! I want you to fuck me hard!”

“Sure thing, my cute little slut.” He cooed. “Who am I to refuse to give my sister what she needs? I’m a good brother after all.”

And as a “good” brother he was, Touya even slide his fingers inside your wet pussy to prepare you for his cock. Despite having a fire quirk like your father, his fingers were cold and were only warmed up by the heat inside your core. They smoothly pumped into you, scissored you open, sometimes even curled up on purpose only to slightly brush against your soft spot, leaving you wanting more. His other hand found its way again on your clit, rubbing and circling along with his continuous fingering until you were nothing but a moaning mess, begging for your release.

He decided that he’d prepared you enough and retreat his fingers just before you could reach your climax. You whimpered loudly when he took the orgasm away from you, legs instantly wrapped around his hips to pull him closer. You had never felt this touch-starved before and all you could think of was only your Touya-nii, his captivating blue gazes, his touch, his voice and his pierced cock that somehow fits perfectly on his slim but toned body. You needed to feel him and you clumsily rubbed your pussy against Touya while trying to break free from the ropes tying your wrists together. But all that you could do wasn’t near enough so you looked up at him with pleading eyes.

“Touya-nii.. Please.. Please give me your cock.. I can’t take it anymore, I need your cock inside me..”

“Fine, since you asked so nicely.” Touya sneered as if he wasn’t the one who purposefully denied your orgasm before holding his cock, rubbing the swollen red tip at your entrance, feeling your juices mixing with beads of his precum then thrusted it all the way in. You both winced the moment you and your brother became one: you from the depth that his cock could go and him from the way your walls clenched around it.

“(y/n)-chan.. Your little pussy feels so tight.. Not that I mind how many people you slept with but damn.. This pussy's a keeper for sure..” Sighing with a shaky voice, he pulled out slowly only to slam back in ruthlessly. His hands used the dagger from before to release your aching wrists then started to rub small circles on them as if to soothe the pain. With your hands now free from bound, you wrapped them around Touya’s neck to pull him even closer, your lips moved under his to meet them in a kiss.

"Touya-nii.. Please move.." After a moment long enough for your pussy to stretch to his size, you broke from the passionate kiss to whisper to him; your tongue softly licked his lower lip, feeling the rough texture while your pussy clenched around his cock. You lifted your hips, inviting your big brother to bury his hot member deeper into you.

"Eager, aren't we?" To your plea, he only chuckled before moving his hand to grab a handful of your tits, squeezing the soft mound, toying with your swollen nipple. "Your wish is my command, my baby sister. Nii-san's going to make you feel really good now." His voice sounded so sensual when he moved his mouth close to your ear, whispered honeyed-words then nibbled at your earlobe, causing you to clench your pussy even more.

Touya's hands traveled down to grab both of your asscheeks, held them tightly in their places before he started thrusting his pulsing cock. "So good.. Touya-nii.." You moaned in rhythm with his hips whenever he bottomed out inside you; his cock piercing rubbed your walls every time he moved. The friction felt heavenly that you could feel your legs started to shake as if you couldn't control them anymore. He was different. His cock was different from anything you'd ever experienced. Touya filled you up so well, both physically and emotionally, making you feel good, feel loved, making tears well up in your eyes.

He let your legs rest on his shoulders as he continued claiming your pussy to himself, each thrust was hard and deep 'til the point that Touya's tip touched your cervix whenever he sheathed his full length in you. It hurt, but it hurt so good that not only did you not want it to stop, you wanted more and more of him, you wanted to indulge longer in this sinful pleasure.

"Fuck.. You're so tight around me.." He groaned as his pace became faster. A hand retreated from under you to hover above your neglected clit before he started stroking it softly, rubbing back and forth, drawing repeated circles onto your bundle of nerves.

Touya didn't leave anywhere on your body untouched: your tits, your belly, your inner thighs, your asscheeks, your clit, your core. His name fell out of your lips between heated moans like prayers and the pleasure kept building up that you felt like you're about to burst into bliss. Everything was so intense and you started to you wonder, is it because he denied your orgasm before or because his cock could actually bring you heaven? Those thoughts crossed your mind but you didn't know the answer. He'd fucked you dumb and now you couldn't think of anything else other than him and the tension deepening in your lower belly.

"Touya-nii.. 'M wanna cum.. Please.. Please let me cum.." You whined when you felt like you couldn't take it anymore, afraid that he would deny it again if you don't beg.

"Cum on my cock baby, let me feel you. And you should be.. Fuck.. grateful that I let you do it.." He didn't stop his assault on your clit as he railed you hard and fast, his thrust grew sloppier when your pussy clamped down on him. Wet noises echoed in the abandoned building along with your whines and the moans that Touya tried to hold back.

"Thank you.. Thank you Touya-nii.. for letting me cum.." was all you managed to choke out before you threw your head back, eyes squeezed shut causing tears of pleasure to fall out and your pussy clenched around him as you released your pent-up pressure.

"Attagirl, nii-san loves you.. Gonna officially mark you now, 'mkay? Gonna breed this little sister's pussy, gonna fill you up with my cum and put a baby in you.." Touya leaned over to whisper into your open mouth, planting chaste kisses all over your face while sloppily humping your body like an animal. You could feel him burry himself deep inside you when his brows furrowed and he muttered "Fuck" before Touya came inside your pussy. His thick ropes were hot as they spilled into your womb, painting your walls with his colour.

A moment passed with nothing but pants as you both tried to regain your breaths. You closed your eyes, basking in the afterglow with his cock still plugged in when you heard the clicking sound of a camera. Your eyes immediately shot open only to find Touya holding his phone in hand.

"Touya-nii.. Did you just.." You warily asked.

"Oh? Did I forget to tell you?" Touya casually looked up from his phone, a smirk tugged at the corner of his stapled mouth and he suddenly looked so strange, as if the person in front of you and the one who just came inside you was two different people.

"You see, there are two possible ways to completely break Todoroki Enji." He began explaining, his voice distant. "One, is to kill his masterpiece Shouto right in front of him by the own hands of his 'failure'."

"And two," His eyes locked with you as his smirk grew wider. "is to let him see his pure little angel being corrupted by the abandoned son." Touya finished his short speech, his hips pulled back so his now limp cock fell out of you with a wet pop. White cum slowly dripped out of your used pussy, all captured by the camera again.

You could see the flame of anger burning in his eyes when he mentioned your father's name and the tone of disgust in his voice when he spoke lowly of himself. There were so many problems that you didn't know where to begin with. All you could do was hang your mouth open, speechlessly watched him typing something on the phone.

"There, all done." Touya cheerfully informed. "Don't worry a thing, my baby sister, no one will get to keep those pictures except for me. I sent them to the old man using Vanish Mode, he'll see them for a few seconds before they disappear forever, just like how his little angel vanish from his life. Oh how I wish I could see his expression when he opens my messages."

You were absolutely stunned. You never thought your dead brother was able to come out alive, let alone to even have a detailed plan to destroy your father's mentality. There were so many things that your mind couldn't process in an instant.

"So you.. So you fucked me just for this?.." Your voice came out shakier than you expected. Your hands unconsciously moved to cover yourself as you hugged your own body, the world starting to crumble in your eyes.

"Partly, yes. But I wasn't lying when I said I love you." Touya planted a soft kiss on your forehead.

"E-Enough with all of this. I'm going home!" You raised your voice and wriggled out of his touch.

"Can't let you do that (y/n)-chan. The world doesn't know me as Touya, you're the first, the honorable one. Can't risk you leaking my secret right? And I plan to torture old man's mind repeatedly with more images of you, just like how he projected everything onto me when I was young." He tilted his head and laughed, and suddenly you couldn't tell whether his laughter was genuine or was an act of mockery. Probably both.

"Besides, I'm a little.. disappointed that my favorite sister actually wants to part so, so soon, especially when we just had a rather.. emotional family reunion, no?" His mood seemed to light up as he continued speaking.

"What.. do you mean by that? Just let me go already! I promise I won't tell anyone!" Tears started to form in your eyes as you slowly realized what the man meant. You were uncomfortable with the room's atmosphere; it's overwhelming you and you didn't want to stay any longer. You looked behind him, trying to figure out an escape path.

"Now, if you wanted to go so badly," - your actions couldn't escape his perceptive eyes - "I'm gonna escort you to a better place, 'mkay? They're gonna track down this place soon enough since I texted him with my phone. But don't you worry, nii-san won't let anyone hurt you, my (y/n)."

Touya had an almost-innocent smile when he approached you with his arms open, as if waiting for you to give him a hug. You backed away, but as stubborn as this Capricorn man was, he still wrapped his arms around you.

Ever since your childhood, Touya's body was warm, Touya's embrace was always comforting. But now, everything he did chilled you to the bone, making you start to shake uncontrollably. Suddenly you felt a sharp prick on your skin; followed by your consciousness slowly slipping away. Your vision started to grow blurry and all you heard before you drifted off was his voice, whispering to your ear.

"Now we won't be alone anymore."

The End.

A/N 2: I hope you enjoyed it! English isn't my first language so please be gentle with me QwQ. Thanks for reading!

#my hero academia #my hero fanfic #boku no hero fic #boku no hero academia #dabi x you #dabi x reader #todoroki touya #todoroki touya x reader #mha #bnha #when i was writing this i was like what is the synonym for d!ck #💀✋🏻#pls breed me touya-nii #i love this man #grr grr arf arf

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black-dragon1998 · 3 years

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Eating at POP’s

Summary: (Y/N) and Cheryl bond go to pop’s and everybody fawns over them.

autor’s note: It isn’t much, just a bunch of fluff. Just wanted to let you guy’s know i’m not abandoning this story event though it has been ages since i posted for it.

P.S.: It is 1AM at the time of writing this so don’t kill me if their are any mistakes in it.

part 1- part 2- part 3

Over the weekend you continue your research about the town. You found out that they had a local bike gang, the ‘South Side Serpents’. Apparently, even small towns like this have their gangs, you were curious if they were the same as the gangs in the city. your research however was interrupted when Saturday afternoon Cheryl Blossom stood at your doorstep. While you were repairing her car you opted on driving her to and from school as well as practice and you had come at a point where she let her guard down when the two of you were alone, but she had never come over without a reason.

She stood at your doorstep in what you think were comfy clothes. You were in a similar state as you hadn’t taken much effort in searching for clothes that morning. Opting for sweatpants and nothing but your sports bra.

“Cheryl? What are you doing here?” your brows scrunched together in confusion. Cheryl couldn’t help but think it was cute. A word that she didn’t think she would ever use to describe someone like you. Even the rough ways you dealt with certain things or people she thought was cute.

“well, you said you would fix my car and looking as I don’t have your number…” Cheryl trailed off. Your chuckle made her look back up at you.

“afraid I would rack your car darling.” The smirk on your face and the nickname made Cheryl blush. It took her a moment to take to pick herself together but was soon back to her usual banter.

“Can’t be careful enough.” She matched your smirk now with her own as you let her in the garage.

That is how you spend the next two weeks after school and in the weekend working on Cheryl’s car, with her watching you from the couch that was placed in the garage/ workplace. The first time she saw all of the cars and high-tech equipment her jaw dropped. She knew you were rich, but this was even much for her. Imagen her surprise the first time she heard FRIDAY. First, she freaked out and demanded to know if someone else was there. You told her one no there wasn’t anybody else and second that FRYDAY was an IA that you had built together with your uncle after her precious one died.

Over the hours that she watched you both of you started to relax and now she didn’t even look up when FRIDAY spoke, she even started asking them questions.

“miss I like to inform you that a vehicle from the compound is arriving later today,” FRIDAY informed. She didn’t give too much information because Cheryl was there but not much was needed.

“Thanks, FRIDAY.” You thank the AI. You were able to work for a couple more minutes before a body draped itself over your back while being bend forward over the car. Cheryl relaxing was becoming touchy and craving cuddles.

“(Y/N)?” Cheryl asked her voice muffled by being buried in your hoody. The whininess in her voice made you chuckle. She could be so cute when nobody was around to judge her.

“yes, Red?” you look over your shoulder at her and see her pouting.

“I’m hungry.” The way she said it made clear you had to do something about it. You turn around, making her fall into your chest. She immediately pulls away and starts blushing heavily.

“well hum. I can make something or I could drive us to pops. My treat.” You propose shyly. Cheryl looked up and again couldn’t help but think how cute you looked.

“How trustworthy is your cooking?” she asks you with a raised eyebrow. Not really knowing if she trusted you in the kitchen. And chuckling at your reaction.

“Haven’t burned down the kitchen jet, but it would probably be safer if we went out.” You admit scratching the back of your neck. Wanda had tried to teach you how to cook and you weren’t bad but like your mom, it didn’t really interest you and you sometimes forgot you had left something on the fire. So at the compound, Wanda took the role of big sister seriously and forbade you from using the kitchen and always made something from you.

To your surprise, Cheryl agreed to go with you on your bike, something that was short of shocking. When she put on one of your helmets and leather jackets you had to take a minute. You thought she look hot before but that had nothing on her now. She noticed you staring and turned around with one hand on her hip.

“See something you like sugar.” She asked in a flirty tone and you had to shake your head a little to get the daze out and could only nod. Yes, you were liking what you saw.

“you look good in leather.” Was the only thing you could say in response. Instead of saying anything Cheryl smiled and straddled the bike. This woman was going to the death of you.

A motorcycle-riding up the parking of with 2 people on it did raze a couple of heads. Even more when started recognizing Cheryl as she took off her helmet. Cheryl however didn’t seem to notice or care so you didn’t make a big deal out of it either. It wasn’t going to change the way you were going to treat her, it never did.

Walking out in front of her you held the door open for her and it made her laugh but she accepted it.

“what a gentlewoman.” She teased with a smile.

“well, I do aim to please and saw this hot girl in the parking lot and had to get her attention.” You fired back, with a smirk. She giggled slapping your shoulder before walking in. not ready to let it go you continued.

“you think she would be interested?” you wiggle your eyebrows at her.

Betty who was sitting at one of the booths in POP’s, together with Veronica, Archie and Jugghead looked up when she heard the sound of a motorcycle approaching. Thinking one of the Serpents want to kick up some trouble.

“who’s that?” she askes, not recognizing the drive. Her friend's lookup.

“don’t recognize the bike. It is not someone from the Serpents.” Jugghead comments. Something familiar does spike when they see the driver park the bike, not yet realising it's you. At school, you only wear baggy clothes so they had never seen you like this.

“I don’t know who they are but they look good.” Veronica was openly gawking at the muscles that were on display through your leather jacket and skinny jeans. Archie on his turn was checking out the bike under you.

Recognizing your companion wasn’t that hard, her red hair came flowing from underneath the helmet and gave away their identity.

“well, whoever they are they have convinced Cheryl Blossom to ride on a bike with them.” Jugghead didn’t even try to be as amazed as his friends were, even though he was curious who the driver was.

All four being blown away when you took off your helmet and setting it on your lap while smiling at Cheryl who looked at you with a mock glare.

“don’t have to be so fuzzy Red, you look good either way.” Your smooth words made her heart flutter while heat streamed to her face. Instead of responding she turned and marched toward the door. Although before she could even open it you already holding it open for her. Giving you a small smile she walked in and you followed. Leading Cheryl to one of the booths in the back of the shop. You tell her to relax as you take her order and walked toward the counter.

Sitting down Cheryl had the time to go over all the emotions she was feeling. You made her feel warm and secure. She only ever felled like that with Jason. Over the weekends she spends with you, you insisted you wanted to get to know the ‘real’ Cheryl as you called it and against her better judgment she caved, so she let the bitch side of her drop.

The other thing you did was take care of her, getting her food was only one of the small things you did and you never asked for anything in return. You also checked on her emotionally, telling her it was okay to be sad and mad over Jason’s death. With you, she was allowed to grieve, at school, she always had to keep up her perfect persona and her parents were sharks waiting for her to mess up to break her down some more. To say her feeling for you were growing was an understatement, the only she couldn’t say was where they were growing toward.

So Cheryl couldn’t help but smile when she saw you walking toward her with two food stray in hand.

Part 5

#riverdale #Avengers #avengers crosover #cheryl blossom x reader #cheryl x reader #cheryl blossom imagine #avengers x reader #riverdale x reader #riverdale imagine #natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x daughter!reader #veronica lodge #betty cooper #archie andrews #jughead jones #FXF #Female reader #female x female

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ohallthecrushes · 3 years

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Wherever you go I’ll find you //Joker x Reader // part 3

A/N: This is the third final part of this series, after ekhem a little long break, I finally finished this draft. I don't know how and why, but the end is different from what I expected to be. Maybe some of you won't like it, but it just feels right to me, I don't know... Sometimes a story writes itself and a writer can't control it. ^^ Feel free to let me know what you think about it. Feedback is welcome since I've had a long break from writing and I don't know if I'm still any good at it. Summary: Arthur is so ingrained in his Joker persona, he forgets that his S/O has only seen Arthur. Not knowing him anymore, she runs. When Joker realizes this, he is devastated and does everything he can to find her. After hours of searching, he finds her in a difficult situation and takes her back. She is scared, out of her mind, but it ends up being a beautiful reconciliation. Contains: abusing, ugly fight, harassment, blood, wounds. Word count: 2 232

Joker was trying to collect himself up from the floor. You'd really hit that spot between his legs that had knocked him out for a second which had helped you to break free from him. He saw you running away from the flat, but he didn't go after you. He gathered himself up and sat down before lighting a cigarette. He didn't go after you, but not because he gave up on you, no. He still wanted you and wanted you to be near him. Everything in his body screamed to run after you, get you back here, but letting you go was a better idea. Letting you go for now only. So you could take some time to think, it could help you to calm down, which was what he needed you to be. Calmed down to listen. He sat down on a couch and took a drag from his cigarette. He didn't like at all what had happened and how things had turned out. He could have thought of blocking the door in some way or lock you up in the bedroom before he'd started that conversation. Perhaps then you would listen to him instead of running away. He really didn't expect you to react like that. Why had you panicked so much? He wasn't sure. You weren't in any danger and he was ready to explain you everything. But you'd reacted like Penny when she was confronted with an uneasy or uncomfortable truth. Run and hide. That was always her reaction. And it was your reaction too. Run and hide. If that what you wanted to do, fine. He could handle that. He could handle being scratched, kicked, pushed and screamed at. For you. And for your relationship. Because you were still in a relationship with him. It wasn't a breakup, it was only a fight. He was sure of that. He looked at his hand that was marked with scratches and smirked to himself. Hide-and-seek. If that what you wanted...

So time passed by as you were wandering through Gotham, without any place in mind to go to. Your feet were hurting from walking so long and your eyes were burning from tears you'd cried. You were also cold, because temperature dropped at evening and you didn't have any sweater to cover yourself with. It reminds you of all the times you'd stolen sweaters from Arthur, telling him you forgot yours and you're cold, when really, you just liked to be covered with his scent and his...being, having something of his on yourself. You sobbed as your mind was wandering on its own through all those happy memories you'd had with Arthur. How could this happen that he had changed so much? That he had become someone you couldn't recognize anymore? Joker. Was he still your sweet loving boyfriend? Was he still someone you could trust? You wasn't sure. You stopped for a moment to look around. You were somewhere between your favourite coffee shop and Arthur's workplace. You didn't want to go to any of those places. You wanted to go somewhere where Arthur... Joker wouldn't find you. You decided to go on the left and pass a mall to get away from the busy street. You knew that people were ignorants and cold here, not paying any attention to a lonely crying girl, but even unseen, you still wanted to be away from people. Your legs walked you to the right as you passed by the mall and you got far away from Ha-ha's and the coffee shop. You hugged yourself and rubbed your cold arms with your also cold hands. It was getting dark and you found yourself beside a park's gate. You sighed as you realized there weren't many places in Gotham that didn't remind you of Arthur. You took a path to the park and sat down on the nearest bench. You took off your shoes and massaged your hurting foot for a moment. A cold wind blew onto your face, sweeping your hair away, making you shiver again. You cursed the weather and Gotham and everyone in it. You were tired, cold and upset. And the worst thing - you couldn't do anything about it. You couldn't express your emotions which you felt so many right now, cause you didn't even know how. You could only curse under your nose and cry, which wasn't very helping to be honest. You heard footsteps and you looked up to see a young, obviously drunk man approaching you. As he set his eyes on you, you knew that he was going to bother you. You leaned back at the bench and observed him, wishing you could just go away from you. But he stopped in front of you and chuckled as he looked at your naked feet. - Too much walk, eh? Tired, aren't you? - he came closer to you and you wanted to run away, but you reminded yourself not to show him you were scared. Besides, with your tired hurt feet, you doubted you would be able to run faster than he, even though he was drunk. - Go away - you said with a firm tone. - Why, eh? Don'cha want me to walk you home? - No, just go away. My boyfriend is near. - Your boyfriend? - he snorted as he moved to sit beside you. You moved away from him to the end of the bench - Where is he now? Taking the piss, eh? - Y-yes - you lied looking around, searching for help. You wished Arthur was here. - Let me take you home - he reached out his hand to touch you and you stood up right away. - I said go away! - you yelled as you walked a few steps back, ready to run even with your bare feet. - Don't be like that, princess! I'm just trying to be nice - his tone changed to anger and you were really scared at this moment. You started walking away backwards to still has him in your sight. - Don't walk away from me when I'm talking to you! - he pointed at you before he leaned down to take your shoes - What about your pretty shoes, eh?! Dont'cha want them back? - he threw a shoe at you, hitting your arm. Before he threw the second one, you were already running away. Ignoring the pain in your calves, the rocky subgrade and his screaming behind you. You weren't sure if he was running after you, but you were too scared to look behind to see. You decided to run as long as you could, trying to find a way

out of the park. Unfortunately you lost your direction and you didn't know what path you were on. You didn't hear that man screaming anymore, but you didn't stop running until your foot stepped on a sharp stone, making you fall on your knees. - Fuck! - you screamed as you shifted your body to sit. Your knees were scratched and your foot was bleeding. - Look at you princess - you heard the man's voice and you saw him coming your way - hurting much, eh? Wanna help? I can help you if you come with me home, hehe. - H-how did you? - You know you just ran a circle, right? - he chuckled as he approached you. You tried to stood up and he caught your arm to actually help you stand - See? I'm a gentleman. - No, you're not - you glared at him and shook your hand from his grasp, you were angry and frustrated - You're awful, you're drunk and you're harassing me! I told you to stay away and you didn't listen! - Oh, screaming at me now, eh? - he chuckled and came closer to you - I'm harassing you? Really? - he grabbed your arm too tightly for you to shake it off - Maybe I should just show you what real harassment is. He grabbed your hair with the other hand and you yelp in pain. You were so much in pain that you couldn't bear it anymore. It came to the point where you couldn't even recognize what hurt you more or even where. It was like you weren't in pain, you were pain. And that pain somehow gave you strength. You felt helpless for a moment when he grabbed your hair, but then you felt furious and fierce. You didn't want to be helpless, weak or a victim to him. You could and you would fight. You screamed as you kicked him in his groin and your nails went for his face, scratching his skin ruthlessly. - You bitch! - he yelled as he crossed his legs in pain and covered his face with his hand. He let go of you, but you knew you couldn't run anymore. You had to fight him to the end, until you were sure you were safe. You had to knock him down. He tried to jumped on you, but missed. He only scratched your arm and you punched him in the face. You tried to push him on the ground but he grabbed you and threw you away. Luckily you landed on a grass. You saw him coming at you and you kicked his knee, making him fall to the ground. You tried to stand up, but he grabbed your foot, the one that was bleeding. You screamed in pure anger as you jumped on him aiming for his stupid, drunk face. - You fucking piece of shit! - you screamed as you grabbed his head and hit it against the ground. Your thumbs pushed onto his eyeballs and he screamed in pain, but he managed to easily throw you off of him. He was stronger than you, but he was temporarily blind now and you knew you needed something to defense yourself with. You looked around and your eyes set on a larger rock. You took it and you didn't hesitate as you took a swing and hit him in the head. He fell on the ground, not moving. You waited a few seconds, but he stayed unconscious. You finally knocked him out, you finally had him defenseless as you wanted. But you didn't feel like you finished at all. It really scared you of how much you wanted to hit him again and again. To release your anger at him. You really reconsidered it for a moment, but you stopped yourself. You didn't have to take it that far. Even though he very much deserved it. You put the rock away and just sat there, more tired than ever. - Y/N? - a familiar voice came from behind you and you looked back to see Joker running up to you. - Y/N, what... what happened here? - he crouched down and took you in his arms. As your face hid in his chest you started sobbing. He hushed you as he rubbed your back to try to calm you down. - Hey, it's alright, I'm here now, no one's gonna hurt you anymore - he kissed the top of your head - Just don't run away from me again, Y/N and I will protect you. You kept sobbing as he slowly pulled away from you to look at you. - My god, you're hurt, Y/N - he said in a very concerned tone - What this scumbag did to you, to my precious angel? You saw tears in his eyes, an apologizing look

of not being here in time when you needed him, and you sobbed even more. - A-arthur... you said with a pleading tone and he knew exactly what you needed from him. - Let's get out of this place. I'm taking you home. I'm gonna take care of your wounds, darling - he said as he knew you learned your lesson already. He didn't like that you got hurt, but at least now you knew how much you needed him to protect you and how was he the only person that would never hurt you. He helped you stand up and you took a final look at your abuser. - Fuck him, Y/N. If he ever get near you again, I will fucking kill him. You knew Joker was serious about it. You knew he meant it and he was able to do it if he had to. And you would be lying if you said you cared. You didn't. You knew what people could do and how awful some Gotham people were. But as long as you had Joker on your side, you were safe. It didn't mean you approved murdering people, but you got what it felt like to be taken to extreme, to be pushed to breaking point. You understood Joker now. He went a long way to become what he became and you could either accept that or walk away. And you knew already that walking away from him wouldn't do any good. It wasn't what you wanted anyway. Joker spitted at the man and then he looked back at you. - Let me carry you, love. I won't let you walk with your feet hurt. You looked up at him and you recognized Arthur under his greasepaint, behind Joker persona. It was weird to see both of them at the same time, there were so many things in him to figure out for you, but there were also things you could be sure of. He would never hurt you and he would do anything for you, cause Arthur still loved you. - How did you find me? - you asked as he lifted you.

- I was looking for you in all the places we've ever visited until I trusted my guts and got here - he smiled at you - you should know darling, that I will find you wherever you go.

#arthur fleck #joker #arthur fleck x reader #joker x reader #joker x you #joker fanfiction #arthur fleck x you

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mappingway · 2 years

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i grew up being taught to be small and unproblematic. That it was better to be small and soft spoken and not seen and not heard because it meant I stayed safe. I couldn't be yelled at or hit with a belt if people forgot I existed. I couldn't be bullied if I simply wasn't noticable.

In the six or seven years since my last suicide attempt, I've really had to learn a lot of social cues that I missed growing up. I had to grapple with the fact that people, in fact, do feel ignored quite often, and I wasn't alone in feeling alone. And it sucked, but it was normal.

And then covid hit, and I no longer even had the social safety net of daily niceties. My ability to socialise atrophied. I went from daily meetings and interactions and lunch break walks with people to nothing for weeks at a time. My workplace did not adapt well to working virtually and they did not support our mental health or wellbeing.

My mental health crumbled. At the beginning of the pandemic, I was put on medication for OCD and anxiety. I had self harmed before, and internalized my inability to feel in control of my surroundings by cutting and trying to overdose. Now, I was having full-on meltdowns and sobbing sessions because my blankets had lumps or my nails didn't trim nicely or I had a neverending supply of quirky hairs. I was keeping myself up until dawn because one more blanket smoothing would fix all of it.

And while it put a bandaid over the issue, it didn't fix the root cause. I felt out of control. I felt so alone and unseen and so lonely. Without my daily meetings and lunch walks, my ability to read the room faded, I guess. It didn't matter if people didn't like me. It didn't matter if eating too much after starving would make me sick. I was so, so desperate and so hungry for attention that I gorged on it.

I gorged on it. I was warned that some people were distant. I was warned that some people didn't like the false niceties and the instant friendship the internet seemed to make people feel like they were deserving of. I saw all the warning signs but I was so hungry that I hoped me being me would excuse my issues.

It doesn't. I am the owner of my mental illness and I should have taken better care of it. You don't take an unsociable, untrained puppy to the park. They get overwhelmed, they do things they shouldn't, and they don't listen to commands. And by the time they roll over to show their belly and promise they meant no harm, it's too late. They already bit someone.

I allowed my mental illness to get out of control because I didn't work on it, and that's on me. I recognize what I should have done differently. I know I let my anxiety take over and hurt people because I was feeling hurt, too. It is so easily to fall into that cycle of dog eat dog, isn't it? In attempt to put out your own fire you start another.

I am working on it. I'm two weeks into twice weekly therapy. And it fucking sucks because it feels like draining a wound or like day two of antibiotics when you feel worse before you started because all the gunk is getting cleaned out. When you dust your home and sneeze because you kicked up all the bad things.

I'm working on it. And I am still sorry. And I still miss people. And I am not taking my mistake for granted this time. I'm working on it.

#therapy talks #tldr. im sorry and i still miss them.#suicide attempt tw #suicide ment #suicide ideation tw #emeto tw #food tw

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wherethingscomebackx · 4 years

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Top 25 Larry fics of 2019

It’s that time again!

You may be familiar with these lists:

Top 25 Larry fics of 2016

Top 25 Larry fics of 2017

Top 25 Larry fics of 2018

As always, I read a lot of fic and the majority of it is Larry. I like making lists and I like Larry so I thought I’d do some minimal research of the top 25 larry fics published/completed in 2019 in order of least to most kudos (with links). All of these fics are top notch so you should all check them out!

25.) Foolishy Laying Our Hearts on the Table by @runaway-train-works (11k)

“You think Harry wants that?”

“Dunno. Maybe. Wanna make him happy.” Harry takes advantage of the red light he’s pulled up to turn and look properly at Louis’ face. He’s not even looking in Harry’s direction though, focused instead on something out of his side window, head drooped, mindlessly playing with the string of his hoodie between his fingers, lost in his own world somewhere. For some reason, it makes Harry’s spine straighten.

“Because he’s your best mate?” Harry questions carefully.

“He’s my boyfriend.”

He couldn’t have heard him right. “What?”

Louis releases a deep breath, still not turning around. Harry wonders who he thinks he’s talking to right now. “He’s so pretty. Want to kiss him all day long. And buy him a big house and give him presents and marry him.”

The one where Harry is in love with his best friend Louis but doesn't think he stands a chance until some wisdom teeth and a rather unusual confession might just change his mind.

24.) Tainted Saints And Velvet Vices by @toomanydreamers (126k)

A self-fulfilling Hogwarts AU in which Louis is new to seventh year and Harry is the resident devil-may-care Slytherin set to make his entire experience a living misery. Due to less than favourable circumstances they're forced to forge an unwilling, tentative relationship for their own survival. Repressed emotions, decidedly unromantic ballroom dancing, Triwizard Tournament tasks, creative jinxes and twilight flying above the Forbidden Forest ensue.

23.) all we can do is keep breathing by @avocadolouie (310k)

“Harry, I-I’m so sorry…” Louis stutters out, trying to keep his voice level and even, to portray a depiction of strength, but with the way Harry is looking at him, staring at him like he has a personal passage way straight to Louis’ soul, it’s so hard, nearly impossible.

That simple opening phrase, that short introductory acknowledgement that is often rushed out so easily, painlessly, at a safe distance. Giving a doctor the ability to portray empathy without true emotion, without feeling the full brunt and sheer force of the underlying pain itself.

But Louis feels it, he feels the crushing agony laced behind the phrase, he feels the weight of the painful words slipping from his lips, the cause and effect that the three-word expression holds. The distantly empty “I’m so sorry” that doctors throw out in self-preservation, isn’t at all empty for him. Louis recognizes it, he understands it, he feels it.

a fated story of two broken and battered boys who barely survived the unimaginable and how the love of one little brave girl defies all the odds and somehow puts them back together.

22.) Raise a Glass to the Four of Us by @2tiedships2 (25k)

Louis stared at his luggage.

Well. Apparently not his luggage, because the clothing he was looking at currently was a: worth more than everything he currently possessed, b: not his size at all, and c: more suited for a fancy ass lawyer than a holiday in NYC with his best mates.

“Ooh, nice loafers,” Niall said as he pulled one out of the suitcase. “I love the rainbows.”

“Okay,” Liam began. “What do you want to do first? Eat, shop for new clothes, or spend hours on the phone with the airline?”

Louis continued to stare at the luggage.

21.) You Have to Retreat to Advance by @2tiedships2 (18k)

“What am I going to do, Perrie? I can’t go on this retreat by myself. My boss literally said he wants to meet my omega.” Harry paused. “Okay, not literally but he definitely expects me to be bringing him.”

“Don’t people go on these things by themselves?” Perrie asked.

Harry shrugged. “Of course but that’s not the point.”

“What’s the point?”

“My boss is expecting to meet my omega! I don’t have an omega!”

“Is this a paying gig?” Perrie asked.

“You mean paying an omega to spend the weekend with me? I’m sure the resort has nice amenities. Does that count?”

“I take that as a no,” Perrie said with an eye roll. “It’s okay, Louis might be willing to do it for free.”

“Who’s Louis?”

Or the one where Harry is expected to bring his longterm omega to the company's mountain retreat. Since he hadn't told anyone that they'd broken up months ago, he now has to find someone willing to play the part.

20.) A Darker Shade of Love by LittleSpoonStyles94 (750k)

Louis is a 30 year old multi-billionaire with a very dark past. He is violent and is a sadist with a taste for pain. Harry Styles is a 19 year old student who sets out to London after being kicked out by his homophobic father to follow his dreams. He wants to go to the best University to study but he needs a lot of money so he starts to work as a part time stripper at a gay club to support his studies and his life. The club he works at, Garland's, is part owned by Louis Tomlinson. When they meet, its life changing for the both of them.

19.) You Still Make Sense to Me by @amories (37k)

Harry, Louis, and their family navigate life together through the years.

18.) Like Water Over Fire (Like Water On Fire) by @mcssymon (119k)

“I’m sorry your highness, I think I misheard you, did you really say that you are hoping to meet your husband?” Oh god, Louis panicked. Was Prince Harry gay? Was he even allowed to be gay? Surely he wouldn’t be allowed to have a selection from a group of men, right?

Prince Harry looked partly like he wanted to laugh, but also very, very nervous about what he had just admitted, “Yes, sir, you heard correctly”

Or Prince Harry has 46 men and 13 weeks to find the husband of his dreams, Louis has a limited amount to time to live out a royal fantasy. They might just be exactly what the other needs.

17.) waiting for the tides to meet by @nauticalleeds (59k)

Louis lets out a deep breath, thinking about Harry’s soulmate. Thinking about how Harry’s soulmate is probably as beautiful as Harry, some person that Louis cannot compare to, and how the universe has chosen them to be Harry’s. Fuck the universe. “Fuck you,” he calls out to the universe. He’s aware of how crazy he sounds.

Maybe he is crazy, with how he’s falling for Harry. And fuck that, too.

Soulmate AU. Everyone is born with heterochromia — one eye is their own eye colour, while the other is the colour of their soulmate's. It's only when they meet their soulmate for the first time that their own eyes match properly. After a hazy night at a frat party, Louis wakes up to blue eyes and the shocking realization that he had met his soulmate, without any sober recollection. Seven years pass where Louis comes to terms with the fact that he'll never know who his soulmate is. Then one fated summer, a beautiful green-eyed photographer arrives at Louis' workplace, with promises of endless laughter and a familiar feeling in Louis' heart.

Featuring a lovely cup of OT5, a road trip down the coast, and a scene where Harry eats a whole head of lettuce. Don't ask why.

16.) Call Answered by @vondrostes (249k)

The day after his 27th birthday, Harry Styles attempts suicide. Louis is flown to his bedside to unravel the mystery of why he did it after a flash drive is found with a note attached, addressed to Louis. On it are a collection of 78 songs, all written for different dates from their past.

15.) Counterbalance by @louandhazaf (44k)

Harry Styles loves two things: teaching ballet and racing motorcycles. Those two worlds collide when his greatest rival on the track, Louis “Tommo” Tomlinson brings his tiny siblings to Harry’s class.

14.) Everywhere and Nowhere by @2tiedships2 (16k)

Niall took a seat and said, "Apparently Louis' downstairs neighbor is a fan of giving Louis creepy gifts. Maybe I should go introduce myself and tell him that Louis actually prefers food."

"What has he given you?" Liam asked.

Louis shrugged as it were no big deal. "There was a rabbit's foot keychain on the door a little after he left from introducing himself and there was a small teddy bear sitting by my door tonight. Obviously I can't prove it's from him, but they seem to have his scent. I could be wrong though."

"Wow," Liam said, looking deep in thought. "That's old school."

"What's old school?" Niall asked. "Giving creepy gifts?"

"I've never known an alpha to do it, to be honest, but he's courting you."

Louis couldn't contain his look of disbelief directed at Liam. "He's courting me. Like some sort of romantic shit they'd do in the 1800s or something?"

13.) Swallow The Knife by whoknows (76k)

“You came,” Louis says, still breathless, clinging to Harry, uncaring that his sweat is getting all over Harry’s presumably clean dad shirt, or that he’s making Harry hold up all of his weight.

“Of course I came,” Harry says. He shifts, one arm curled underneath Louis’ arse, the other spreading wide in the middle of Louis’ back. “If I ignored you every time you pissed me off we would have stopped being friends a long time ago.”

Louis already knows that, of course. It doesn’t do anything to stop the pleased squirm in his belly every time Harry proves it, though. They fight like nobody’s business, both of them too stubborn to pull their punches when they’re arguing, and it used to get them in trouble, but they always make up.

Adrenaline makes Louis loose-lipped, and they both know it. He tightens his arms around Harry’s neck, buries his face in his hair. “I missed you,” he confesses, quiet. “Doesn’t feel the same up there by myself.”

12.) and oh, all of your saturdays could end up in woe by ihavetoomuchfreetime (70k)

a fic in which louis' in a long-term relationship with an abusive asshole, niall, zayn and liam are so far but not really, and harry is that all too friendly guy who works in sainsbury's.

11.) thinking about the t-shirt you slept in by @absoloutenonsense (52k)

Harry's alpha fraternity donates to a local thrift shop (because of Liam's latent crush on a cute beta in his lecture). Louis' financial situation (and confusing omega instincts) lead him to make some interesting fashion purchases. Lots of pizza, feelings, and not-really-lying.

10.) Consequences by @allwaswell16 (78k)

Two years ago Harry let his powerful family come between him and the love of his life, something he deeply regrets. Louis has tried to move on from their devastating break up. Sometimes, he even thinks he has. It only takes one moment to freeze them back in time.

An amnesia au

9.) Strawberries & Cigarettes by @dimpled-halo (76k)

Harry looks up and immediately freezes. Next to Ms. Archie stands the boy from just the other day. The boy with the leather jacket and chipped black nails, that might or might not be sketched in the very book Harry has just placed on the table in front of him. The leather jacket is missing today, probably because they aren’t allowed as part of their required uniform attire, but Harry can still see the fading black nail polish on his nails, and eyeliner around his eyes. Harry’s mouth goes a little dry. This boy is so intriguing to him.

“Ye-yes, Ms. Archie?” Harry tries to play it cool, but he’s almost positive that his cheeks are burning red, and he’s relieved neither of them can tell how fast his heart is beating in his chest.

The boy seems to also recognize Harry, because his lips curve into a knowing smirk.

“Harry is at the top of his class. He’s your best bet at getting familiar with things around here.” She explains.

Louis nods, his smirk still very prominent on his face. “Thank you Ms. Archie. I’ll be sure to take advantage of young Harold here.”

Summary: Two stories, eleven years, and the two boys that never stopped loving each other.

8.) Pain makes people change by Deidei (113k)

An organization called Canis Lupus existed solely for changing humans imprisoned in their wolf form back to their human form. Some people after experiencing some traumatic event can only ‘’protect’’ themselves from the pain by forgetting everything. To do that, to feel safe, they shift into their wolf form.

Which they'll be stuck in forever should no one intervene.

Louis Tomlison went through a traumatic experience at the age of twelve in which he lost his mother, to make the pain go away he shifted into a wolf and fled. He survived in the wild as a wolf for five years until Canis Lupis caught him... Though he wasn't alone, he had a pup at his side.

7.) Pretty Please (With Sugar On Top) by @angelichl (113k)

Harry is a sugar baby omega who cons rich alphas for a living. Louis is a rich alpha with too much self-control.

6.) Enemies with benefits by ssii8 (267k)

Where Harry is captain of basketball team and Louis is captain of football team and they hate each other. But somehow this doesn't stop them from having sex.

And everything is perfect until they start to feel something more.

5.) Ready To Fall by whoknows (21k)

“Ninety and rising,” Nick says triumphantly, as though making Harry’s heartbeat pick up by thrusting an obscenely attractive person in front of his face is any kind of success. “Louis Tomlinson has just walked into our control room and suddenly our dear Harry Styles has lost all ability to speak. Could this be some kind of strange coincidence?”

“I hate you,” Harry hisses, forcing his eyes back into Nick’s direction, uncaring that the mic must have picked it up. “I thought we agreed that you were going to play fair.”

“I’m sure I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Nick denies, except he’s holding up a picture of Louis’ face now, sharp cheekbones prominent, soft lashes nearly sweeping against his cheeks as he looks down, and his fucking mouth –

“A hundred and two!” Nick crows, all but clapping his hands together in glee. “The highest it’s ever been!”

“To be fair, I did bend over the desk on purpose,” Louis’ voice comes crackling in the headphones. Harry practically breaks his neck whipping his head around at the sound of it, gaping at him through the glass panel. “You can’t really blame him for getting a little excited about that, can you?”

4.) Close to Nowhere by @angelichl (34k)

“I will kill you in your sleep,” Louis threatened as he quickly stepped out of his jeans.

“I don’t think that would work very well baby, seeing as you talk to dead people all the time.”

“I’ll kill you in your sleep and ignore your ghost. And don’t call me that.”

Louis and Harry are psychics who kind of hate each other. They go to Tennessee to investigate a haunting.

3.) Play Pretend, Find a Friend? by @angelichl (40k)

They had to pull back for air. Louis surveyed the guy’s face, in awe of his blown pupils and sharp jawline, the way their shared spit glistened on his lips.

“Hi,” he breathed. He blinked, and came back to himself a little bit, blushing at his own boldness. “Sorry. Is this okay?”

The stranger removed his right hand from the curve of Louis’ waist in order to cup his jaw, tilting it up to the angle he desired. He pressed their lips together, murmuring, “Definitely.” And then he kissed harder.

When Louis sees his ex-boyfriend kissing a random girl at a party, he acts out of blind jealousy. He kisses the first guy he can find. It turns into a thing.

INSPIRED BY CLOUDS.

2.) Let Me Feel Your Heartbeat by @angelichl (34k)

Harry is 98% sure Louis hates him. So he feels like his bewilderment is justified when the omega offers to help him through his rut.

1.) All My Colours by IceQueenRia (267k)

Green… yellow… red. Red! RED!!!

Some people were born Dominant and others submissive. Sixteen year old Louis Tomlinson was a submissive and was proud to be so… until he was forced to his knees for the first time. The man before him was every subs nightmare, an abusive Dom, the kind who didn’t believe in the colour ‘red’ unless it was in the form of blood.

There were others, but Louis was the ‘favourite’ and he was the one the Dom liked to ‘play with’ the most. In fact, when the rescue team arrived, Louis was the one currently providing ‘service’ to the Dom.

Louis, Zayn and Niall are abused subs. Liam Payne is their devoted new Guidance Counsellor who just wants to make Niall smile and hear Zayn speak. As for Louis, he knows his guidance won’t be enough to help the boy heal. No, Louis Tomlinson needs something very special and very specific. He needs Harry Styles.

#larry #larry stylinson #harry styles #louis tomlinson #fic rec #larry fic rec #one direction #1d #one direction fan fiction #larry fan fiction #larry is real #larry fic #dom/sub fic #alpha/beta/omega verse #1d fan fiction

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lovelyirony · 4 years

Note

sweeter than honey (redux)

Pepper Potts did not exactly mean to become a criminal. Really, she still doesn’t think she is.

But here are the facts:

1.) She has broken several laws in pursuit of funds that do not belong to her.

2.) The FBI would like to talk to her about several things and potentially put her under arrest.

3.) She can no longer go to her regular coffee shop because the barista snitched and told them her name, as well as her occupation.

Pepper broke several laws because the company she was working for (Stane International) was technically breaking laws, but laws that do not apply to corporations because corporations do this thing called “funding campaigns” and also sometimes “doing favors.”

She decided to do the same and suddenly she is a criminal. Not her fault she redistributed money back into the community, and now they can’t get any of it back.

It’s just how that worked out.

She’s been staying at a hotel that serves many questionable individuals each month, and it has an indoor pool and a three-star rating on the latest travel website.

It’s nondescript, not her style, and she’s currently in the bathroom having a crisis because she most likely needs to dye her hair.

She’s vain. Pepper knows she is, has known it since high school when she trimmed her hair and cried. Her hair, by all accounts, is gorgeous. It’s a shiny strawberry-blonde that makes her look like an ice queen in winter and a mysterious fairy queen in summer.

She does not want to dye it. But here she is with an eight dollar box of dye and thoughts in her head.

And then her hotel door opens.

Not supposed to do that, but that’s what happens when you’re in a three-star hotel.

She is also in old athletic shorts that have most definitely seen better days and a tank top that was a last-minute buy from the nearest store, and it does not suit her at all.

Facing her is a man with an odd beard, tinted sunglasses, and a graphic t-shirt over a blazer.

“So. You pissed off Stane Industries,” he drawls. “I’m impressed. Usually they just sweep their little problems under the rug.”

“I’ll sweep you under one if you’d like,” Pepper offers, wondering how quickly a blowdryer can knock someone out. She’s not sure how well-made the hotel one is. Probably not very.

“I’m not here to kill you,” the man says. He takes off his sunglasses. His eyes are a nice shade of brown, not that you’re supposed to notice that about a potential enemy. Pepper is just that skilled.

“Then what are you here to do? Make me move to Florida?”

“No, the opposite. We’re staying here. I’m offering you a job position of helping me take down Obadiah Stane and the company itself.”

“Who would I be working with?”

“Anthony Stark.”

Pepper stills.

She read the news when she was in college, same time as Tony Stark. Went missing in the car crash, no one found his body. Temperatures were freezing, he was wearing a tuxedo. The chances were that he froze to death somewhere that they didn’t find yet.

Chances were. What an odd little phrase.

“So, you made it out.”

“Not as hard as people say it seems to be, Virginia.”

“Call me Pepper, my first name disgusts me.”

“Gotcha, Pepper. Call me Tony. You in?”

“Obviously. What do I need to do?”

“Meet the team.”

There is Rhodey, who was Tony’s best friend and sobbed on national television for two weeks until they forgot all about him.

“He’ll cry at anything,” Tony says with a laugh as Rhodey sends him a dirty look. “Just made him think about neon shoes and he bawled like a baby.”

“I did not,” Rhodey hisses. “I was a good crier.”

“You looked like a seal,” Pepper intervenes. “But you played the part quite well. Nice to meet you.”

“Right back at you, Pepper.”

She meets Happy, a man who is all serious and grumpy and “did not want to break the law before forty” but he also gets to watch Downton Abbey whenever he wants, so he’s not doing too bad.

He runs security and also tells Rhodey and Tony when they’re banned from ordering pizza all the time, and Pepper is inducted into the Healthy Eating Committee.

There’s Bruce Banner, who enjoys taking over corporations for fun, and this is his second one. His first was some sort of health insurance scam, and apparently that was just to finish up his thesis for his third doctorate.

“He has seven degrees, he’s weird,” Tony says.

“Oh like you’re any better,” Bruce says with a snort. “You learned twelve languages for fun. Including French, which is useless.”

“French is not useless,” Tony says. “It got us free food in Canada.”

“We would’ve gotten it anyway if we’d done it my way.”

“Stealing?” Rhodey asks.

“Yes!”

Pepper laughs.

Their job is a bit easier than anticipated. They found out from Pepper that getting into the building is stupid easy because no one likes their job and will do anything when bribed.

Tony struts in with a badly-made-employee-ID and talks about a copying machine and coffee and seeing someone next month for dinner. Pepper just keeps her head down and pretends like she’s meeting someone for something. Like usual.

Obadiah Stane is out of the country on a meeting, and his secretary is scared to death of him, so they’re allowed to poke around the office and find some interesting information.

The problem comes when someone recognizes Bruce outside (government watchlists: the most pesky things on earth) and suddenly there’s this huge fuss.

Tony pushes Pepper into an office closet and then promptly asks her if anyone opens the door, if she’s alright with him kissing her.

“Why would you do that?”

“People don’t like watching kissing, too intimate. Also, you have a lovely face and you’re quite funny, and I think it’d be fun and delightful to kiss you.”

“How long have you thought about that?”

“Not going to talk about that, just want an answer. If you say no--and feel free to, there’s no obligation in physical contact right now--it does complicate plans A to D. I suppose we could play the divorced couple route, but I’m not a gigantic fan about that.”

“I mean, I guess? It wouldn’t be bad, and I’m not exactly opposed to it, Would it mean anything later?”

“Do you want it to?”

“Let’s figure that out after we do it.”

“If we need to do it.”

Door swings open.

Oh, there’s a need.

Tony is a particularly nice kisser, Pepper thinks. The thought runs through her head that she’s only kissed two people before Tony, and one was in high school so that doesn’t count, but the other was a secretary at an old company she used to work for.

But Tony is nice. Soft and warm and he grabs her waist and that’s nice.

“Oh my god, sorry,” the employee mutters. “I just, I thought--”

“Occupied!” Tony says, not even stopping as he kicks out his leg and practically stomps the poor other guy in the stomach.

They get out, run, and Pepper laughs as she sees a bit of pink lipstick on the side of Tony’s mouth.

“So, how’d I do?”

“Send me a survey,” Pepper remarks. “Or a ranking.”

“On a scale of one to ten?”

“Seven.”

“I was that bad?”

“How do you rank things? Do you put one as the best?”

“Obviously.”

“No, you’re an idiot. One is always the worst. You’re a nine. It would’ve been higher but we were in a corporate office and in a supply closet.”

“So what you’re saying is, I’ll have to try again?”

“Preferably over a couple glasses of wine and pizza. The good kind, though. Not the garbage Rhodey orders.”

They approach the car that Happy has, with Rhodey and Bruce already leading others on a goose chase.

“You two have too much fun,” Happy mutters. “Boss, you got lipstick on your side. Did you get the drives?”

“Transferred and set to release to every major news outlet tomorrow morning at six a.m.,” Tony says. “Interns are going to curse my name as they’re forced to rewrite articles.”

Pepper smiles.

That night, they have a couple of glasses of wine and Tony orders the good pizza, the kind that costs a little bit too much for what it is, but it’s all worth it in the end.

When Tony takes over the company after about six months of legal battles that would probably have drawn on for well over a decade if not for the fact that Tony is one of the most in-your-face-let’s-talk men she’s ever met, Pepper was kind of expecting things to slow down.

Of course not. That’s not her style nor is it Tony’s, although arguably a vacation or a nice spa day would have been nice beforehand.

“We have shit to do,” Tony says. “Rhodey, you need to help me revamp R&D. Pepper, I need to talk to you in the office.”

They’ve already hired a company to completely redesign the entire building and refocus the company’s outlook, starting with getting rid of the disgusting 1970s carpet and chairs. God, it’s ugly. Pepper cried when she saw the office chairs.

But she’s in Tony’s office, and she’s wondering if this is going to be directly related to workplace relationships or not. She’s already prepared an argument as to why she still wants a relationship and just how much professionalism she can exhibit in the face of hardship.

(That hardship being the fact that Tony looks quite good in suits but also has arms that are made for tank tops.)

“I have a problem with you,” Tony says. “And it’s that I want to make you CEO, but I don’t want people to think that you got it just because we’re dating. So we have an issue to cross.”

Pepper was not expecting this. She was expecting maybe head accountant, or head of the PR team. But CEO? That was something that was...wow. Pepper had had a fifteen year plan for working up from wherever it was that she would be at.

She also didn’t know they were dating.

“We’re dating?”

“Did I read the kiss wrong? Oh shit, was the seven secretly the bad seven?”

“No!” Pepper says. “You just never told me that we were dating, we didn’t have a communicative conversation about it.”

“Oh. Well, would you like to go on dates and things?”

“What’s ‘and things’?”

“You know. Sexy times. But I wanted to be a professional about it. But I am not that professional.”

“No, no you’re not. Which is why you offered me the CEO position and why I am accepting it. But I will also date you...and things.”

“Excellent. Have a dinner tonight while we discuss how to do Microsoft Excel?”

“I already know how to use it.”

“Pepper, you are the only woman for me in this lifetime and the next.”

“And the one after that?”

“I’m assuming you’ll get bored of me and marry someone who’s seven feet tall.”

“Seven feet tall? What, am I going to attend every NBA game for the next husband?”

“Maybe, I don’t know what you’ll do. I’ll probably be halfway into a grave over despair.”

Pepper chuckles, dropping a short kiss onto his temple.

“Well, I hope I don’t have to witness that. You want me to make some salad for tonight then?”

“Yes please! We also need to review the decor and see what chairs to order.”

Pepper nods.

“We need to ask Rhodey, he has opinions about design of those.”

“Of course he does, he hates standing too long. We’ll send him some of our options.”

She waves as she leaves the office.

What Tony misses:

Pepper pumps her fist as she leaves the office, nearly stumbles, and is quite glad that no security cameras were installed that day.

What Pepper misses:

Tony spins so hard in his office chair as a celebration that it topples over.

Yeah, they’re made for each other.

#pepperony #tony stark #pepper potts #love this one #i love writing pepper and i don't do enough of it #i really like it when it's clear that they both love each other #bc with a lot of fics it's like pepper being like 'well i guess :/' or she's cool about it #BUT I WANT PEPPER TO BE A NERD!#rhodey #lovelyirony writes

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quarantined-with-bucky · 4 years

Text

Shopping

Bodyguard!Bucky x Reader

Request: Hi! May I ask for a hc or scenario in wich Bucky falls for the reader who has a "spoiled brat" stereotype...u know? Like a Regina George from Mean Girls type of attitude, Maybe the reader is the daughter of someone important who Bucky needs to protect idk I thought it could be quite fun, anyway...loved your writing so much in "Dichotomy" ❤

Words: ~ 4,500

Summary: Bucky’s paid to be your bodyguard and you’re, well, kind of a bitch.

Warnings: None! For once ;)

...

There is three things men want in life.

1. They want to see if they can fuck you.

2. They want to see if they can fuck you over.

3. They want to get you out the fucking picture.

That was simply a fact of life. It was especially accurate in the world you grew up in: the world of powerful men, fast cars, vast mansions, and extravagant wardrobes. There was something about everyone’s cut-throat attitude that also seemed to drag along these luxuries. It was all about showing off: who had the most expensive car, whose house was bigger – whose wife was hotter.

This is the climate you grew up in: constant competition, envious friends, malicious enemies. There was a certain image you were expected to maintain, so you did exactly that. Not only did you have the weight of one day taking over your father’s company on your shoulders, you had the paparazzi stalking your every move. There wasn’t a single moment of peace in your life. You couldn’t go to the mall or the grocery store without at least one picture of you showing up on Daily Mail.

You’d grown up with it and, for the most part, you didn’t have to do things like that anyway. There was always someone to do those menial tasks for you.

Until you moved out of your parents’ house. You finally graduated college; a twenty-something kid finally ready to jump into the world on your own two feet. You were eagerly awaiting your move into your New York City apartment – a swanky two-bedroom on the top floor of a building in Soho.

Everything was going swimmingly well until you had an altercation with paparazzi. It was hard to navigate the narrow streets and sidewalks of the city, and as you were meeting your friend at a restaurant, you found it was a little too easy for the cameramen to push you around on the street. However, while you were thinking more along the lines of a restraining order against them, your father had other ideas.

“No way,” you interrupted, holding your hands up to your father. “That’s not happening.”

He raised his eyebrows at you. “It is happening. Unless you want this to happen again.” He tossed the stack of newspapers onto your dining table, the photo of you on the front page sliding across the table towards you. The title read “(Y/N) Falters – Will She Fumble Daddy’s Company?” You bit the inside of your cheek, the photo immortalized you trying to push past the group of people photographing your every step, the bright flashes causing you to hold your hands in front of your eyes. “This won’t be happening again.”

…

That’s how you met Bucky. At first, it was nice to have him around. He shook your hand once as he introduced himself. It was months before he even said anything else to you. He stood posted up in the doorway of every room you walked into. He wore a smart looking suit ever day, the top few buttons of his shirt undone to show off his tanned muscles underneath.

He walked you to restaurants, taking the lead, keeping the paparazzi at a far distance away from you. He followed you around shopping, carrying your Gucci, Dior, and Balenciaga bags to your car for you. God, it was a dream. What was even dreamier were his eyes. Before anyone approached you to speak with you, he stopped them, turning his head to look at you for your nod of approval before letting them past. And holy fuck those two seconds of fleeting eye contact made you absolutely melt. You almost started scheduling unnecessary appointments into your schedule just so he could face you again for confirmation. You stared back at him as seductively as possible, eyes half lidded, glossy, staring back at him and tilting your head in the slightest nod.

That was the only time he ever acknowledged you. That, and when he opened your car door for you. He never said much – if anything – at all. But his presence was so demanding: his shoulders were so broad, his chest constantly puffed out, his jaw clenched, and eyebrows narrowed in challenge. It took every bit of willpower not to jump his bones.

…

You had a certain mentality when it came to work. There was a certain image to be portrayed. You always dressed to the nines: a fitted suit, usually Balmain or Chanel, complete with gold jewelry and tall heels. Your makeup was done every day: a neutral pallet, something that unsuspecting peers would assume to be natural. Your hair was always perfectly in place: either cascading smoothly down your back or pinned neatly into a bun. Not only were you running the company, but you were also the face of the company.

You walked around with your head held high, shoulders back, and with determination in your step. People watched you as you walked down the hallway. Maybe some in admiration, others envy, even a few with desire. You always heard their whispers, though.

Bucky walked in-toe with you always remaining a cool two steps behind you; you could feel his gaze burning into the back of his head. You entered your office, Bucky taking his usual post by the door. You plopped down in your large leather chair, preparing yourself for your meeting.

Your morning got progressively worse as the meetings progressed, people not cooperating, work not being done, no conflicts getting resolved. As you last meeting ended, and the particularly patronizing man left your office, you couldn’t hold back muttering a “fucking prick” as the door shut behind him.

Bucky pinched is lips together, holding back a smirk. You reclined in your chair, watching him regain his poise quickly, eyes not moving from the fixed position on the wall in front of him. “You know, James,” you spoke up, instantly getting his attention. “That was my last meeting today; you can sit, if you’d like.” You gestured to the seating area across the room.

He nodded in thanks, strutting across the room and sitting on the black couch in front of you. All you wanted was to join him on the couch. The things you could do to him on that couch – the things he could do to you on that couch. “You can call me Bucky,” he stated, reclining against the back, legs spreading open a tad bit.

You nodded stiffly and bit your bottom lip, unable to tear your eyes away from his splayed posture. “Bucky,” you whispered, testing his name on your tongue. And, damn, it tasted good.

You snapped yourself out of your fixation, pulling your laptop in front of you, pretending to work as you couldn’t get that image out of your head. The face that you could still see his propped-up figure over the top of your laptop screen; his eyes had not drifted from your person.

…

Your were temporarily blinded, gripping the back of Bucky’s jacket as he pushed through the crowd of people, shoving open the door to the lobby of your apartment. Calling the elevator, he watched as you smoothed down the ends of your hair, trying to rub the light spots out of your eyes as best you could without smudging mascara all over your face. He ushered you in once the doors opened, holding a hand lightly to your waist.

You dropped your back against the shiny elevator walls, crossing your arms over your chest and staring at the reflection on the wall in front of you. You looked tired, makeup wearing off under your eyes, purple circles under your eyes becoming prominent; a few flyaways framed your face, curling and unruly. The doors opened and you pushed your way through before Bucky. You shoved open the apartment door, throwing your purse on the table, viciously kicking of your heels. You heard Bucky shut the door softly and he paused before entering the kitchen behind you.

Today had been effectively one of the worst days of your life. Work was terrible: your day was run with meetings and disrespectful colleagues, bulldozing over all your ideas and suggestions; it rained during lunch, completely ruining the Coach heels you were wearing to attend the business luncheon; afterwards was much worse. You were highlighted in the issue of Forbes Magazine. You’d been waiting for this for months: you’d done multiple interviews, had photoshoots, the whole nine yards. You were excited for the world to see the underlying factors of what made you you; for them to finally recognize not only your past academic achievements, but also all you have accomplished thus far with the company, for them to see that you were capable – qualified – to run this company.

Boy were you hopeful.

You were met, in fact, with quite the opposite.

Waves upon waves of criticism washed upon you after the release. You were met with all kinds of backtalk: everything from you inheriting the company, to being accepted into college because of your dads’ money, to “stick to makeup, honey.” People began commenting on how they thought you walked all over people, how you rarely seemed friendly in the workplace, how you “used men.”

It couldn’t be more the opposite.

While you liked to maintain a certain image and always have a presentable appearance, despite any men or women that sought after you, you’d turned them downs. In fact, you’d never had a boyfriend – let alone any friends.

You worked hard to retain a respectable image. The problem with working and living in a dog-eat-dog world is the sacrifices you had to make to maintain such an image. You couldn’t simply allow people to walk all over you – achieving this took years. You had to speak up in times others would cower, use your voice when there was an issue other did not seem to care about. You had to walk with your head held high and your shoulders back.

Once you obtained dominance in the workplace, you had to conquer the world of love. It could make you gag. You wanted to intimidate the men that once patronized you. You wanted them to want you, fight over you, worship you. But you’d ever let them have you. Nobody could see you vulnerable, nobody could love you, touch you, blackmail you. That’s the way it had to be.

But you couldn’t always be so ruthless. Right now, you leaned against the counter, dropping your hands onto the cold marble surface. It was one of those days like today where everything got the best of you. Everyone tore you apart, you’d spent the last half of the day just reading tweets about yourself.

“She looks like such a bitch.”

“Would it kill her to smile? Not the kind of boss I’d want to work for.”

“My friend worked for her and said she has everyone else do her work for her.”

“Forbes, is this issue recognizing daddy’s money?”

Bucky placing a mug next to you pulled you out of your thoughts. You stared down at the steaming mug, Bucking suddenly speaking up: “maybe if you drank something, you’d feel better.”

You pushed past him, shoving him away from you as you headed to your bedroom. God, all you wanted was to be alone. Did he have to be here every second of the day? All you wanted was silence and he picks this one time to start babying you? You slammed the door shut, the sound echoing throughout the vast apartment. You stripped your nice clothes, opting for a shower and large t-shirt for bed.

Bucky sat in the living room, listening to you shuffle around your bedroom. He finally stood, ready to head home, when he heard the softest sound come from you bedroom. A sniffle. Followed by another.

He leaned against the doorframe, listening to the noises that he’d never heard from you before – hell, he never thought you were capable of that emotion. He weighed his options carefully: go inside and comfort you, it didn’t seem like you had a lot of close friends or even family that checked in on you, you must’ve felt so alone, and everyone attacking you definitely didn’t feel nice; he could leave and let you deal with this on you own – which is probably what you wanted, considering he knew how long it took you to create your façade. However, Bucky could see right through it – he could always see through it. No matter how intimidating and powerful you wanted yourself to be, he and everyone else knew that you were a spoilt brat trying to live up to daddy’s expectations, but only he knew that at your deepest core, you were a tired, lonely, sad little girl, wishing for just one day of invisibility, in which nobody knew who you were, nobody care about you – like you didn’t exist.

…

You and Bucky continued your usual routines from then on, nothing changed. He didn’t talk to you; you didn’t talk to him. He spent his time pushing people out of your way, and you went along pretending nobody existed.

It was two weeks after that when you spoke to him for the third time. You and Bucky were walking from the parking garage to your place. That’s when a masked man came out from behind you and grabbed a hold of your purse. You helped in surprise as he tried to run past you, one hand loosely gripping your Birkin. Before you could even turn to the direction he ran off in, Bucky’s hand hit him square in the jaw. You gasped, holding your hands up to your open mouth as Bucky knelt on top of the man, continuously hitting him and holding him down.

You saw a flash simmer as you saw Bucky’s hand move, holding the other man to the sidewalk. Metal? Did he have a prosthetic arm? When did that happen? And why didn’t you ever notice it before?

In the mixture of bystanders, paparazzi, and doormen, the police quickly pushed through. Bucky was relieved of his post as the man was taken away. The policeman escorted the two of you to the lobby, where he took the information and returned your purse to you.

Eventually, Bucky took you upstairs to your floor. “Are you okay,” he asked, following you through the door.

You nodded, turning around to face him – face his arm. You stared at it, the metal coils formed in the shape of a perfect hand, winding upwards all the way up to where his shirt sleeve was pushed up past his elbow. It shimmered in the soft lighting, reflecting the moonlight that cascaded in through your windows. He held his hands behind his back, tilting his jaw upwards slightly as he stared you down. Your eyes flitted to his narrow ones; his eyebrows narrowed between pieces of dark hair that fell over his forehead. “Yeah,” you muttered. “Yes,” you clarified, clearing your throat.

“Do you need me to stay with you? Or are you fine for the night?”

You bit the inside of your cheek, shifting your weight from one foot to another. “Stay?” It came out more of a question than you expected. He nodded, not moving any other muscle. You quickly thought of something to break the silence and pulled your phone from your bag. “Takeout?”

He cracked a smile, nodding again. “Sounds good.”

After calling it in, you shifted away to the kitchen as Bucky sat in the living room. You didn’t know what to do to fill the silence. You’d never talked to him. You fumbled around with a wine bottle, popping it open and taking a long pull straight from the bottle before heading towards Bucky with two glasses. Hopefully some liquid courage would kick in quickly. You poured him a glass, another for yourself, and sat beside him on the plush sofa.

It was quiet. It was awkward.

“Thank you for, y’know,” you murmured over the rim of your wine glass, eyes falling to the red liquid swirling in your glass.

“No problem, it’s my job,” he replied casually. “To protect you.” You nodded; lips pressed tight in a line. You looked around the room, trying to find anything to look at. Your gaze landed on the metal arm propped up on the side of the couch. “You wanna take a picture of it, doll?” He chuckles lightly, tapping his fingers on the fabric of the sofa.

“Oh!” You snapped out of your gaze, jumping slightly on the couch. “Sorry – I didn’t mean to stare, I just – just – ” you stuttered over your words, reaching out slightly towards him.

He smiled, genuinely smiled this time, tongue running over his bottom lip. “It’s okay, (Y/N) – ” your name sounded so good on his lips “ – you can touch it, if you want.” Touch it? Touch what? You nearly started salivating. Then he held his hand out to you, palm facing upwards, fingers outstretched. You held your hand out, brushing his metal palm with the tips of your fingers. He chuckled again, flipping your hand around and holding your own hand in his. He ran his metal fingers over the backs of your knuckles. It was cold, yet so much softer than you expected.

Your eyes flitted up to meet his blue ones, already staring back at you. He licked his lips and leaned ever so slightly towards you. Your breath hitched in the back of your throat as you stared at him with wide eyes and mouth agape. “See, that’s not so bad, right?” He whispered, gaze shifting from your eyes to your lips, tinged red from the wine.

You held your breath, leaning the rest of the way in, shutting your eyes.

Then you hit a brick wall.

A metal wall.

Your eyes snap open to see Bucky’s metal hand gripping your shoulder, holding you in place. “Look, (Y/N) – ” there he goes with your name, again “ – I didn’t mean to send any signals…” he trailed off, dropping his hand and pushing himself up to his feet. Signals? No, of course not. Just holding my hand, staring lustfully into my eyes, and looking at my lips. Not to mention licking his own. You almost rolled your eyes. “I’m sorry,” he sighed.

You did roll your eyes, standing with him. “It’s…” you trailed off. Save face. “Whatever.” You turned away, shuffling to the front door, pulling it open.

He left without another word, but not without stopping to look into your eyes – at least, he tried to, if it hadn’t been for you dropping your whole head, staring blankly at the floor. You slammed the door behind him, nearly nicking his back heel as he stepped into the corridor.

Well, that was perfectly embarrassing. The best way to end such a terrible day. Utter embarrassment. You didn’t know how you were supposed to face him tomorrow.

Sadness turned into anger as you threw his wine glass directly into the sink, watching as the glass shards flew across the countertops. Who did he think he was? That he could act like that and then throw it back in your face? His signals were perfectly clear. In fact, you were haunted by those signals all night.

By the touch of his skin.

By his blue eyes.

…

You didn’t sleep that night. Instead, spent your time getting ready all morning. Hair perfectly set down your back, eyes surrounded by sultry makeup, a ferocious looking contour. You put on your tallest heels, tightest dress, and shiniest jewelry.

You looked ravenous.

Bucky knocked on your front door, as he did every morning to take you to work. You slung your bag over your shoulder, took a deep breath, and swung open the door. You looked straight past him; eyes directed on the elevator doors in front of you. You walked directly past him, relying on him to shut the door behind you.

Your heart was racing, it took all of your willpower not to twitch or tap your foot as you waited for the elevator. You set your jaw and stood stonewalled.

That’s how the day went: you completely ignoring Bucky. Although you normally ignored Bucky, today you didn’t look at him, thank him when he opened the door for you, nothing. Not even sparing a glance as he stared at you from his position on the sofa in your office. There he sat, usually splayed out and legs open; you could feel him staring at you. All you wanted to do was run into the women’s bathroom and sit there all day – anywhere would be better than here with him.

That’s how the weekend went, too: you spent the first six days ignoring him. Today was Saturday and you wanted to go shopping. Not the normal shopping. Today was all about showing Bucky that if you wanted something, you got it.

Again sporting the skimpiest outfit you could manage, you dragged Bucky around shopping all day. By your fifth store, your feet were absolutely killing you from walking so far in these heels, but it was worth it to torture Bucky. He carried all of your bags – from your purse, to you shopping bags, to even your coat. And nothing pissed him off more than you waiting at the register, the person behind the counter ringing up your literal tens-of-thousands of dollars’ worth of clothes, shoes, and bags, clicking your tongue and holding your hand out for your wallet. You tapped your foot, continuing your light conversation with the employee, waiting for Bucky to drop the heavy wallet into your palm. Without a turn of your head or even a thank you, you finished the transaction, walking through the door immediately, leaving Bucky to take your purchases.

This is what he deserved after embarrassing you like that. Was he just so nice to see where you’d take it? Did he want you to try to kiss him, just so he could say no? Just so he could turn you down? To be the one guy you wanted – and never got? Maybe he was going to sell the story. He was just like any other guy – but then why wouldn’t he kiss you? And the thought replayed in your mind, as did that night’s events. You had no other choice but to continue shopping and dragging him around.

Oh, he was pissed.

A fucking bagman? That’s how you saw him? That night was probably the calmest he’d ever seen you. You seemed nervous, even. Nervous because of his arm? Yes, he would’ve loved nothing more than to have you in the palm of his hand – literally – he would’ve loved to kiss you, and touch you, and hold you. He couldn’t take advantage of you like that. Not in your most vulnerable moment. After the robbery, you mind must’ve been scrambled. He wasn’t sure if that was your way of thanking him. He wasn’t about to let you throw yourself on him – who knows how you would’ve felt the next day.

But that’s not how you saw it, and you weren’t about to let him explain.

And this show you were putting on for him? He wasn’t dumb; he would’ve had to be oblivious to not know you were showing off for him. These skimpy outfits and tight dresses, necklaces that ended just at the top of your cleavage, skirts that ended just at the curve of your ass – he loved every minute of it. But he wanted you out of it at the same time.

You were treating him like shit, which he didn’t enjoy. He could’ve stopped by now: dropped all your shit and walked right out of the store. Instead, he clenched his jaw, bit his tongue, and followed you around the block, holding your bags; the only saving grace was getting to walk behind you and stare at your shaking ass all day.

…

You pushed the apartment door open, barely holding it open long enough for Bucky to slip through, carrying bags lined up his arms. You heard the crinkling of some of the paper bags as the door shut on him. He took one step in, letting the door fall shut, then dropped everything to the floor nicely.

“No,” you said, not looking up from your cell phone. You pointed a finer across the room. “Bedroom.”

A sharp laughed cracked through the silence. You almost flinched, starting at Bucky cackling loudly at you. “That’s not my job.”

You stared at him, narrowing your eyes in challenge. “Excuse me?”

He crossed his arms over his chest, shit-eating-grin unfaltering. “You heard me, princess.”

You didn’t move. Instead, you took a step backwards as he approached you. He walked towards you until you were backed up against the kitchen counter. You mimicked his arms, crossing them over your own chest, inadvertently pushing your cleavage up – which you noticed when you saw his eyes flit down for the tiniest second before returning to your own eyes, a tinge of pink lacing his cheeks – not that he cared. “Don’t fucking call me that,” you spat, tilting your chin up. You were not intimidated by him.

He got so close that your pelvises were nearly touching. He leaned down, dropping his hands to the countertop on either side of you, his lips barely grazing the shell of your ear as he bent closer. “What do you want me to call you, baby?”

God, you looked so real in that moment. Caught off guard, maybe. But your usual forced scowl was replaced by your surprised expression, eyebrows raised, mouth slightly ajar, tongue tucked right where your two plump lips meet. You were holding your breath, he could tell. He liked you like this, better. When you weren’t trying to be all hard and intimidating, when you didn’t know how to react – couldn’t deal with these emotions because just this once, they were real.

You stumbled over your words, mind suddenly not processing anything. His stubble rubbed ever so lightly over your jaw, his breath tickling your neck. You didn’t know how long you were standing there. It felt like forever since either of you said anything.

Suddenly, he pulled away – just like before. You released your breath, about to speak and then –

He grabbed your face in both hands (one warm to the touch, the other cold from the marble) and held you so that you eyes gazed up at him. His blue eyes looking back into yours, a smile pulling at one corner of his lips. He pulled your head upwards, leaning his own down, meeting in the middle in a soft, tender kiss. He shrugged, letting himself fully tilt into the kiss, hips touching each other’s; you swung your arms around his neck, pulling yourself up to him, chest pressing against his.

God, you could get used to this.

And all it took was a little shopping.

#bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bodyguard #bodyguard!bucky #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes oneshot #captain america #request #bucky x you

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empty-masks · 2 years

Text

Geissler’s Journal, Day 7

CW: Sexual References.

Geissler’s Internship Log, Day 7 “My Day Off”

Today was my scheduled off-day. Which, in most circumstances, would cause the existential panic of leaving my own mental enrichment in my own (mostly incompetent) hands to kick in, and I would spend most of my day curled up in bed, trying very hard not to think about anything in particular. But, today was a very special day indeed, as it was the day that I had called together Dr. Toth and Dr. Washing to go out to lunch with me at my favourite curry-focused restaurant.

If you could believe it, dear reader, things became interesting as soon as I arrived at the venue. Firstly, when I walked inside to take off my coat and be seated, I was approached by one of the front-desk-people I recognized, an Organic by the name of Henry. He informed me that while they had gotten my reservation for three, I had called in too late in the week— there were no more seats inside the venue. Now, in case you were unaware, it is the middle of winter here in the city of Lins-Carper, and the cold is quite unpleasant, especially on a windy day like today. But, I was determined to follow through with this arrangement, so I told Henry to seat us outside, next to the outdoor fireplace. This is not the norm for the restaurant during the cold months, but because I knew Henry and because he seemed taken aback by my gusto, he agreed, and I was seated outside.

Dr. Washing arrived first, and when I waved to her from our table outside the venue (while Henry was aiding me in starting the fireplace, as it had just rained the night prior), the look on her face reminded me of one that would be made when one smells sour milk. She asked why we were seated outside (on metal chairs, no less), and when I informed her of the situation, she simply got herself comfortable next to the fire, and held her complimentary glass of water close (I believe she thought it was going to freeze if she did not actively warm it). Shortly after, when she and I were given menus, she asked me why there was an empty seat at the table. Then, Dr. Toth arrived.

Perhaps I should’ve told them that they would be accompanying me, together, on this outing. They seemed taken aback by one another’s presence, and that was before Dr. Toth had even entered the outdoor venue to sit with us. They stared at one another with eyes as big as dinner plates (even though Dr. Washing was wearing a very thick, very warm looking scarf that covered her from the nose down), and I had to snap my fingers a handful of times before they came back down to reality.

From there, however, lunch was very nice! I was so happy to get the chance to talk to the both of them about their respective fields, and though they didn’t do much talking themselves (they were still quite focused on staring at one another at this point in time, and I was not going to attempt to stop them so long as they continued to carry good conversation), I found things quite lively.

Though, after we had ordered our food, I asked them whether they knew one another. They nodded in lockstep, and though I was not surprised, my interest was piqued. I asked them how, unless it was through workplace osmosis.

Dr. Washing then stumbled over her words for a few seconds, before getting out that she knew him from a side job that he participated in during some evenings. Dr. Toth said nothing in response, and instead sipped his water. I asked what that side job was, and I was met with quite possibly the most awkward silence I have ever been apart of in my entire life. The tension between Dr. Washing and Dr. Toth was thick enough to cut with a butter knife.

At first, Dr. Washing asked Dr. Toth whether he wanted her to say it. Dr. Toth said that he could say it, if she didn’t mind. They went back and forth for a few rounds, before Dr. Toth simply turned to me and revealed that he works at a club, during some nights, and that Dr. Washing is one of his customers.

Of course, the neurons in my brain began to fire. He must work at the club that those coworkers spoke of when my soup exploded in the microwave! My mind raced with all the possibilities. At first, I asked him whether he was a bartender. He said no, which was slightly surprising, considering how often he came into work with a headache. I asked him whether he was a DJ, and he said no. Stage tech? No. Cook? No. Waiter? Again, no.

It took me a moment to realize exactly where this conversation was going. Longer than I would like to admit. But, when I came to the obvious conclusion, the look on my face must’ve been amusing, as Dr. Washing began laughing uncontrollably.

Dr. Toth is an exotic dancer in a late-evening club that researchers at the WCSC frequent. When I turned to him, he didn’t seem embarrassed. In fact, he seemed concerned about my knowledge of this fact, as though it would somehow affect my workflow at all knowing that my superior was a stripper on the side. But, I put my gloved hand on his shoulder, and I reassured him that this new information would not change anything about our relationship at work, and that I think his side-gig is quite admirable in all actuality, as it requires a level of confidence that I certainly do not have.

By then, our food had arrived steaming and sizzling in the winter air. And as we ate, I felt Dr. Toth and Dr. Washing settle in more around me. Even though we were out in the cold, it became more comfortable to sit and discuss things (though the conversation surrounding the club was avoided for the rest of the outing, as Dr. Washing could not keep herself from laughing loudly when it was brought up).

All in all, it was an incredibly productive day. I left lunch feeling as though I learned a lot about my colleagues, especially Dr. Toth, and it seemed as though they left having experienced something… fun, let’s say.

Thank you for reading,

Dr. P.W. Geissler

==============================================================

[[ Table of Contents ]]

#drgeisslersjournal #empty-mask #science fiction #fantasy #writing #oc #original content #original writing #creative writing #writeblr #worldbuilding #dgj-geissler #dgj-toth #dgj-washing

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kisekinodrabbles · 3 years

Note

helloo! i'd like to request something for the prompt game please :D kasamatsu + band!au + strangers to lovers + dialogue number 14 if that's okay? thanks, sam! and welcome back~

ofc!!! i tried to keep it shorter but im a bit rusty w my kasamatsu hehe hope u enjoy! wc: 2.3k

Kasamatsu admits that balancing his band and college work isn’t exactly an easy task. Between late evenings spent at gigs and all nights at the library, he is on the brink of his sanity, standing right at the tipping point. He yawns as he enters his nine am mandatory calculus class, another mistake made in his overconfidence that he would somehow be able to get his shit together.

You, on the other hand, are a closeted fan of his band, sitting three rows behind him in class. Every Tuesday and Thursday, you watch him drag his feet in and his hand lifting to his mouth in a yawn. Quickly, you duck behind your book as if Kasamatsu would ever give you the time of day. The brunette is well-known on campus with his successful group and good looks, not to mention he also dabbles a little in basketball while also maintaining a decent grade point average across all his classes. Triple threat, they call him.

When you first came into class and saw him there, shocked is an understatement. You’ve been following his band his high school from across the country. To see him in the flesh, so real and so human with his tired eyes, it almost feels like a dream. One you hope nobody would ever pinch you awake from. Thus, you made it your goal to be there before him every morning, which is a feat in itself. Kasamatsu may be grinding through the night and falling asleep in lectures, but he’ll be damned if he shows up late to class.

Throughout several weeks, you’ve seen girls come up to him left and right, shot down almost immediately by his intention to focus on the professor’s words. He lets them down easy and makes it clear that he pays thousands of dollars to study, not play IRL Tinder. This man gets sexier everyday.

You take your time packing your things when class is over, mainly because you’re too distracted watching Kasamatsu do the same. He is blind, or chooses to ignore, the whispers and shy glances thrown his way. Perhaps this is why you haven’t approached him yourself. You’re just one of his many admirers, a stroke in the massive painting of his life. Sighing, you pick up your pitiful self and make your way to the dining hall where you’re supposed to meet your friend for breakfast.

When the two of you settle on a table, you begin your weekly rambling about how beautiful Kasamatsu looks in the morning. Moriyama, being the good friend that he is, nods and listens intently.

Moriyama is an intriguing character. The two of you met because he had tried a line on you. In your perpetual state of flustered embarrassment, you had stupidly confessed to him: “Sorry, my heart belongs to Kasamatsu Yukio.”

In another twist of fate, he revealed that he had actually gone to high school with the guy and knew him pretty well.

“You know I can introduce you to him, right? No need for all this pining and drooling from three feet away.”

“It’s not the same,” you argue, “he’s practically a living legend on campus. I’m too intimidated to even breathe in the same air as him.” Your obsession has perhaps taken you too far, but if you expect to continue being his fan, the last thing you want is to scare him away.

“You’re so overdramatic,” Moriyama rolls his eyes. Coming from him, this sentence means a lot.

“What? It’s not my fault Kasamatsu’s so hot. He could bang me so hard backstage then pretend I don’t exist and I would still pay to watch his next show,” you groan, spooning yogurt into your mouth.

In that moment, several things happen. Moriyama’s eyes widen and fly behind you. Footsteps sounding at that same spot suddenly cease completely. You, realizing what possibly just happened, feel the heat flare up your cheeks.

Kasamatsu, in his sleep deprived state and probably completely delirious, had stopped in his tracks. His head whipped around to the source of the comment, finding Moriyama sitting with someone who looks distinctly familiar, but he can’t quite put his finger on it.

“Kasamatsu—”

Before Moriyama can even finish his sentence, Kasamatsu is already blurting out. “Okay, maybe I’m crazy but did I just hear you say that out loud?”

You want to crawl into your hole six feet underground and never see the light of day again. Ducking your head, you don’t even want to chance a glance up. The utter mortification is chewing away at your bones and you wish you could just evaporate into thin air.

Moriyama quickly interjects with a quick laugh, “Hear what? Also how have you been, man? I haven’t seen you in forever. Come join us for breakfast.”

Kasamatsu’s brows pucker. Maybe he really is going insane. And horny. Which is a very bad combination. Nevertheless, he slides into the empty seat next to Moriyama. He stares at you for a few seconds, squinting, before snapping his fingers. “Oh, I remember now. You’re in my calculus class.”

He knows you? “How do you know me?” you squeak, cursing your fangirl self for losing your voice. You never speak up in class, always choosing to come up to your professor for questions at the end of lecture. You’re quiet and tucked away behind him, so you never expected him to recognize you.

The smile he sends you is blinding. Even with shadows under his eyes, he still looks gorgeous. “You’re always first to arrive and last to leave. Figured you’re a hard worker in class and probably acing it.”

Your mouth dries. Kasamatsu noticed you. He actually noticed you. “Oh, um, I’m okay. I’m okay in class, I mean.”

“The question you should be asking is her name, Kasamatsu,” Moriyama scolds, smacking his back.

Kasamatsu pinks sheepishly. “Sorry, yeah. I’m Kasamatsu Yukio, by the way.”

Idiotically, you blurt out “I know” before your name. When you finally introduce yourself, you also clarify, “I’m a huge fan of Blue Devils. I mean, I’ve been following you guys since like high school. Absolutely love your music.”

The man actually reddens even further, but still he beams proudly. “Thank you! That’s crazy. Have you been to our shows?”

Almost all of them. “A couple, yeah.”

“We have one tonight in an actual venue. Are you coming?”

“Ah, it was sold out before I could get a ticket, actually.”

Kasamatsu blinks, “Oh, you’re more than welcome to come. I can get you a pass. Both of you—if Moriyama’s interested.”

“That would be amazing!” You grin, “Is there anything I can get you in return? I don’t want to just accept a gift from you for free.”

“Well, if you are good at calc, I wouldn’t mind some extra tutoring,” he suggests with a teasing grin.

Moriyama rolls his eyes, “Just ask her out instead of using tutoring as an excuse.” The two of you sputter, face colored a dark shade of red. You’ll kick his ass when you get the chance.

—

That one mistake turned out to be the greatest opportunity of your life. In addition to attending his show that night and meeting all of his bandmates, each one more good looking up close than then other, you manage to have weekly study sessions (you’re holding off on calling it dates) with Kasamatsu. The two of you take turns booking rooms at the library to cram, which mainly consists of you reexplaining concepts to the man. Although he isn’t a bad student, he’s also still struggling a bit to keep up.

“Hey” is what you hear before you feel a warm surface press against your cheek. You look up to find Kasamatsu with a steaming cup in hand. Gratefully accepting it, you catch a whiff of freshly brewed tea. You take a sip and smile. Black tea, no sugar. “Just the way I like it.”

“Noticed you never add anything to your tea,” Kasamatsu says almost proudly.

You raise the cup to him in thanks. Both of you go through your usual routine—you focusing on reviewing material for next week while Kasamatsu pores over his notes from this week, occasionally poking you to ask questions.

Honestly, a big part of you still wonders if this is all a dream. This guy you’ve been crushing on for years is sitting in the flesh right across from you. You peek at him from time to time, watching the way he frowns at his book. His blue, almost grey, eyes shine underneath the flickering lights. Even the way his lips curl unhappily is cute.

When he catches you staring, you quickly drop your gaze back to your laptop, missing the way he smiles quietly.

“Will you come to our show this weekend?” He asks as the two of you pack up.

“Ah, I have a shift at my part-time job.”

He looks surprised, “That late?”

You shrug, “Food never sleeps, I guess. It’s at the burger diner by campus.”

“Oh, are you guys open late?”

“Close at one.”

He nods, “Maybe I’ll see you there after then. The guys usually get really hungry after a gig so we can drive some business your way. I’ll make sure they tip well too.”

Your heart warms at the thought. It’s a thoughtful gesture but you’re even more thrilled at the prospect of seeing him. “Sounds good.”

True to his word, Kasamatsu brings the guys to your workplace at midnight after their show ended. They order quite a spread, practically everything on the menu. Kasamatsu goes as far as to help you carry orders to their table. You shoot him an appreciative smile.

Over the time your friendship has bloomed, Kasamatsu has been nothing but a gentleman. He walks you home to your dorm if you’re studying late into the night. He meets you in class with a muffin or a cookie from his early Starbucks runs. Surprisingly, he begins placing himself next to you each session. “This is better anyway,” he mutters. “Two birds, one stone.”

His vague words had you tilting your head in question.

“I don’t have random people coming up to me to sit with me and, well, I get to enjoy your company.” It’s a nice thought—him enjoying your company, that is. He had blushed a little when he realized what you said, but chose to direct his attention to the slides pulled up before him, missing the way you hide your smile behind your sleeve.

Now, you hear the rowdy boys chattering on as they devour their meal as if it’s their last. They speak through mouthfuls of burgers and fries, but you find the sight endearing, mainly because you’ve never seen Kasamatsu so relaxed. It’s quite refreshing really. Your attention is piqued when you hear one of them ask: “So doing it tonight huh?”

Kasamatsu retorts with a “shut the fuck up” and flings a fry his way. The way the other guy wiggles his brows suggestively has you freezing. What if he was meeting up with someone tonight? What if he was going to do the deed?

Somewhere in the distance, you hear the faint cracking of your heart. Of course, Kasamatsu is popular. It’s no surprise he’s got his nights covered as well. You sigh dejectedly, feeling the hope inside you crumble into dust. The rest of your shift goes by rather uneventfully, but you try to avoid going to their table too much, lest you hear more details about Kasamatsu’s planned tryst. The man himself steals glances your way, wondering if you’ll be checking on them anytime soon.

“Your check,” you smile as you set the bill on the table, “I got the owner to give you a discount since you guys ordered a good amount.”

All of their eyes seem to sparkle as they thank you in unison, their synchrony almost puzzling. As you move to pick up the bill and change, Kasamatsu catches your hand before you move away. “What time does your shift end?”

“Half an hour. Why?”

The other guys are already packing up their things and giving you little waves as they exit the restaurant, leaving the two of you alone. “I’ll walk you home, it’s late,” he murmurs, fingers still wrapped around your wrist.

“Oh, you don’t have to! I usually take the bus back anyway so it’s no big deal.” You want to confirm whether he had plans that night anyway. You’d hate to be in the way of that.

He shakes his head, “I insist. Also, um, are you doing anything tomorrow?”

“Catching up on studying most likely.”

“Oh,” he pauses, “if you have time tomorrow night, do you want to catch a movie with me? Maybe dinner after?”

You blink at him in surprise. Now that you’re looking at him properly, you notice that his cheeks are several shades darker than the red neon glow of the diner sign. He’s shifting on his feet and his other hand finds purchase on the strap of his bag, fidgeting with the material. “Um, like a date?”

“Y-yeah,” he stutters slightly, his throat moving as he swallows. “Sorry, I probably should’ve made that clear,” he coughs, “b-but if you don’t want it to be the we can also go as friends.” Perhaps you’ve tortured the boy long enough but you can’t help but relish in his awkward chuckle as his hand lifts to rub the back of his neck nervously.

Biting back a huge grin, you nod. “It’s a date.”

Kasamatsu’s eyes light up and a pleased grin spread across his face. “It’s a date.”

The hollering outside the building has the two of you whipping to face the window where his bandmates have their faces pressed up against the surface, laughing and smiling to congratulate and embarrass their friend. Kasamatsu flushes, “I’ll see you later to pick you up.”

You nod but he’s already out the door, leaping to kick his friends away. “You stupid idiots!”

Laughing, you watch as the group makes kissy faces at Kasamatsu all the while the man fruitlessly attempts to shut them up. He really is cute.

#kuroko no basket #knb #kuroko no basuke #kasamatsu yukio #kasamatsu #knb drabbles #miffythoughts

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justahopelessssromantic · 4 years

Text

Yesterday: Two

A/N: Hey guys here’s an update for Yesterday for you. Sorry I haven’t posted in a while. As I suspected work has been kicking my ass and on top of that I had some family I haven’t seen very often come to visit so it has all just been a little crazy and busy. I hope you all enjoy and have a safe and pleasant weekend ❤️

Thank you so much @carlaangel86 for making this beautiful collage for my story 💖 I appreciate it and you so very much 😘

Word Count: 4912

Angel watched as Juliet sipped the tomato soup from her spoon. She was really here, right in front of him. It was almost like he was afraid to look away, that if he turned his back for one second she’d be gone again. He just couldn’t stop staring at her, watching her every move. He was never going to take a moment with her for granted again.

“You’re making me nervous.” Juliet said looking up from her bowl. Ever since Angel picked her up from the hospital his eyes had been on her.

“Sorry, I just, I can’t believe it’s really you.” Two years had gone by where they were parted. So much time gone that they would never get back. Angel was still trying to wrap his mind around it all.

For Angel he had been apart from his wife for two years. For Juliet it was merely a few hours. Whatever happened to her was a mystery to both her and Angel. The doctor said with the trauma she must have experienced plus the fall it was all normal for her to block out the time. He advised Angel to be gentle and patient with her. In time she’d get her memory back.

Juliet was trying to come to terms with her situation herself. It was hard for her to comprehend how she had lost so much time. One moment she was on her way home from picking up a couple of steaks from Felipe for their anniversary dinner and then she was waking up in the hospital in fucking Arizona over two years later. To say she was confused would be an understatement.

Juliet self consciously pulled her sleeves down her arms making sure she was as covered as possible. She didn’t like being uncomfortable in her own body but right now she didn’t even recognize herself. She was noticeably thinner, her skin covered with unfamiliar scars and markings and her hair longer than she remembered. Everything was so different, especially herself. She didn’t even know who she was anymore.

She tried to remember, she really did, but every time she did her head would start hurting.

“It’s really me.” Or at least she thought it was. She gave him a half smile. Angel reached across the table taking her hand in his. Her eyes flicked down to her bare ring finger. “I’m sorry. I must have lost my ring.”

“Don’t worry about it Jules. We’ll get you another one.” All that shit didn’t matter to Angel. All that mattered was his wife was here right in front of him, touching him, talking to him. She was here and he was never letting go.

Sure they could get another one but she didn’t want a different one. She wanted the one Angel slipped so delicately onto her finger after their vows. The silver band she’d look down at whenever she was missing Angel. The one that was engraved. She wanted the ring she imagined herself wearing for the rest of her life. The one she would never take off.

“Jules,” Angel snapped his fingers in front of her face, pulling her back out of her thoughts. “Are you feeling okay? Are you getting a headache? Do you need anything?” Angel rattled question after question.

“Angel, I’m fine!” She snapped immediately regretting it as she watched his face fall. She felt terrible. “Shit, I’m sorry.” Juliet pulled her hand away from Angel’s burying her face in her hands. She tried to steady her breathing, keeping the tears away. She knew he meant well. Everything was just still so raw. “I didn’t mean to snap at you.” Her voice was muffled through her hands.

Angel stood up carefully reaching out to put his hand on her back. He noticed how she flinched when he first touched her before she settled to his touch. He rubbed circles across her back trying to comfort her. “I know. It’s not your fault.” Angel was trying to keep his own frustrations down not wanting to add to it. He had so many questions he wanted answers to, questions only she had the answers to if only she remembered.

His wife was here but she wasn’t the same person she was two years ago. Even without her memories she was changed. How could she not be?

Juliet took a deep breath pulling her hands away from her face to peek at Angel. “I’m sorry we fought.” There was so much she wanted to say to him. So much that was still so raw for her even if it had faded for Angel. He had two years to move on and she didn’t. “I promise I was going to talk to you.”

Angel crouched down next to her pulling her hands back into his, giving the backs of them a kiss. He knew what fight she was talking about. The day before she disappeared he had found her birth control. He knew the failed attempts at conceiving were hard on Juliet, they were hard on him too but finding the pills crushed him. He wasn’t ready to give up and she was.

Angel met Juliet walking down the walkway of the school with her two coworkers Charles and Heather. They were discussing the coming up Thanksgiving play the children would be putting on next month. There was so much to plan between costumes, props, and set up.

Juliet caught Angel coming her way. He did not look pleased which worried her. She knew that look. Whatever was to follow was not going to be good. She excused herself from the conversation meeting him halfway as he grabbed her arm and led her around the building. “Angel, what’s going on?” She asked him, reaching out to touch his face.

He pulled his face back gaining a frown from Juliet. Grabbing the little pill pack from his pocket he shoved it at her. “What the hell is this?”

Juliet sighed, looking at the birth control now in her hands. “Angel I promise I can explain.”

“Have you been taking these? Is that why we aren’t getting pregnant?” The hurt in his voice pierced straight through Juliet. She knew Angel would be upset which was why she was really hoping to talk to him before he found them.

“Of course not.” Juliet replied, her voice hushed. She hadn’t taken a single pill since they decided to try for a baby. She was just tired of all the disappointment. She got a refill because she was thinking about going back on but she would never do so without talking to Angel first.

“Then why the fuck do you have it?” Angel was livid and heartbroken. There was nothing more in this world he wanted besides having a child with Juliet. How could she be ready to throw the towel in already?

“Can we please just talk about this tonight?” Juliet pleaded with Angel. She hated when people would butt into her business and there were plenty of people around this town and more specifically her workplace that loved the gossip.

“I know Jules and you did, remember?” Angel asked cautiously. He wasn't sure how much of before she disappeared she remembered. “We made up by the end of night.”

“Yeah,” she gave him a small smile. She remembered they talked it out that night getting rid of the pills. She had just gotten the prescription filled that day and was going to start taking them again but couldn’t bring herself too until she spoke to Angel. He just unfortunately found them first. She didn’t really want to give up on the hope to have a family with Angel, she was just tired and heartbroken. It felt like the universe was against her getting pregnant again. Like she was being punished for her past.

“And if I remember correctly we had some great fucking make up sex right here.” Angel smirked, setting his hand on the table. “I was almost certain that if any time was going to knock you up it would have been then.” Angel spoke before realizing what he had said.

They never got to find out because then she vanished.

“I don’t suppose we’re going to keep trying now.” Juliet stared at her small hand in his. She was still wanting to have a family with him. They were trying, were going to have a nice anniversary, get away but now that wasn’t happening. It wasn’t even their anniversary anymore.

“You know I want nothing more than to have you pregnant with my child, to watch you grow together, to raise a family with you but I think right now at least until you find your footing again we should press pause.” Right now he just wanted to cherish having her home. To make sure she was in a good place before they added the stress of trying to conceive again.

All that mattered was her.

Angel woke later that night in a sweat. That was a common occurrence for him. He hadn’t slept soundly through the night without a nightmare since Juliet disappeared. Reaching out to wrap his arm around Juliet for comfort he frowned, his arms coming up empty. He patted her side of the bed not feeling anything there either and that’s when the panic really set in. Sitting up he turned the bedside lamp on looking over at the empty place beside him. His breathing was hard and shaky as his heart raced.

She was gone.

She was gone again or maybe it was all just one sick cruel dream. To have the love of his life back in his arms just to have her ripped from them once more.

No she was here. He spoke to her, touched her. She was back and now she was gone.

Angel got out of bed trying to ease his oncoming panic attack. She could be in the bathroom or the kitchen or living room. She could be anywhere in the house. Just because she wasn’t in bed didn’t mean she was gone. At least that is what he was trying to convince himself.

He made his way out to the living room. He ran his eyes across the room. Everything looked just how he had left it.

That didn’t bring him any comfort. If anything it made him feel worse.

It was exactly like that night.

Still he tried to remain calm, or as calm as he could. He walked into the kitchen wondering if maybe she had gotten up for a drink or a snack or anything else but he found the room dark and vacant as well. It was from there that he could see the faint light peeking out from under the door down the hall.

He let out the breath he wasn't even aware he was holding. It was the laundry room. Of course she would be in the laundry room. He wasn't exactly sure how it happened but that room had become their safe space, their get away when family would come over and it would all be too much.

It was just another place that maybe didn't seem special to an outsider but to them if held much more.

Angel made his way down the hall and slowly opened the door. Sure enough there she was sitting on the floor with a bag of marshmallows.

She looked up from her snack, swallowing the mouthful before giving him a small smile.

"There you are. Couldn't sleep?" Angel asked her leaning against the door frame.

"No." Juliet admitted. She was exhausted but couldn’t get her mind to quiet down. Juliet didn't want to wake Angel so she had slipped out of bed to come here.

She was trying desperately to remember anything at all but she just kept coming up blank. She knew she wasn't supposed to force it but losing so much time it was hard for her not to.

At least she had Angel. She was so thankful for him. He had been nothing but patient and understanding with her.

It was her first night back. Angel knew it would be an adjustment. Stepping into the room he opened the closet pulling out a couple of spare pillows and blankets. If she wasn't able to sleep in bed then at least they could be together in here. He handed a pillow to her and laid the other one beside her before crouching down and settling down with her. He covered them with a blanket and wrapped his arm around her bringing her close.

"Marshmallow?" Juliet offered holding the bag up to him.

Angel took one plopping it into his mouth. “You have the diet of a toddler.” Angel teased taking another marshmallow.

Juliet smiled, not a full one but a smile at least. “At least I don’t live off beer.” She teased back laying her head against his chest.

Juliet felt Angel’s chest move with his chuckle. She snuggled in closer enjoying his warmth. They lay there together just holding one another enjoying the other. Juliet listened to Angel’s heartbeat focusing on the soothing rhythm as he ran his fingers up and down her arm.

It didn't take long before Angel lulled her to sleep. He could tell she was finally out by how her breathing evened out. He kept running his fingers up and down her arm just enjoying having her here, her weight against him was the best feeling in the world. He always loved and cherished her before but losing her like he did just made him appreciate this second chance so much more.

A few days had gone by with Angel and Juliet readjusting to their new normal. Angel was doing everything he could to make her comfortable not pushing her in any way.

Angel was being patient but he was still getting frustrated. She wouldn't let him see her in anything less than her street clothes. She wouldn't even let him in the bathroom while she was getting ready. She didn't want him to see her which only made him wonder what she was hiding.

Did she think he wouldn't like the way she looked anymore? That he wouldn't want her? He knew she was thinner which bothered her but to him that was nothing. He loved her and would love her no matter how she looked.

He just wanted her to feel comfortable with him again.

“Hey,” Angel said, peeking his head into their bedroom. Juliet had been resting in their bedroom after she had started feeling a headache coming on.

Juliet looked up from where her head was resting on his pillow. She was in a pair of leggings and one of Angel’s long sleeve shirts, her favorite things to wear right now. Angel smiled, still not fully believing that she was really home and alive.

Maybe this was all just a dream, maybe he finally lost his mind, or maybe he was fucking dead. Whatever the case he wasn’t going to question it. His love had returned to him, that was good enough for him.

“Hey,” She smiled back sitting up.

“How are you feeling?”

“I’m feeling much better.” Thankfully resting with some medicine managed her headache smoothly.

“Good.” Angel shut the door behind him coming to sit next to her. He rested his hand on her thigh. “Do you think you’re up for some company? Gwen’s here.”

Gwen had just arrived with Serena. They were waiting out in the living room with EZ. Juliet had asked about them earlier and Angel showed her some pictures of Serena to try to lighten the blow of seeing her much more grown than she remembered. He knew the missed time with Serena would be one of the hardest for her.

They both adored Serena. She was important to both of them. They helped raise her.

Juliet perked up at this and climbed off their king bed quickly slipping her feet into her slippers. She couldn’t wait to see her best friend and Serena. Angel reached out grabbing her arm spinning her back around to him. “Are you sure you’re ready?” He asked.

Juliet wanted nothing more than to see Gwen and Serena. Seeing the pictures of Serena came with a little bit of a shock and the feeling of regret for having missed so many moments in her life. Juliet didn’t want to waste another second with those she loved most. She already missed enough time. “I’m ready.”

Angel gave her hand a squeeze. He led her out of the bedroom and to the living room where they were all waiting for them. Gwen immediately stood up from her place on the couch rushing over to Juliet and pulling her into a hug. Angel released Juliet’s hand so she could wrap her arms around Gwen too.

“I missed you so much,” Gwen sobbed into Juliet. Gwen and Juliet were more than just best friends, they were sisters. Neither one of them ever had a friend like the other. They had been inseparable until James showed up and when Juliet came back to Gwen they picked up right where they left off. Losing Juliet was one of the hardest things for Gwen.

Juliet held onto Gwen holding onto the back of her shirt. She cried herself, everything building up finally breaking her. She couldn’t relate to the pain of what everyone else went through but she had plenty of her own. They held each other for the longest time not wanting to let go until the tears had settled.

Gwen pulled away first, wiping her eyes. “I’m so happy you are home.”

Serena slid off the couch herself coming up to her mother. “Mama why are you crying?” Serena asked, hugging Gwen’s legs.

“It’s okay baby. They are just happy tears.” Gwen explained smoothing Serena’s hair down. “I’m just so happy Auntie Juliet is home. Remember Mama told you all about her.”

Juliet looked down at Serena. The tears streamed down her face as she looked at her beautiful goddaughter. The pictures helped some but it was so different seeing her here in person. She was so grown and looked so much like Gwen. She was beautiful.

“Mama said you had to go away for a while,” Serena said to Juliet. “But now you’re back. Where did you go?”

Gwen gave Juliet an apologetic look. Juliet wiped the tears off her face leaning down and smiling at Serena. “You know I don’t really remember but all that matters is I’m back now and I can’t wait to hear everything I missed.”

Serena’s face lit up as she thought about all the things she could tell her Auntie Juliet. “I can tell you everything!”

Serena grabbed Juliet’s hand, taking her to the couch excitedly. Juliet laughed looking back at Angel who was smiling at them before turning her attention back to Serena to listen to all of the young girl’s stories.

Angel flipped the steaks on the grill. They were now all outside. The girl’s were catching up as they watched Serena play in the sprinklers while Angel and EZ prepared the food.

EZ nursed his beer watching Angel as he would keep looking back at Juliet. “How are you holding up?” EZ asked him.

“Me?” Angel asked, stealing a glance at EZ before turning his attention back to the food. “I fucking feel like I’m dreaming. Like if I blink or turn my back on her she’ll be gone again.”

EZ nodded. He understood where Angel was coming from. After all he had been through the last two years it was only natural that he would have that fear. “Has she remembered anything or talked about it?”

Angel shook his head. “No, she hasn’t remembered anything and she hasn’t really said much.”

“How is she doing?”

“I’m not sure. She’s adjusting you know?” Angel took the steaks off the grill setting them on the plate. “She’s still trying to wrap her mind around losing so much time. I just wish I knew how to help her.”

EZ patted Angel’s shoulder giving it a squeeze. He could only imagine what his brother was going through. “I know it’s not the same but after being on the inside all that time you know what the hardest part about getting out was?”

Angel shook his head.

“Coming out and trying to catch up with the outside world. Life went on out here without me. That was the hardest adjustment.” EZ explained. It was a rude awakening to come out and see how everyone had moved on with their lives while he was still stuck living in the past thinking about how his life should have been if things were different. “You can’t give her her memories back but you can help her with everything she missed here. You need to tell her everything, the good and the bad. She deserves to know it all. I think that could help.”

Angel watched as Juliet played with Serena and her stuffed dolfin after dinner. She was smiling so full of life as she looked up and over at him in the kitchen. Her smile only grew as her eyes met his. Angel smiled back lovingly watching the two of them together.

Juliet was going to be an amazing mother one day.

“It’s so crazy.” Gwen said, coming up beside Angel. She watched Juliet and her daughter with him. “I can’t believe she is really here.”

“Me neither.” Angel leaned back against the counter. “There’s so much she’s missed. I know that’s bothering her the most right now. Maybe even more so than not knowing what happened to her.”

Juliet had expressed to him how weird it felt for her to have missed so much time. How awful it felt for her to know she missed so many moments with friends and family. She had already missed plenty during her relationship with James after he had isolated her from those she loved.

“I know what fucking happened to her.” Gwen said looking at her best friend. “This was James.” She knew how obsessed James was with Juliet. It killed him when Juliet finally walked away from him. He would do anything to have her all to himself. Gwen was certain he was the one behind Juliet’s disappearance. “If that motherfucker shows his face around here I swear to god I will kill him.”

They didn't know for sure but Angel always suspected James had something to do with her disappearance. He even confronted him but got nowhere. “Yeah and somehow he always came out clean.” Angel muttered. The cops had looked into James as well and found no leads. James was a dead end.

James would never fully be off Angel’s suspect list no matter how clean he appeared. James had hurt Juliet before, there was nothing stopping him from doing it again. Next time Angel saw James he wouldn’t hesitate to put him six feet under regardless if it was him who did this to her or not. He had enough sins to pay for to justify it. “If you want to kill him you’ll have to get in line.”

And that line was a long one.

Gwen was happy Juliet and Angel got together. The guy’s would often frequent the bar she worked at and now owned. When Juliet came to stay with her she helped out at the bar. That’s when Angel first noticed her. It took some time to get past Gwen. She was very protective of her best friend especially after James fucked with her. Gwen knew Angel was a good guy though and after one good threat that if he ever hurt Juliet she’d rip his balls off and shove them down his throat she finally decided that Angel could approach Juliet.

From there the rest was history.

Gwen watched as Juliet tickled Serena, the two’s giggles filling the house. “Honestly I don’t know if I want her to get her memory back.” Gwen said. At least for the most part Juliet was happy. Gwen watched a little longer before turning to Angel. “Whatever happened must have been hell. She’s already endured so much more than one person should ever have to in one lifetime. Maybe it's a blessing that she doesn't remember.”

Angel agreed to some extent. He didn’t want her to have to suffer anymore than she had but not knowing came with it’s own pain. He also couldn't stand not knowing who hurt her and how. It was selfish but he had to know if only to know where to focus his rage. “Yeah but she also isn’t sleeping and she’s jumpier than usual. It’s like she’s fighting a demon she can’t see. I’m not sure that’s much better.”

“I wish there was more I could do for her.” Gwen hated feeling helpless and right now that was all she felt, just like Angel.

“There is.” Angel remembered EZ’s earlier advice to him. “We can’t give her her memory back but we can at least fill her in on what she missed here at home. At least that’s what EZ suggested. He said we should fill her in. Tell her the good and the bad shit she’s missed. She deserves to know what happened while she was gone and life went on.” Angel pushed off the counter so he could stand directly in front of Gwen. “I have to tell her. I have to tell her everything.” He wanted to give Gwen the head’s up. What was clawing at the back of his mind right now involved her too.

He had to tell Juliet about Vicky’s girls and he had to tell her about his night with Gwen. He could never keep secrets from her before and now even less so.

Gwen knew where Angel was going with this. It wasn’t that she didn’t think Juliet had the right to know she just did not see the point in telling her. She glanced back at Juliet and Serena seeing them focused on the Frozen Serena’s favorite movie that she had put on the tv to show Auntie Juliet. Gwen looked back at Angel keeping her voice hushed. “She doesn’t need to know about everything.”

“I have to tell her Gwen. I can’t keep this hanging above our relationship.” He wanted to be able to kiss his wife, to hold her, to be with her as man and wife but he couldn’t do all that with this guilt inside him.

“Telling her is only going to hurt her Angel,” Gwen insisted, “We were drunk and hurting and it only happened once. What is telling her going to accomplish?” They both felt terrible immediately after their night together and agreed to never talk about it again but here they were.

“Are you afraid it’s going to ruin your relationship?” Angel asked Gwen.

“Aren’t you afraid it’s going to ruin yours?” Yes she didn’t want to lose her best friend but that wasn’t the reason she was against it. She was just trying to protect Juliet’s heart. “Are you sure this isn’t just about easing your guilt?”

“It’s not about that. It’s about my relationship with my wife. It’s about the promise I made to her the day we got married.” Angel felt like shit after sleeping with Gwen and continued to feel so in those late hours of the night when he’d dream about his wife. The girl’s at Vicky’s had no connection to him but Gwen was family, she was Juliet’s best friend. Even with thinking she could be dead he still felt as he betrayed her. What Gwen said was correct. They were drunk and heartbroken just seeking any feeling besides the heartache that had consumed them both. Juliet was compassionate and understanding. She would understand. “Juliet will understand.” Angel said as if saying it outloud would make it true.

“Juliet will be fucking pissed.” Gwen sighed, shifting her weight on her feet. “Look Angel I get where you are coming from but honestly what is telling going to do besides causing her more pain? Hasn’t she been through enough already?” She reached out setting her hand on his arm. “Just please don’t do anything impulsive and really think it over before you say anything. This is so much bigger than our one night together that meant nothing."

Angel nodded giving in to Gwen. He would wait for now and think it over. He didn’t want to ruin Juliet’s good mood. He just wanted to cherish this happy moment all together for now.

"Mama! Angel! Come watch with us!" Serena called out from where she was bouncing on the couch.

Juliet looked over at them and smiled. "You heard the boss." She laughed.

"I'll make some popcorn," Gwen muttered before excusing herself to the panty.

Angel put on a smile for his girls. He sat down next to Juliet wrapping his arms around her. Serena giggled climbing on to his lap taking his other arm and wrapping it around herself tightly. "Uncle Angel is just like Olaf," Serena told Juliet snuggling in close to him, "he loves warm hugs." Serena smiled watching the screen getting lost in the movie.

Juliet watched Serena with Angel closely . It seemed she had some competition for her husband's attention but she didn’t mind. Seeing Angel with Serena only made her yearn for a child of their own even more.

Angel would be an excellent father one day.

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#angel reyes #angel reyes x oc #angel reyes fanfiction #angel reyes fic #mayans mc #mayans mc fic #yesterday

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opbackgrounds · 4 years

Text

Alright, friends, you know the drill by now. Here’s Part III of Sarcasticles’ overblown thoughts on sexism in One Piece. If you haven’t already, go read Part I and Part II before proceeding.

I promise after this I’ll be done. By hook or by crook, we’re getting through the point of the original question. To the Anon who originally sent the ask, sorry it took this long to get here, I hope it’s helpful.

Also, I allude to some very, very minor Wano spoilers, so if you’re sensitive to that sort of thing here’s your warning.

Characterization? I Don’t Know Her

What makes a good character?

I’ve spent an awful lot of time talking about character designs, when, funnily enough, it’s one of the aspects I pay the least attention to when it comes to deciding if I like how an author portrays their characters. I personally don’t care for fanservice, never have and never will. But unless it’s particularly egregious, I tend to ignore it because there are other factors I think are more important.

The secret sauce for building characters is hard to define, because a good writer can take a concept that has no right being any good and turn it into something incredible (Oda does this all the time) where bad writers will seemingly slot all the right information in the right holes and still have their characters come out of the developmental oven flat and under cooked.

One of the biggest buzzwords floating around these days is agency. Is a character active in their own story, or are they jerked around by the needs of the plot? Is their voice heard? Is their voice unique, or do they blend in with the background?

This is particularly important, because the term Strong Female Protagonist has been warped into shorthand for “girl who fights a lot and looks pretty doing it”. You can have a girl strong enough to lift mountains and still have her be a shit character. You can write a girl who’s main motivation is to get married and have babies with phenomenal depth. What matters is execution.

The Petition to Call A Group of Rescue Arcs a ‘Damsel’

Both Nami and Robin had to be rescued, their main arcs bearing similarities that are impossible to ignore. But these aren’t copies of one another as much as variations on a theme, and with the existence of Marineford and Whole Cake Island I think anyone would be hard-pressed to say that One Piece’s rescue arcs are a girl’s thing. At this point it’s a feature, not a bug.

Which makes sense given how fundamental the idea freedom is to the series. Hell, the first thing Luffy does after becoming a pirate is free Coby from Alvida’s tyrannical reign. Then he frees Zoro from an unjust authority that would have killed him had Luffy not intervened.

Notice a pattern here?

One Piece is written like Pachelbel Canon, in that a very simple core of ideas are repeated over and over with layers of complexity and nuance added over time, examining the same themes from every possible angle.

And when you look at the Four Big Rescue Arcs -- Nami, Robin, Ace, Sanji -- you’ll see that it’s Ace who’s given the least agency throughout his arc. Nami chose to hijack the Going Merry, repeatedly chose to push away the Straw Hats until she reached her breaking point, at which she chose to ask for help, with Luffy only intervening once she does.

Robin is a little less obvious, but during the post-Water 7 party chapters, Aokiji makes the interesting observation that Robin could have escaped CP9, but chose not to

Remember that before Robin’s backstory was shown, Luffy specifically said he didn’t care if she wanted to die or not, so long as she was with the Straw Hats when she made her decision. No one bullied her into “I wanna live”. It was a choice she made of her own volition after realizing the depths the Straw Hats would go on her behalf.

I know there are people who disagree with me, but Nami and Robin are well-written characters. I’ve expounded enough on my reasoning both here and on my main that I don’t want to spend the time belaboring the point. What I do want is to note that Luffy wouldn’t be able to attain his dreams without them. Nami keeps them on course while also severing as a sort of moral compass for the crew -- remember she was the one who insisted on saving the giant kids at Punk Hazard -- while Robin’s ability to read the poneglyphs is what’s going to get the crew to Raftel.

Robin admittedly doesn’t have the same presence within the Straw Hat Pirates as Nami, but I would hardly call that sexism. Since Water 7/Enies Lobby she’s been pretty content to go with whatever Luffy says, and the fact that she’s literally quieter than anyone else in the crew means she doesn’t get as much focus. I think there could be more scenes with her using her specific skill set, like her investigations in Wano and the forensic anthropology scene in the pre-Jaya chapters, but I’m okay with her being a supporting character.

The East Blue Crew have consistently gotten the most focus of any of the Straw Hats. They are the core of the crew, something Oda admits in a roundabout way in the Color Walk where they all appear together for the first time in a color spread

With the main cast as large as it is, not everyone is going to have the same amount of focus or development. Robin is given a unique voice within the story because she doesn’t overreact the way literally everyone else does. Through her silence, she stands out. I find there to be very meaningful character development when she feels comfortable enough with the Straw Hats to start calling them by name in Thriller Bark, relaxed enough with her friends to comitt her first facefaults in a series lousy with them in both Dressrosa and Wano.

In an ideal world, Oda would better rotate through his cast, much like how Brook was the unsung MVP on Whole Cake Island (where Nami was also excellent in a supporting role) but I don’t think people realize how hard it is to juggle almost a dozen different people in a story that’s bloated exponentially over time. To his credit, Oda has handled his expanding crew better than most writers.

I also find it hard to judge this aspect of the series because the manga’s not done yet. I don’t know how Robin and Nami will be used in the future. I mean, Robin never got a chapter title declaring her “The Seventh” which I find suspicious, so Oda could very well have events in store that completely turn our perceptions upside down. It’s impossible to say.

I will acknowledge that the lack of big fights is somewhat disappointing, but neither Robin nor Nami’s dreams revolve around them getting stronger. Robin doesn’t need to use her power to make people explode from the inside out, Nami doesn’t need to fry end-game bosses with her lightning stick. That’s simply not their narrative purpose. With the exception of Tashigi, I’ve found that the female characters advertised as fighters have lived up to their billing. Hancock came out of Marineford unscathed. Carrot’s sulong form was awesome, in the old-fashioned sense of the word. The whole climax of Whole Cake Island revolved around surviving Big Mom’s wrath. Not beating her, not fighting her, it took all the Straw Hats had to just survive. Once again you’re left with a number’s game where where there just aren’t enough female characters to even pretend things are balanced.

All said, I think if you’re going to complain about the lack of Robin fights then I think you also have to complain about the lack of Brook fights, and that’s just not something you hear about, especially after Whole Cake Island. You can’t have it both ways. Either there needs to be more even distribution of major fights throughout the entire crew, or you have to acknowledge that a character’s worth isn’t dependent on their fighting prowess.

One Piece is a battle manga, and I do think that it’s fair to criticize when a character isn’t allowed to fight when they’re perfectly capable of kicking ass. But it’s also an adventure story, and that opens up entirely new space for a character to occupy, and that’s where I think Nami and Robin (but especially Nami) really shine

That Moment You Realize Humor Isn’t A Universal Language

I’ve spent so much time defending Oda’s designs and characters that it might seem like I’m perfectly okay with everything that’s portrayed in the manga. To be clear, I’m not. If the messages and comments I’ve gotten over the past several days have taught me anything, it’s that many fans share the same sticking points I do, namely in regards to some of the gags.

I again want to be careful here, because I’m hardly an expert on Japanese culture and it’s really hard to tell if Oda writes his jokes because he thinks they’re funny, or if he thinks his audience will find them funny. I’m again going to default to somewhere in the middle, because if Oda truly found the perviness distasteful he probably wouldn’t have included it, and I’ve read enough SBS to know the guy likes his dick jokes.

First and foremost, one must address the culture gap. Japan ranks last among G7 nations on gender equality, In 2004 two-thirds of Tokyo women in their 20-30s reported to being groped while on public transport. There are numerous barriers that make it difficult for a woman to succeed either in the workplace or politics.

From what I can gather, some of these trends are reversing, albeit slowly and with great resistance. Contrary to what many people seem to believe culture is not always value neutral. And I say that as an American, recognizing there are plenty of things about my culture and country that are really fucked up.

But who gets to decide who’s right and who’s wrong?

When inside that kind of environment, that kind of culture, it’s a lot easier to understand how a character like Sanji can exist. It’s easy to understand why Momo shoving his face into Nami and Robin’s boobs might be played for laughs. It’s not an excuse, but an explanation. And with Sanji failing more often than not, being the butt of his own joke as he slowly turns into a parody of what he once was, one could almost say Oda is pointing those types of people and saying, “Look how pathetic this guy is. Now go laugh as he gets a nosebleed so bad he needs multiple blood transfusions in order to not die.”

I say almost, because Sanji is never condemned for his actions, nor does he learn from them. Instead you have this character who’s supposed to be one of the kindest characters in the series decide to immediately go peep on a woman’s bath house after gaining the power of invisibility.

Stay classy, Oda.

As distasteful as I find it, I don’t find fanservice to be an inherently evil thing that must be eradicated at all costs, and with Oda doing things like putting his entire cast, male and female, into skintight leathers you can hardly say that he’s excluding the men.

Everyone will have their line in the sand, and mine goes back to agency. When Nami did her Happiness Punch way back in Alabasta, that was of her own volition. When Nami and Robin dress in clothes that show everything but the nipple, that’s something they chose and feel comfortable in.

But when Smoker and Tashigi swapped bodies at Punk Hazard, Tashigi specifically asked Smoker not to strip, and he did anyway, opening her coat and removing her bra. This is especially egregious as Tashigi is one of the very few women in the series who is always shown wearing very conservative clothing. Oda specifically showed Tashigi getting upset at Smoker’s actions, and Smoker repeatedly refusing to listen to her.

That’s where I draw my line.

Some Final Thoughts I Couldn’t Fit Anywhere Else

Thought The First--Oda has an interesting habit of turning his most despicable, scummy pieces of flaming human garbage into the butt of the joke. Villains like Crocodile and Doflamingo are certainly evil, but it’s the idealized, cool type of evil that makes you almost admire them. There aren’t very many real-world Crocodiles, but just about everyone knows a Spandam, or an Absalom, or a Vander Decken. These kinds of villains aren’t scary because of their physical prowess, but their unyielding obsessions and the power they’re able to wring from the system, and -- surprise, surprise -- all three are either actively trying to be creepy sex pests or coded as such with the visual language of the comic.

And Oda turns them into a mockery.

While there are some who feel like not treating serious issues like sexual assault seriously are doing a disservice to people who have endured similar experiences I think there’s merit to turning them into a laughingstock. As someone much smarter than me said once, if an opinion cannot withstand mockery it’s revealed to be ridiculous, and these scummy-scum villains are certainly ridiculous.

Thought The Second--It’s hard to say how much sexism is a thing in-universe. Kuina is the only one who is explicitly told her dreams were impossible because of her gender, but with the recent reveal confirming that her family came from Wano, which in turn is based on Feudal Japan, it’s hard to say how widespread these beliefs are. Tashigi brought it up again at Loguetown and Bellemere specifically told her girls that they lived in an era where “girls needed to be strong, too”, but otherwise it’s not a topic that’s been explored in any depth

Thought The Third--The in-universe fetishization of mermaids has some implications that I think are unintended but worth discussing. Shirahoshi has a reputation of being one of the most beautiful women in the world despite not leaving her tower for over 10 years (she’s 16). Mermaids whose tails have split are worth less on the slave market than those whose are intact. Even Zoro erased Kokoro from his memory after meeting the more attractive Caime. It’s one of those odd things that when combined with the more obvious racism themes could have some unfortunate implications, and I think could have been avoided had Oda show a little more restraint with some of his jokes. Unintended consequences are still consequences.

Thought The Forth--There are many other instances throughout the series that people bring up with talking about sexism in One Piece. I feel like a lot of these can be explained away individually -- for example, both Belo Betty and Rebecca’s stripperific outfits were inspired by other media, the painting Liberty of the People and Red Sonja respectively; Lola chasing after an obviously abusive man makes a whole lot more sense when you meet Big Mom; Hancock’s love sickness could be seen as an emotionally stunted woman experiencing her first crush, etc., etc -- it’s when they’re all put together that they begin to read as “Problematic”.

It would be impossible to go over all these individually, but I tend to fall on the side of leniency. In the end, everyone has to make their own decisions based on their own values. I’m hardly unbiased, and my enjoyment for the series will undoubtedly make me look the other way when another might call the exact same incident The Worst Thing Ever. The thing is, opinions are like assholes, everyone has one and most are convinced that theirs don’t stink. I include myself in that statement. In the end it’s a comic for kids. It’s supposed to be fun.

Thought The Last--I have spent entirely too much of my time writing this up, but in the end I guess I have to go back to what I said when I talked about my thoughts on Sanji: Everyone has their own personal line of acceptable bullshit, and for me Oda does more good than bad. Sanji specifically gets very little leniency from me because I don’t like a lot of the gross behavior Oda passes over as a joke. But the female characters themselves, generally speaking? They’re fine. There are other mangaka that have more equal male to female ratios or have women play more active roles in the story, but Oda does a lot better than most other shonen titles I’ve read.

It’s okay to be critical of media you enjoy. It’s okay to complain. But remember that One Piece is a very long series, and there are some fans who have been a round for literally decades. I myself started reading weekly around the time Duval was introduced, way back in 2008. Every time a new batch of fans comes in the same old arguments get stirred to the top of the pot: Sanji is a creep, Oda can’t draw women, why doesn’t Robin ever get to fight?

It can be exhausting to go through the same hoops time and time again. So if you’re someone who is being critical and feel like no one is listening, or that a bunch of fans are going out of their way to defend Oda, that could be one of the reasons why. They’re tired of having a series they enjoy be shit on.

There are other fans who legitimately don’t think that Oda’s done anything wrong, that jokes are just jokes. If you happen to fall in that category, remember that not everyone feels that way. Art reflects life, which in turn reflects art. One Piece is a few million copies away from outselling Batman. To say it isn’t influential to young readers, both in Japan and abroad, is beyond asinine.

I thank everyone who’s taken the time to read this so far. I’ve been pleasantly surprised by how civil the discussion and my inbox as stayed. Even if I didn’t respond to your message, I promise that I did read it.

I wrote as much as I did because I know this is a topic a lot of people care about, and also so I hopefully don’t have to write about it again. A lot of hours has gone into this project, and it’s been exhausting, but in a good way, if that makes any sense. I’m ready to put it to rest.

I was joking with some friends that I think I’ve hit just about every hot topic issue now, so hopefully I can go back to fun questions like speculating if Wapol can eat a person and poop out a devil fruit.

Until then, Sarcasticles, out

#sexism #one piece #long post #sarc talks

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starwars-oc-ship-week · 3 years

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keep hesitating

i’ve actually been dying to do this ship week. tyche and enlil are my favorites and they’re a disaster! cw for: gambling, mentions of alcohol, sex mentions. if you wanna see my art of them they both have tags on my blog!

Tyche Basha meets her future husband for the first time.

Most people have this happen. You meet a future partner for the first time, you look in their eyes, and sometimes there is something special from that very moment onwards. But Tyche didn’t expect to. She liked herself the way she was. She didn’t want to change.

That wasn’t on her mind, though, that night. Nar Shaddaa wasn’t somewhere for that sort of fantasy. It was her workplace more than anything. A friend of her biggest cash cow, Grakkus, had come to her with a very specific complaint and an open ultimatum, and for such a fat sum of credits, it was supposed to be easy. Some gambling rogue who owed a hefty few credits and had accidentally lured Imperials into his casino— barely any rougher than satin and poor in a fight, but inexplicably most bounty hunters hadn’t taken him. She figured they were probably having some difficulty getting him to stick around when he got to realizing what was going on— and with more opulent prey, or rich brats, they did usually just leave like that. It made quick kills hard.

This one— Enlil Velas— allegedly was an Imperial defector, by rumor. He was a medic of some sort at one point, and still practiced, but had become a career gambler with arm candy on every planet. Arhan, pretty, and he knew it. He owed the Hutt cartels enough for Tyche to take interest, at least, and she wasn’t cheap. Even so, she was considering double dipping her reward for such a good job. That was, if they’d take her fake identifications here. She had switched up her strategy with Atro aboard; the Snow Kite was too pretty a ship to let get scuffed in a fight.

She had shifted her strategy for this, too. She wasn’t going for a good strategic fight and kill, or the silent, stalking of her prey. She was the bait and lure and hook all in one. If he had a thing for pretty faces, then Tyche would play along. It was how she kept half her contracts, anyways. Very few people said no to such lovely cornflower skin and golden eyes, or ignored a figure like hers.

So she slipped into a minidress, glossed her lips, and pulled on her favorite heels. Clutching a jeweled purse close, pretending to be shy, she inched into the casino. Flashing lights, Sabacc tables, dancing girls, neon drinks— this would be her place if she hadn’t had to be a good actress. And like a good actress, she found her audience nearly immediately.

In the dim corner, was a man with skin like an orchid, a tower even sitting, with a waterfall of silky black hair He was wearing a very tacky gold jumpsuit, she thought— certainly too much for anyone, but especially on someone so long and lanky. He absently flirted with the drink girl, who giggled. Nobody else would do this, she thought, sitting down across from him at the only empty seat at the card table.

“Hey,” said a soft tenor from across the table. “I’m on a winning streak, so I’ve been buying all the prettiest people at the table drinks. Do you want one?” He swirled a glass, and Tyche knew immediately this was the kind of guy she would’ve laughed with for one night under different circumstances before ditching in the morning.

“Hm?” She perked up, feigning temporary confusion. “Oh, uh— sure! I don’t really know any local specialties so just get me something sweet. Can you deal me in?” she asked the droid.

“Put down your credits,” said the droid, and Tyche obliged, crossing her ankles.

“So,” said Enlil, making his first play, “have you played Pazaak?”

“When I was a little girl,” said Tyche meekly, a lie— and something flashed in her opponent’s dark eyes.

“Here. Let me show you. Bet’s off, this first one is on me. You get to twenty— see, that’s a five,” he said, a finger hovering over her deck. “You can’t go over or you lose. Let’s play.”

“A—alright,” she said, reshuffling her deck. “So what’s your name? I haven’t been to many casinos. I’m glad I found a friendly face.”

“Enlil,” he said with a smile. “But now I’ve got to ask, too. What’s yours?”

“Tyra,” she said meekly. “I’m just visiting friends. But I wanted to experience the nightlife.”

“You couldn’t have found a better guide,” he hummed, flipping a card and tucking it into his hand.

Tyche shyly hid her face behind her cards. “So where did you learn to play?” she asked.

“Med school,” he said calmly. “Surprised?”

“A little,” she lied. “But you seem awfully smart.”

“Not that smart,” he said. “I dropped.”

“Oh,” she said. “My line of work isn’t so exciting. I’m in finance.”

“So you really know how to gamble, don’t you? That must be how you afforded such a pretty dress?”

Tyche giggled. “Please, let me focus on the game!”

“You’re very cute when you’re concentrating.” He grinned. “You get a little dimple on the bridge of your nose.”

“Shh!” she giggled as the waitress brought her drink. “It’s embarrassing!”

“That is not even close to embarrassing,” he said with a dry smile. “Embarrassing is getting recognized by a friend of your parents when you’re losing in Sabbac. You’re just precious.”

“Do you really think so?” She tucked a drifting white strand of hair behind her ear.

“Of course,” he said, winking and taking a sip of his drink.

“Maybe you wouldn’t mind showing me one of the machines I saw towards the back parlor? I— I couldn’t get the hang of it.” Here she went. Clean games, she thought. Clean.

“Oh, sure, honey.” He stood— a whole foot and a half over poor Tyche, who was already short for a woman, but he offered his arm like a gentleman anyways. She led the way, past the loud thrumming music and laughter and concealing smiles and dancing, to the door to one of the maintenance rooms.

“You sure this goes any—“ he began as she opened the door, but before he finished that, she had a blaster to his stomach, concealed and barely larger than her palm.

“You’re smart,” she said, any trace of the sweet naive girl gone from her intonation. “Let’s figure out the game inside.”

The hatch slid shut behind them, and she reached onto the holster strapped to her thigh, picking her vibroblade for this occasion. With a flick of her wrist, she extended it, and kicked him swiftly in the back of the legs, then used his gangly instability to her advantage, shoving him straight to the ground in one motion.

“Alright. You know what I’m here for. Time’s up with the Hutts. I want some quick questions answered before—“

Before she finished the job.

His hair had slid back behind his shoulders. They were wearing the same earrings. She had bought them from a street vendor on Mygeeto with her sister many years ago. They were her favorite. His were identical, minus a few handmade touches or anomalies.

“Before…”

His beetle-black eyes were wide with fear. He wasn’t a threat. He was an expensive target but other than play a few bad hands, what had he done? Those eyes of hers— it was just like Atro, back on the ship. She couldn’t be going soft and picking up another stray cat. She couldn’t.

She couldn’t finish this.

“Before I get you out of here. Everyone on Nar Shaddaa wants you taken care of. I’m getting you offworld.”

“You aren’t with the Empire, are you?” There was a tremor in his voice. “They’ve been tracking me down trying to recruit me again for months.” Recruit meant force. Tyche shivered.

“No. I’m just getting some guy who’s in over his head off world.” She reached out a hand. “You said you’re a doctor?”

“Well, loosely,” he shrugged. “I was a battlefield medic after I failed to make a doctorate. The Empire is pretty fast and loose with its—“

“You know what you’re doing?” she asked, cutting him off.

“Well enough.”

“Then you know exactly how badly I could hurt you if you try that flirty pretty boy shit with me again. We’re going to my ship and you won’t say a word. You’re going to respect me and my mechanic, you’re going to stop that schtick, and we’re going to find a way for you to scrounge up the cash to pay back the Hutts.”

“You’re serious?” he said, staring at Tyche in disbelief.

“Yeah.” She wished she wasn’t. “And my name isn’t Tyra. It’s Tyche Basha.”

“The Tyche Basha of glamorous, charming, heartbreaker assassin fame?”

“Overstated and untrue reputation,” she said dismissively. “But sure. That one.”

“And you’re—“

“Don’t thank me,” she said, opening the door and walking out. “It’s barely any trouble.”

“Well, you could’ve made a lot of money. I know you were about to kill me.” He pushed his hair behind his ears. “I’m not as stupid as you thought.”

“That remains to be seen. You couldn’t tell I knew how to play Pazaak already. And you messed up the directions.” She smiled. “I parked on the lower plaza. Let’s get walking.”

#starwarsocshipweek2021 #submission #Star Wars oc ship week #oc x oc

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agreatperhaps12 · 4 years

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There are a lot of misconceptions about Warren Peace. Five times Layla Williams saw through the bullshit, and one time Warren returned the favor.

happy holidays, @katiewont :)

Misconception No. 1: Warren Peace loves a good fight.

Warren Peace does not go looking for fights. Fights find him.

See: Stronghold chucking a lunch tray at him the first week of class. Dumb and Dumber challenging them to Save the Citizen. Stronghold’s date going full supervillain at homecoming and nearly dropping a school-size anvil on an unsuspecting suburb.

That’s just the highlight reel for September.

When another villain interrupts Warren’s History of Heroism midterm with another school invasion, Warren’s first thought is: Could everyone around here chill for five fucking seconds.

No. Literally, not ever. See: three weeks later, when Warren is standing in line for lunch with the entourage of freshmen he’s long since given up trying to shake off. It has not even been five minutes since Warren and Stronghold defeated their latest challenger at Save the Citizen, and Zach is already doing a clumsy live-action replay.

To Stronghold, “Did you see his face when you were like?” Zach swings his arm with the spectacular confidence of someone not standing in a very crowded cafeteria. To Warren, “And then you were like—” Zach mimes shooting fireballs from his fists, complete with sound effects. “Totally brutal. You looked scary, bro.”

“He always looks scary,” Ethan says, smiling at Warren like that’s a compliment.

Warren glares down at his tray. He and Stronghold have been defending champions of Save the Citizen for over two months, Hero Team every time. He doesn’t get how people are still managing to make him feel like the bad guy about it.

“How was play-pretend battle?”

Layla has emerged from the crowd to stand beside Warren, with a smirk that makes a stupid something flutter behind his sternum. Layla stopped coming to their Save the Citizen matches after their dozenth victory, because “violence should be the last resort in any hostage situation” and “Save the Citizen completely undermines a valuable opportunity for Sky High students to learn strategic negotiation skills.” Warren doesn’t know what she does with the free period.

Take me with you, he thinks.

“The match was epic,” Zach says. “Will got to throw a car.”

A bashful smile overtakes Stronghold’s dumb, Labrador face.

“And Warren almost barbequed Evans,” Ethan says.

Jesus, could they shut up about it already.

“Really,” Layla says, eyes on Warren while he pays for his food.

“Yeah,” Warren says, in a deadpan to rival Magenta. “It was epic.”

Layla frowns, but instead of launching into the pacifist manifesto that Warren is expecting, she holds up her bagged lunch says, “Want to eat outside?”

Before Warren can answer, Stronghold says, “Outside?” like he’s never heard of such a place. “It’s freezing out there.”

“It’s almost forty degrees,” Layla says, “and I had to come in early to finish a project, so it’s been over—” She checks the clock. “—five hours since I’ve felt roots under my feet. I’m eating outside.”

“Okay, but like.” Stronghold glances at Warren. “Do… you want me to come?”

“No, you’ll just be a baby about it,” Layla says gently. “Warren doesn’t get cold, do you?”

She looks to Warren for confirmation of a fact that Warren is one hundred percent sure he’s never told her. He shrugs to hide his wrong-footedness.

“Great.” Layla claps a hand on Stronghold’s shoulder and uses it to steer him toward the others, who are already sitting at what used to be Warren’s personal lunch table, once upon a time. She shrugs on her jacket, flips her hair out, and looks to Warren. “Shall we?”

Warren follows her outside warily. Sitting down across from her at the picnic table closest to the edge of school grounds, he says, “So, what is this, exactly?”

Layla pauses in uncurling her lunch bag. “What do you mean?”

Warren shrugs. “We don’t really hang out. Alone.”

They did, a little. Back when Layla was using Warren to make Stronghold jealous. But that pretty much ended with the homecoming debacle—after which Layla and Stronghold spent a few weeks trying to get their romantic relationship off the ground, decided they worked better as friends, and went back to normal.

“What are you talking about?” Layla says. “We hang out at the Paper Lantern all the time.”

It’s true that Layla eats at Warren’s workplace a few nights a week, when her mom is too busy with day-saving to make family dinners at home. But Layla is always doing homework, and Warren is always doing Work work, so, “I don’t think that counts.”

“It does,” Layla says confidently. It’s the kind of confidence that only Layla can pull off, because rather than coming across as arrogant, she gives the air of a mysterious woodland nymph, whose secret knowledge mere mortals wouldn’t understand.

“Okay,” Warren says, because he has precious little personal experience to back up any assertions about how friendship is supposed to work. “But this isn’t the Lantern.”

Layla raises an eyebrow. “Do you want to go back inside?”

“No,” Warren says. He doesn’t want Layla to leave, either. There’s a sureness about her that Warren finds comforting. She’s never been afraid of him—probably because she could kick his ass. Warren likes that about her. But he also likes to know where he stands with people.

By way of explanation, Layla says, “Did you know that when you get stressed out, literal steam comes out of your ears?”

“What?”

“Mm-hmm.” Layla pulls an apple out of her lunch bag. “A little. It’s easier to see when your hair is pulled back.”

Warren brings a self-conscious hand to the rubber band he used to tie his hair up during Mad Science Lab.

“It happens a lot when Zach is doing his Save the Citizen play-by-plays,” Layla observes. “Thought I might spare you an entire lunch of that.”

“Oh.” Warren’s hand drops into his lap, blind-sided by the unexpected kindness. “Thanks.”

“Any time.” Layla maintains eye contact while taking a bit of apple. Warren shifts in his seat and drops his eyes to his pizza. “You could tell Coach Boomer to assign Will a different partner,” she says after a moment. “Save the Citizen isn’t mandatory.”

Yeah, except it kind of is. No one’s ever voluntarily stepped back from a winning streak like Warren and Stronghold’s. Benching himself would never be worth all the extra side-eye in the halls. Not to mention the explanation he’d have to give Boomer. What kind of superhero-in-training refuses to fight?

Except for the one Warren is currently sitting across from, of course. Who’s looking at Warren with such doe-eyed earnestness that it almost squeezes a “Yeah, maybe” out of him. But Layla is a difficult person to lie to, so he says, “I thought we weren’t going to talk about Save the Citizen.”

Layla sits up a little straighter. “Right,” she says. “Consider it forgotten.”

“Thanks.”

Not that Warren doesn’t trust Layla, but she is the kind of person to press points she thinks are important. Before her mind can cycle back to Save the Citizen from some other angle, Warren says, “Sorry I dragged you outside in the middle of November.”

Layla tilts her head to the side. “You didn’t drag me. I dragged you.”

“Yeah, but for me,” Warren says, and there’s that stupid fluttering feeling again.

“And for me,” Layla says. “I wasn’t lying about needing to get out for a bit. Being inside all day, with the linoleum and cinderblock.” She wrinkles her nose. “It’s creepy quiet, when you’re used to feeling everything alive around you.”

He’s never actually thought about it, before. How Layla has her finger on the pulse of something so vast and intricate, even when she’s not bending it to her will.

“Even in November?” Warren says. “Isn’t everything, like… dead?”

Layla laughs. “No. Just taking a long nap.”

“Huh.” Warren looks around the grey-brown landscape of the schoolyard, with its bare branches and faded grass, with new eyes. It’s a nice idea, that all these lifeless-looking things are just waiting to wake up.

Misconception No. 2: Warren Peace doesn’t give a damn about his bad reputation.

Anyone who dyes a single streak of hair, wears fingerless gloves, and walks around like he’s got nothing to prove has something big to prove.

For Warren Peace, that is: I do not give a fuck about my family legacy.

Before starting high school, Warren figured a couple kids might recognize him, by name or by strong family resemblance. But Warren’s dad had already been locked up for a long time. It wasn’t like he made the news anymore. Worse came to worst, Warren thought he might have to field a few awkward questions about it.

Homeschooling did not prepare Warren for how big a household name Barron Battle was.

The first week of school was all open seats around Warren in class and at lunch, cold and curious looks over shoulders on the bus, “Check it out, that’s Barron Battle’s devil spawn” and “I can’t believe they even let supervillain kids in.”

It was treat or be treated like dirt, and Warren chose the former.

Fast-forward to junior year, and Sky High students know Warren Peace for the asshole he is, rather than the asshole his father was. Warren is comfortably back to pretending like his dad doesn’t exist. It mostly works.

Except during a History of Heroism unit on the most notorious villains of the twentieth century, when Warren’s class is staring at a PowerPoint slide that depicts the leveled Brooklyn neighborhood where Barron Battle and the Commander had their final showdown.

Warren ignores his classmates’ not-so-covert glances as Mr. Magnificent rattles of statistics like ‘seven dead and dozens injured’ and ‘nearly one billion dollars in damages.’ Magnificent has to pause his lecture to silence the white noise of whispers that has swelled up, and Warren wants to sink through the floor.

It’s like the first week of freshman year all over again. Warren is projecting I don’t care vibes so hard, there’s a good chance he’ll spontaneously combust.

What feels like an eon later, the classroom lights come up. Warren shoves everything into his backpack and heads for the door before anyone can try to talk to him. As usual, Layla is out of Hero Support early and waiting in the hall to meet Warren for lunch. Her patent sun-bright smile slips as Warren escapes the classroom.

“Whoa, where’s the fire?” she says.

“What?” Warren stops up short. “Nowhere. There’s no fire.”

“I was kidding,” Layla says, and winces at herself. “Poor choice of words. Sorry.”

“It’s fine.” Warren rakes his fingers through his hair. “I can’t come to lunch today. I have to—work on something.”

Normally, when Warren is feeling like shit, there’s nothing he’d rather do than sit with Layla in their little oasis of calm at the schoolyard picnic table. But right now, Warren needs at least thirty minutes to pace around the empty auto shop classroom, literally and figuratively cooling off, before he subjects himself to more human company.

“Okay,” Layla says, hugging her notebook to her chest and looking at him critically. “Are you—”

“Yeah. It’s—whatever. I’ll see you later.” Warren shoulders his way through the crowded hall toward the shop room, head down.

Smooth, he thinks at himself. Very smooth.

Shut up.

Warren assumes the first chance he’ll have to apologize to Layla is the next day at lunch. But when Warren shows up for his shift at the Paper Lantern at five, Layla is already sitting at her usual table. Weird, because Layla usually doesn’t come to the Lantern on Thursdays. Weirder, because when she does come, she typically arrives sometime after eight, when the dinner rush has mostly cleared out.

“What can I get you?” Warren says, drawing his pencil out from behind his ear as he approaches Layla’s table. They do try to maintain some appearances of an employee-customer relationship, to appease Mrs. Zhou.

“Hmm.” Layla examines the menu. “I’d like one kung pao tofu, one green tea, and—” She looks up at him. “—for you to explain why you fled your History of Heroism class today.”

“I didn’t flee,” Warren says. “I stormed out.”

“All right,” Layla agrees easily. “Why did you storm out of History of Heroism?”

Warren crosses his arms. “None of your business.”

“Okay.” Layla holds out her menu.

Warren blinks. “What?”

“You’re right, it’s not my business,” she says. “I just thought you might want to talk about whatever it was.”

“I don’t.”

“Okay.”

Warren squints. “Okay…”

“Okay,” Layla says again, and flaps the menu in her hand.

Warren takes it slowly, waiting for the catch. But Layla just pulls a binder and notebook out of her backpack. “Honey with the tea, please,” she says, and clicks open a pen.

“I know,” Warren says, and leaves Layla to her homework. He spends most of the next half-hour trying to untangle why he feels disappointed rather than relieved.

The thing is, Warren sometimes gets a “What was that about?” or “Dude, what the hell happened back there?” from classmates after he goes nuclear. Like after his cafeteria fight with Stronghold in September. Those questions always feel voyeuristic. Prickly and probing.

With Layla, though, the question feels less invasive and more inviting. For the first time, Warren wants to explain himself. He wants Layla to understand. He doesn’t want her to see him as some moody, unapproachable asshole. But he also doesn’t know how to approach her, or the subject, now that he’s already shut it down.

He’s been talking himself in and out of going back over to Layla’s table for ten minutes when Mrs. Zhou sidles up to the pass-through window where Warren is brooding.

“If you’re going to stand around making eyes at your girlfriend, take your fifteen and go over before the dinner crowd arrives,” she says.

Warren’s face heats, and he looks around to see whether anyone is in earshot, even though he’s pretty sure none of Mrs. Zhou’s whitebread suburban customers understand Mandarin. “She’s not my—never mind.”

Deciding he’d rather be having any other conversation besides this one with Mrs. Zhou, Warren forces himself to walk over to Layla’s table and sit down.

“We learned about the Barron in class today,” he says, abandoning any attempt at preamble, “for a lesson on notable supervillain takedowns.”

If Layla is surprised by Warren’s sudden attempt at conversation, she doesn’t show it. She hooks her pen through the spiral of her notebook, closes it, and waits for him to continue.

“Magnificent was showing pictures from the last time Dad and the Commander fought in New York,” Warren says, “and people were looking at me like I was involved somehow, even though all that shit went down when I was still in diapers, and those people have been in my classes for three years, like—I know, we all know Barron Battle is my dad, why can’t everyone fucking get over it already—”

Layla lays a hand on his forearm, cutting Warren off and drawing his attention to the fact that his clenched fist is smouldering like a hot coal. “Shit. Sorry.” Warren shakes out his hand, and Layla pulls back. He wishes she wouldn’t.

Layla waits for the red glow of Warren’s knuckles to dim and then says, “Mr. Magnificent is an idiot. It was totally inappropriate to include your dad in a presentation, especially without asking you first.”

Warren shrugs. “A lot of people’s parents end up in his presentations,” he says. “They’re just usually on the right side.”

“He still should have asked you,” Layla says. “Also, you helped save the entire school in September. If people still think you’re anything like your dad after that, they’re idiots and you shouldn’t care what they think.”

Warren wants to say “I don’t.” What comes out is, “This is high school. Everyone cares what everyone thinks.”

“I don’t,” Layla says.

Warren wants to contradict her, but from what he can tell, Layla genuinely doesn’t. “You have to care a little,” he says.

Layla raises her eyebrows like oh, yeah? and points to her characteristically Whoville-style twist of braids and glittery clips. “You think these hairdos made me a lot of friends in middle school?”

“I didn’t go to middle school.”

“Well, they didn’t,” Layla says.

“Then why do you wear your hair like that?”

“Because I like it.” Layla twirls a stray piece of hair around her forefinger. “And I don’t need to be one of the pretty girls to feel good about myself.”

“You are pretty,” Warren blurts, and immediately has to suppress the urge to set himself on fire.

Layla’s eyes go wide. The last time Warren saw her blush this deep, he’d just called her out for crushing on Stronghold. But instead of straight-up embarrassed, this time Layla’s blush is weirdly, shyly pleased. “You think so?” Her chin is tilted down so that she’s looking up at him through her eyelashes, which is not fair.

“Me?” Warren points at himself, like an idiot. “I don’t—I mean, I do, but it’s not just—you are pretty. People know that. It’s an objective fact.”

“Really.” Layla’s cheeks are still pink, but her smile has a playful slant now.

“Yeah,” Warren says, more defensively than he intends. Christ, he was so much better at this when they were fake-dating, when none of Warren’s smirks or swagger could mean anything. Now, without the protection of pretense, everything feels altogether too personal. Warren is not good at personal.

“Thank you,” Layla says, and bites her lip in hesitation before tacking on, “you’re pretty, too.”

Whatever that comment is—reflex, or politeness, or something else—it is officially too much. “I have to get back to work,” Warren says, overloud in the quiet restaurant, and bangs his knee on the underside of the table in his haste to stand up.

“Okay,” Layla says, trying to hide a smile behind her hand. Before he can turn away, she adds, “Warren,” and points to either side of her head.

Warren stares at her blankly for a second before he catches her drift, yanks his hair down from his ponytail to hide his surely steaming ears, and practically runs back to the kitchen.

Misconception No. 3: Warren Peace thinks he’s got the best power.

“I feel like I should warn you,” Layla says as she turns the key in her front lock, “my house is kind of crowded.”

Warren frowns. “I thought you were an only child.”

“No siblings,” Layla says. “A lot of roommates. You’ll see.”

What Warren sees is a menagerie that would do Ace Ventura proud.

“Watch out for the—everything,” Layla says, leading him through a flock of peacocks, a few dogs and several cats that slink by too quickly to count.

“Why… is this?” is the only semi-coherent question that Warren can formulate as he shoos a parrot from his shoulder and shakes his pant leg free of a fox’s jaws.

“You’re not the only one who has to live with your parent’s superpower,” Layla says.

Layla’s mom, apparently, is a zoolinguist. The only place in the entire house not overrun by furry or feathered residents is Layla’s room.

“Wow,” Warren says as he crosses the threshold.

Layla’s bedroom is situated on the back corner of the house, and the two external walls and ceiling are all paneled glass. Presumably to usher in maximum sunlight for the greenery that crowds almost every inch of space besides Layla’s bed and desk. Warren has to shed his winter coat immediately to avoid overheating in the humidity.

“Yeah,” Layla says. “Sometimes I forget how weird it is. Will’s the only friend I’ve ever had up here.”

Layla is the only friend Warren has ever had in his room—which she immediately declared “entirely predictable,” on account of the punk rock posters plastered across his walls. Layla’s room is way more predictable, if you ask Warren. Or at least, Warren would have predicted this, if he’d known literal greenhouse was a legitimate option.

“It’s nice,” he says. “Peaceful.”

“Isn’t it?” Layla takes Warren’s coat and hangs it on a hook behind the leaves of an elephant ear plant. “Mom had the place renovated before we moved in. I think she figured, if she was going to let every animal in the neighborhood have the run of our house, it wasn’t fair to exile my plants to the backyard.”

“Do they all live here all the time?” Warren says, pointing at the floor to indicate the veritable petting zoo downstairs.

“Some of them,” Layla says. “Mom is good at finding homes for most. I think donations from her fans are single-handedly keeping every shelter in the city afloat.”

It’s rude to ask about superheroes’ secret identities, but context clues give Warren a pretty good idea who Ms. Williams might be. Charismatic Megafauna is basically a one-woman PETA operation, liberating animals from factory farms and delivering them to free-range pastures as often as she commands her elite squadron of apex predators to take down baddies. She’s a more controversial figure than the Commander and Jetstream, but she does have an extremely dedicated cult following.

“Her power sounds amazing,” Warren says.

“Most of the time,” Layla says. She collects a watering can from beside her bed and begins to fill it with a knee-high spigot beside the door. “But there’s a lot of animal suffering in the world. It can get exhausting for her to be tapped into it all the time, you know?”

Warren pauses to consider. “Yeah, I guess that would be overwhelming.”

Layla turns off the tap and carries her watering can to the closest table laden with potted plants. “Everyone’s superpower looks spectacular on the news,” she says, with a very un-Layla-like smile. “No one’s around to see it when your power makes you so sad you can’t get out of bed.”

“Except you,” Warren guesses.

Layla drops her not-really-smile. “Except me.”

Warren shuffles along the row of plants beside Layla while she waters them. He waits until she finishes refilling the can and starts a new row before asking, “Does that ever happen to you? Your powers getting you down.”

Layla studiously waters a flower with orange starburst petals. “Plants have more…auras and vibes than thoughts and feelings,” she says, and tickles the flower under one leaf. The plant visibly perks up under her ministrations, and Layla smiles. For real, this time. “Their pain doesn’t feel as sharp to me as animals’ pain does to my mom.”

“But,” Warren prompts.

“But sometimes, yeah,” Layla says, and moves on to the next plant.

Warren casts around for something comforting to say, but comes up with nothing better than, “That sucks.”

“Yeah,” Layla says, “but it’s the exception to the rule. Most of the time, I wouldn’t give up feeling this—” She rubs her fingertips over a browning leaf to paint it green. “—for anything.”

Warren shouldn’t be jealous of Layla’s powers. Especially after she’s just admitted what a burden they can be. But Layla has also just confirmed what Warren has long suspected: Superabilities, even the ostensibly powerful ones, are not created equal. Warren’s pyrokinesis is, fundamentally, a weapon. A blunt tool to wield when the situation calls for violence. Layla’s power, on the other hand, seems more like a sixth sense. A trapdoor to another plane of reality.

How much of Layla Williams’s worldview draws on the alien insight of plants that no other human being, least of all Warren Peace, could ever possibly understand?

Layla interrupts Warren’s inferiority spiral with, “I’ve never talked about this with anyone but my mom.”

Warren watches Layla coax a stem into standing up straighter. “Not even Stronghold?”

He should not take as much pleasure as he does in Layla’s dismissive laugh. “Especially not Will.”

“Why not?”

“For a long time, he didn’t have any powers, and he was so jealous of mine, it seemed mean to complain about them to Will.”

“And now?”

“Now, he’s in the honeymoon phase with his new powers,” Layla says, “and it seems mean to bring him down.”

Not even Warren believes Stronghold can be that fragile. “I’m sure he’d get over it.”

“Maybe, but, you know. The things we do for our best friends,” Layla says, with a what can you do shrug, and returns to the faucet for another refill.

“So, why tell me?”

Layla chews the inside of her cheek. “I guess because you already have a complex about your own powers the size of Texas, thanks to your dad.”

“What?” Warren balks. “I do not.”

Layla squints. “Don’t you, though?”

“No. I—shut up.” Warren looks away, feeling hot all over.

Layla bends down to turn off the tap. A moment later, her hand on Warren’s shoulder startles him into looking back at her. Her big, brown eyes are wide with sympathy. “I shouldn’t have said that. I didn’t mean to upset you. I’m sorry.”

“I’m not upset,” Warren snaps.

“Okay.” Typical Layla, letting him feel whatever he’s going to feel and say whatever he’s going to say and refuse to throw hands about it.

Warren’s spark of anger sputters and dies. He huffs out an exhale. “It’s not only about my dad,” he admits, quietly, mostly to the floor.

Layla’s hand remains on his shoulder while she waits for an elaboration. Warren very carefully does not acknowledge it in any way, for fear it might stop.

“Fire is...useful,” he says. “But it can only destroy things. I can’t create. Not like…” He waves a hand around Layla’s room. “All I’m good for is fighting, and sometimes I wish—” Warren shoves a hand through his hair. “I dunno. It’s stupid.”

Layla’s hand squeezes his shoulder. “First of all, you are not your power,” she says. “No matter what Boomer or anyone else says. Second, fire is creative. It creates light and warmth.”

“If I’m ever transported back in time to an era before electricity, I’m sure that’ll be extremely handy,” Warren says, aiming for wry and not quite making it, because the tickly feeling that flitters to life in his chest whenever Layla says nice things about him is going wild.

Layla rolls her eyes. “Third of all, you do not need a superpower to create and nurture things.” Before Warren can stop her, Layla has pushed her watering can into his hand.

“What?” he says. “I don’t know anything about plants. I’d probably kill them all.” He holds the watering can out to Layla, who does not take it.

“Don’t act like you don’t have a book of Keats in your backpack right now,” she says. “If you know ‘To Autumn,’ you already know the most important things about plants. Everything else is technicalities.”

Warren gives her a doubtful look.

Layla sighs. “Trust me. Which you should, because I know literally everything about plants, and I’m a very good teacher, and I would not let you hurt any of my babies. Okay?”

Layla holds out her hand, and Warren has to channel all his concentration into keeping his cool enough that he doesn’t burn her when he takes it in his own. Layla grins, and Warren feels a little light-headed with the thrill of it.

“Come on,” she says, and pulls him toward the row of potted flowers where they left off. Warren follows, as helpless as any of the flora around them to resist the benevolent force of nature that is Layla Williams.

Misconception No. 4: Warren Peace doesn’t get scared.

This illusion is at least partly on purpose. Part of the do not fuck with me ethos Warren has been cultivating for the better part of three years.

In reality, plenty of things scare Warren. Like the idea that everyone is right about him after all, and he’ll end up on the Superheroes Guild’s Most Wanted List someday. Or that deep down, a kernel of grudge in his mother resents Warren for taking so closely after his father. But those are more midnight-existential-crisis concerns than acute fears.

Warren gets scared during battles, too. But the initial kick of adrenaline always seems to knock his consciousness clear of his body, such that he spends most of the fight controlling the firestorm of his fists from somewhere above the action. He usually doesn’t realize how freaked out he is until after the fact, when his brain plugs back into his body and he thinks, huh, my hands won’t stop shaking.

It’s rare that Warren feels, in real time, the bass-drum beat of his heart and a cold sweat breaking out on the back of his neck. But that’s exactly what happens every time he gets close to asking Layla out on a date.

He’s come close so many times. He’s had the tickets in his jacket pocket for weeks. But the prospect of actually asking Layla invites the prospect of Layla saying no, and Warren—can’t.

Sometimes, he can almost convince himself that she would say yes, despite the fact that Layla is kind, beautiful, mystical Layla, and Warren is social-pariah, problem-child Warren. Like last Tuesday, when Layla said “you’re such a disaster” with such heart-stopping fondness, while she pulled a rubber band from Warren’s hair to replace it with one of her own, more comfortable fabric hair ties. Or last Friday, while they were watching a movie at Layla’s place, and she tucked her socked toes under Warren’s thigh on the couch. Or yesterday, when she held her hands out over the picnic table for Warren to warm her pink fingertips between his palms.

And always, in the back of Warren’s mind: “You’re pretty, too.”

But whenever Warren opens his mouth to ask, his tongue goes dry and his palms go damp. It’s such a stupid thing to be afraid of, it makes Warren want to close his head in a locker. Worst case scenario, Layla turns him down. They’d still be friends. She wouldn’t be cruel. She’s Layla. But Warren isn’t used to having so much of himself caught up in another person. The idea that Layla isn’t equally caught up in him provokes a strangled, withering feeling in the pit of Warren’s stomach that he can only imagine would intensify tenfold after the actual rejection.

So, Warren’s been procrastinating.

But time is running out.

It does not help that Stronghold’s flock of freshmen is currently obsessing over Winter Formal like a bunch of… well, freshmen.

“You guys asking anyone?” Zach says at lunch, one day when freezing rain is lashing Sky High too hard for even Layla to sit outside. Zach hooks an arm over Magenta’s shoulder, as if to underline the fact that she’s already spoken for. Magenta rolls her eyes but doesn’t shrug him off.

“I would ask Larry,” Ethan says, pushing steamed vegetables around on his plate with his fork. “If I could stop going full-puddle every time he looks at me.”

Layla and Magenta make sympathetic noises.

“I think I’m gonna ask Abby,” Stronghold says, eyes cast over at a table where Warren assumes this Abby must sit. He hasn’t bothered to keep up with Stronghold’s latest romantic fixation. They’re already two—three?—full crush cycles past Layla. Warren can’t believe he ever felt threatened by a kid with the attention span of a housefly.

“She’d totally say yes,” Magenta says. “I overheard her about how hot you are during the Shapeshifting Students Association meeting.”

“Really?” Will says, at the same time Layla goes, “Magenta!”

“What?”

“Gossip.”

“Okay, Mother Williams,” Magenta says. To Will, “We’ll talk later.”

Layla looks intent on pressing the matter, but Ethan says, “Do you have a date, Layla?”

Everyone turns to Layla, except for Stronghold, whose eyes inexplicably flick over to Warren—who glares him into dropping eye contact.

“No,” Layla says, unconcerned.

“Not yet,” Zach says. “Just a question of who asks first.”

Warren’s heart stutters, and he swallows back a “What?”

Luckily, Stronghold has less restraint. “What?” he says, like he wasn’t ogling another girl 0.2 seconds ago.

Zach looks at Stronghold like, Are you kidding? “Layla’s hot,” he says slowly. Magenta nods in agreement. “Chen, Robinson, and Feinstein are all thinking about asking.”

“And those are just the ones we’ve heard about,” Magenta says.

“Where are you guys getting this intel?” Ethan says. “We’re your only friends.”

“You can hear a lot from the inside of a locker,” Zach says.

“Or from the vents,” Magenta adds.

“Who’s still shoving you in a locker?” Layla says, frowning at Zach.

“Don’t deflect,” Magenta says. “Who are you going to take?”

“I don’t know,” Layla says, very pink and very determinedly acting like she’s not. “I didn’t know I had options until right now.”

Warren didn’t know he had competition until right now. In his defense, he deliberately pays as little attention as possible to rest of the Sky High student body, except for the five freshmen who invaded his space last fall and refused to leave. But of course other guys want to ask Layla.

Fuck.

“What about you, Bucky Barnes?” Zach says, throwing Warren an upward nod. “Got your eye on any hot junior goths we don’t know about?”

Warren scowls. “No.”

“Warren’s too cool for school dances,” Magenta says.

Stronghold frowns. “He took Layla to homecoming.”

“Only to make you jealous,” Layla is quick to correct.

Warren’s eyes snap over to her, but Layla isn’t looking at him. Just stabbing at her salad with her fork and letting her hair partially obscure her still pink cheeks.

An uncomfortable, sour feeling settles in Warren’s stomach. He makes himself look back at Zach. “I don’t do school dances. I have a thing anyway.”

“What thing?” Magenta says.

“A thing,” Warren says, with enough finality that even Zach knows better than to push it.

That is, until Stronghold corners Warren at his locker after final period to ask, “What thing do you have to do instead of Winter Formal?”

Warren continues loading books into his backpack. “A thing.”

Stronghold, in a bid for Warren’s full attention, shuts his locker door. As soon as Warren turns a glare on him, the kid goes bug-eyed.

“I am so sorry!” he says, reaching out to open the locker, only to remember that, duh, it’s Warren’s and he can’t. “I don’t know why I did that.”

“You’re an idiot.”

Warren must be spending too much time with Layla, because instead of picking Stronghold up by his shirt collar, he merely swats Stronghold’s hand away and unlocks his locker.

“It was only—I know someone who was hoping you’d ask them to Winter Formal,” Stronghold says, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

Warren fixes Stronghold with a flat expression. “You’re not my type.”

For an aspiring superhero, Stronghold flusters extremely easily. “Wh—not me!” he says, and then leans in and lowers his voice. “You know.”

Warren, who is not in the business of getting his hopes up—no matter how many summersaults his stomach is doing—raises his eyebrows.

“Layla,” Stronghold murmurs, so low that Warren has to read his lips.

Summersaults, cartwheels, handsprings. Warren’s stomach is performing a full-on gymnastics routine. “Did she tell you that?”

“No,” Stronghold admits, and Warren’s stomach immediately flops. “But I am something of an expert on Layla Williams.”

Warren, who has an entire September’s worth of evidence to the contrary, makes a psh noise.

Stronghold squares his shoulders and ticks off on his fingers: “She hangs out at the Lantern all the time. She eats lunch with you, alone, every other day. The way she talks about you—”

“She talks about me?”

“Dude.” Stronghold lays a hand on Warren’s shoulder, looking so delighted with the irony that it takes everything in Warren not to ignite. “You’re so stupid. She’s totally into you.”

“Don’t touch me.”

“Right.” Stronghold’s hand immediately slides off. “Seriously, though. If you don’t ask Layla to the dance, someone else will.”

“Noted,” Warren says, like he isn’t already tying himself into knots over that exact possibility.

“You’re gonna ask her, then?”

Warren heaves a sigh. He can’t believe he’s about to confide in Will Stronghold, of all people, but at this juncture it seems like the path of least resistance. “I have tickets to something that night, and I want to ask Layla to go with me.”

Stronghold has the audacity to look innocently perplexed. “So, why haven’t you?”

“I’m, you know.” Warren pushes back his hair. “Waiting for the right time.”

Stronghold looks dubious. “It’s a date, not a prom-posal.”

“I know that,” Warren snaps.

Stronghold blinks, and something seems to click in his head. His expression goes slightly amused and, even worse, sympathetic. “You’re nervous.”

“I am not,” Warren says, but it sounds like a lie even to his own ears. “I’m just waiting for the right moment.”

“Okay, well.” Stronghold blows out a breath and puts his hands on his hips. “Any chance the right moment might be, like, today? Around now-ish?”

Warren narrows his eyes. “Why?”

“Because Magenta texted me five minutes ago that Andrew Chen is standing next to our bus, waiting for Layla.”

Warren’s heart lurches. “You should have led with that, Christ.” Guess he’s doing this now. Is he really doing this now? He has to, so he is. Warren slams his locker and swings his bag over his shoulder. “Where is Layla?”

“Magenta said she stayed after class to talk to Mr. Boy about—oh, okay, then. Bye! Good luck!” Stronghold calls after Warren’s retreating figure as he strides off down the hall.

Warren is so preoccupied with figuring out what he’s going to say to Layla when he finds her that he nearly runs into her as she exits Mr. Boy’s classroom.

“Warren,” she says, blinking up at him in surprise. “Hi.”

Warren, who suddenly feels like he’s stepped on stage with no lines prepared, takes a second to remember how to breathe before he gets out a “Hi.”

Layla stares up at him expectantly. Right. He’s supposed to say more words.

“I wanted to talk to you about something.”

A pucker forms between Layla’s eyebrows. “Sure. I actually wanted to talk to you, too.”

Warren clenches the tickets between sweat-damp fingers in his pocket. “Okay. Do you want to…” He jabs a thumb over his shoulder at the mostly empty hallway.

“Okay.”

Layla follows him out into the hall, and they stand in semi-awkward silence until Warren says, “You first.”

“All right.” Layla tucks her hair behind her ears. She already looks embarrassed. Not good. “So, I might be way off base here, but I get the feeling you’ve been working yourself up to asking me to Winter Formal?” Her voice lilts up like a question, but she must find all the confirmation she needs in Warren’s expression, because she immediately continues, “and I just wanted to make it clear that you don’t have to.”

When Warren opens his mouth, “Oh” is all that comes out.

“Yeah.” Layla hooks her thumbs through the straps of her backpack. “I know school dances aren’t really your thing—and they’re not exactly mine, either. So I didn’t want you to think homecoming set some sort of precedent, that you have to ask—”

“I wanted to ask you,” Warren says, finally unsticking his throat.

It’s Layla’s turn for surprised silence. It takes a full two seconds for her to get out, “You did?”

“Yeah, but—not to the dance. Here.” Warren pulls the tickets out of his pocket. His thumb has smudged the ink of the top ticket, so he hands the bottom one to Layla. “Town hall is holding a fundraiser gala next Saturday to raise money to build a park on an empty lot in my neighborhood.”

Layla takes the ticket in both hands and stares down at it.

“There’s going to be food and music and dancing,” Warren says, heart rate accelerating. “I think they’re going to auction off dedications for benches and flower beds and stuff. There will probably be a couple boring speeches by some government officials, but.” He shoves his hands in his pockets and shrugs. “I dunno. It sounded like it could be fun.”

Layla still hasn’t said anything, and Warren’s heart is throwing a fit in his ribcage, so he adds, “It’s the night of Winter Formal, though. So if you wanted to go to the dance with someone else and hang out with your friends, I totally—”

“No,” Layla says, looking up at him with bright eyes and a wide smile. “I’d love to go.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes.”

“Okay,” Warren says, too overcome by the cold flood of relief pooling in his gut to say anything more substantive than, “Cool.”

Layla carefully slots her gala ticket into the front pocket of her backpack. “Took you long enough,” she says, angling a teasing smile at Warren. “I couldn’t take another week of you opening your mouth like you were going to ask me something and then not saying anything.”

“Thank Stronghold,” Warren says, wondering what his life has come to, that those words just came out of his mouth. Must be the generosity of giddy relief.

Layla’s nose scrunches up in tickled confusion. “Why?”

“He warned me that Chen was gonna ask you to the dance this afternoon,” Warren says. “Sort of lit a fire under my ass.”

“But Andrew—” Layla breaks off with a laugh and shakes her head. “Will.”

“What?”

Layla takes Warren’s hand and starts walking them down the hall. “Andrew Chen’s been sick with the flu all week,” she says. “He’s not even here today.”

Warren’s mouth hangs open for a few seconds. “Stronghold.”

Layla laughs again and swipes her thumb across the back of Warren’s hand, and a great, soft warmth blooms in Warren’s chest.

Well. If he has to be indebted to Will Stronghold for something, this is as good a favor as Warren could have asked for.

Misconception No. 5: Warren Peace is not a touchy-feely person.

Warren himself would have sworn by this one, until a month ago. He has never, in all his life, considered himself a cuddly person. By any stretch.

It turns out that in order to identify as a cuddly person, you need someone to cuddle. Or, more specifically, someone you have permission to cuddle.

Dating Layla Williams finally gives Warren that permission.

He expected it to be harder, weirder, more awkward to transition from being someone who looks at Layla and thinks I want to put my arm around you, to being a person who can actually reach behind her back and curl his fingers over her hip bone.

It’s not hard at all. The first time Layla kisses Warren, up on her toes with her hands fisted in the lapels of his suit, in the dark of her front porch after the fundraiser gala, there’s a shift. A gravitational kick that sends them into closer orbit around one another, so that now it’s routine for Warren to wrap Layla in his jacket and tuck her into his side as they walk. Steal her hand to press her knuckles to his lips. Knock his knee gently against hers under their picnic table.

“Who knew Warren Peace was such a cuddle bug,” Magenta says, tipped back in a papasan chair to peer at Warren upside-down.

Warren is sitting on the shag carpet of Stronghold’s basement with his back against the couch to let Layla play with his hair while they talk over a movie. She’s just tied off an elaborate braid, so now his cheek is resting against her knee while she twirls the fine hairs at the nape of his neck around her fingers.

“Call me ‘cuddle bug’ ever again and I’ll roast you like a marshmallow,” Warren says, too sleepy and comfortable to put any real heat behind the threat.

Magenta, true to form, doesn’t so much as blink. “Hate to break it to you, but an elegant Dutch braid kind of undermines your whole tough-guy act.”

Warren simply shrugs. It’s an occupational hazard of dating Layla, spending a lot more time around her—their?—friends outside school. Warren resisted at first, but at this point, it’s more exhausting to continue holding them all at arm’s length than to let them have the run of his life.

“Layla, in general, kind of undermines his whole tough-guy act,” Zach says. “You know he wrote her a poem for Valentine’s day.”

“Read her a poem,” Warren says. What else was he supposed to do? He couldn’t very well get Layla clipped flowers.

“That’s still sappy as hell, dude,” Ethan says.

“It was very sweet,” Layla says, leaning forward to plant a kiss on Warren’s forehead.

Warren unsuccessfully tries to bite back a smile.

“He’s preening so hard right now, oh my god,” Magenta says.

“Shut up.”

“Don’t tease him, or he won’t come back,” Layla says, but Warren hears the smile in her voice.

“Please. He’d go anywhere you go,” Magenta says, and as Layla’s fingertip traces the shell of Warren’s ear gently, always gently, Warren doesn’t even attempt to contradict her.

+1 Misconception: Layla Williams is a just happy, go-lucky hippy chick.

Outside Layla’s bedroom window, everything green is tucked under snow and the weight of waiting for spring. On the other side of the world, everything is burning.

Record-setting wildfires have raked Australia for weeks. Neither Layla nor her mom can directly feel what’s happening to the outback. But Layla knows her mom must sense it like she does, every time a singed koala or graveyard of splinterlike tree trunks appears on the news: a gnawing sensation that something on the far edges of her mind is vanishing into smoke.

The worst part is knowing there’s nothing Layla can do. Even if she had the means to get to Australia, there’s no way to salvage the aftermath of a forest fire. Layla wields incredible power over living organisms. But it’s like conducting an orchestra. Not much to be done if the entire ensemble is already dead when she takes the stage.

Actually, the real worst part is knowing that the inferno currently eating up Australia isn’t an outlier. The warming world is parching landscapes and revving up hurricanes, and every weather-related threat to her beloved biosphere is only going to get much, much worse. It makes Layla feel horribly, inescapably small.

To avoid sitting around the house and chewing her nails down, Layla takes on more volunteer shifts at the animal shelter. Helps Magenta with outreach for the Shapeshifting Students Association. Spends a couple Saturdays with the local river cleanup volunteer crew. Cooks dinner on the nights her mom is actually home. Overstudies for an exam in Hero Support.

It’s all a good distraction, but at the price of exhaustion. Layla feels emotionally sore. Like she’s been doing the psychological equivalent of running springs.

Case in point: “Layla?”

Layla blinks herself out of her middle-space-stare at the picnic table. “Hmm?”

Warren frowns. “I said, are you coming to the Lantern tonight?”

“Oh, no,” Layla says, and winces her apology. “Will’s coming over to study for Hero Support.”

“Why? You’re gonna ace that thing.”

“I promised Will I’d help him review.”

Warren’s frown deepens.

“What?”

“You should take a break,” he says.

Layla hides a yawn behind one hand and waves the other dismissively. “I’m fine.”

Warren gives her a flat look. Most of his expressions are pretty flat, but Layla has gotten good at reading the subtleties. This one says, quit your bullshit.

“What?” she says.

“You—” Warren spends a couple seconds struggling to find the right words. “Your hair is in a ponytail.”

Layla replays that in her overtired mind, wondering whether she heard correctly. “Excuse me?”

“No sparkly clip things. No scrunchies. You didn’t even do the thing where you wrap a little piece of hair around the elastic to hide it,” Warren says, as though that clarifies anything. When Layla’s expression makes clear that it does not, Warren sighs. “Babe. You’re exhausted.”

“Am not,” Layla says, and feels totally betrayed by her own body when the words are stretched out by a yawn. “Coincidence,” she says, in response to Warren’s unimpressed eyebrow-raise.

“Layla.”

“It’s fine,” she insists.

“Take a break,” Warren says, more insistently. “Stronghold can survive cramming for one exam on his own. Let baby bird learn to fly.”

“He’ll drop like a rock,” Layla says mournfully.

“Probably,” Warren says. “But you don’t have to be there for everyone all the time.”

Layla studies her bitten nails. “It makes me feel better.”

Warren’s ever-warm hands take hold of Layla’s, making her look up. But whatever he has in mind to say is interrupted by the bell. Warren gives her fingers a brief squeeze before releasing them, so that they can collect their things.

“Tell Stronghold to find himself another tutor so you can have a night off,” Warren says, hooking an arm over Layla’s shoulders as they head for the front doors. “Please.”

Layla does not. Which is why, when she says “come in” to the soft knock on her bedroom door at eight o’clock, she expects Will. Instead, she gets Warren, hovering on the threshold with his usual carefully concealed uncertainty, like he’s a vampire who has to wait to be invited in.

“What are you doing here?” Layla says, sliding off her bed. “I thought you had work.”

“Got someone to cover my shift,” Warren says. He’s holding what looks like a magazine. “This was more important.”

“What is… this?” Layla says. “You know Will’s going to be here any minute.”

“No, he’s not,” Warren says. “He’s at Magenta’s”

Layla narrows her eyes. “What did you do?”

“Told him to go find another study partner,” Warren says. “Since you’re already prepared.”

Layla crosses her arms and sinks her weight into one hip. “I told you, I want to help.”

Warren adjusts his grip on the magazine. Layla hears the paper stick to the sweat on his fingertips, but his determined expression doesn’t change. “Then help me.”

Layla blinks. “With what?”

Warren holds up what turns out to be a gardening catalog. “I want to get my mom a couple of indoor plants for her birthday,” he says. “Something pretty but doesn’t require a lot of attention, because she’s gone so much. I thought maybe you could help.”

Layla stares at him. “I love shopping for potted plants,” she says slowly.

Warren exhales a short laugh. “Uh, yeah, I know. And you are a good teacher, so.”

He rolls the catalog up between his hands and looks at Layla with guarded hope that shoots a bolt of affection like heat lightning straight through her stomach. She needs to sit down.

“Come in, then,” she says, and ushers him through the door. While Warren is taking off his shoes, “Just so we’re clear, you are not going to make a habit of rearranging my schedule behind my back.”

Warren stands up straight, dead serious. “Got it.”

Layla indulges a smile and leans up to kiss him. “I’ll forgive you this time, though.”

They sit on Layla’s bed, flipping through Warren’s catalog, as well as a stack of magazines that Layla has pulled out from under her desk. Warren loops his arms around her waist and hooks his chin over her shoulder, listening intently while she explains the care and keeping of flowers. It’s comfortable and easy and requires just enough idle attention to avoid falling into a slump. Layla could do this forever, she thinks.

Not an hour later, Layla is lying with her chin propped on her hands, which are folded over Warren’s chest, struggling to keep up conversation through yawns of increasing frequency.

“You can go to bed, you know,” Warren says, dryly amused, and tucks a strand of hair that has fallen out of Layla’s loose ponytail behind her ear.

“I might fall asleep right here on top of you, if you keep talking about it,” Layla says, closing her eyes and pillowing her cheek on her hands.

She feels, rather than hears Warren’s hitched inhale, and suddenly feels more acutely awake than she has all week.

Three seconds pass before Warren murmurs, “You can. If you want.”

Layla very carefully keeps her body relaxed and does not open her eyes to avoid breaking the fragile moment. “Mmm-kay,” she says, and adjusts to find a slightly more comfortable position. “Goodnight.”

“Night,” Warren says, one hand splayed between her shoulder blades, his other thumb smoothing the hair back at her temple.

Layla is so keenly aware of every point of contact that she thinks she might stay awake after all. But within minutes, the soft touch pulls her down into sleep.

#layla williams #warren peace #sky high #my 11-year-old self would be proud #first het fic ever #but i caught feelings writing this and guess now i ship ForestFire #i think it got angstier than your original adorable prompt intended but #what else is new #apologies for the climate change existential crisis that popped up at the end there #i might have been projecting

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uninspired--poet · 4 years

Link

Kara almost always felt relieved after a successful detail. Almost always.

She wasn’t sure why this time felt different as she adjusted the lapels of her suit and followed Lena through the heavy maroon curtains towards the back exit of the venue.

Lena’s words still rang in her mind. Fierce, stalwart words regarding the protection of Alien privacy and rights in the workplace. The bill she’d proposed months ago was a big deal. It had echoed throughout the country and throughout the world. It was groundbreaking.

It was dangerous.

Maybe that’s why Kara was listening even harder than she usually did. Maybe that’s why the hairs on her arms were lifting and catching against her stiff dress shirt beneath her jacket as she moved closer to Lena when they finally hit the back door that led to the blocked-off street and to safety from the throng of people who had, effectively, made this side of town more of a celebration than a functioning city.

The shouting and commotion had Kara struggling to focus on any one sound. On any one possible threat. That, combined with the rest of her detail in the comm in one of her ears had her opening herself up so much that she feared she might lose her hearing, entirely.

“All clear for Halcyon. Transport ready.”

Kara let out a little sigh of relief as she rested a hand against Lena’s back and guided her out from under the awning they’d been waiting in and towards the convoy of blacked-out cars that were waiting. One to carry Lena - three to distract.

Kara knew just which one they were headed for.

“Let’s go, Lena,” She urged near Lena’s ear.

They’d made it halfway to the car when a sudden commotion near the guard rails drew Kara’s attention away.

Her brow furrowed when she saw one of her agents struggling with someone who had broken through and only made it a few feet into their perimeter before being stopped.

She gave Lena a gentle push to keep her heading for the car as she stood between the would-be approacher and the car Lena was headed for just in case. Another agent took her place at Lena’s side in an easy, practiced move - escorting Lena the rest of the way while Kara continued assuring the situation was being handled.

That’s when it hit her. A strange, quiet sound. Something soft and indiscernible beneath the raucous atmosphere that had followed the briefing. Continuous. Rhythmic.

Kara held her breath and lowered her eyes to the ground as she honed in on the noise coming from somewhere very nearby.

Very nearby.

A timer.

“Lena!”

In her sudden flood of fear, Kara had forgotten any and all code words. Any and all protocol regarding Lena’s name.

She turned just as the timer ticked one last time, and everything around her seemed to slow to a stop as Lena turned her head sharply in Kara’s direction, her eyes wide and full of fear.

“Down! Get her-” The other agent didn’t even have time to respond to Kara’s order, and Kara knew it.

So, when the blast hit, Lena found herself suddenly and inexplicably covered by the weight of Kara’s body pressing her own down into the pavement. Kara, who had been so far away just a moment ago.

Kara, whose body jerked hard down into her own when the first shockwave washed over them.

She made the most terrible noise against Lena’s still-ringing ears.

A strangled scream mixed with a grunt of pain as the air around them filled quickly and utterly with thick, green, acrid smoke.

Kara was dazed at first.

She wasn’t used to feeling pain. Oh, she’d trained for it, sure. She’d even been injured a time or two by some clever foes.

But this.

Breathing in thick gulps of the only thing that could really hurt her. Feeling it burn into her flesh through the shrapnel that had torn through her suit jacket.

Kryptonite.

What else? Kara didn’t know. She only knew that she had to move.

So she did. She dragged Lena forward underneath herself and used her vision to look through the smoke no one else could see through to find the body of the agent who’d been nearest to Lena.

She didn’t have time to consider him. She only had time to reach into his jacket pocket with a violently trembling hand to pull out a collapsible mask most agents kept inside their jacket. A mask that Kara didn’t need. Usually.

She pressed it over Lena’s face. “Hold this tight.”

Lena did exactly as she was told, and with every ounce of strength she still had in her - Kara lifted her from the ground and rushed for the waiting, open door of the car.

Lena suffered quite a few more bruises when Kara loaded her into the car and landed on top of her with much less purpose than she had before, and as soon as she’d shut the door, she managed to groan into the comm in her ear.

“Halcyon secure. Move.”

It had all happened so fast. Yet it seemed to Lena like it had taken an eternity for the car to start moving. For the filtration systems to kick in and the tears in her irritated eyes to begin to clear.

She was still a little out of it when she finally turned her head towards Kara to find her...utterly still.

“Kara?”

Lena’s voice was trembling. The fear that had already gripped her compounded tenfold, then.

She slid her arms around Kara’s back in an attempt to lift them and gasped sharply when she felt the warm, wet heat of blood seeping through the tattered back of Kara’s jacket.

“Kara!”

Lena rolled her off of herself and Kara let out a shuddering groan when her back met the floor of the car.

“I’m sorry. Oh God, I’m sorry, Kara. Fuck. Fuck.” Lena was almost sobbing as she looked down at her hands to find them covered in angry, bright crimson.

“What do I do?” Lena asked in an urgent whisper as she touched everywhere she could reach on Kara.

“What they tell you to do,” Kara managed to whisper, managing to open her eyes just enough to see Lena’s face. Her scuffed cheek. The tears streaking through the dust on her skin. “I’m so sorry.”

“Kara, don’t say that,” Lena gasped as she reached for Kara’s face and cradled it in her hands. Perhaps for the first time, she noticed faint green, sickly lines where the capillaries ran beneath her skin. “Kara, please.”

Kara’s eyes slipped shut then and Lena looked around frantically as she pulled Kara’s head into her lap.

“Help!” Lena’s voice was hoarse as the car just kept speeding along as it had been. No regard for Kara or for the agent probably still lying on the ground at the venue. “Please!”

Lena was screaming, now. Angrily. Bitterly, as she lifted a hand to bang on the bullet-proof partition between her in the driver.

No response.

They were just driving.

“Fuck you!” Lena shouted at the driver as she began rocking for lack of anything else to do. “Fuck you!”

Lena had shouted and cried herself into a trembling, half-aware mess by the time they were pulling into an underground garage at the White House she’d forgotten the existence of.

She only loosely recognized a few faces when the door was opened and Kara was pulled away from her. She struggled, then. She fought weakly against those that were trying to take her away.

“Lena, please,”

Her bleary eyes darted up to land on Alex, then. Alex, who looked about as pale as a sheet.

“Let me help her.”

Lena nodded weakly and finally released her grip on Kara’s jacket.

She watched her for as long as she could while other agents and medical staff led her away.

Kara looked so small being put on the stretcher they’d brought out. She looked small, at least, until Lena lost consciousness entirely. Until the combination of shock, grief, and what was probably a rather impressive concussion finally got the better of her.

When she woke, it would be in her own bed with a fresh bandage on the scrape on her face. Superficial, the nurse looking after her reassured her. Wouldn’t even scar.

Lena didn’t care. God, she didn’t give a fuck about scars right then.

All she cared about was getting to Kara.

Yet, when she tried to get up - the nurse placed a gentle hand on her shoulder just when her head began to spin and she urged her back down.

“You need to rest, Ma’am,”

“No,” Lena argued as she nudged the offending hand away and moved to the edge of the bed. “No, where is Agent Danvers? I need to see Agent Danvers.”

“I don’t know, Ma’am. My only concern right now is your well-being,” The nurse explained in a tone that was both gentle and grating all at once.

“Well then I need you to check for me or I’m going to get out of this bed and look until I pass out and there’s nothing you can do about it. Understand?” Lena had never been harsh with her staff. Ever. She treated them like gold, and she had a wonderful reputation around the White House. Maybe that’s why the nurse looked at her with such understanding and sympathy even after the way she’d just been spoken to.

“Will you rest if I do that?” She asked with a furrow between her brows as Lena looked at her sharply for a moment before laying back down.

“Yes,” She lied, rather convincingly.

The nurse sighed and fixed her pillows from where she’d messed them up in her graceless attempt at getting up, and made her way towards the door.

Lena was out of bed and finding her footing not even a minute after the nurse was out of sight.

It was night time. That much she knew. So it’d been at least a couple of hours since the attack. Or whatever it’d been. The nurse would’ve known, right? If Kara hadn’t…

No. Kara made it. She had to have made it.

Even the thought of the alternative had Lena throwing her robe over her shoulders and dashing down the halls quickly, much to the alarm of the various agents posted here and there. Heightened security.

Lena should’ve known.

Yet, she was a veritable force as she stalked towards the medical wing. Unrelenting. Unapologetic.

Unfortunately, Lena soon found out what happens when an unstoppable force meets an immovable object.

That immovable object just happened to be Alex - catching her as she swayed on her feet after a rather rough impact that had Lena grunting and Alex sighing heavily.

“You should be in bed. The entire floor is in a panic trying to figure out how to control this situation, and you aren’t making it any better.”

Lena almost apologized when she saw the look of exhaustion on Alex’s face. The lines of worry etched by her eyes and in her forehead.

“Nobody will tell me how Kara is,” She said instead, her voice a whisper - her eyes pleading. “Nobody will tell me what’s going on.”

Alex looked at Lena closely for a moment as she gripped her upper arms firmly to keep her still and to keep her on her feet.

“I’m sure someone was going to brief you, Lena. Had you just stayed in bed like I advised the medical team to have you do. I wasn’t looking forward to having to fire someone today on top of everything else, but-”

“Don’t fire anyone, Alex,” Lena breathed as she slowly shrugged out of Alex’s grip. “I tricked her into leaving so I could find out what was going on, myself.”

“How presidential of you,” Alex spat out, clearly frustrated. Clearly hurting.

But Lena looked so wounded that Alex regretted what she’d said as soon as it left her lips.

“I’m sorry,” Alex sighed, and Lena nodded faintly. “I know you’re worried. I know you’re confused. I just...we don’t need to have this conversation in the hallway.”

Alex glanced over Lena’s shoulder at a swiftly approaching agent, and she held a hand up to stop him.

“I need to look her over. I’ll bring her back to her rooms when I’m done,” Alex said simply, and he stopped in his tracks. Being the Presidential Doctor had its perks, after all. “Let the rest of the detail know.”

“Sure, Doc. I, uh...I think she might’ve bumped her head a little harder than we thought. You might wanna take a look at it.”

“I’ll be sure to,” Alex offered with a little half-smile, and the agent meandered for a while longer.

Alex didn’t offer him any information, despite the fact that she knew everyone who worked under Kara was really having a time. It wasn’t her call. None of this was her call, really. But she couldn’t leave Lena out in the cold for much longer. She didn’t have it in her.

Lena followed Alex down the hall. Then, down a corridor. That’s when they reached passageways even Lena wasn’t familiar with. And then rooms beyond that that were as out of place in the White House as anything Lena could ever have imagined.

When yet another automated door slid shut behind them, Alex finally turned to face her, and she looked as lost as she was worried now.

“Alex...where are we?”

“That’s not important,” Alex responded quietly, finally letting her mask fall away. The circles under her eyes looked darker under the fluorescent lights that were casting their steady glow down over them. “What’s important is the fact that Kara is in the next room, and that she’s...fighting.”

“Fighting?” Lena asked as she took a step closer to Alex. She didn’t care about the fact that her voice broke on the word.

“Yes,” Alex responded with a sigh. “She’s fighting as hard as she can. We’ve managed to flush a great deal of Kryptonite from her system. She’s got every sun lamp we have on her. And she’s fighting.”

“That’s what was in the bomb?” Lena asked breathlessly, her mind still working a million miles a minute trying to keep up. “Kryptonite?”

Alex nodded faintly. It was more of a surrender than a nod, all things told.

“She’s not human,” Lena whispered as her face fell and her eyes widened. The shock washed over her so fast and so hard that it took her breath away for a moment. “She’s Kyryptonian.”

“Yeah,” Alex whispered as she looked away, too. “That’s why she does what she does. Why she is what she is. Why she’s so good at it.”

“That explains a lot,” Lena whispered, trying her best to speak coherently past the soreness in her throat. “Please let me see her. Please.”

“Okay,” Alex agreed more easily than Lena had expected, and Lena shuffled behind her into yet another secret room. She stopped dead in her tracks when she saw Kara laying there, half-covered beneath a sheet - surrounded by so many lamps it was almost blinding at first.

But even if those lights had blinded her - even if they’d burned the very skin off her bones - Lena still would’ve jogged to side of her bed and reached quickly for her hand.

“I don’t know if she can hear you,” Alex explained quietly as she glanced at a few monitors quickly and then looked back down at Kara. “She’s been stable for the past hour or so. That’s a good sign.”

Lena nodded weakly, and cleared her throat as tears danced in her eyes without falling.

“She’s trying,” Alex continued, her voice a little softer as she reached across Kara’s bed to give Lena’s shoulder a gentle squeeze.

“Yeah,” Lena gasped with a weak smile, and Alex nodded.

“I’ll give you a few, yeah?”

Lena nodded again. Words were quickly becoming a thing she was no longer capable of.

The moment she heard the door slide shut behind her, the first sob broke past her throat. Followed by an uncontrollable bout of them as she leaned down against Kara’s chest and buried her face against it for a while. At least hearing her heartbeat was a bit of a comfort. As much of one as she was able to find, right then.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Lena finally asked in a broken whimper. “Why? I trusted you, Kara.”

Kara didn’t respond, of course. She couldn’t. No matter how hard Lena held her hand. No matter how bitterly she cried.

Until, finally, she cried herself out and slowly pushed herself away from Kara’s chest to find the wet spot her tears had left on her hospital gown.

After a while, she reached out and cradled Kara’s cheek. It was almost alarmingly warm.

“I need you,” Lena said - her voice raw and broken. “Please. Please, come back to me. I...I love you.”

Lena imagined it would be like the movies. That she would confess her love and Kara’s eyes would flutter open and the corners of her lips would turn up in that precious, warm smile of hers.

But this wasn’t a movie. And the only response she got was the steady beeping of the various monitors surrounding them.

The door slid open behind her, and she turned to find Alex approaching her slowly.

“You really should be resting,” Alex said quietly. “I’m not going anywhere until she wakes up, don’t worry. You’ll be the first to know. But you can’t stay down here with us. You know that. You kicked an anthill running from your room earlier.”

“Yeah. And you saved my ass,” Lena finished for her with a quiet sigh. “I’ll go. But Alex, please...I...please fix her.”

Alex nodded. “I’m trying. We’re trying. Trust me.”

“I do,” Lena glanced one more time at Kara, and then slowly let go of her hand so she could follow Alex out of the room. It felt like she was leaving everything she had left in her behind. Including what little strength she’d somehow found to make it here.

Thankfully, the presence of everyone walking past them had her feeling a little steadier. Mostly because she didn’t have a choice. She was still the president. Even if she would’ve thrown it all away without a second thought right now if it meant Kara would just be okay, again.

So, she returned to bed. She sucked it up and apologized to the nurse who’d been assigned to sit with her. A nurse who got a glare from Alex, but nothing more serious than that.

“I’m going to give you something to help you relax,” Alex said as she cut her eyes in the direction of the nurse. “Because you need to get some sleep.”

“Another nurse will be by shortly,” Alex continued as Lena removed her robe and climbed stiffly back into bed. She was really starting to feel all those bruises, now, and Alex noticed her wince despite how she tried to hide it. “She’ll have something for the pain, too.”

“I’ll make sure she stays put this time,” The attending nurse said as Alex notated a few things on Lena’s chart before slipping her little tablet back into the front pocket of her coat.

“I sure hope so,” Alex responded before turning her back on both of them and leaving rather quickly. No doubt in a hurry to get back to her sister.

Lena didn’t blame her.

She’d be right there with her if she could be.

There were just too many things in her way.

Not the least of which were the pounding in her head and the throbbing ache that had her curling into herself in bed and the nurse doing some very undesired worrying over her.

Lena didn’t want that. She didn’t want the pills that came soon thereafter. She didn’t want sleep to take her the way it did even sooner after that.

All she wanted was Kara.

#supercorp #wlw fanfiction #president au #bodyguard au #lena luthor #kara danvers

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