#ill keep all the dicks on ao3 i promise
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ROTTEN LUCK !
ft. leon s. kennedy x fem!reader
tags. smut, kidnapping, leon is like mentally gone icl, references to past assault and trauma, non-con, manipulation, suicidal thoughts/reference to an attempt, general leon self destructive behaviour, physical abuse, power dynamics, throatfucking, choking, breath play, somno, 1 instance of drugging, unmentioned age gap, anal, he puts duct tape on your pussy ok just once promise it’s not bad, religious references, 1 mention of vomit and piss not in a sexual way, slight misogyny, panic attack
tumblr has started to remove fics that use tw non-con, tw incest and any nsfw tags in general. for this reason, as i’d like my fic to appear in the tags so i can have the same reach as other authors, please understand that this fic contains dark content under the cut. reading this comes at your own risk.
anyway, please ignore typos :3 rbs and feedback is very appreciated :3 my medical knowledge sucks, so keep in mind that all of this is off LMFAO crossposted to ao3 (user clitkiss)
two
Lucky. Leon hates that word. He wasn’t lucky to get out of Raccoon City, he was just barely capable, you have to be unlucky to get into that situation in the first place. You’re a lucky guy, Redfield had told him once, Chris not Claire. Claire isn’t daft. And Leon wonders what is so lucky about him. He’s forty-six and all he’s got is his trusty Matilda, his mother’s old Bible, and a failing liver. His luck is preordained by God and it’s a total sham.
Leon Kennedy’s the one who showed up to drill sessions smelling like sweat and cock. Kennedy’s the one that rolls over onto his front and takes it like a good doggy. Kennedy’s green behind the ears, pretty in the face, and that don’t fare well in a boot camp full of men twice his size. Kennedy’s the one brushing shoulders with the President, got the USA’s most prized dick in his mouth and everyone knows that he wouldn’t dare bite down. Golden boy Leon fucking Scott Kennedy would just go ahead and use his tongue to clean up Graham’s ballsack. And you’re calling that lucky? Bullshit.
The DSO’s modus operandi is strikingly similar to that of the BSAA. He is but a cog in a well oiled machine. There’s one difference, not a dog tag to his name. If he dies, then he’ll die nameless, and he’ll be cremated by something nuclear, and it’ll all be for nothing. Ain’t that just the luckiest thing you’ve ever heard?
He has tried to kill himself once or twice or thrice. He lost count after the fifth. The gun jammed once, a bad joke. Left Matilda rendered useless. Was meant to be him, not her. And if Leon’s being honest, every day is an avid attempt, as in the drinking and praying his liver gives out. Once he managed to get halfway there. Doesn’t remember a lot. Just blood. Lots of blood. Why couldn’t you be quiet about your grief, Leon? Claire’s expression had asked, how I am, how Chris is, how Jill is.
‘Cause he couldn’t. He had to go ahead and splatter his grief all over the linoleum floor. Maybe then someone would find him, and they’d mourn him, and they’d feel sorry for him ‘cause he’d pitied himself enough. Leon told her a joke, yapping away like one of those butterscotch lapdogs. Claire said that in South Korea you’re allowed to snip a dog's vocal cords to stop them from barking. Lucky I’m not in South Korea then. She handed him an orange prescription bottle with his name scrawled on it, and that was that. They didn’t speak for a few months.
Once upon a time Sherry needed him, now he needs her more. Needs her to laugh at his jokes, she’s the only one that does. And he needs her to tell him, I love you, Leon. She’s the only one that says that. No one puts up with him like Sherry does. She puts up with him in the way most women do their fathers. Love their dads unconditionally and nothing can ever fix that. Terrible illness that is. So, yeah, Leon Scott Kennedy is far from lucky. Lonely? Oh, for sure. God. He’s so lonely he feels sorry for himself. That’s one thing Leon has always been good at though. Lending himself a shoulder ‘cause no one else will.
His fingers brush yours in the record store. The hairs on the back of his neck stand. Jesus. Is it getting that bad? Leon’s been without a fuck for a few months and he’s already itching. That’s a new low. When Leon looks up to catch sight of who made his dick swell with their fingertips, he catches your eye briefly. A mousy little thing. Easily spooked it seems by the nervous smile you give him.
You’re on the phone, I don’t know what he likes anymore, dad, yeah—I’m trying to find it—Yes, I know who sang Sex and Candy, dad, Kurt Cobain right? Is that the one he likes? Dumbass. No, I’m not wrong, could you put mom on the phone—Hi mom, yes, I know he’s my brother, mom—Ever since he turned fifteen he stopped talking to me properly—I don’t know what she thinks, mom—
A mommy, daddy, a brother, a sister too he assumes. You’re what they call lucky. Nasty undertone you’re using with your parents. If Leon’s mom was still around he’d talk to her so sweet. She’d tell him to pray and Leon wouldn’t resist. Alright, Ma, Ave Maria, gratia plena, Dominus Tecum— then his voice would trail off, and he’d pretend to mouth the rest of the hymn ‘cause he remembers fuck all.
He wants to knock you around. Shake you till your brains scramble. Wants you to flinch even when he’s being nice. Leon’s nostrils flare when you raise your voice in the slightest, even if it’s playful, it’s plain rude. How dare you? He can’t even begin to fathom how incredibly lucky you are. The thought crosses Leon’s mind once, twice, thrice. Just how suicide did that day back in September. If you can kidnap the President’s daughter from her bustling college campus, throw her over your shoulder like salt, why can’t you kidnap Miss Nobody from a street corner in D.C?
Your figure is distinguished by a single, flickering street lamp. He sees your shadow. Recognises the silhouette by the shapely legs and how your belted coat flares out to create a dramatic hourglass, Leon’s got a good eye for detail. Oh, it’s kinda sexy watching you in the spotlight, like a makeshift cabaret show, go on babe, bust out the flapper dress, he knows his stuff, he read Gatsby back in high school. He listens out for the tap of your heeled boots, click-clack, click-clack, there you are, you don’t even know what’s about to happen, do you? And it really is that easy. Just like throwin’ salt over your shoulder.
Temazepam, loprazolam, lormetazepam, diazepam, nitrazepam. Some melatonin too. Magnesium’s supposed to help with insomnia. How’s he supposed to know what your body reacts to best? Leon’s not your fuckin’ GP. Chloroform does the trick for everyone. Should’ve invited you out for drinks and roofied you instead.
Leon had gone for an old-fashioned method, listen, he was desperate. He doesn’t usually resort to such bruteish tactics unlike the older Redfield, not that Chris would use a morsel of his strength to harm a lady, but it had to be done. Yes, he choked you out. No, he’s not proud of it. He’s actually pretty disappointed in his lack of preparation. Oh, cut yourself some slack, Kennedy, it’s your first time kidnapping someone, and it was a heat of the moment type thing. To Leon’s dismay, that doesn’t last long, duh, he should know better.
While you regain sluggish consciousness on his couch, Leon’s tearing through his kitchen cabinets for anything to settle you down. Ah. That’s right. Ketamine. Ain’t it horse tranquilliser? What’s that doing here? Honestly, he’s got to stop raiding the infirmary for all they’ve got. A high enough dosage will knock you out for sure. If it kills you, then so be it. Beer for guys, wine for the ladies, and Ketamine for random sluts he picks up on street corners.
You’re blinking to clear your hazy vision, feeling around your crushed windpipe to assess the damage, he leans over you like a nurse from hell. The needle breaks your skin easily, so tender, before you have the chance to kick up a fuss, your eyelids turn to lead and close like a toy babydoll’s do when you lean them back.
Fifteen to twenty minutes, google says. Leon gets down to business, strips you of your clothing, takes you to his room, throws you on the king-sized bed that’s warmed only by him. He kept your panties on. They’re light blue and sensible briefs. A buzzer rings out in his head, bzzzt, boring. A million bitches in D.C. and he picked out the most vanilla one. Just his Kennedy luck ain’t it.
One minute. Leon presses his nose to the fabric of your panties, sniffs like a pig does in its trough, isn’t that just the sweetest smell? Fresh cunt. He licks up the print of your pussy, tongue landing on the hardness of your clit.
Five minutes. With your panties soaked with Leon’s spit, he decides to move ‘em to the side, and he groans in delight when he parts your cushioned lips to find that you’re stickier than toffee pudding, drooly cunt reactive to the pads of his fingers, to the tip of his tongue. He pushes back the hood of your bud, gives it a kiss, then another.
Ten minutes. He’s opened you up, gaped you around three thick fingers, Jesus, you’re so tight. It’s like your cunt’s vacuum sealed. Leon’s fingers prod at the squishy opening of your cervix, his thumb circles your clit, presses down like a button and he’s rewarded with another gush of slick. Beer on tap.
You rouse from your forced slumber at fourteen minutes. Huh. He’ll have to up the dosage next time. “Hi there, sleepin’ beauty.” Leon says in a rather cloying voice, amping up the sweetness when in reality he is less than fond of you. The lucky girl. He strokes your head soothingly, hovers over you to keep you in place. The panic sets in almost immediately, flailing limbs, asinine attempts at sentences that crawl up your throat and spill over. Who are you, get off me, get off me, please. What did I do? I’m sorry, please, let me go, let me go, please, I’ll do anything. Albeit your words are slurred, Leon chooses not to hear you.
“Aintcha just the sweetest thing?” He cups your cheeks, gaze so gentle it’s disarming. “I opened you up, didn’t wanna break ya, just wanted you to wake up before we got it on, I’m a real gentleman, you see.” Before he rapes you, he makes sure to ask: you got a rubber by any chance, sweetheart? Oh, and you don’t like that, you really don’t. ‘Cause your face falls fast like a drop tower ride.
The chance to scream is lost on you when he shoves his fingers in your mouth, pushes them down your burning throat till you choke and drool in an unflattering manner. Your jaw is too lax to clamp down on him. Leon takes this opportunity to smear his leaky, fat tip over your folds, pushes past the barriers of resistance and slides into your pre-gaped cunt. Lucky bitch. Lucky fucking bitch. Getting yourself a piece of Leon S. Kennedy’s dick. He reserves that for only the finest ladies, aka any girl that has a nice set of tits and dark hair, greying roots are a new preference.
He’s fully sheathed inside of you, head rubbing painfully against your cervix. Bruising it from the look of discomfort on your face as you make stupid-sounding noises around his fingers. “Fuck, yeah, that hits the spot.” When’s the last time Leon had his way with a girl, wanton fucking, pulling hair, slapping— they all want it soft and sappy these days. And so did he up until a certain point. Up until he tried to kill himself maybe. Something must’ve flipped in his brain, now he’s overcome with the need to mess your pretty face up.
Leon’s forehead presses to your clammy one, your sweat is salty on his tongue when he kisses your cheek. Slightly sour scent, ugh, what’s he saying? Acting like he’s a fear-smelling B.O.W or some shit. Fuck off, Kennedy. His hips aim upwards when your body shifts due to the thrashing you’re doing, with each thrust he bottoms out with a wet squelch, rolls his hips into you at a force that knocks any chance of breath out of you.
“If you were a good girl,” Leon smiles, all teeth. They glint in the muddy darkness of his room, black-out curtains drawn so not even the moon gets to see what he’s doing to you, “then I’d be fuckin’ you real slow, real nice, rub that little clit till you came.” Your wrists are both cuffed within his grip, pinned over your head as he drives into you, as if his intention is to tear straight through you.
The heat in his gut uncoils, but he’s timed himself well enough, pulls out ‘cause god forbid he knocked you up. Knowing Leon’s luck he’d manage it. Then he puts his cock in your mouth, “I got some pliers out back.” He says in warning as he jerks the shaft and your lips hesitantly close around the tip when he gives you a mean look. Total lie by the way, no matter how abnormal Leon is he does not own a pair of tooth-pulling pliers. Shoots his load down your throat, you splutter and push at his abdomen to get him off.
He pulls out in his own time, lays beside you. All of his chakras are aligned. Apparently there’s seven, but Leon’s only got two. And they’re entirely dependent on whether he’s sucked and fucked till he’s thoroughly satisfied. By god he is. Benedicta tu in mulieribus, Et benedictus fructus ventris tui, Iesus. That’s the rest of it right. He remembers now. You might just be his saving grace, Lucky Girl. His very own Sancta Maria, Mater dei. Damn, you hear that, ma? Leon’s got it down to a T. Maybe some more pussy will get him singing out the rest of the prayer. He can get rid of that statuette on the mantle, swap it out with you.
He doesn't get a word out by the time you’re vomiting a vile mixture of acidic yellow and his seed down the front of your chest. Retching as you choke on the gift he’d given you.
Leon takes you to the bathroom, forces you into the shower cubicle as he sprays you down, not even waiting for the water to go warm. “Dry yourself off,” he gestures mildly to where there’s a few towels stored.
You don’t come back out of the bathroom for five minutes, then ten, then twenty. Don’t even answer when he knocks. Goddammit, Leon. Leave your kidnap victim alone in the room with all the razors, why don’t you? Fucking idiot. When he opens the door, you’re huddled in the corner by the toilet, dry heaving into the bowl and sitting in a puddle of your own piss. Stupid fucking baby. Is this what kids are like these days? When he was your age he made it out of Raccoon City alive, and no one made it out of there. No one lived to tell that story. And you’re here pissing your pants ‘cause he’s given you a nice, hard fucking? He pimp slaps you so hard your teeth clatter.
It takes two weeks for his Lucky Girl to be broken in. Not as long as he expected, so he’s pleased. And when Leon’s pleased, he’s nice. So today you get some screen time. You’re curled into his side, the way a baby bird does under its mother’s wing, squinting at his sixty-five inch TV, egregious really, who needs a screen that big? He’s flipping periodically through the channels whenever an ad break comes on. The 7.45PM news is on. He settles on that and you watch mindlessly, no objections.
The speech blurs like white noise to him, Leon’s not focused until your picture pops up on screen, and he just turns to you with this shit-eating grin. Graduation cap and robe on, all dolled up as you make eyes at him through the screen.
“Baby,” he grins wolfishly, ruffles your hair in a teasing manner, “you look so damn cute there!” Leon watches bright-eyed, suddenly enthralled, they list your name, your height, your weight, all stuff he actually didn’t know ‘bout you. Never bothered to ask. You don’t need a name, you’re just his Lucky Girl. “Don’t like the red lip on you,” he comments flippantly, “A red lip is for whores, don’t you think, baby?”
He was right. You got a daddy, a mommy, a brother and a sister. You’ve got it all. Lucky fucking Girl. A broken sob is torn from your throat, jagged and scratchy as you fling yourself halfway across the room, on your knees as you put your grubby fingers all over his shiny screen. Leon lets you. He finds it hilarious actually. Who’d you think you are? Carol Anne from Poltergeist? Like you’re gonna get sucked into the screen, crawling out the other end like Sadako, back into your daddy’s arms.
Our daughter—My girl, she had her whole life ahead of her—My sister wouldn’t do this—She was so excited to move on after graduation—She’s not the type to run away—My daughter—My sister—Our sister—
Your mother is a mess, barely able to get words out with the way she’s blubbering. “She’s layin’ it on a bit thick, don’t you think, babe?” Leon picks up his beer from the side table, slightly heated under the burn of the lamp. “You look like your daddy, cry pretty like your mama though.”
You stare at him horrified. Jaw hanging open as if it’s unhinged, not in the way a snake does when ready to swallow its prey whole. More in the way of a screaming corpse. When the rigor mortis has worn off, secondary flaccidity sets in, and the mandible drops open. Jeez, tough crowd tonight it seems. Don’t make him sew your mouth up, Lucky Girl. Leon wouldn’t dare, that mouth, that throat is precious to him.
CCTV footage plays on the screen, another sob racks your brittle frame, you didn’t know it was him that day, Leon realises. “Oh, baby, that’s where we met, ain’t that funny?” A blurry image of you on the phone, prattling away to your family like the Lucky Girl you are, he’s just out of shot.
We miss her—Please, if you know anything, if you find anything—Please—
“God, let me get my phone, darling, they look so upset I can’t stand it. I might have to call them up and turn myself in. Give ‘em an early Christmas gift, don’t you think?” If Leon went missing, who would look for him? Hunnigan with all her sharp edges, or Claire with her unwilling loyalty to him? Lucky Bitch. It’s making his temper flare, that’s enough TV time for today.
The screen fades out, goes black when he switches it off. “No, no, no,” you chant, “no, no, no, no, please, please—“
“I’m disappointed in you, baby.” Leon says honestly, sips his beer and laughs mirthlessly. “I thought you’d started to like me.”
You’re not listening, too busy fitting on the rug, grasping at the screen as if you can pluck your family out of it and reunite with them on his living room floor. Leon did think you were getting used to him though. Family’s family, blood is thicker than water. Cum is also thicker than water. And that’s what he’s pumped down your throat nightly in hopes of it clogging up your brain, so you think of nothing but him. Those dogs in South Korea, the ones Claire told him about, he’s got his own special method to take care of your vocal cords. No snipping, no surgery needed. Just the throat training method.
“C’mere, lucky girl.” He clicks his tongue as if he’s calling out for a dog. You lay unmoving, rocking back and forth, whispering to yourself like a crazy person. Bit creepy. Leon stands, he grabs you by the hair and drags you to sit at his feet near the couch. Simple and effective. Backhands you for good luck. He needs it. “Stop your cryin’ I’m getting sick of it.” Leon says, brows wrinkled as he lowers his sweats, brings your head down to rest on his thigh. Your tear-stained cheeks turn him on, the doleful eyes, runny nose. It’s hot. His sad little girl.
“Suck it.” Leon taps the tip against your pouty lips, swollen from his earlier kisses, coats them in his pearly pre, “I won’t ask twice, sweetheart.” You open your mouth, take him like clockwork. He don’t like that attitude. So he pushes your head down on his cock, watches your throat bob, uncomfortably full. Leon pinches your nose, listens to how you panic so nice around a mouthful of dick, gagging in a way you never have before. Not a gag that indicates inexperience, but one that is full of sheer terror, nails leaving red marks on his thighs as you drag them down his skin. Ouch. He’s gotta trim those down.
“You get it now, babe?” Leon hums, he lets you off this time, “Do what I say and it’ll be fine, yeah?”
“Yes, yes, yes, Leon,” you nod furiously through gulps of air, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I’m sorry.” Fuck. Another one of your panic attacks. He’s not got the patience to deal with this. “I won’t—“ A wheeze, “ I won’t do it—“ A croak, “I won’t do it again.” You’ve learned to handle yourself. Rub your chest with your right hand, stare at the ceiling till you calm down. Leon’s dick is still rock hard. Ready to crack open a walnut.
“Good girl,” he nods, “then get on with it.”
There is nothing you’ve done in particular to set Leon off. He’s just had a bad day. Hunnigan’s senses are much too acute, she thought something was off with him. That put him on edge. So he’s like a ticking time bomb. Just waiting for you to make one wrong move. And you do. You say no to him, pleadingly so, shaking your head as you look at him with your fairytale fawn eyes. Meekly admit that you’re sore and achy and it hurts.
“That’s not your decision to make, sweetheart.” Leon informs you, he grabs a roll of duct tape from the kitchen, nicks at the edge with his teeth and tears a strip off. You bristle, completely still, a thousand thoughts running through that pea-sized brain of yours. “But I’ll be nice today, been waitin’ to fuck your ass anyway.” He puts the strip on your cunt, over your chubby lips to hold them together, it feels strange and icky. The last thing Leon wants to see is blood. He sees enough of that daily. So he’s generous when it comes to prep, busts out the cherry-flavoured lube today, squirts a decent amount on his fingers, cock, and your tighter hole.
You squirm, he watches the unreadable expression on your face carefully, the rise and fall of your chest. You’re nervous, but you’re wet, and that makes his chest swell in pride. Lucky Girl finally gets it. One finger slips past the ring of tight muscle, Ora pro nobis peccatoribus, nunc, there’s one last line he’s missing. It’ll come to him. Two fingers in, he scissors you open, spits on it just ‘cause it turns him on to see it run down your crack.
That’s enough, Leon thinks when he fits the third. He wants to make it hurt a little. Wants to feel like a big, strong man. He sits back on his knees, flips you over onto your front, he likes you this way. Just takes you in, how your tits hang low, brushing against the mattress when Leon presses a hand down on your back to keep you from arching. He takes his dick in hand and in he goes, easier than he thought. He wonders if you can cum just like this, with his dick pounding your ass.
He fucks like an animal, you gasp and yelp below him, unable to handle it as his hips smack against yours. The duct tape is starting to peel ‘cause your pussy is fucking soaked. That alone makes his balls tighten as he turns you back over to do damage control, and ‘cause he wants to see your face while he fucks. You look like you’re lovin’ it. Alright. So you’re an anal slut. Got it. He pushes back into your ass, groans when you clench around him, the duct tape peeling at the corners, he can’t handle it. Et in hora mortis nostrae. Leon’s mind blanks when he cums, fills your ass and his limp cock slips out. Shit. A-fucking-men. That’s right, he remembers. That’s how you end a prayer.
You don’t cum. He tears the duct tape off clean. You let out a loud ‘Ow, Leon!’ and frown at him. Beads of arousal stick to the piece of tape, your pussy is pulsing, walls fluttering around nothing. Leon kisses your swollen clit, rubs it steadily till you cream on his tongue, sweeter than molasses his Lucky Girl is.
“Leon?”
“Yeah, baby?”
“I love you.” You tell him shyly, gaze at him with this dumb fucking smile on your dollface that makes his heart squeeze. God, he’s gotta keep you around, his lucky charm.
#leon kennedy smut#leon kennedy x reader#leon s kennedy smut#leon s kennedy x reader#leon kennedy x you#resident evil smut#leon s kennedy x you#resident evil x reader
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Boiling Point 3: ...Will Still Boil Over Eventually - Miguel O'Hara/Reader (NSFW)
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A/N: well folks and strokes I have no self control. this was originally supposed to be the finale, but lol. lmao, even. you didn't really expect me to finish a storyline in only three parts?
Summary: You reach your boiling point.
Notes: sub drop, a frankly ill-advised length of time to be edging oneself
Word count: 3317 words!
It is day…
uh…
(What fucking day is it again?)
You’re tired. You’re bored. You’re horny. And that handsome motherfucker sent you a carousel of Spiders to explicitly make sure that you were actually resting in the time he so generously gave you.
Your package delivery was delayed by a combination of bad luck and worse luck, apparently, because it should have been here by now. You stopped bothering keeping up with your journaling partway through this, namely because you were starting to become hyper-aware of all your negative traits when you wrote them down (teenage boy levels of horniness and anger, mostly) and also because you’re starting to feel… low. Low low. Low low low low low.
The part of you that’s desperate for sex with a man you’ll never have or even just a fucking release at this point is losing out to your deep-seated need to be right. And in your contract, you said until the new vibe arrives. So, you are stuck waiting, lest you prove yourself completely slutty and undisciplined. And you are not slutty or undisciplined.
The worst part, you think, is the understimulation. Sure, you’ve got hobbies, but you don’t want to do any of them right now. You want to get someone’s hand on your tits and teeth on your neck, or else you want to hook yourself up to a vibrator until you discover new frontiers of consciousness and burn out the motor on that one, too, or else you want to lay here and rot. And fuck it, you can’t do any of that, because you still have your shitty office work to attend to, which doesn’t even distract you from the real problems in the world: dimensional anomalies, stopping criminals, and the criminal lack of dimensionally anomalous dick in your mouth.
Honestly, at first, it was sexy. You liked the little thrill of rolling over in bed and seeing your contract and knowing that you’re being so good even without a dom to make it so. You liked the idea of the denial, the promise of a new toy coming as a reward for all the longing in the meantime. Part of you still does, but that part has been glazed over with a level of self-loathing that usually being a Spider wipes away.
If you were worth anything, you wouldn’t have to enforce this yourself.
If you were worth anything, someone would be telling you what a good girl you’ve been, that you’ve worked so hard for this, that you’ve earned the right to cum.
Admit it.
You’re not doing this alone to prove a point.
You’re doing this alone because no one is ever going to do it for you. Not for long, at least.
You know two ways to fill time and void—searching for good views from too-tall buildings and masturbation. The too-tall buildings frustrate you even more, because occasionally one of your coverage Spider-Men will swing in and remind you that you’re under strict orders to rest, or worse, you’ll see them at work and know that Miguel has probably instructed them to web you to a wall if you try to help with YOUR job, and then you just feel even more useless and angry and empty.
Okay, so skyscraper sightseeing is out. What about masturbation?
Yeah, that’ll work. Add more sexual frustration to your sexual frustration. You like sexual frustration, right? Clearly, since you’re still doing this bullshit. Go ahead, we put some sexual frustration on your sexual frustration so you can get sexually frustrated while you experience some light sexual frustration. This can only serve to alleviate your problems. Clearly. Dumbass.
…you make sure to leave your wristband in the other room before you take your pants off.
And you know what? Maybe it’s the demon on your shoulder egging you on when you slip two fingers inside yourself and fantasize in scraps of images—sharp teeth, big muscles, webs holding down your wrists—and chase release, but you no longer care about the stupid fucking contract or your stupid fucking delayed package or your stupid fucking—
There is a noise in the other room.
A noise that sounds suspiciously like an incoming call on your wristband.
You can’t help it. Fuck your neighbors. You actually scream.
Okay. You’re overreacting. Walk it back. This is good. You didn’t break the contract, because you didn’t cum, and that call probably means you’re back in business and able to be a fucking Spider again.
So really, you're glad you got a call. You wash your hands, you scrub extra hard. You make sure your Spider suit is on, you make sure you're wearing casual clothes with the zippers all pulled and hiding your suit. When you're calm and collected and ready, the dread and self-hatred is still there, as is the frustration, but you didn't spend years in customer service without learning how to wear a smile even when the only desire you have left in your little heart is that lingering drive to take up serial killing.
You find the wristband on the coffee table. Slip it on. Hit the button to call back.
And there he is: man of the hour, loathe of your life, Miguel O'Hara. You've been trying not to think of him by his full name only, but it isn't working, mostly because you've also been halfway trying to not think of him at all.
You don't really process most of the conversation, too busy floating in the space between "horny" and "dead inside", but you do hear the words "we need you back on to help with an anomaly" pretty fucking clear, and you know damn well you wouldn't say no to that.
"Give me two minutes to get changed," you manage, already pulling at the shorts you so carefully hid your Spider suit under.
"You get one and a half.”
Aw, he's cute. Miguel's holo is looking away from you, and it blinks out of existence in the time it takes you to get your free hand hooked under your waistband. He's not flustered; you're not sure that's possible, but his unnecessary display of respect is endearing.
You're ready to go in one. You take the thirty seconds remaining to fix your hair and play it cool, even if you're now stuck between excited, horny, and dead. I heard, if you add a fourth emotion to the mix, you can build a house out of your weird bullshit and finally put a ceiling on it. Give it a try sometime!
You slip into spidery actions the same way you do swimming pools—the initial drop of your stomach, water too cold on your toes, New York City but Wrong, then the adjusting. You always adjust. Anomalies blur together for you by now, amalgamate into a series of fun diversions that lower your stress and put the pieces of you back together in the process.
They’re supposed to put you back together.
They’re supposed to put you back together.
The anomaly is dealt with. You’re spidering again. You got your rush from the heights and the wind against your mask, your adrenaline from a fight gone well. You returned to HQ with your partners from this little adventure no worse for the wear, and even Miguel has afforded you an approving nod at the work you’ve done.
You’ve done a good job. A great job. Something has pushed out the rage in you and taken its place, but you know better. This fight against this anomaly did not, in fact, put you back together.
You need to go home. You have to report in, first. It’s redundant. You need to leave. You’re doing good. You need to smile and do it anyways.
Your smile is heavy, so heavy, nearly impossible to drag out of you. You wish you could leave it where it sits in the pits of you, go home and find a cave to live in where civilization is not and no one can ever make you smile again because—
You need to stop everything there is danger there is danger you need to MOVE—
You jolt away, violent, exaggerated, but it’s just Peter, frozen with his elbow raised awkwardly, halfway to nudging your side for your attention.
“[name]?”
“Sorry,” you mumble, as though that does anything, for anyone, ever, at all. It does nothing, in fact, and you’re hyper-aware of that. An explanation might help. “My head’s not back in this dimension yet.” Great explanation. You’re winning at this. I’m so proud of you.
“Right,” Miguel says. “Your report?”
“Oh. Right.” You rattle off the details. They’re hardly anything worth reporting, really. When you’re done, there’s a heavy silence in the room. Everything’s heavy right now, kind of. Like that week away turned the multiverse into molasses.
You glance up through the silence to see that Miguel is staring you down. Okay, more like looking at you, but it all feels the same right now, your skin crawling at being perceived at all.
“Are we done?” The words come out too aggressive. You’re not angry; you’re not anything. The words are just too heavy to drag out without a little bit of bluntness. You hope he won’t take it as a challenge.
“You did good.”
Fucking hell.
You didn’t brace yourself for that one.
There’s motions between you hearing the words and you being on the floor. There must be, because you were on your feet, and now you are not. The heels of your palms press against your eyes, you’re gasping for air, and—
Oh. You’re crying your eyes out.
Are you sure you’re not overreacting a bit?
Heightened spider senses inform you someone is reaching for you, begs you to move, screams at you to throw them away and make sure no one ever touches you again, but you’re too caught up in the tears to do a thing about it, too caught up in the waves finally crashing down on you and shredding your skin in the sand of all the resentments you’ve been building, too caught up too caught up too caught up—
Woah, hey, let’s take a deep breath—
Out.
I’m not just going to leave them crying on the floor—
Out!
—someone is touching you someone is holding you leave me alone leave me ALONE—
LYLA. Portal back to their home dimension. Now, please.
Already on it. I’ll send for Jess.
Good thinking. I’ll be back.
~
Miguel is careful not to jostle you too much as he sets you on your couch. You dissolved into tears and are still dissolving now, wordless. He shakes his head at the sight.
When he realized what was going on and placed you on leave, he had sort of been trying to avoid a situation that looked a lot like this. He tells himself there was only so much he could do and not a single right answer to keep you from steering yourself straight off an emotional cliff.
Well, that’s not right. There had been a right answer; it just wasn’t the one he chose. The least he can do is stay with you until you’re stable. The least he can do is see you through this drop.
You’re not talking yet, so he tears away from you to search for anything you might want for aftercare and tries to run the autopsy report of his latest failure.
Admittedly, he misjudged what a compliment would do to you, so close to the edge. The goal really had had been to uplift you. He could have done worse. It’s not like he broke out the ‘good girl’. And yeah, maybe it was too jarring coming from his mouth after the last time you spoke in person.
Maybe he was just too late. By the time he got to you, you were already locked in. Even before that, you were acting more reckless than usual. Really, he was the one who should have seen it coming and put a stop to it day one. He should know better by now, when it comes to you.
He’s on autopilot, so he grabs the fluffiest-looking blanket from the pile on your bed, the most hug-worthy pillow, and returns to wrap you up.
You accept the pillow wordlessly, don’t even bother resisting when he wraps the blanket around you. You’ve gone from sobbing to sniffles, but he’s got work to do yet.
“Better?” he asks, voice low. His voice comes out gentle, even gentler than he was shooting for, and he curses the effect you have on him like he does every time.
You eye him warily, nod silently. You’re all verb-adverb right now, it seems, but at least you are a little better.
“What do you usually do for this?” he asks, and okay, maybe that’s a little up front, given the way you jolt and shift your expression to a glare.
“What makes you think I do anything?”
He lets out a little huff, settles in on the couch next to you. “You haven’t figured out by now how to handle yourself?”
“I can handle myself just fine, and if you even begin to act otherwise I swear to god—“
“Have I ever said you can’t?”
“You put me on leave. For a week. Not just from interdimensional stuff, but from protecting my own city. What the hell else is that supposed to say?”
Oh. You completely misinterpreted him, didn’t you?
“It means that I thought you needed the rest and correctly gauged that you wouldn’t take it willingly. If I was wrong, then you wouldn’t be crying on your couch right now, would you?” He cringes internally. That came out wrong.
“It’s not like it prevented it,” you mutter.
He sighs. You’re not being very receptive, and he needs to get the right words in his head in the right order with the right tone before he makes things even worse. So he stands and begins walking to your door.
“Where are you going?” you call after him, and your voice is small enough that he nearly stops.
No, Miguel. Control yourself.
“Checking your mail.”
“You’re going to walk all the way down the stairs to the mailboxes on the first floor? You’re going to unlock my mailbox with a mail key you don’t have, and—“
By your front door, there’s three hooks with keys. One is labeled “mail”. He picks it up, then glances back to where you’re craning your neck over the back of your couch. His hand is already on the door, and he’s firmly unbothered by your attempts to protest with logic.
“You’re in your Spider suit, stupid. Do you want people to see you walking out of my apartment? Trying to give away my secret identity? It’s not like people aren’t gonna notice one of the Spider’s caked-up new friends walking around the apartment building—“
…Caked-up?
He shakes his head and opens the door anyway. You make a good point about him being in his suit, but it’s not like he can’t handle himself for one trip to the first floor and—
Oh. There’s a package on the floor in front of your door.
That’s good enough. He’ll bring that inside.
~
“Your neighbor got your mail by accident,” Miguel says, already walking back from the door. “Let’s see, he says…” In one hand, he reads from what looks to be a hand-written note, and in the other…
You catch sight of the logo emblazoned on the side of the envelope he carries and have to kill the screech in your throat. Whatever pathetic tears you were crying for stupid reasons before mean nothing now.
You’re so fucking glad you bought from a new sex shop this time. You’re so fucking glad this one doesn’t have some super obvious name that makes it very clear that the Sex Toy Destroyer Himself was carrying your replacement for all the toys he personally destroyed. Hell no, you’re not taking credit for those. You’re not the insanely hot one here.
Of course. Of course you would have a completely unprecedented breakdown in HQ directly in front of Miguel. Of course he’d stick around to make sure you weren’t completely useless. Of course your new toy would show up whenever Miguel decides to be weirdly nice and bring in your mail for you. How else would things go? You’re the one with all the luck here.
Miguel is mid-sentence saying something you’ve been completely not listening to, and you do feel guilty for that, but come on. It’s taking everything in you not to freak out. You’re giving yourself whiplash just trying to calm down. Like, it’s normal. People receive mail sometimes, idiot, and sometimes that mail gets delivered to the wrong place, and that’s good and normal, and sometimes your neighbor is kind enough to leave it on your doorstep with a note, and sometimes—
“He’s asking you on a date.”
“What?” In less than a second, your web is on the back of the page, and Miguel lets it sail from his hand and into yours. “Let me see that.”
Holy shit. Your neighbor returned your sex toy he mistakenly got in the mail and asked you out to coffee sometime. You check the unit number he listed—motherfucker. He’s the one that shares a wall with your bedroom. He’s probably heard more than he hasn’t. You sure fucking have.
You let out a low groan. Eyes flick to Miguel. It’s not like that particular bad idea is going anywhere, and you’re basically the ruler of Definitely Healthy Coping Mechanisms anyway, so maybe—
“That was nice of him. Is he actually worth your time, though?”
The sentences are so weird coming from his mouth that a little jolt of laughter bubbles out of you. “Why are you being so weird? That was almost nice. You’re supposed to be all, tough love and everyone thinks you’re mad even when you’re being nice.”
He blinks. Stares at you a moment. “You just had a complete breakdown.”
“Yes, thank you for reminding me.” You’re doing a tremendous job at ignoring that fact, thank you very much. “…Thanks for the consideration, though. And probably not. He’s like, not unattractive, I guess, but, you know. Can’t shake the feeling that he’s only asking me out because he shares a wall with my bedroom.”
Miguel arches a brow.
Oh, fuck. That’s sexual connotations. I mean, sexual meaning, too, but come the fuck on. You’ve got to be more restrained than that. What were those two weeks of training for?
“…right. Anything good?” He gives the package a little shake, and you remember how fucking precarious your situation is in this moment.
Another web snatches the envelope from him. He seems nearly amused by your reaction, based on vibes. Deadpan as always, but if you’re not mistaken, there’s a slight spark in his eyes. “What could you possibly have ordered?”
“Nothing.”
“Given that you just snatched it out of my hands…”
“Nothing,” you repeat. It’s meant to be emphatic, but you just sound whiny. You blame the post-cry snottiness.
He sits directly across from you. “No, open it. You don’t have to wait for me to leave if you’re that excited for it.”
“I’m good.” Your voice pitches high. “Really. Thanks for all your help today. You can go.”
He stares. You begin to sweat.
“Look. I was really hoping you’d figure discipline out on your own with all that time I gave you, but I guess not.”
“If… if you wanted me to be doing something specific with the past boring-as-shit week, why didn’t you tell me what it was?”
He sighs. “If you think two weeks of edging yourself without aftercare is discipline, then I guess I have to be the one to teach you.”
…oh.
Huh.
Fuck.
Tags: @deeplightgarden @idonthaveanameideayet @dusstory @roxannarichie @vegas-writing-den @cooch1ecruncher @bluepeanutharmony @instanttragedyfire @yohoe-hoe @ambientcryptidsounds
If you'd like to be tagged, shoot me a message or an ask, or ask here in the replies, tags, or reblogs and let me know what you'd like to be tagged in (all works, all miguel works, this series in particular, etc.). If your name appears on this list but is not underlined and you didn't get a notification, please check to make sure that your blog is NOT set to not appear in search results in your blog settings! If you've got that set that way for a particular reason, consider subscribing to the fic on ao3 for an equivalent update notification, as I always crosspost simultaneously! After three unsuccessful tagging attempts, you will be removed from the list.
As always, thanks for reading! <3
#miguel x reader#miguel o'hara x reader#miguel o'hara/reader#miguel o'hara reader insert#atsv miguel x reader#my fics#not sfw
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I'll Show You "Uptight" (18+ Fic)
Pairing: Adult!Bakugou x Black!Fem!Reader (Coworkers to Lovers)
Synopsis: In which a very pissed and very emotionally frustrated Bakugou decides he’s not going to let you get away with your lip that easily and pays you a visit one girls’ night to prove to you that he is, indeed, able to be “looser” after you make a drunk comment about his introverted and uptight personality to your mutual friends and Kirishima “accidentally” spills the beans.
Story Warnings: Smutty smut (MINORS DON’T READ), 18+, AgedUp!Bakugou (he’s 25 years old), Swearing, Grinding, Public Displays of Affection, Mentions of & Consumption of Alcohol, Consensual Sex w/ Verbalization, Foreplay, Public Kink, Manhandling, Mild Degradation, Praise Kink, Daddy Kink, Spit Play, 69ing, Facefucking, Safe Sex (WRAP IT BEFORE YOU TAP IT), Edge Play, Spanking, Mild Choking, MULTIPLE Positions, MULTIPLE Orgasms for Reader, Aftercare, Reader is black-coded but anyone can read this
Disclaimer: I own none of the characters mentioned in this fic. However, as this is my writing, I do not give permission for my work to be reposted on any other sites that are not from my own accounts. Thank you!
Writer’s Note: Had some time on my hands & decided to post chapter 2. Thank you for the love on chapter 1! Enjoy! -Jazz
Ao3 link here!
Chapters: One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven.
**************
Chapter Two
“Fuck, baby, you feel so good,” he moaned, the rasp of his voice curling into your tummy and traveling down to your already-dripping pussy. “I’ve never had a girl that feels as good as you do, fuck!”
His nasty words wrapped in the sweetest praise for how tight and wet and soft you feel seem to send you into the stratosphere, especially combined with the way he grips your hips with those calloused fingers as he rolls his hips mercilessly into you. Again and again and again.
As he did so, he rocked the stool you were sitting in every single time, your legs split open so he could stand fully between them. His large hands had your thighs kept open, pinning them firmly apart. He was so fucking strong. He could throw you around, force you in any position he wanted, and you’d cum every single time. You know you could.
And he knew it too. Those eyes like the others rubies that had haunted your dreams so many stared into yours, a wicked promise in them. “You promise you cum for me, right?” he asked against your lips. His breath was laced with peppermint and cologne radiating off of his skin, making your senses hazy and clouded with nothing but him.
His hand came to grip your chin, firmly keeping your face in place and your eyes on him. “I asked you a question, mama,” he growled. “I expect a fuckin’ answer. I said you promise to cum for me?”
He gripped the bar you sat at and snapped his hips forward, that dick reaching a part of you that had you seeing stars. “Right, Y/N?” he pushed, teasing you further…
“Y/N?”
“Helloooo?”
“Y/N!”
At the sight and sound of Mina snapping her fingers in front of your face, you finally blinked and proved to the girls that you were alive after blanking for nearly five minutes. “Sorry, what?” you said dumbly, looking down the bar at your friends.
Mina and the girls of UA class 1 all looked at you like you were ill as you sat at the bar away from the packed dance floor and flashing purple and red lights that matched the reggaeton beat blasting from the speakers above. The bar has since calmed down, leaving you and the girls to lounge on your stools and gossip among your cocktails. You had about two and they were starting to get to you because you couldn’t seem to focus on anything other than the warmth in your tummy.
And the constant thought of Katsuki Bakugou fucking you right then, right there. You flushed, embarrassed. “Sorry,” you apologized. “Guess I was just…lost in thought.”
“Yeah, we could tell, ~kero,” Tsuyu replied.
Jirou gave you a knowing smirk. “Still thinking about that hot head? I thought you said he hated you.”
“He doesn’t hate her!” Mina argued, pinching Jirou on the arm. “You know Katsuki is bad at feelings. Especially romantic feelings.” She turned to you, a soft smile on her face. “She’s been like this all week ever since I told her Katsuki liked her.”
“Girl, why don’t you just talk to him?” Uraraka asked, sitting at the farthest end of the bar. “He seems like a jerk, but he’s really not that bad. Take it from Deku! Here, you want me to call him so he can convince you?”
She went to pull out her phone, but you stopped her. “Thank you, ‘Raraka, but you don’t have to do that. It’s really okay.”
You went back to sipping your cocktail, running a hand down your thighs to smooth out your mini dress and ignore your friends’ burning, knowing gazes. You tried to sway to the music to get yourself together, wanting to enjoy tonight….
But even you knew it was hopeless. You were so hung up on Katsuki that you couldn’t even enjoy yourself. Of course, when Mina had invited you out tonight to hang with the girls, you were more than ready to indulge in some cocktails and selfishness by dancing the night away with the hottest guy in the club in your mini dress that hugged your body just right.
You wish it were someone else hugging you just right. Two big, tattooed arms that belonged to one hot-heated and strange yet irresistibly sexy blonde pro hero that you so wish would budge a little bit, maybe crack a smile at you. Give you a crumb or something! You were desperate here!
You couldn’t even focus this week on tasks at work or at home, too involved in your fantasies involving Bakugou’s lips on you.
Only Mina and the other girls knew you had a thing for Bakugou, and had even before Mina told you he liked you. Though he tended to blow up easily and sometimes you could hear him yell from his office over the phone or in a meeting with other heroes, hearing that deep, raspy voice always seemed to do something to you.
Ever since you were hired as a front desk assistant at his agency a couple of months prior, you always tried to be cordial to the second most popular pro, saying hello to him every time he came into the building and taking up any paperwork he was too tired to finish. It was really all just a rouse to see him or talk to him, but the guy barely spoke.
Not to mention he barely came out with you and the rest of the squad. Mina had unofficially made you part of them ever since the first month you started working and since then, you’ve been tagging along on their weekend adventures ever since. Bakugou was never a part of any of them.
At first, you thought it was because he didn’t want to be around you, but then, after getting a look at his behavior at Denki’s NYE party, it was evident that he was an introvert AND had a clear disinterest in you.
It’s not that you didn’t like introverts. You understood that sometimes a night in with some takeout, a good movie, and sleep were all a girl needed. But other nights, like tonight, where you wanted to be cute and sexy and seen, where you wanted fun and excitement, were not for people like Katsuki.
And you made that very clear once more when Mina asked, “Why do you give the guy a chance? Sure, he’s not good at being romantic or social, but–”
“But that’s just it, Mina,” you interjected. “I can’t be with a guy who doesn’t know how to do that for me. You don’t have to like socializing, but dancing with me is a crime?”
“She has a point,” Momo said softly. You nodded, sipping your cocktail in finality. “The minute that Katsuki shows me that he isn’t so uptight or as fun as a wet blanket, then maybe I’ll think about dating him. But until then, nah.”
Before the girls could say anything more to try and sway you away from your mindset, the music began to transition into dancehall and one of your favorite songs began to play as the lights brightened a bit, turning a shimmering gold.
“Oooh, I love this song!” you shouted, already moving off of your stool to move to the dance floor. “Come join me!”
Mina, Uraraka, and Toru (in her floating mini dress) did so, drinks in hand, while Jirou and Momo stayed behind to watch the show from afar. Mina led you and Uraraka to a space in the middle of the floor and began to dance among the sea of bodies packed on the dance floor.
You let the music and alcohol take over as you grinded and winded your hips, feeling bubbly and light. You finally found yourself enjoying the night, free of the constant image of Bakugou’s vermillion eyes in your mind.
However, unbeknownst to you, those vermillion eyes were staring right at you from across the room as he, Kiri, Sero, and Denki came through the double doors, IDs not needed for the pros. Jirou was the first one to see him and when she did, she nearly choked on her cocktail.
Momo and Tsuyu were startled, staring at their friend. in horror. “What happened?” Momo demanded, clapping a coughing Jirou on the back. “What’s wrong?”
Wordlessly, Jirou pointed at Bakugou and the others from across the room. Bakugou was obviously looking for someone–that someone being you. Momo gasped, her eyes widening. “S-Should we tell them?” she whispered, nodding at Y/N who began to throw her ass into Mina.
Once Jirou was done coughing her lungs out and took a sip of water that Tsuyu passed to her, she looked at Bakugou and the wild look in his eyes as he searched for you. She smirked to herself, leaning back against the bar.
“Nah,” she answered. “Let ‘em find out themselves. I wanna see how this goes.”
#my works#my fic shit#bakugou x black reader#smutty smut#black coded reader#bnha smut#i’ll show you uptight#suki baby#18+ fic#black fanfic writer#black bnha
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Captain America is a misogynist, right? (-any conservative who knew nothing about Steve Rogers)
read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/QU2mxte
by j_tearbug
Steve stumbles into sex work, saves a shit ton of money, confuses the fuck out of his best friend (boyfriend) best friend (boyfriend), signs off the rights to dirty pictures of him after he dies, and promptly forgets about it until he wakes up from a suicide-attempt-induced coma and the Smithsonian opens an explicit exhibit about Steve Rogers pre-Captain America.
Bucky worries about his best friend (boyfriend) best friend (boyfriend), can't keep a steady job, has pictures taken of his first time with his best friend (boyf-), realizes how all their bills are being paid, and goes off to war, only to drop off a train and get brainwashed, and shakes himself awake in the middle of a museum exhibit, staring at a black and white picture of his mission licking a stripe up his dick.
Words: 4057, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English
Series: Part 1 of Sex, Drugs, and Nickleback
Fandoms: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Categories: F/M, M/M
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Additional Tags: Past Bucky Barnes/Peggy Carter/Steve Rogers, its minor, Prostitution, BDSM, weird bdsm etiquette, Light Sadism, Masochism, Tiny Dom Steve Rogers, the porn is plot, There is Plot i promise, dont let the first chapter deceive you the rest of it is plot, Legal Drama, Protective Tony Stark, Steve Rogers is So Done, Grief/Mourning, Identity Porn, Dissociation, ill add tags as i see fit
read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/QU2mxte
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"Illness" with Dick and Damian? Maybe add in some batdad fluff? Thanks in advance and congrats on the 700 followers!
thank you <3 and you got the first bingo!! as promised, first bingo gets a longer one-shot. this an excellent prompt choice too, I hope you like the fic!
I'd give you my lungs so you could breathe (AO3)
Dick pushes sweaty strands of hair from his face, breathing in the night air slowly to steady himself against a wave of dizziness. A cool breeze knocks into him, forcing him to shiver. The shiver agitates his chest, making him cough so hard that he nearly gags. He caves—time to call it a night.
"B?" Dick says into the comms.
"Go ahead."
"I'm going to head in early."
". . . Are you safe to make it back on your own?" Bruce asks, choosing his words slowly, carefully.
Dick stands from where he’d been squatting on the fire escape and walks to the ladder, taking another moment to adjust to the way his head spins before attempting to work his way down to the ground. "Course. Everything’s quiet; I’m just ready to call it a night."
Bruce grunts, but not at Dick. He's busy. By the time Dick’s made it to his bike, Bruce still hasn’t really responded to him, still in the middle of his fight.
"Do you need backup? Dick asks, slipping on his helmet.
A pause, then: "Red Robin and I have it under control. Let me know when you get home."
Dick nods at that and pulls out of the alley. "Sure thing, boss."
oOo
The thing is, Dick isn’t completely useless when it comes to taking care of himself. He watches his diet, does his PT exercises regularly, makes time for friends and family—all that jazz. He also knows that vigilantism isn’t easy on the body, so Dick makes a point to listen to his. That doesn’t mean he benches himself whenever he feels a twinge in his knee or a tickle in his throat—if he did, he’d never leave the house—but when that sort of thing does inevitably happen, he’s careful. He watches it, applies some sort of treatment when necessary, and if it’s really bad, he takes a night off and will maybe ask for Alfred’s opinion. It’s a system Dick’s mastered over the years, and one that he feels has a pretty high success rate. Or an acceptable one, anyway.
So when he woke up the other morning with a cough and something that was almost exhaustion, he fell back on his trusty system. A quick self-assessment told him he was probably just getting a cold. He didn’t feel that bad, and it definitely didn’t warrant a night off, so he told himself he would keep an eye on it—and he did. Tonight, he drove to Gotham and went on patrol feeling perfectly fine, and then he went back to the manor as soon as he realized he was feeling pretty terrible, actually.
He did the responsible thing, the smart thing. He just didn't make a big deal out of it. Because it's not a big deal.
"It's fine, Alfred," Dick insists. Despite the verbal protest, he patiently lets Alfred run cool hands over his cheeks and forehead.
Alfred looks at him with worried eyes. He drops his hands. "You should have said something."
"They would've just worried.” It would have been an unnecessary distraction, especially since they wouldn’t have believed Dick when he said he was fine.
"To me."
Oh.
“Sorry.” If Alfred didn’t already say that Dick looked flushed, he'd be worried about the blush that is almost definitely on his face right now. "I really felt fine earlier, honest. I think it was the rooftop tag that did me in." Dick offers a grin for good measure; he’s not sure it helps.
"I should have known something was wrong. You barely touched your dinner."
"Alfred—"
The computer begins to beep repeatedly, catching their attention and saving Dick from the rest of the lecture.
"You are to shower and take medicine for your symptoms,” Alfred orders. “Then straight to bed."
That had been Dick's plan, but Alfred leaves to deal with the latest emergency before Dick can tell him that.
As annoying as it is to be unnecessarily fussed over, Dick can't really blame Alfred for his (over)reaction. The second Dick had pulled his helmet off, he'd broken into a coughing fit. Alfred had run over, worried that Dick had been gassed. The worry was for nothing—nothing but a cold—but it takes a minute for panic to settle. Especially when there have been so many times where Dick’s coughing had been a sign that he was in desperate need of medical assistance. Especially when that had been the case only ten days ago.
Dick yawns, pushing the thought from his mind and heading toward the showers, taking off most of his armor as he goes.
oOo
"I thought you were supposed to be on patrol."
Dick swallows the pill and puts the box back in the cabinet before turning to face Damian. "And I thought you were supposed to be asleep." The pajamas and mussed hair tell Dick that Damian had been asleep. Dick probably woke him up when he was waking to his room. His dizziness had made his footing a little uneven, but he can’t really place full blame on himself; everyone in this house is an insanely light sleeper.
Damian scoffs, arms crossed as he leans against the doorframe of Dick's bathroom. "Impossible with all your ruckus . . . Did you manage to get yourself hurt again, then?"
"You wound me." Damian rolls his eyes, and Dick cracks a grin. It’s genuine, but it doubles as a reassurance; this time he thinks it works. "I'm fine, though. No injuries or anything. Just a cold.”
“I’m surprised you didn’t use your illness as an excuse to stay in and watch ridiculous films,” Damian says.
“Oh, don’t worry, we’ll do that tomorrow. Expect a movie marathon when you get back from school.”
A smile twitches across Damian’s lips, though it disappears as quickly as it came. “You’re staying, then?”
“That was the plan, right? We might have to skip the arcade, though,” Dick says apologetically as he rubs the back of his neck.
“Yes, I suppose that would be for the best. Losing so severely would only worsen your condition.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Dick rolls his eyes and playfully pushes at the side of Damian’s head. Damian swats at Dick’s hand in retaliation, but the smile makes a second appearance. “I’m going to go to bed. I’d suggest you do the same, but clearly you’re already dreaming.”
“-tt-” Damian walks back into the hallway. Hand still on the door, he calls, “Good night, Richard. I hope you feel better tomorrow.”
“Thanks. Night, kiddo.”
The door closes, and Dick shuts off the lights before climbing into bed and falling asleep.
oOo
Dick wakes up to knuckles wrapping against his car window. He takes a sharp inhale as he lifts his head, wincing as it agitates the crick in his neck he gained from falling asleep against the steering wheel. He straightens up and blinks, then turns toward the window to find Bruce in a suit.
What time is it? And how did he end up in the car?
Before Dick can think of an answer to either of his questions, Bruce opens the car door for him. He says, “You fell asleep.”
Dick hums. The vibration irritates his throat and triggers a cough, which he directs into the crook of his elbow.
“Where are you headed?”
“I was gonna go home,” Dick says automatically, rubbing the heel of his hand over his cheek. The vague memory of waking up around noon and feeling terrible comes back to him. He’d wanted to go home and sleep for a year, that had been the plan, the only thing his muddled brain could think of doing. He remembers padding down to the garage and getting in the car. Obviously he’d fallen asleep shortly after that, but Dick doesn’t even remember putting his head down or closing his eyes.
He turns his head and finds he hadn’t bothered to pack his duffel bag, and he’s still wearing his pajamas, feet bare.
“You’re in no state to drive yourself anywhere,” Bruce informs Dick like that much isn’t obvious to anyone with a brain, even a muddled one.
Dick leans his head back against the steering wheel and closes his eyes. “I just want to take some drugs and crawl into bed for a year. At least.”
"There’s medicine here, and you have a bed in your room.”
“I don’t want to get you guys sick.”
“I think you’ve already exposed us, chum,” Bruce says softly. He sighs, then grunts as he squats down to get a better look at Dick. “I can drive you, if you really want to go home, but I’d rather you were with someone who could watch you. You don’t look well.”
“Don’t feel well,” Dick murmurs.
Bruce maneuverer’s his hand to feel Dick’s forehead. “Hnn. High fever.”
Dick hums again. “What time is it?”
“Almost four.”
Bruce must’ve just brought Damian home, Dick realizes. “Traffic will be bad.”
“I don’t mind.”
“Nah, it’s fine.” Dick lifts his head and looks back at Bruce. “I’ll stay here and leave in the morning, if that’s okay.”
Bruce stands and holds a hand out for Dick. “Alfred is making soup.”
“Awesome.” Dick takes off his seatbelt and slowly makes his way out of the car, using Bruce’s arm to steady himself.
Bruce’s eyes are glued to Dick’s feet as soon as he’s out of the car. “You aren’t wearing shoes,” he notes.
Dick coughs into the crook of his elbow as his body adjusts to the standing position. “Forgot. Honestly, I barely remember coming down here.”
Bruce feels his forehead again, then his cheek. “Medicine.”
Dick nods in agreement and lets Bruce lead him into the kitchen. Damian is at the counter, eating a post-school sandwich. Lately, the regular apple or granola bar hasn’t been enough to tide the boy over until dinner; a growth spurt might be around the corner, Dick muses.
“Is Grayson alright, Father?” Damian asks, scanning Dick and frowning at his shoeless feet.
“He’s fine,” Bruce grumbles, leading Dick out of the kitchen without pause. Out of Damian’s earshot, he asks, “Bed or couch?”
Their short walk is already making him a little out of breath—there’s no way he can manage stairs right now. “Couch.”
Bruce steers him toward the couch, and once he’s sitting, Dick lists over to rest his head against the armrest. Bruce throws a blanket over him for good measure.
“Wait here.”
“Where else would I go?” Dick calls back, then promptly coughs into the armrest for far too long. It brings up phlegm this time, and he has to disentangle himself from the blanket to discard it in a tissue.
Bruce returns with some kind of medicine, a glass of water, and a sleeve of saltines.
“What are your symptoms?” Bruce asks.
“Cough, fatigue, headache—kind of achy all over, actually,” Dick reports, taking the pill and swallowing it with a mouthful of water. His chest kind of hurts too, and he still hasn’t fully caught his breath from the walk to the couch. It’s not severe, though, he probably doesn’t need to worry Bruce just yet. The wait-and-see approach will do for now. “General symptoms of sickness.”
“It’s probably the flu,” Bruce says. “Did you get your—”
“Yes, Bruce, I got my flu shot,” Dick says defensively, crossing his arms over his chest. “I’m not completely useless, you know?”
Bruce considers this. “Hnn. Get some rest. I’ll wake you when dinner is ready.”
When Bruce returns about an hour later, Dick’s feeling bad enough that he lets Bruce carry him to his room. He sleeps there for another hour or so, and then Alfred brings him soup and bread, of which Dick only eats half. Alfred doesn’t pester him, though. Simply brushes a hand through his hair and makes Dick promise to call him if he needs anything, or if he starts to feel worse.
Dick half-jokingly mumbles that he doesn’t think the latter is possible.
oOo
One week later, Dick feels worse than ever and regrets his joke. He wonders if this is the universe punishing him for his hubris.
“This is bad,” Dick finds himself wheezing to no one. “This is bad.”
The rising sun is shining in through the windows, and everyone in the manor is asleep except for Dick. Dick is in the kitchen, lying on tiles that are no longer cool. He’s in his pajamas and a sweatshirt, a blanket wrapped around him like a cocoon. He’d come in here for some tea, but he’d started coughing and couldn’t stop. He’d instinctively curled in on himself, slowly sinking to the floor when he became lightheaded. He still hasn’t caught his breath, and there’s a sharp pain in his chest. He can’t get up, and the kettle is whistling. It makes his head hurt, but he can’t get up to turn it off.
Claws click against the floor, followed by light but quick footsteps. The overhead light flicks on, and in walk Damian and Titus.
“Richard?” Damian asks cautiously, turning the stove off before dropping to kneel on the floor. He rests a hand on Dick’s shoulder. “Richard, what happened?”
“I need Alfred,” Dick says, because his brain tells him he’s the only person who can help him. “Go get Alfred.”
“I’m not leaving you like this,” Damian insists, scowling. He presses two fingers against Dick’s neck, probably to check his pulse.
Dick wheezes some more, then switches back to coughing. Damian doesn’t leave his side, but he does call Alfred on his cell phone as he thumps Dick’s back.
Alfred enters the kitchen at a brisk pace. He’s in his pajamas, too, though it’s paired with slippers and an untied robe.
“He’s wheezing and his lips are blue,” Damian tells Alfred.
Alfred bends down next to Dick, looking him over with a frown. “Would you rather we go to the hospital or treat this downstairs, sir?” he asks, eyes holding Dick’s gaze and not letting it go.
“It hurts to breathe,” Dick whispers, which is answer enough.
Alfred nods, understanding that the closer treatment is the better option. “Very well then. Damian, if you could help me take your brother downstairs.”
They get Dick off of the ground, and soon he’s standing with one arm slung over Alfred’s shoulder and the other over Damian’s. He’s wheezing harder than before, and he can barely put one foot in front of the other as the two of them practically carry Dick down into the cave.
Damian helps Dick lean back against the nearly upright cot, and following Alfred’s orders, he starts an IV and takes Dick’s vitals. They give him something for the pain and put him on oxygen, but when that doesn’t do much to improve his oxygen levels, Alfred insists on pulling out the nebulizer and has Dick do a breathing treatment. The machine is loud and keeps him from falling asleep, but it helps.
When Dick’s lips are no longer blue and the breathing treatment has finished, Alfred collects a sample of Dick’s mucus and leaves to start a sputum culture. Damian stays with him, following through with Alfred’s instructions to take an x-ray of Dick’s chest. Dick is asleep before he can hear the results of either.
When he wakes up what must be hours—maybe even a full day—later, Damian is still sitting next to his bed, reading a textbook and occasionally jotting something important down in his notebook. He looks grown up. In the getting older sense sure—he’s very much a teenager now, all limbs and voice starting to crack—but also in the responsible sense.
“Hey,” Dick says, voice raw and only half-there.
Damian’s eyes dart toward him, then seeing he’s awake, he closes his books and sets them aside. “How are you feeling?”
It’s a question that, just a few years ago, Damian never would’ve asked, thinking that hiding concern or fear was a way to show strength. Now he knows it’s a strength to share those things, to seek out help. And he also knows that showing kindness and empathy is far from a weakness.
“I’ve been better,” Dick answers honestly. “But I don’t feel as bad as I felt in the kitchen.”
“Pennyworth says you have pneumonia and is treating it with antibiotics,” Damian explains. “He also said that the chemical you were exposed to a few weeks ago damaged your lungs, making it harder to fight the infection.”
Yeah, that tracks. “Did he say if the damage is permanent?” With all of the chemical exposures Dick’s faced, he now has a healthy awareness and fear of developing conditions like pulmonary fibrosis. He knows Alfred’s worried about it too.
Damian shrugs. “He didn’t say either way. But from my research, I don’t think so. It will probably just lengthen the recovery process.”
Dick’s eyes droop closed, and he coughs into his pillow a few times. “You sound like a doctor. Have you been ditching class to attend medical school or something?”
Damian scoffs, probably rolls his eyes. “Don’t be foolish.”
Dick chuckles a little. “You know Bruce thought about becoming a doctor before the whole Batman thing.”
“I know my family’s educational history,” Damian says. Then, either to prove his knowledge or add to the conversation, he says, “Our grandfather was a doctor.”
Dick hums in acknowledgment. “Alfred’s kind of a doctor too. Medical training seems to run in the family, huh?”
“I suppose it does,” Damian agrees. “. . . Do you think I should be a doctor?”
“Do you want to be a doctor?”
“Maybe.” A pencil scratches against papers. “I’ve been thinking about it. I . . . I like the idea of being a healer.”
“I think you’d be great at it.” Damian’s smart, a hard worker, and he cares a lot. Plus, he’s already shown that he can work well during medical emergencies. “But you have plenty of time to decide.”
“I’ll start college in three years,” Damian counters. “That’s not a lot of time.”
Dick shrugs. “Eh. I get the pressure, but trust me, that timeline’s flexible.” Dick coughs into his pillow again, tries to clear his throat before continuing. “You can always take a gap year or two, or you could try different majors out before deciding. You could even graduate, start a job, and then go back to school and try something new. Nothing’s set in stone.” Damn, all this talking is making his throat hurt.
“I already told you I’m familiar with this family’s educational history,” Damian reminds him. “But thank you for that reassurance.”
Dick hums again. He wants to stay awake and talk more with Damian, but he’s already asleep.
oOo
A few days and additional breathing treatments later, Dick is starting to feel like a person again. They switch the IV antibiotics to the pill form and he’s allowed to move back upstairs. He’s still sleeping for half of the day, and he can’t make it up the stairs without taking a break to catch his breath, but he’s no longer bed-bound.
They've all been sticking close to Dick, though, never leaving him by himself for more than a few minutes at a time. That morning in the kitchen had given everyone a scare. Had Dick not turned the kettle on, Titus wouldn't have heard it whistle, and then Damian might not have found Dick in time.
But that hadn’t happened.
Damian had found him, he and Alfred had given Dick medical attention, and Bruce had shown up at his bedside the next morning, apologizing for not realizing how sick Dick had been. In another mood, Bruce might have yelled at him for not knowing his limits, for not bringing his phone with him when he knew he was weak with fever and having to put effort into each breath. But Bruce is in a gentler mood, something reminiscent of the early days, when Dick was still his Robin.
Now, in a brief role reversal, his Robin is asleep, and Dick’s currently watching over him. He runs his fingers carefully through Damian’s hair, cradling the boy’s head in his lap. Star Wars is on in the background—Dick and Damian started rewatching the series when Dick first moved back upstairs—but Dick grabs the remote and mutes it so the fight scene doesn’t wake Damian. The kid has had a long week between school, patrol, and trying to look after Dick, so Dick’s happy to see him finally get some rest. Alfred the cat is purring in Damian’s lap, his eyes closed and head tucked under Damian’s hand. Titus is sleeping on the floor, his head keeping Dick’s feet warm.
It’s comfortable here on the couch, and Dick’s considering falling asleep too when Bruce walks in, hair slightly damp and smelling like soap.
“Can I join you?” Bruce asks, keeping his voice low so as to not wake Damian or his pets.
“Sure,” Dick says.
Bruce sits down next to him, and Dick leans against his shoulder.
“How are you feeling?”
“Sick of answering that question,” Dick says, voice neutral if not a little tired. “But not too bad.”
“Hnn.” Bruce starts running his fingers through Dick’s hair, and Dick leans into the touch, closes his eyes. “Does your chest still hurt?”
“Hmm. Just a little,” Dick says.
It’s quiet for a few minutes, and Dick’s breathing slows, becomes more even.
When Dick’s about to fall asleep, Bruce whispers, “Do you want me to turn off the movie?”
“No, we’re still watching it,” Dick murmurs without opening his eyes.
“Damian’s asleep, and you’re barely awake,” Bruce points out.
“Then you watch it and tell us what happens.”
“You’ve seen this before. Multiple times.”
Dick groans, then lifts his head and drops it against Bruce’s shoulder in protest. “Be nice to me—I’m sick.”
Bruce exhales through his nose, amused. “Alright.” Bruce smooths Dick’s hair down and presses a kiss into it. “Sleep.”
Dick mumbles something unintelligible and does what he’s told.
Hours later, Alfred will need to wake all three of them up for dinner, and Bruce will dutifully retell the last half of the movie over soup.
But for now, Dick sleeps, and his chest hurts a little less.
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Never break the chain
Synopsis: You were Zemo’s devoted girlfriend, he would take you all over the world and treat you to everything you want in life however that all changed the day Sokiva fell. Consumed by anger Zemo went off the deep end trying to avenge his fallen country and you last saw him being escorted to prison. Years later you became really ill and there was only one thing that could save you. After a lot of searching you finally managed to get your hands on some super soldier serum which saved you however Zemo is now out of prison as is determined to finish what he started no matter what stood in his way.
Warnings/Tags: Bad Zemo, Mentions of guns, Toxic relationship, Almost cried while writing this, Hits in the feelings, Lots of angst, So much angst, Mentions of death
Word count: 1.7k
Author’s note: Hello my fellow masochists *cough* Markiplier *cough*, I for one thrive on sad moments in fics, ones that break my heart. I live off angst and I am sure I am not the only one in this so I have written this angsty Zemo fic. There is no fluff here just sadness so you have been warned. I’m going to write a really sweet and fluff filled one shot after this as an apology. Also warning this relationship is toxic so like obviously I don’t condone Zemo’s behaviour in this, he’s meant to be a dick here.
I got inspired to write this from a song so like if you want extra emotions listen to this: https://youtu.be/1A8YpV1tfsQ
This is also being posted on my ao3 account under the name Casmad
The wind blew sharply against you, the coldness of it scratching your skin. Your eyes water up slightly at the harshness of it and you wrap your arms around your body trying to warm yourself up. You looked out over the cliff, looking over now the deserted area you once called home. Sokovia. Its beautiful landscape is broken and torn apart. An echo of how magnificent it once was. You raise your hand to touch the chain that hung around your neck. A reminder of the past.
“Darling I would be honored if you wore this for me. I have a similar one I’ll always keep around my neck so that even when we are apart, there’s a part of us that will always be together” Zemo asks nervously, swallowing and glancing from the necklace in his hand to your face.
You put your hands onto his, taking the necklace, “I’ll never take it off”
Zemo’s face broke out into a smile, his eyes shining as he wraps his arms around you and pulls you into his chest. He holds you closely as you close your eyes melting into his presence. He kisses the top of your forehead and rests the top of his head on yours. “My beautiful moon” he murmurs
A tear slowly slipped down your cheek as you thought back to better times. You had been so happy with him. You two had planned your whole lives out together. The Baron and Baroness.
“Would you care to accompany me to the ball?” Zemo asks, holding his arm out to you.
“Oh I don’t know should I?” you joke, holding your chin in your hand as if questioning it, making Zemo chuckle.
“If you do I promise you can be in charge in the bedroom tonight,” he says as he leans into you. You grin back at him, raising your hand to his suit jacket and pulling him towards you for a kiss. As you feel his lips on yours and his hand rests on your hip you smile into the kiss. As you pull back you swell with happiness seeing a rosy tint to Zemo’s cheeks.
“I suppose turning up to to a ball on the arm of a Baron has its perks”
Zemo laughs and pulls you into a side hug placing a kiss on your temple.
“What would I do without you” he hums to himself as he admires you “My moon”
Everything made sense, everything fit. You couldn’t imagine a life any different till it happened.
You and Zemo had been away visiting a local country when you heard of the news. You collapsed on the floor screaming at the tv as Zemo was on the phone already organizing a trip back home. When you arrived your heart broke seeing all the destruction. Zemo was holding your hand but he let go. It was all gone. Everything. Your whole life had changed just like that.
You wipe the tears away from your cheeks yet they continue to flow as you remembered what happened after. The madness and desire for revenge had consumed Zemo. You tried to stop him. You really did but what could you have done?
“Helmut, please. This isn’t healthy...this...this isn’t you!” you cried as Zemo was preparing his attack on the avengers
“Y/n I have to do this. There is no other way” he angrily replied, refusing to look at you.
“I can’t support this” you whisper, grabbing a hold of his arm. “I can’t watch you do this”
Zemo looks at you, his face forlorn as he watches the tears fall from your eyes. He pulls you to his chest wrapping his arm around you and kisses the top of your head, stroking your hair. “I’m not asking you to moon”
You leave the warmth of his arms and watch as he grabs his bags and walks out of your room, giving you one last glimpse of goodbye before he walks out of your life.
That was the last time you saw him in person. The next time it was on the news as he was being arrested. In the end, his plan had succeeded. He split up the avengers but then what? It didn’t bring anyone back. Sokovia was still dead and you were left behind while he was locked up for life.
You close your eyes, squeezing out the remains of your tears, preparing to leave this cliff looking over your deserted town when you hear the sound of a click. You let in a sharp breath of recognition. Slowly turning around your eyes adjust to the barrow of a gun and the person standing behind it.
Zemo.
He still looked the same as you remembered. Though if you stared closely you could see lines showing his age starting to appear, the bags under his eyes were bigger than what they once were however after all this time it was still him. He even wore that ridiculously over-the-top coat that you always stole from him.
His eyes however were different, when you always looked into them in the past they seemed warm, like the feeling of drinking hot chocolate. You could melt in them but now they were stone cold. Emotionless. Like he wasn’t even there.
“Zemo…” you breathed out focusing on him
“I planned to eliminate all superheroes” he states
You shake your head at him, “Zemo please”
“I’ve almost completed my plan to rid the world of superheroes, of ‘super soldiers’”
“Please let me explain,” you say starting to take a step forward to him but he quickly raises his other hand grasping the gun, holding it in both hands now and pointing it at you making you stop in your tracks.
“How could you,” he spits, his lips drawing back in a snarl “How could you become one of them!”
“I had no choice” You rasp, tears starting to flow from your eyes again, “I would have died otherwise”
“THEN YOU SHOULD HAVE DIED THAN TAKEN IT” Zemo shouts
The colour drains from your face, your eyes widen in shock staring at him. His jaw tightens as he glares at you. You both stand there in silence taking in what he had said.
Wiping the side of your tear-stained cheek you smile sadly at him, sniffing, you step forward again resting your forehead against the gun.
“Okay” you simply say, your throat feeling like sandpaper as you utter those words
Zemo glares at you, his finger resting on the trigger. The gun starts to shake as he clenches his face in anger.
“DAM IT” he shouts, throwing the gun to the side. His hands grab onto your shoulders roughly, causing you to hiss in pain.
“Why are you doing this to me y/n. How could you do this to me” He snaps.
You were too shocked to reply to him, causing him to get even angrier. His eyes swarmed with tears and when one threatened to fall he pushed you back and turned away so you wouldn’t see.
You shakily let out a breath you were holding in and collapsed onto your knees. Your heart was beating rapidly against your chest and you clenched the sides of your body with your arms in comfort.
Zemo turns back around to you, hatred in his eyes. “I’ve come so far, killing so many just to be stopped here”
“Because you refuse to kill the woman you love” you implored in hope but he shakes his head, “No. Not that”
“Yes, yes that Zemo!” you say shakily getting back up off the ground. “Zemo I still love you though by gods I shouldn’t. We made a promise to each other” you affirmed holding up the chain around your neck, “We were forever Zemo”
Zemo’s finger brushed up against the chain that had been hanging around his neck for the past seven years. They wrap around the chain and in one swift motion, he pulls it off his neck, breaking the chain and throwing it to the ground.
You stare at the broken chain on the floor, your heart dropping. In just one notion it was like all those moments you two spent together were worth nothing. It had led to nothing.
Zemo grabs ahold of your chain and pulls you closer to him, “The truth is, my darling moon, that you don’t love me either”
You try to argue back to him but he raises his finger to your lips, “ah”
“You want to know how I know?”
You don’t say anything, staring at him confused, he leans towards you and automatically you close your eyes however he instead he puts his lips to your ears,
“You’ve been calling me Zemo instead of Helmut”
He lets go of the chain, pushing you away from him again, the force knocking you to the ground.
You think back over your conversation. He was right. When had you started referring him to his last name rather than his first name? You had always called him by his first name before.
You look back up to him, your eyes watering and noticing the tears starting to fall from his eyes.
“I spent years in that prison imaging what it would be like to finally get out. To hold you in my arms once again. To have what we once had. It was the only thing that kept me going in there. You can’t even begin to imagine the pain I felt when I found out the truth. The pain of your betrayal. I hated you. I...I” his voice cracked as he started to cry more
He keeps trying to stop letting out a sob yet his mouth can’t help but frown and his face contorted. “I thought I could stop the pain by getting rid of you but I can’t. Even though I can’t stand looking at you I can’t kill you”
He swallows and looks away from you to the chain on the ground, “I don’t want to ever see you again.”
You could have said something then. Called out to him. Spoke sense to him. He might have even listened but you didn’t. You didn’t say anything. You didn’t try to stop him. You couldn’t even look him in the eyes.
He turns his back and starts to walk away but stops for a moment, turning his head slightly.
“Goodbye y/n”
#zemo#zemo x reader#zemo imagine#i love zemo#zemo x y/n#tfatws#marvel#mcu#daniel brühl#baron zemo#helmut zemo#zemo x you#angst#Zemo angst
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say you want passion (i think you found it) | M
you’re a tease. he’s tired of it.
pairing | shownu x fem!reader
wc | 6.5k
genre/warning | Covid doesnt exist sorry, big dick shownu, sweetheart shownu, dom shownu, sub reader, shownu is called hyunwoo in this, he also likes to be called daddy dont judge, sloppy blowjobs, but still, blowjobs, Shownu eats pussy like a CHAMP, Strength Kink, praise, degradation, degrading praise, this is HIGHLY specialized, you've been warned, deepthroating, DEEP deepthroating at that, nsfw pictures, aka shownu likes to remember it when he does a good job so he takes a picture bc it lasts longer uwu, talking with your mouth full (ill let u guess), doggystyle, teasing, brief nipple play, hickeys, begging, dumbification, rough sex, multiple orgasms, unprotected sex, coming inside, gspot shenanigans, this is genuinely so unrealistic please do not think sex is like this ever in real life, i mean literally ever if you ever fuck someone and it's like this then they aren't real they're a fae or a god or some shit okay, aftercare, shownu uses 3-in-1 because He Does, Barely Edited by the grace of @personawife‘s beta that she fit in when she could ilu,
a/n | first n last shownu smut specifically bc its leilas birthday (@honiboyyoon). u better enjoy this. (side note for anyone who isn’t into shownu smut, but is curious: there’s a namjoon version on ao3 that i’ll link here), but this took entirely too much effort and i did my damndest to fit as many things that ur into in this one fic as i possibly could. i hope this makes up for u probably never getting the vampire maknae line foursome i kept promising you sdfkldjsfasdf
The front door opens as you step out of the car, and you grin as your boyfriend appears in the frame. He grins at you and your best friend and you search his expression for a sign of anything other than his usual sweetness, but find none. You resist the urge to pout - you won’t give him the satisfaction.
“Good luck!” Your best friend teases. You roll your eyes at her - she knows precisely what you envisioned upon arriving back to the quaint little house you call home with Hyunwoo. It’s the reason you wore this outfit, and tried on the clothes you did whilst shopping, and sent him selfies in the poses you did.
You’re on a mission, dammit. It’s been weeks - literal weeks, not even an exaggeration - since you were properly fucked, and you’re fairly tired of prancing around the house in your shortest shorts and deepest v-necks so that when you bend over just right to water your fern, he gets the perfect eyeful. It’s exhausting to try to send all these signals all day every day - but you know how flustered he gets when you ask him directly, so you tried a different tactic. You were being nice!
And it hasn’t worked. At all. He’s offered to help you water your plants, to let you borrow his flannel pajamas in case you’re cold, and even to buy you a sweater, at one point.
In August.
So suffice to say, you’re getting a little tired of him being oblivious. So you’d called up your best friend and invited her to go shopping with you, and yes, it was also very fun to hang out with her and get boba, but she’s also the master of hyping you up and making you feel sexy and desirable, so it was truly a win-win.
Plus, she color-coordinated her own houndstooth pantsuit with your pink houndstooth skirt/blazer combo, so really, you should send her a fruit basket or something. Maybe cookies.
The point remains that your boyfriend hasn’t responded to any of your borderline pornographic selfies or the very pointed videos of you holding various sex toys and asking if it would fit. You’re at your wit’s end, and you were really hoping that it would truly get through to him this time that you want nothing more than to be railed against the mattress so hard that you cry.
You’re a simple girl, after all.
But no! He’s got that sweet smile on his face as you carry your shopping bags in one hand and your purse in the other, carefully sidestepping the cosmos he’d just planted the other day so you wouldn’t step all over his hard work. His smile widens when you reach the door, and he presses a sweet, gentle kiss against your forehead that has you on the verge of tears.
He waves again to your best friend as she drives off, and as usual snags your shopping bags out of your hand so he can place them beside the door. You’ve already pulled your blazer off to hang in the entryway closet by the time he’s shut the door, and you gasp as you’re jerked back. His hands are on either side of your head, braced against the front door like it’s the only thing keeping him up, and you struggle to focus on anything that isn’t the way his muscles flex.
“Do you have any idea what today was like for me?” He growls. The sound of it brings heat between your thighs, and you resist the urge to cheer.
“Sorry, should I not have sent you any selfies today?” You ask, keeping your voice as light and innocent as you can. He makes eye contact with you; there’s a fire in his eyes you haven’t seen in what feels like forever. “Did you not like them?”
“You know damn well what I thought of them,” he mutters, one hand coming down to rest on your hip. “I’ve tried so hard lately, y’know? The tiny shorts with your ass hanging out, the shirts that show everything when you bend over. God, the bending.”
“Really?” You breathe. It’s always exhilarating to know that you’re desired, but this is nearly heady. He fixes his gaze on you, eyes burning, and your smile softens slightly.
“I was trying,” he says, clearly holding himself back, “To be a good boyfriend. To make sure that you know that I want more from you than just sex, and that I value you as more than just someone attractive. I was trying so hard to prove that you– that we have more between us than that. That I respect you more than that.”
“So don’t respect me.” You say it like it’s obvious, because it is. You’ve been laying down signals galore the past few weeks, and clearly he did not get the memo.
“I’m always going to respect you,” he says instead, sighing slightly as he leans in to press his forehead against yours. “I don’t want to disrespect you, you’re worth more than that. But fuck, all I wanna do is fuck you stupid right now.”
“Please,” you whisper, biting your lip. It’s all you’ve wanted for weeks and now you might finally - finally - get it. “Disrespect me, daddy.”
The hand on your hip tightens, no doubt bruising the skin, and you gasp at the feeling. Hyunwoo makes eye contact - just long enough to make sure that you’re on board for whatever it is he’s about to do.
He could probably suggest a number of things that you’ve never considered and you’d say yes, at this point - you’re not ashamed to admit that you’re desperate.
The hand on your hips lowers - he traces all the way down your thigh and to the back of your knee before travelling back up, this time under your skirt. He kisses you as he does it - long, heated kisses that make your head spin so perfectly that you don’t know what he’s doing until he glides a finger across your clothed core.
You gasp into the kiss, but it doesn’t deter him. He pulls down, kissing and biting down your jaw to your neck as his fingers trace over you once more. You can feel him smile against your skin.
“You’re already soaked,” he tuts. “You’ve ruined this pair, princess. How naughty of you. Would you like daddy to take them off?”
“Yes!” You moan as his fingers ghost over your folds once more.
“Yes what?” He asks, and you could cry with how much you want him.
“Yes, daddy,” you tell him, and he smiles once more. It’s blinding, how bright he is when he smiles like that, and for a second you’re breathless. Then you feel them - his hands, burning a trail along your thigh to tug at the band of your underwear. It only takes him a few seconds to pull them down as he bends, and he kisses your thigh as he brings one of your legs up so he can slide them off completely.
He was right - they are ruined, the evidence of your arousal immediately apparent by the large wet spot in the center. He doesn’t bother to slide them off your other leg, though - just lets them hang from your ankle, no doubt as a reminder of how strongly he affects you.
He presses kisses to every bit of skin he can as he stands fully upright once more, suckling a mark into your collarbone that you’ll absolutely cherish when you have to cover it up before work tomorrow.
His hands don’t leave your thighs - warm and strong and utterly distracting, you can’t take your mind off them as he kisses you again, heady and intoxicating. You feel it as one hand travels back underneath your skirt again, gliding between your thighs.
A moan sticks in your throat as his fingers slide in between your folds - the feeling of them teasing against your hole before they move to rub light circles into your clit is nearly too much to handle.
“Hyunwoo, please–”
“Patience,” he interrupts. You can hear the smile in his voice as he slides over your hole once more, spreading your arousal across your lips before teasing your clit again. “Good girls have patience, right, princess?”
You whimper, hips arching off the door to try to guide his finger inside of you. It’s a futile attempt - he just returns to the slow, infuriating circles on your clit, and you would cry if it didn’t feel as good as it does.
It could be hours or it could be seconds that he continues this pattern - slow, maddening circles on your clit, then the slightest bit of a tease at your hole, just enough to make you think that maybe he’ll fuck you with his fingers, before he returns to the circles. It’s enough to make a stronger woman cry, and you can’t help the whines that you let out when he once again deprives you of the fuck you so desperately want.
“Please just fuck me,” you finally break, hands moving from where they’re wrapped around his neck to circle his waist and do your best to pull him in closer. You can feel him against your thigh, warm and thick and big, and you want him.
He hisses when you grind against him, and the one hand that remains on your hip tightens ever so slightly. “You’re being very bad, princess,” he chastises, but you couldn’t care less. Your mind is focused on the memory of what he felt like inside you, and you’re ready to burst with need.
“I don’t care,” you tell him firmly, hands sliding up under his shirt to run your nails against his muscled torso. “I don’t care, I need you, please, I just want–”
“I know,” he cuts you off. His hands disappear from you entirely, but only for a moment - before you know it, two large hands wrap around your wrists, guiding yours out of his shirt. You can't stop whimpering, caught between the memory of the last time he was between your thighs and the reality of his lips against your skin.
Hyunwoo drops - he hits the wooden floor with a muffled thud, and before you can even react, his hands are underneath your skirt. He pushes it upwards, muttering something almost reverent about thighs as he does, and then he’s pressing soft kisses to the inside of your thighs. His hands don’t stop, though - they keep going, shoving your skirt up until it pools around your waist.
“H-Hyunwoo—”
“Ssh,” he whispers, giving your thigh a light bite. A heartbeat later and you can feel his warm breath against your folds. “You wanted to feel good, right?”
“Yes, please,” you breathe, hands instinctively tangling in his soft brown hair.
“Then be a good slut for me, and stay still while I make you feel good."
You stifle a whimper - he knows what his words do to you, and you jolt as his tongue gently nudges against your folds. There's no stopping the soft sigh that falls from your lips as he delves deeper, ghosting across your swollen clit to nudge against your hole. He's tentative, teasing with his movements - he likes to make you wait, tease you until you're grinding against his mouth.
You doubt this will be an exception.
A moan is thrust out of you as you feel your hole stretch slightly. Not much, not far - just enough to accommodate him as he fucks your hole with his tongue. It's just the right side of unsatisfying - you're aching, absolutely dripping for him, and this is just enough to whet your appetite and make you hungry for more.
You can feel his smile against you, and you already know what's coming - still, it's disappointing when he pulls his tongue out. You whine, unashamed of how you must sound or how loud you may be, and he chuckles.
"Patience, baby girl," he breathes. Warm air flows over you, and your hands move to tangle in his hair. His tongue shifts again, lapping at your clit for long enough that you think you may cum before he stops to draw mind-numbing circles around it instead.
Time bends around the two of you - it always does when he's between your thighs like this, when he's teasing and deliberate with every swipe of his tongue against you, every press of him against your hole. He edges you for so long; slow circles around your clit turn to quick thrusts inside of you that shift into laps against your hole that drag upward, just barely catching your clit before they stop.
You're sure there would be a puddle on the floor were it not for his dedication. The entire house is filled with the sounds of his mouth against you, only drowned out by the sound of your cries as he begins to suck on your clit.
Your knees quake on either side of his head, and he doesn't hesitate to bring his hands up behind your thighs. Without a second thought, he lifts - not even pausing in his mission, tongue still thrusting into you at an almost absurd rate - and then your thighs are resting atop his shoulders. You gasp, both in shock and in pleasure as he lets his teeth graze ever so lightly against that bundle of nerves.
This isn't the first time he's done this - put you on his shoulders and left you there while he eats you out within an inch of your life - but it's the first time in a long time, and it has you seeing stars as one of your hands stays tangled in his hair and the other is braced against the wall beside you.
"Hyunwoo, please–" You beg, but you can't catch your breath long enough between moans to say anything more. He sucks again, the flat of his tongue gliding over your clit as it's pulled into his mouth once more, and your vision goes white. Your knees quake, and you're sure that if you had been standing, you wouldn't be anymore.
"That's my girl," Hyunwoo praises after he's done cleaning up your cum. When you can see again, you realize he's set you down on the floor and is slowly massaging your thighs.
"Hyun, I....please....can you–"
"You want me to fuck you stupid, baby?" He asks. His tone is a little patronizing, but that's okay, because it only serves to turn you on more. "Does my sweet little whore need my cock in her?"
"Yes, please," you whimper, hips tilting upwards against nothing of their own accord.
Hyunwoo stands and hooks his thumbs into the waistband of his grey sweats. A few moments later he's pulled them down just enough to free himself. Your mouth drops open slightly when you finally lay eyes on him - you know he's big. You know that he is big, you've had his entire length inside of you several times now and you've felt it for days after each time, but it still never fails to shock you.
Because he is big. Thick, so thick you can hardly wrap your entire fist around him, and long, with the perfect curve that hits that spot inside of you that makes your toes curl. His dick is nearly as perfect as he is, and that is a very high bar.
It's also so hard that you can see it throbbing, jumping every so often as his muscles tense.
"You want me to make you come with my cock, right, baby?" He asks, once again using that patronizing tone that makes heat creep across your cheeks.
You nod.
"Then you're going to have to ask nicely, aren't you?" He prods.
"Please, daddy," you say without hesitation, "Please fuck me, I want you to make me cum so hard that I cry, I want to be a good slut for you."
"Very good, baby," he praises. "Now I want you to prove that you mean it. Can you be a good little whore and suck my cock?"
You lean forward, not even bothering to use your hands because your bones still feel like jelly. You run your tongue across the tip of him, giving small kitten licks to the slit just how he likes. A groan rumbles through him, and he lets out a soft gasp as you slip your tongue down to wet the shaft as well.
"Fuck, princess," he moans, "I think you've gotten even better at this."
Encouraged, you let your mouth hang open– just barely wide enough to get your lips around the shaft– and let your tongue rest on your spit-slick lips. You glance up long enough to see that Hyunwoo's eyes are blown wide with his desire before you mouth sloppily down his dick. It's messy and would probably be disgusting if it were anyone but the two of you and Hyunwoo didn't have that look in his eyes that promises you'll remember tonight for several weeks.
His hands move, one adjusting his grip on the doorframe as you suck the head of his cock between your lips while the other comes down to grip one of the two buns you put your hair in that morning. He tugs - not hard, not yet, but firmly enough that it stings slightly and makes you keen.
"If you're going to make a mess, don't you think you should clean it up?" He asks. You lift a brow and he grins. "Clearly you're not that tired if you still have an attitude."
"No," you whine, "I am tired, my bones are basically nonexistent right now thanks to you."
The hand in your hair loosens slightly, and Hyunwoo tuts. "I have to do all the work, huh? Then get on your knees for me, baby girl, so I can use you like a good toy."
You rush to comply, and only wince a bit at the feeling of the cold floor against your knees. His hand stays where it is the entire time you're moving, but he waits until you're sitting still, legs folded under you and giving you that extra bit of height you'll need.
"Let me know if it's too much," Hyunwoo commands, and you nod. His eyes darken, slightly, and he runs his thumb along your jaw. "What's the signal?"
"Two taps on your thigh," You tell him, not for the first time. He's always so careful beforehand, and while you appreciate just how much he cares about you, you also are sick of just staring at his cock, and your mouth is beginning to water.
Hyunwoo coos slightly, and the hand in your hair shifts to guide rather than just anchor. "You're always so good for me," he mutters as he slides the tip past your lips. "Always such a good little slut."
You don't stop the whimper that escapes your throat – he loves them, and you know it. Your mouth is lax, nothing more than a hole for him to fill as he sees fit, and there's the slightest twinge of complaint as your jaw begins to stretch.
You ignore it, determined to get as much of him as possible this time. You've practiced for this, nearly every day, since the last time and you're not stopping until you beat your record.
Hyunwoo sighs as he hits the back of your throat. "God, you're perfect," he mutters as he begins to slide back out. You let your jaw relax a bit as he does, and when just the tip rests on your tongue, you give it a small kiss, just because you can.
Hyunwoo smiles, gaze softening for a split second. "Hands in position, baby girl," he reminds you, and you do as he says – one hand on back of each of his thighs, so you can tap out if you need to.
Also so you can feel those incredible muscles flex as he starts shallow thrusts, rippling and tensing under your fingers. If your mouth weren't otherwise occupied, you'd bite them.
Hyunwoo continues carefully, testing just how much of himself can fit before you start to gag on his length….and just how long you can choke before you really start to need air.
He pulls back before you even need to tap out, always careful to keep an eye on you for any warning signs. He slides back in and waits until he hits the back of your throat again, pushing slightly further, and just as he's about to begin pulling back out, you look up at him with wide eyes.
You know you look like a mess; drool gathering on your lips because your mouth is too full to hold it, tears streaming down your cheeks from your attempts to stop gagging. Hyunwoo loves it when you look ruined like this, adores taking your perfectly crafted image and crumbling it to pieces in his hands.
So it's no surprise when he lets out a low moan, or when he lets himself slip a little further down your throat. This is as far as he's ever gotten and you want him to know how good you are, how hard you've been practicing with the toys underneath your bed. He slides out, precum dripping onto your tongue as he does, and you bat your lashes at him.
"Use me," you tell him. "Use me like the toy that I am for you, Daddy." Something darkens in his eyes and he doesn't hesitate to thrust back in.
Your eyes water with the force of it and you don't stop the moan that escapes you as he slides deeper down your throat than he's ever been before. There's still a couple inches left before he'd be fully sheathed, but Hyunwoo doesn't even seem to notice as he pulls out just to thrust back in.
Neither of you are quiet — you can barely hear the wet squelch of your mouth. It's drowned out by the moans he draws from you, which in turn pull moans from him between the words he growls out.
"God, you're so perfect," he mutters as he fucks your throat with abandon. "The perfect angel slut, so good at getting throatfucked, just made for my cock no matter where it goes, huh? You're such a good whore, you're probably fucking soaked just from my dick in your mouth, aren't you?"
You whimper around him and he speeds up, relentless; he's not wrong either — you are soaked, can feel it between your thighs as your hips rock fruitlessly against empty air.
"Oh, look at you," Hyunwoo coos, "So desperate to be fucked while sucking me off. Maybe one day I'll get one of your buddies over here to fuck your throat while you ride my cock, since you're so desperate to get used like a good slut. But I don't even think that'll be enough, will it? Because they won't be me." He thrusts a little deeper, a little rougher, and you aren't sure if the noises you're making are as loud as they seem to you but either way, they only serve to egg him on.
"No," Hyunwoo continues, "They won't be Daddy, will they? They won't be able to get this deep in your throat, won't be able to fuck you like this. And you know why? Because this is my hole." He punctuates the sentence with a sharp thrust and you squeeze the backs of his thighs to show your agreement. "You're my perfect slut. My good little whore. Isn't that right, baby girl?"
You squeeze the backs of his thighs again, but it isn't enough. He stills, still buried nearly to the hilt inside you, and cocks a brow.
"Well? Aren't you my perfect whore?" Your face flames, heat burning in your cheeks. Your jaw aches from being stretched for so long, there spit and precum dripping down your chin and you can feel him throbbing in your throat.
And Hyunwoo looks expectant. He wants to hear you agree with him, wants you to remind yourself of this fact.
You don't even blink when he pulls his phone out of the pocket of his sweats. You can't see what he does, but based on how he angles it and the shallow thrusts he gives without looking away from the screen, you can guess.
"Aw, is my baby girl getting shy now?" He teases as you make eye contact with the lens and feel your face heat up. "Don't even worry about it, baby. I just wanna remember how fucking perfect you look right now forever. My perfect cocksucking slut."
You whimper, pussy clenching around nothing and you're overcome with a sudden need to feel him inside you.
"Are you gonna be a good slut now?" Hyunwoo continues, still recording. "Are you daddy's good slut?" You nod and can't stop the reflexive swallow as he goes even deeper. Hyunwoo groans at the feeling and you can see his grip on his phone tighten for a moment.
"Say it," he commands when his eyes open once more. "I want to hear you say it."
" 'm 'a'y's 'er'ec' 'ore," you moan. It doesn't even sound like words, at this point, but when you look back up at him with wide eyes. Hyunwoo looks proud.
"You absolutely are," he whispers. He hits a button and then pockets his phone again. He slides carefully out of your mouth and casually strokes his cock with one hand as he wipes spit from your face with the other. "I think you've been a perfect angel, baby girl, so you've earned your reward. Where would you like it?"
"Bed, please, Daddy." Your voice is hoarse and scratchy, but you don't care, and Hyunwoo doesn't seem to either as he pulls his sweats up and then bends. The world spins for a moment and then steadies, and you realize he's got you in his arms. Hyunwoo carries you like a princess towards the room you share, and tosses you on the bed without hesitation.
Your eyes widen as he starts to strip out of his clothes, and you can't deny that you enjoy the show. The torso of muscles all rippling, the golden skin all shining, the desire in his eyes. Then the sweats — they hit the ground with a thud and you idly hope his phone is alright before you remember there are more important things right now.
He is, unsurprisingly, still hard — almost painfully so, a deep swollen pink at the head and jumping every so often. The vein running up the underside is throbbing, and you can actually feel yourself get wetter with anticipation.
One knee rests on the mattress, then the other, and Hyunwoo is crawling towards you on his hands and knees, and you can see every muscle as it shifts and fuck you love this man.
"I love you," you tell him, not for the first time. He breaks for a second, a bright smile taking over his face.
"I love you," he replies, pressing a kiss to your thigh. "Can we take those clothes off now, baby, because as great as you look, you're even better naked."
Breath catches in your throat and you nod. Hyunwoo is almost reverent as his hands glide up your thighs and is exceedingly gentle as he slides down the zipper and then the skirt itself. He smiles again, almost shy, and you can't help but marvel at the fact that this is the same man who bad you gagging on his dick not five minutes ago.
He leans in and gently nudges your nose with his, but when you lean forward to kiss him, he backs away with a playful grin. His warm hand rests on your waist and he leans in again only to dart back when you try to kiss him — not far, though. He's still close enough that you can feel the heat of his breath mix with yours, but it's still infuriating.
You pout at him, and his smile just grows. "What is it?" He asks, teasing. "What do you want?" His lips ghost over yours as he speaks and it nearly breaks you.
"You," You whine. "I want you."
"You have me." He leans forward then, capturing your lips with an intensity you haven't seen in a long time. His mouth moves against yours and it's firm, commanding, and absolutely intoxicating as he pulls back just to lightly bite your lips. It's not rough, not really, but it's fiery and exciting and everything you've wanted.
He presses closer, nimble fingers undoing the buttons of your blouse in what seems like an instant. Warm hands cross your spine and then your bra is gone, too. His skin seems to meld to yours, hands moving everywhere as he lays you back.
Your breath hitches when you feel him against your entrance and he smiles into the bruise he's sucking into your throat.
"You're so fucking wet, baby," he breathes as his tip teases against your entrance. "You're always so wet for me, so ready to be fucked. Just a perfect fucking whore, huh?" He slides in then, but only a bit. Just like before, it's just barely enough for you to feel him stretching you out. Just a tease of what's to come.
"Hyunwoo," you whine. You can see the amusement in his eyes as he chuckles.
"What is it? You want more?" He slides in further, but just a centimeter. You whine again, pushing your hips up against his to try to push him deeper. You can feel yourself throbbing, aching, for him, and you're tired of being teased. You want to be full.
You tell him as much, watching his pupils dilate with every word until there's hardly any iris left to be seen.
"Is that so?" He mutters, almost to himself. "Well, your wish is my command." He slides in, slowly, but this time he doesn't stop. He just keeps going and going and going, until you can feel him at your cervix. It stings – you're stretched so far, and he's so deep inside – but you relish it.
"Beautiful," Hyunwoo mutters as he begins to slide back out, inch by agonizing inch. You whimper as the tip nearly slides out, too, and your hips lift of their own accord. Hyunwoo takes the hint and pushes back in; he creates a rhythm, one so slow, so maddening, that you're on the verge of tears as you whine and whimper underneath him.
He notices your frustration, pulls himself away from lazily mouthing at your nipples, and hums.
"What's wrong, baby? You aren't satisfied yet?" He gives you that Boy-Next-Door grin that you know hides a demon behind it. "Are you going to ask nicely again? Tell me no one fills you up like I do and beg me to fuck you the way you want? You look so pretty when you beg."
Any other time, you wouldn't. You would at least hesitate, make him work a little harder for your pleas. But you're desperate and frustrated and have no shame, so you don't hesitate.
"Please, Daddy," you beg, letting your legs fall open and arching your back so his eyes drop lower and lower. "Please, Daddy, no one can fill this pussy like you do, no one can fuck my holes like you. Pl–please," you moan as he slides entirely inside once more, "Please fuck me right, make me come on your cock, I wan– wanna be fucked stupid, want you to– to fuck me stupid, please, wanna be Daddy's perfect slut, pl– Ah!"
You can't help your surprised gasp as Hyunwoo flips you onto your stomach with a low growl.
Warmth drapes along your back as you rise up, palms splayed across the sheets and elbows locked to keep you upright; his skin is sweat-slick and heated against your own, and a shiver runs down your spine when he pauses to runs his teeth along the lobe of your ear.
"You are the best part of my life," he announces.
Butterflies explode in your belly a split second before he slides out of you.
"And I'm gonna make you cum so hard that you'll never forget that fact."
"Hyunwo— Oh!"
He thrusts into you with enough force to toss you into the headboard, had he not planted one hand firmly on your hip and had the other curled around your breast to tease your nipple.
"You like that?" Hyunwoo asks with a smile in his voice. He repeats the movement and you clench around him as you gasp out a moan. It's all you can do to nod and he flicks your nipple in response. "Good."
He lifts up, both hands now holding you steady by an iron grip on your hips, and readjusts his legs so yours are spread slightly wider. Your arms are trembling but you pay them no mind.
Until Hyunwoo thrusts forward, pulling back just as quickly only to bury himself again, a heartbeat later. His pace is absolutely merciless; the sound of skin hitting skin fills the room, mixing beautifully with the wet slide as he shoves back in and the rough, throat moans that he pulls from you. Your vision swims, and you can't concentrate on anything else as he gives you the fucking that's been haunting your dreams every night.
He adjusts his grip, one hand moving to sit firmly on the small of your back and press you down just a bit. The angle shifts – not much, but enough that the next time he pounds into you, he thrusts right up against that spot that makes your toes curl.
You cry out, vision going white as he hits it again, and again, and again, absolutely ruthless in his mission. Your muscles go weak, biceps twitching as they give out, and then you're face down in the mattress. Hyunwoo doesn't hesitate, just ghosts his palm down to rest between your shoulders and keep you in place.
He might be talking – you certainly think you hear the low tones of his voice as he speaks to you, but you can't make out words. It's too much work, too many syllables, too much effort to try to work past the haze that blankets your mind. You can still feel him, pumping in and out of your gushing pussy — the stretch barely stings anymore, and he throbs inside of you. Each thrust is still perfectly angled to hit that mind-numbing place that keeps you from doing anything more than screeching his name.
He slows, immediately switching from speed to power as he manages to put even more force behind his hips. The hand in your back moves, as does the one on your hip and then you're rising.
A warm palm across your throat – not choking, just keeping you in place while the other traces along your spread thigh.
There are words – something your brain is too fried to make out, and then a rumble that vibrates through you. A laugh. His thrusts get a little faster as he fucks up into you, and you're dimly aware of his fingers slipping between your folds.
Someone screams — no, not someone. You. You scream, something so loud and provocative that it can't even be called a moan anymore, as he begins to rub circles around your clit. Orgasms rock through you, every part of your body going boneless even as you shake from the force of it. It's impossible to tell when it stops, if it stops – the aftershocks are strong and he still hasn't stopped fucking you, though he's slower and gentler now, letting you ride it out on his cock.
"……perfect for me, " you hear him whisper as you're senses come back. "Absolutely perfect, an amazing fucking— just divine, you are."
"Hyun," you manage, and it's no shock that you sound absolutely wrecked. "D– Daddy."
"I'm here, baby girl," he mutters, "What do you need?"
"You," You respond instantly. "Want you, wanna fee– feel it, want you to fill me, please, in– ah, inside, want you dripping ou–" You're cut off once more as your body heaves with yet another aftershock, clenching around his hard length again.
"Whatever you want, baby," he promises. "Can you come once more for me, baby girl? Just one more time so we can come together?"
"Mm…." You pause, taking the best inventory you can as your muscles jolt again. You consider lying to him, or just omitting this, because you know he'll never stop reminding you of it, but decide against it. Instead, you quietly admit, "I don't think I ever stopped."
"Oh, fuck," he breathes. Within moments, you can feel his thrusts turn more erratic, more frenzied, and then you're impossibly fuller even as something warm drips down the inside of your thigh.
He's gentle as he lays you down on the bedspread, exceedingly so as he pulls his softening cock out of you. His weight disappears from the bed for a few minutes that seem to stretch into hours, and then the mattress dips, and his soft smile appears once more.
"Here sweetheart, drink this." He hands you a familiar cup and when you take a sip, the water is cool and refreshing. Wet warmth, surprising but pleasant, glides along your inner thigh and you look down to see him cleaning you up.
"Mm, this is quite possibly the perfect view," you tease, wagging your brows as you make a show of checking out his muscular arms. It makes him laugh, the soft one that's just for when you're being ridiculous.
"Drunk your water, you menace," he commands as he continues to wipe. "You're gonna need to replenish your fluids, after all that." He looks pointedly towards the bed and you follow his gaze, face heating when your eyes land on the rather sizable wet spot staining the sheets.
"Whoops?" You offer. When you look back at him, he only looks fond.
"Don't even start, it was hot. Besides, they needed to be put in the wash anyway. I'll start them after you get into the bath." He gives over you, taking kisses along every piece of skin he can until he reaches your lips. You can't help the way your breath catches – even after all this time, he manages to make you breathless over the smallest things.
He peppers kisses along your cheeks, and nose, and everywhere else until you're giggling and trying to turn away from him. Unfortunately, with his arms on either side of you, you're fairly well trapped, so you settle for fucking your head into his neck instead.
You pause. Sniff again. Back up. He looks sheepish, like he already knows what you're going to say.
"We were out of the fancy stuff—" He tries, but you don't let him.
"You used that 3-in-1 shit again?" You demand. "Actual body wash isn't even fancy, it's what normal people use! That's it, you're coming into the bath with me after you start the laundry so that I can make sure you didn't use it in your hair, too."
He smiles again, though you have a sneaking suspicion that he's just humoring you when he nods and says, "Whatever you want."
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What Makes a Family? Pt10
AO3 Beginning Previous Next
“You need to take his Miraculous now. Honestly I’d be fine if he was just sitting out but his reckless behavior is causing problems and he won’t listen to you or anyone else when they point it out. “ Marinette just sighed at Kagami’s words as they walked into the living room. They’d all been taking turns since the fight ended to convince her of the necessity.
“You need to tell me who that boy is so I can go beat some sense into him.” Her Maman’s complaint just got a weak smile. She’d refused to tell them for that very reason.
“There’s no need, I told him to meet me tonight.” She could hear how tired she was which meant everyone else could too. She went over to sit between her parents and curled into her father’s waiting hug. “I’m fine Papa, I promise. And if I’m right, I’ll have my real black cat soon and this will all be over.”
“And who exactly is this person?” Chloe’s demanding tone was hiding concern, for a lot of reasons. Even so Marinette couldn’t stop the ill timed yawn that came out and it seemed to annoy the other girl more.
“My twin.” There was dead silence at that announcement. She was debating who would find their voice first.
“Seriously? Paris can barely handle one of you and you want to bring in a clone?” Yeah, Chloe is the one she would have guessed.
“She’s not a clone, and she’s technically my half sister so we don’t even have that similar of DNA.” Luka and Kagami were communicating with looks and she was too worn out to try and follow it. Chloe just huffed and crossed her arms while Marinette felt her Papa hug her harder.
“You have a half sister?” Her Maman’s tone was soft and that could be dangerous. Unfortunately, Marinette didn’t heed that little voice in her head telling her to stop.
“And a half brother, and apparently a bunch of siblings that are adopted.” She felt the impending explosion too late to do anything but burrow further into her Papa.
“This man has all these kids and just decided he didn’t want you?” She forgot how loud her Maman could yell. She didn’t do it often which made it far more terrifying when she did.
“It’s not like that. He didn’t know about me, and it’s all rather too complicated to go into when I can barely keep my eyes open. Grandpa Alfie?” The man had been suspiciously quiet but he was radiating the same tension as her parents.
“Yes Miss Marinette?” Yep, there was definitely some suppressed anger in that tone.
“Could you ask Mr. Wayne if he and Cass can come to Paris? Sooner would be better. The others can come too but I need her here.” He was frowning at her and she wasn’t certain why but it looked thoughtful.
“Of course, I’ll make sure they’re here by tomorrow.” That was the last thing she heard before she fell asleep.
------------------------------------------------------------
Alfred pulled out his phone to text Master Bruce with measured calmness, but inside he was livid. It was bad enough children had been given the responsibility of protecting Paris but watching one of them goof off to the point that he endangered all the others, multiple times, made him want to take Mme. Cheng’s idea and run with it. Given what they’d said during the fight about him harassing Ladybug he’d be more than willing to set the boy straight.
Alfred - You and Miss Cassandra need to be on a plane. Now.
Master Bruce - What’s wrong?
Alfred - You’ll be briefed when you get here, but it is incredibly urgent.
Master Bruce - Should I tell Cass about Marinette?
Alfred - Yes, that would be prudent.
Master Bruce - What about the boys?
Alfred - Miss Marinette is amenable to meeting them as well, but I’ll let you decide if you want to tell them now and have them all descend on Paris with you.
Master Bruce - It might be best to get it over with at one time. Selina wants to come too for some reason.
Alfred - I don’t see that as a problem, but I will ask Miss Marinette when she wakes just to be sure.
Master Bruce - We’ll be there in twelve hours.
Alfred didn’t bother to ask how many because he had a feeling it was going to be all of them. He did wonder at Miss Kyle’s interest, but she might just be curious to see Master Bruce’s newly found offspring.
“They’ll be here by morning. Probably with the boys as well.” He looked up to find Miss Marinette asleep. Mme. Cheng was frowning at him.
“Exactly how many are we talking about?” She was speaking through clenched teeth and Alfred could tell she was trying to remain calm. This was all a lot to process so he wasn’t surprised.
“Master Bruce, his fiance, and Miss Cassandra for certain. Masters Dick, Jason, Tim, and Damian are possibilities. I’ll do what I can to keep them from overwhelming all of you.”
“I thought Bruce Wayne only had one known biological son, so how exactly does Mari have a twin sister?” Alfred debated whether to answer Miss Chloe��s question, but Marinette would certainly explain it when she was awake anyway.
“Miss Cassandra and Miss Marinette share the same mother but have different fathers. So you are correct, until now Master Damian was the only one we knew about.” He could tell she was about to grill him further and kept going to prevent it. “Miss Marinette and I were interrupted and I would prefer not to disclose things to others I haven’t even been able to tell her. I’m also not certain what she would want to share with all of you so that’s all I’m willing to say on the matter at present.”
“I can respect that, and Mari definitely deserves to hear everything first.” She paused to look at the sleeping girl and sighed. “I guess she’ll be getting the siblings she wanted. I should go back to the hotel and prepare rooms, since I’m assuming they’ll be joining you there.” It wasn’t exactly a question but Alfred nodded anyway.
“Yes Miss. As soon as I know about the boys I’ll have an idea of room numbers and let you know.”
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Gotham’s Salty WIP: Chapter II
CHAPTER I
RATING: T (Teen for cursing and stuff, this may change)
SUMMARY:
Basically, the typical Daminette with a bit of lime and spice. Borderline crack fic bc i cant without humor.
Marinette Dupain-Cheng goes to Gotham whilst carrying three years worth of emotional baggage, what she does with it, we don't know. Does she lug it around? Probably. Does she kick it off a skyscraper? Not probable, but maybe. Does she use it to drop kick an unsuspecting liar. Most definitely. ~~~> EDITED BY OLLIETHETURTLE ON AO3
Transferred from AO3.
Lemme know if u wanna be tagged
“Yeah, your signatures don’t line up…” says the man at the front desk. “You said your name was… Lila Rossi, right? I’m looking for a... Marinette Dupain-Cheng?”
“Present,” an amused Marinette announces.
“No! There must have been a mistake. I personally talked to Brucie and his 4 sons, Jason Grayson, Tim Todd, Dick Drake and my precious Damibear!”
“Yeah no. That 100% didn’t happen. 100%,” the somewhat peeved front desk attendant grins.
“How dare you talk to Lila like that! What’s your name? Give me your manager's number!” Alya fumes in a french accent (A/N: total karen moment intentionally placed).
“My name is Andrew Winston, and my supervisor….”
“Hey Andrew, what’s poppin!” says a voice. After observation one could say that said voice comes from a tall muscular man, with a white streak in his hair, wearing a leather jacket.
“My blood vessels, Jason. My blood vessels. Why are you here? You weren’t supposed to be here today.”
“Yeah, Dick broke his arm yesterday at home. He fell down the stairs. And since I am such an amazing brother, I decided that I would fill in for him today!”
“You were forced,” concludes Andrew as he scratches out Lila’s name off the previously mentioned thicc stack of papers with a black marker.
“Yup.”
“This is the class you are supposed to caddy around WE. And they seem to be a bit peeved right now.”
Jason sighs, “Ok. what’s the issue…”
“They are saying that Lila Rossi, here” Andrew points to Lila, then looks down at his notes “says she spoke to a Brucie, a Jason Grayson, a Tim Todd, a Dick Drake and her precious Damibear to set up this field trip. My info here says that a girl named Marinette Dupain-Cheng set this trip up but they don’t believe me.” Andrew nonchalantly continues “Speaking of which, Marinette please sign on all the starred lines. Lila and her friend already filled out everything else.”
“Tim Todd!” Jason chokes.
¬`
The tour had slowed down in the corridors of Wayne Enterprises as Jason let the students go on a quick bathroom and water break. Lila had left for the bathroom, and it is safe to say that Marinette learnt her lesson to avoid bathroom confrontations with Lila. They were never fun, and right now she doesn’t think she can handle a wet shirt in winter.
“Really, Marinette. You take credit for all of Lila’s hard work,” says Kim passing by.
“Do you have any idea how hard Lila worked on this, and you know she hardly has any time to spare.” Max pitches in.
“Yeah. Lila worked so fucking hard concocting the names Jason Grayson, Tim Todd and Dick Drake. Sounds like the revamped cast to The Three Stooges,” Chloe crackles giggling.
“I sure wonder how Tim Todd and Jason Grayson are today? Are they well?” Marinette questions sarcastically.
“Absolutely fucking amazing after hearing that!” Jason wheezes, overhearing the conversation. Jason gave Marinette a knowing look that confirmed an earlier inference. This Jason was Jason Todd. This was priceless.
Adrien’s eyes narrow on his angered face. “What was she doing.” “She promised to take the high road.” “She only needs me, I’m her best friend.” He watched the situation from a distance, unnoticed by Marinette. But as sly he is, he did not slip Jason’s radar.
¬
“So y’all, 1:30pm. That means, Lunch time! Right and you’ll be at the cafeteria, I’ll be joining you guy in about 15 minutes. So fuel up. Remember to show your IDs, lunch is on the house! Bon appetit!” Jason cheerfully announced as bows dramatically (like actors at the end of a play) and he turns around.
A bit into lunch Mrs. Bustier came up to Marinette and Chloe’s table. “Marinette, can I talk to you?” asks Mrs. Bustier.
“Can I come too, Mrs. Bustier?” asks Chloe suspiciously
“No, Chloe. This is just in between Marinette and I, sorry.” Mrs. Bustier replies sternly.
“It’s okay, Chloe. I’ll be fine,” reassured the ladybug holder, squeezing the bee holder’s hand.
“Ok, fine. Let me know if something happens.” Then Chloe leans in to whisper to Marinette, “Audio record it, just in case.” Marinette nods.
“Ok, Mrs. Bustier. I’m coming!” replies the bluenette happily as she follows Mrs. Bustier away from the crowd.
Adrien, from his table with Nino, Alya and Lila watched, “Hey guys, I need to go to the bathroom,” he said before standing up.
¬
“Marinette you should be setting an example for the class. What you did today, making fun of Lila was wrong,” Mrs. Bustier frowned. “You of all people know Lila's condition and you should be more accepting of her.” Disappointed, Mrs. Bustier continues, “I expect you to apologize to her before we head back to the hotel.”
“With all respect, no thank you. I will not apologize for my actions,” Marinette sternly begins. “Does the school have any medical record of her illness?” Marinette asks. “Why should I allow her to take credit for my hard work? And why do I have to be the model student who is obligated to be kind to everyone, when no one ever is to me?” Marinette, now more frustrated than before, questions the teacher. She felt a storm of emotion begin to stir.
“Because you are the class representative! It is your responsibility to lead the class with your example! Lila is a student with needs, she needs to feel accepted by all her classmates and it is your job to fulfill her needs.”
“I’m sorry Mrs. Bustier, but sometimes I can’t shove a square in a circle. Sometimes I can’t do things. Lila is lying, and I can’t lie with her. I will not lie.i will not pretend to like her. And why must I be responsible for all the students in class, but receive no respect for it. Receive nothing but hate and insults. How is that fair for me?” Tears begin to collect in Marinette’s eyes. Mrs. Bustier, for the longest time, has been one of Marinette’s favourite teachers. The fact that right now Mrs. Bustier, couldn’t give less of a shit about her feeling hurt.
“I understand but what about Lila’s feelings? I cannot let you bully Lila. You are being selfish right now, I never thought you could act like this. I am disappointed in you.” Mrs. Bustier finishes as she walks away.
“What about MY feelings. What about me, what’s so wrong with me being selfish every once in a while. Have you ever looked into my family’s bullying complaints against Lila? What about me?” Marinette cries desperately, as Mrs. Bustier walks away. “Why is everyone ignoring me?”
“The real question here is, why are you ignoring me?” growled a voice from behind Marinette. “I thought you promised me to take the high road.” Marinette’s eyes widen as she realizes who’s talking to her.
“I never promised, Adrien. Not once. I can’t keep silent and alone for longer.”
“You are not alone, you have me. And I even LET you talk with Chloe.”
“Yes, I have Chloe and thank you your majesty for letting me communicate with another human being. And no, Adrien I do not have you,” Marinette raises her voice. “Lila has you, you only talk to me in secret. You let Lila lie, you let her hang off your pretty model arms when she wills. You are and were never on my side.”
“So you really are jealous?”
Marinette, delirious with anger frustration, her voice laced with contempt, “No, never.”
He looks down at Marinette and smiles “Stop lying Marinette.”
“I’m not.” Adrien looks back at Marinette, as if he knows something as he too stalks away. “I’M NOT!” Marinette yells.
¬
“So she said that she talked to Brucie, Jason Grayson, Tim Todd, a Dick Drake and her precious Damibear!” Jason nearly on his side from laughing too hard.
“DAMIBEAR!” Tim howled in laughter, with his hands wrapped around his torso to somehow hold his ribcage together. Both brother’s are laughing their asses off in Tim’s office.
“I KNOW!”
“Are we gonna tell him?” Tim begins to ask before he interrupts himself, “No! We are not. What we are going to do is call him that and let him figure it out, sooner or later he will meet the class and when he does…”
Jason let the scenario Tim described play in his head, “YES! You now speak my wavelength, to be honest maybe Lila wasn’t lying. You may be a Todd.”
“No fucking way am I one. By the way, you should check on the class, how long has it been since you left them?”
“Shit! Twenty minutes! Farewell, dear Replacement.”
“Have fun, report back on any juicy lies, specifically ones about sweet baby Damibear or even Brucie.”
¬
“What the fuck was that?” thought Jason as he heard two people arguing in a secluded hallway, “Marinette?” he thought when he saw the girl, immediately putting a name to the face. But he didn’t know the boy. Jason whipped out his phone and quickly took a picture of the situation, making sure to get a clear shot of the boy’s face. For research purposes.
Gunz Blazin: Hey Tim Todd
Gunz Blazin: Can you gimme a background check for this guy
(*attaches a cropped image of the mystery boy’s face*)
Boy Wonder: ???Tim Todd???
Replacement: I gotchu fam.
Boy Wonder: ???fam???
Boy Wonder: ???
Boy Wonder: Can I be a Todd too
Replacement: No you're a Drake
Jason heard a voice coming from behind him, “That’s Adrien Agreste.”
Jason turns his head to look at the boy again and hears more of the conversation. He turns back and she’s a tall-ish blonde girl with blue eyes. “You are? Marinette’s friend?”
“Yes.”
“And he is not Marinette’s friend?”
“He absolutely is not Marinette’s friend. He’s the ass-hat who thinks he owns Marinette. Are you SURE I can’t punch him in the face?”
“Yes.”
“What if I just break his nose a little.” (Requested by Ollietheturtle, my new dear editor)
“As an employee of Wayne Enterprises, I’m supposed to say no, but in all honestly I kinda wanna do that myself…”
¬
TAG LIST: @jeminiikrystal @demonicbusiness @i-am-ironic @woe-is-me0 @miracleofadisaster @clumsy-owl-4178 @onmywaytoloveyou
#daminette#dcu x mlb#class salt#adrien salt#lila salt#alya salt#maribat#Marinette deserves better#dc x miraculous#chloe redemption#we love chloe in this house#cross posted on ao3#ozmav#ml salt#damian x marinette
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Heavy is the Head Chapter 7: Full on Bull Fight
Ao3 link
“Hey, where’d you sneak off to this morning?” Stella asks, catching up to Kelly on their way into work. Today was the first day in a long time that they’ve driven separately and when she woke up this morning he was already gone without so much as a word to her. And it’s not the first time he’d done it in the past week.
“I had some errands to run,” he says with a shrug, and a distant look on his face; Stella doesn’t like it. He’s been acting weird since Christmas, and seems to be floating farther and farther away from her like he has something to hide.
“What kind of errands?” she asks, bumping his arm with hers playfully, trying to prompt some kind of reaction out of him, but he seems to be going iceberg mode on her.
“Just stuff.” he replies.
“Okay, well I’ll see you in the briefing room,” she says with a frustrated sigh and walks faster, leaving him behind her looking a little baffled and confused like he can’t figure out what he did wrong.
“Hey-” Sylvie starts as she steps into Stella’s office with plans to tell her about her growing suspicion that Casey’s going to propose in the near future, but she’s interrupted by Stella.
“Don’t let me anywhere near anything heavy today, because I really might end up hurling something at Kelly’s head,” she says angrily.
“What’d he do now?” Sylvie asks, and pushes the door closed. She can feel Stella’s frustration, and in some ways she shares in it. Kelly always seems to be doing something stupid. Him and Stella will be doing fine for a long time and then his emotional presence will just drop off the face of the earth.
“I don’t know! But he’s been acting really weird for like a week now and he keeps sneaking off, and then when I ask him about he acts all confused or- or evasive like everything’s normal,” Stella says angrily. “And I seriously don’t know what to do-”
“You don’t think he’s-”
“Don’t even go there Brett. He wouldn’t,” Stella says defensively, cutting her off but Sylvie can tell from her tone that the thought has crossed her mind.
“Because if he is, I know of a lot of fields in Indiana where they’d never find a body,” Sylvie adds.
“I said don’t go there!” Stella cries. “He wouldn’t cheat. His mom thought he might, but he wouldn’t. He’s an idiot but he’s not a dick.”
“Okay,” Sylvie agrees. She believes Stella on that one. Severide can be a bit of a mess, but he’s not an unfaithful mess, which means something else is going on. “Maybe it’s something to do with Conway?”
“I don’t know Brett,” Stella says shaking her head. “We talked about that and decided it was best to handle that together. But there’s definitely something going on with him. And I’m so scared he’s heading toward another shut down and I don’t know if we’ll survive that again.”
Brett sighs, it makes her mad how worked up Stella is getting with this and how scared Severide has her. It makes her want to throw something at his head too.
“Anyway, what did you want to talk about?” Stella asks, shaking herself off.
“Oh, nothing,” Brett shrugs. It seems a little ill timed to start talking about how well things are going with Matt, especially since him meeting her parents, when things seem to be getting ready to hit the fan between Stella and Kelly.
“You sure?”
“Yeah-”
“Truck 81, lift assist.”
“That’s me,” Stella sighs and get up. “We’ll talk later.”
“Be careful out there,” Sylvie orders as she follows Stella out of her office.
Stella is barely gone from sight before Severide is emerging from the laundry room and grabbing Brett by the arm.
“We need to talk,” he says tugging her toward his office.
“Yeah, I know we do,” Brett snaps, and follows him into his office, needing no more prodding from him. She’s about to give him a very big piece of her mind, and he’s practically begging for it.
“What the hell are you doing, Severide?” she demands before he even has the door closed all the way.
“What do you mean-”
“I mean what the hell are you doing?” Sylvie repeats. “Everyone knows by now that your whole stone cold iceberg act doesn’t fly with you and Stella. So whatever your problem is you need to get sorted out or she’s going to dump your ass.”
“But I haven’t been…” he trails off, the confusion on his face melting away to realization as Brett glares at him. “Oh. damn it. I have.”
“Yep,” Sylvie says.
“I didn’t mean to,” he says, getting a kind of nervous that Sylvie’s never seen from him before. “I just- this is so messed up. I’m just not sure how to…”
“How to what, Severide?”
He runs one hand through his hair awkwardly and reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a small felt box. “Ask her…”
Sylvie can feel her eyes going wide as she stares at the box in Severide’s hand. “Is that…?”
“Yeah,” Severide breathes. “I just don’t have the slightest idea how to actually do it, which is why I wanted to ask you for help-”
“You want me to help you plan your engagement?!” Sylvie squeals, unable to contain her joy. This is like a dream come true, she’s always wanted to help someone plan an engagement.
“Please,” Severide says, sounding relieved. “It’s like suddenly everything I know about Stella has left my brain and I just don’t know where to start. And it’s gotta be amazing because she deserves only the best.”
“Okay, okay, yes I’ll help you! But the first thing you need to do is find some way to reassure her, or you might not have a girlfriend to ask by the time we get this all planned out,” Sylvie says, already trying to think of some cover story they can spin for why he’s been acting weird for so long. And being able to pull that off and making it believable kind of hinges on Severide’s ability to stop acting weird, and Sylvie isn’t super confident he can.
“How do I do that? I didn’t even realize I was doing it. I was just trying to avoid accidently giving myself away.”
“Well, I’m sorry to say it, but with your track record it could be construed as a lot of different things,” Sylvie says, starting to formulate a plan. Maybe having Severide be the one in charge of making sure Stella doesn’t dump him isn’t the best idea if they want this to be a successful proposal. “Maybe I should be the one to make sure she doesn’t dump you. And you should just like not touch anything or talk about anything.”
“Okay, that works,” Kelly says blinking a couple times. For not only a squad firefighter, but a lieutenant at that, he really is quite flighty, and she can tell he’s absolutely terrified and overwhelmed by what he’s planning.
“That was a joke. I’m not planning your entire engagement for you. It has to come from you.”
Kelly frowns. “What if I just left the ring in her locker or something?”
Sylvie glares at him.
“That was a joke too?” He says, but it sounds like more of a question.
“You’re hopeless,” Sylvie says, pinching the bridge of her nose. Everyone always jokes about what a disaster Kelly is, but it really isn’t funny.
“Hey, Brett, sorry to interrupt, but the chief wants us in his office,” Mackey says, wrapping her fist against the door and poking her head into Severide’s office. She hesitates and glances back and forth between the two of them. “I don’t know what you two are talking about, but be careful you don’t give lieutenant Severide an ulcer.”
Sylvie glances over at Severide whose forehead is wrinkled up in his stressed look that he always gets when he gets concerned or perplexed.
“Look, don’t do anything stupid while I’m gone. We’ll talk about this later. I promise.”
“Thanks Brett,” Severide says sounding lost and bewildered.
***
“No! Way!” Sylvie cries before she’s even all the way inside Casey’s office. The amount of pure joy on her face at seeing Foster standing in the office, makes Matt smile. “I don’t believe it! Mackey! This is Foster, she’s amazing- foster what happened to Med school?” Brett cries hugging her old partner.
“It’s expensive,” she laughs, “and chief Hatcher graciously said I could come work part time the days I don’t have class.”
“That’s amazing-” Sylvie trials off, a look of confusion crossing her face. “Wait. 61 already has two medics.”
“We got cleared for a third one,” Casey explains. “The CFD has been trying to get busier house three man ambo crews.”
“Oh! This is great!” Sylvie says excitedly. “You two are going to love each other! This is so exciting!”
Matt smiles, this probably the happiest he’s ever seen her, but he could tell before she even saw Foster that she was excited about something else too. The excitement in the room seems to freeze for a second as the tones sound.
“Squad 3, water rescue.”
Sylvie seems oddly relieved by this, but not in the way that she’s glad it’s not her call. There’s something else going on.
“Is that all you wanted?” she asks. “Can we go get Foster acquainted with 61?”
“Yeah, but I want you to hang back a second so we can talk,” Casey says, dismissing Foster and Mackey with a short head nod.
“What’s going on?” she asks, studying him.
“I was about to ask you the same thing,” Casey replies, studying her.
“Oh,” Sylvie says and a guilty expression comes across her face like she’s trying to hide something that’s making her really happy. “I’m really not supposed to talk about it. I’m terrible with secrets if I-”
“If you?” Casey prompts, curiosity getting the better of him.
“I can’t say!” Brett says, like it’s hurting her not belting it out. “Severide’ll kill me.”
“Sev’s involved?” Casey presses.
“Matt stop! I promised I wouldn’t tell anyone!” Sylvie protests. “I gotta go help them with the rig.”
Before Matt can say anything she’s gone and has the door closed behind her. He’ll have to talk to Severide when he gets back from the water rescue call.
***
“Marks and Gallo, you two are on inventory duty for the day,” Stella says she climbs off the truck once they’re safely back at the station. “And Mouch I want you to clean out the inside of the rig. This thing looks like a pig sty.”
“Who pissed you off,” Gallo mutters under his breath, and she wastes no time pinning him down with a glare.
“Do you want to be mopping the bay too?” she demands.
“No lieutenant,” Gallo says respectfully.
“Then just do the inventory,” she snaps and turns her glare to the empty spot where the squad truck is usually parked. It’s mighty convenient that Severide is out on call.
“Stella! Get over here!” Brett shouts to her from across the bay. Her attitude seems to have done a complete turn around since their conversation this morning in Stella’s office and she’s jealous. She’s been racking her brain all morning trying to figure out the hell could’ve possibly sent Severide off into another spiral of self isolation. She knows it’s impossible to ever have him completely figured out, it’s impossible with everyone really, but things had been going so well between them for so long and now she feels like she’s being out all over again, and she hates it.
“What-?” and before she can get her full question out, Foster is jumping out of the back of 61.
“Surprise!” The paramedic shouts enthusiastically and hugs Stella.
“What are you doing here?!” Stella cries happily and hugs her back. She allows the excitement at seeing her old friend push away her annoyance with Severide. It’s not worth her time right now.
“I’m working part time!” Foster says excitedly. “And I heard you got your bugles!”
“I did!” Stella says and flicks the collar of her shirt displaying the little bugles embroidered there.
“Wooow,” Foster says, faking a swoon. “They look way better on you than of the other idiots running around here.”
“Why thank you,” Stella says with a playful hair flip. “But seriously, how long are you here for?”
“I’m currently on break, so I’ll be working shifts with you guys for the next few weeks, and then off and on for the rest of the year.”
“This is so great, the four of us are going to own this place,” Stella says, and points at Mackey. “You don’t know this, but the three of us used to be the bosses around here. And we’re going to show the key to house domination.”
“The first lesson is don’t put up with idiots,” Foster says.
“That’s probably the most important one,” Stella agrees, Severide immediately jumping to mind. She doesn’t really agree with it. Some idiots are worth putting up with.
“Speaking of which,” Sylvie says. “We need to go have a chat. We’ll be back in a few.”
“What’s up, Brett?” Stella asks when they’ve made it out of ear shot of Mackey and Foster.
“I think you need to give Severide a chance,” Sylvie says awkwardly, like there’s something she desperately wants to say, but can’t figure out how.
“Seriously?”
“Seriously,” Sylvie replies. “Trust me and trust that he loves you. Just give him a week.”
“A week- Brett what is going on?” Stella asks. She doesn’t need Brett and Severide keeping secrets from her.
“I don’t know, it’s just a feeling. Give him a week before you do anything drastic, okay?” Brett says and looks her in the eyes. “Trust him, and if you can’t do that trust me. It’ll be fine.”
“It’s not that I don’t trust him, Brett,” Stella says. “I’m just scared. I know where this kind of behavior goes. We’ve been down this road before, and I’m really scared, only this time it’s worse because I don’t have the first idea what’s wrong so I don’t have a ballpark for what I should be trying to ask him-”
“Truck 81, elevator panic button triggered.”
“Stella, it’ll be okay, I promise,” Sylvie says confidently. Stella’s not sure how she can be so sure, but she wishes she shared the paramedics confidence.
***
“Is everything okay with Stella?” Mackey asks as Sylvie comes back over to 61 to help with refreshing Foster on the inventory.
“It will be, hopefully,” Sylvie relies with a frustrated sigh. Severide just needs to assure her everything’s fine and quit avoiding her and everything should work out. If he doesn’t then she’s not exactly sure how much good her speech to Stella about trusting him will go. “She’s just going through a bit of a rough patch with Severide.”
“Do I need to knock some sense into him?” Foster asks, hoping down from the back of the ambo and looking like she’s ready for a fight.
“No, it’s not like that,” Sylvie assures her, as squad 3 rolls back into the station. “It’s a communication error that will be ironed out shortly… I’ll be back in a couple minutes.”
She meets Severide on the passenger side of the truck just as he’s climbing out.
“We need to talk,” he says, beating her to the punch.
“Your office?”
“Yeah,” he says and heads for the doors leading inside.
“You need to tell her something and give her some kind of believable reassurance,” Sylvie says and closes the door to his office behind her. “She’s scared. I think I kinda bought you a little time, but you still gotta give her something.”
“I’ll talk to her as soon as she gets back,” he promises and looks worried. Despite having worked around them for close to 10 years, Sylvie’s never quite been able to understand firefighters; they don’t so much as flinch running into burning buildings but anything regarding feelings or emotions is like having teeth pulled. “And I had a couple thoughts about how to ask.”
“Oh! What are they?” Sylvie asks excitedly. This is the fun part- the planning of the actual romantic gesture is definitely way better than working on a plan for how to have Stella not break up with him before he can pull it off, equally as important for sure, but a lot more fun.
“So I know this guy who does winter scuba diving in the lake, and ever since I showed her the basics a year or so ago she loves it…”
“An underwater proposal?” Sylvie asks.
“What? You don’t think that’s good?” Severide asks, looking a little disappointed.
“Honestly? I think she’d love it. I just feel like there’s a lot that could go wrong. Like do you really want to be freezing cold and wet when you get engaged?”
“It’s better than just going out to some fancy restaurant. That’s so predictable,” Severide retorts. “How about taking her hiking at pictured rocks? She loves it up there, and I know where her favorite spot is, and then take her out for a nice dinner after?”
“Oh that’d be great!” Sylvie says excitedly. “I’d tell you it’s too cold for hiking, but you two are crazy, so it’s perfect.”
“You think?”
“Yeah!”
***
“You just couldn’t stay away from us, could you?” Herrmann laughs and offers Foster a coffee.
“How could I? I love all your ugly mugs,” she jokes.
“Aw, that’s so touching,” Cruz says sarcastically.
“So how have things been for everyone since I left? I wanna know everything.” It’s nice being back here even if it is temporary. She’s missed everyone so much, she didn’t really realize just how much until now- until being back in the cozy common room surrounded by the crew she got to be so close to.
***
“Smoke break?” Casey asks, poking his head into Severide’s office. He looks busy and stressed out and like he could use the break.
“Sure,” he says and closes his laptop.
“Sylvie’s been acting weird lately,” Casey says as they walk outside together. It is, admittedly a little cold to be having a smoke break.
“Mhmm,” Severide mutters, but doesn’t give much of a response other than that.
“You know something,” Casey accuses, he can tell by Severide’s expression that he knows something.
“No!” Severide says defensively. He’s great at pretending his fine when he’s not, but any other lie? His poker face sucks.
“It’s what her mom said at dinner a couple weeks ago, isn’t it?” Casey guesses. “She wants me to propose.”
“Um, not you…” Severide says, shifting awkwardly as Casey frowns at him. “I’m gonna ask Stella and she’s helping me out.”
“Oh! Congrats man!” Casey says excitedly.
“Don’t jinx it!” Severide shushes him. “I haven’t asked her yet and there’s a lot that could go wrong.”
“Right,” Casey says, ducking his head. He’s not sure he’s ever seen Severide look this nervous before. “Well, I’m sure she’ll say yes.”
“Hopefully,” Severide mumbles, sounding very unsure of himself.
A horn blast from 81 interrupts their conversation as the truck pulls into the driveway.
“Sorry to cut the conversation short, but I actually need to go talk to Stella real quick.”
Severide makes it to the door and then the bell rings.
“Truck 81, Engine 51, Ambulance 61, Squad 3, structure fire.”
***
There’s two kids standing outside when they arrive, and Casey’s glad he decided to ride on this one because it’s already looking like they’re going to need additional units.
“You have to help our parents!” one of the kids shouts, running over to meet Casey as he gets out of the car, tugging his little sister along with him. “They’re still inside!”
“We’ll get them don’t worry,” Casey promises getting down on eye level with the young dark-haired boy. “Is there anyone else inside?”
“No,” the boy shakes his head. “Just mom and dad. We were playing at the neighbors’ and they were at home napping.”
“Okay, kiddo, where is your parents’ room?”
“Upstairs,” the boy says frantically. His sister is crying.
“Severide, Kidd, we’ve got two victims, most likely upstairs,” Casey shouts to two of his lieutenants. “Herrmann, I want you guys to start knocking down a path for Truck and Squad.”
“You got it, chief!” Herrmann calls, already directing Ritter to pull a line off the truck.
“Nathan and Mouch, I want you to up top venting. Gallo, you’re making entry with me and Squad.”
It takes the crews less than a minute to get organized and make their push through the front door.
“Okay kids, you see that ambulance over there? I want you to go see those nice paramedics, okay?” He wants to say something more encouraging to them, but the fire’s already pretty bad and the chances of them being able to get the parents out alive are slim to none.
***
“Come here guys,” Foster says gently and guides the two kids into the warm back of the ambulance. She’s missed this, being on the streets, in the action, being right there on the front lines with people.
“Give them these,” Mackey says and hands her a blanket, while taking one herself and wrapping it around the little girl’s shoulders.
“Here you go, sweetie,” Foster soothes and wraps the little boy in the blanket.
“Are our parents going to be okay?” the boy asks, looking at them with pleading eyes. Mackey glances to Foster before answering.
“They’ll be okay. They have the best firefighters in the city looking for them,” Mackey promises, comfortingly. Foster isn’t sure if the other paramedic actually believes it or if she’s just trying to be encouraging, but regardless Foster doesn’t share her confidence.
***
“Chief, this is Squad 3, we’ve got the parents, but we got separated from Severide,” Cruz reports, making Casey’s heart skip a beat. Mouch just informed him the roof was too soft to get on and properly vent, which means inside is probably filling up with smoke.
“Get the victims out of there, then we’ll worry about Severide,” Casey replies. Severide can handle himself.
“Chief, I’m fine,” Severide says a couple seconds later, and Casey relaxes just a little at hearing his friend’s staticy voice over the radio. “I’m with Kidd, she got separated from Gallo.”
Casey closes his eyes and lets out a frustrated sigh. “I want all units to exit the structure immediately.”
“Son of a bitch!” a shout from Herrmann grabs Casey’s attention as him, Cruz, Capp, and Tony exit the building with the two parents who look to be rough shape. “Where’s Ritter?! He was right behind me!”
The engine lieutenant tries to make a run back inside but Cruz grabs him before he can.
“No one is going back inside!” Casey shouts, he hates having to make the call, but he can tell even from the outside that the house is about to flash over at any second and he already has four firefighters lost inside. He doesn’t need to throw a fifth one into the mix. “Ritter, report.”
“I’m fine chief, I just fell behind,” Ritter reports.
“Chief! That’s my guy in there!” Herrmann protests.
“I know, but he’ll be fine. He knows what he’s doing. If he says he needs help then I’ll let you go in, but for now you just have to trust him.” Casey gets it. He really does. Every fiber of his being is screaming at him to run inside to go find his lost people, but no one’s called a maybay. They’re all just working their way out.
***
It’s pitch black, not like the movies where everything can be seen clearly, no, it’s darker than a night with no moon or stars. The smoke is so thick the light from his flashlight barely reaches a couple inches in front of him; Gallo has to hug the floor, nearly flat on his belly just to escape making the intense that’s starting to make his skin crawl. And worse still, he’s alone; he lost Stella what seems like hours ago, but from the glowing air gage on his regulator it can’t be more than 10 minutes ago. He knows she’s still relatively okay because he’s heard her over the radio a couple times since they got seperated, she’s with Severide now, and she knows he’s okay because they’ve had one very brief exchange only lasting long enough for them to decide the best course of action was to not waste time and air, both critical things in a fire like this, trying to find one another in the impossible blackness and find their way out on their own. So he’s alone and his only comfort in the overwhelming blackness is the presence of the hose under his body as he scoots himself along the floor.
He feels a little bit like a child again, like he’s still hiding in that closet hoping and praying that someone will come find him and save him. He’s alone and tired and yes even scared, not the same paralyzing fear that had taken over every muscle in his body like it had that day, but it’s a nagging tugging fear that’s eating away at his last nerve. It’s exhausting. He’s exhausted. He just wants to lay down on the hose, call in a mayday, and wait for someone to come get him; it’d be so simple and easy to let RIT come in and pull him out. But it’d also be dangerous. He can see small slivers of flame fingering in the smoke, they’ll flare up and dance through the smoke in little playful wisps, some of them right above his head. They’re beautiful, but precursors to something deadly and terrible. They’re there to remind him he doesn’t have time to lay down and let RIT come and save him. This place could flash over at any second and he’d have no escape.
“Mayday! Mayday! Mayday! Firefighter Ritter, entangled and low on air!”
Gallo’s blood runs cold at the sound of his friend’s mayday call.
“All units mayday has been called, clear the channel.”
“Ritter, what’s your last known location?” It’s Casey that replies to Ritter’s mayday first.
“Upstairs, southwest corner!”
Gallo clenches his teeth, he just came from that way. He’s close, he can get to Gallo before RIT can. So he turns around on the hoseline and begins his crawl back to where he came from to go find his friend.
***
There’s always the human instinct to press on when met with resistance, but in firefighting that can be a deadly mistake, sometimes in order to survive you have to let yourself go limp and lay completely still. It’s terrifying, laying completely still in the hot pitch black of a burning house especially when every inch of you is screaming to get up and keep fighting. But Ritter’s tangled up good and somewhere in his process of trying to fight to get himself free, he lost his cable cutters. He honestly thrashed around a good bit longer than he should’ve before laying still. There’s no telling how much air he wasted doing that, but now the bell on his pack is ringing annoyingly right along with his pass device. It’s deafening, but right now that’s a good thing it means he can be found and helped.
“Hey man.”
Ritter didn’t even hear Gallo approaching over the sound of the various alarms sounding so close to his head, and he startles when his friend’s hand touches his shoulder.
“You really know how to get tangled up,” Gallo says, Ritter can’t really see him through the darkness of the smoke around them, but he can feel his friend running his hands around his body trying to find all the cords he’s stuck in.
“How’d you find me?” Ritter asks, he can feel the cables starting to fall away from him, which means Gallo almost has him free.
“It was kind of hard to miss you,” Gallo jokes. Darren’s really not sure how he can sound so light hearted and breezy right now. “Chief, cancel RIT. I’ve got Ritter and he’s free.”
“How are we gonna get out of here?” Ritter asks and sits up slowly being sure to feel for anything that might snag him.
“A window,” Gallo replies. “I was in this room earlier.”
“We’re on the second story,” Ritter protests. He’s heard stories about firefighters jumping out of windows much higher, but he has no desire to do it.
“I’ve got the hose,” Gallo says calmly. “We’ll use it as a pole and slide down.”
***
“Ritter and Gallo are out.”
Stella breathes a sigh of relief as Casey reports that the two young firefighters are out. Now the only thing she has to worry about is getting her and Kelly’s sorry ass out.
Stella keeps one hand on Kelly making sure she doesn’t lose him; that’s the last thing anyone needs right now, another lost firefighter and another RIT team deployed- more people coming into this flashover waiting to happen. And keeps the other hand on the wall trying to feel for a window. They’re on the second floor, but if shit hits the fan they’ll jump, it doesn’t matter how high up they are.
“You got anything, Kelly?” she asks, glancing in his general direction, the only part of him she can really see is his flashlight.
“Nothing,” he replies and she can hear him rustle around. “I’m going to attach my webbing to your wrist and go out a little further to try to find a hose. Stay on the wall.”
“Kelly wait,” she says and pulls him back as her hand finds what feels like a window cill just a foot above her head.
“Stella we don’t have time-”
She sees the flicker, it’s like lighting crackling in distant black storm clouds and the already suffocating heat gets worse. The room’s about to flash. Without thinking or waiting even a second she grabs Kelly by the shoulder straps and launches herself out the window dragging him with her. The fire comes after them like a hungry beast surging forward to devour them as they hit the slanted roof and roll. Between the immense heat from the fire, the fire itself shooting out the window behind them, the adrenaline rushing through her body and the feeling of being put through a spin cycle Stella can’t get her bearings fast enough to stop her and Severide from sliding off the roof. She can feel her side scrape the gutter and then they’re free falling.
***
One second Kelly’s on his hands and knees next to Stella talking about finding a hose and the next he’s being tugged out the window before he can even react- and after that he’s hitting water then the hard bottom of what’s probably a pool but he’s too disoriented to tell for sure, and the winds been knocked out of him so he can’t breathe. He fumbles under the ic ny cold water trying to find his footing so he can push himself to the surface with the weight of his gear and the sudden inability to breathe he can’t get himself righted and his mask starts to fill up with water. Panic isn’t a feeling he’s used to and the unnaturalness of it makes things worse. He can’t be panicking- but he is and that alone makes him want to panic more.
A hand grabs him by the back of his coat and yanks him upward. His head breaches the surface of the water and no sooner than it has, Stella is knocking the helmet off his head and freeing his mask from his face. He gasps breathing freely at last as soon as she has the thing clear from his face. She’s laughing as she cups his cheeks in her hands for a second before hugging him close.
“Please tell me you knew there was a pool there,” he coughs, his teeth chattering together from the cold and buries his face in the shoulder of her wet bunker coat. That was close, too close, if she hadn’t grabbed him and taken that dive when she did they’d both be toast. So much happens on fire scenes- or any scenes for that matter. Any call could be your last. Life is too short, especially in this job. It’s too short for keeping secrets and having pointless fights and bottling things up- any second it could be over and there could be things left unsaid that shouldn’t be left unsaid.
“I’m going to refrain from answering that one,” Stella laughs, keeping one hand on the back of her neck. He can feel her shaking.
“Stella-”
“Are you guys okay?” Brett calls to them from the edge of the pool as they pull apart from each other just a little, but Stella keeps both hands on Kelly, steadying him almost, or maybe just hanging onto him to make sure that he is actually there and that they both did actually make it out the window. She looks amazed and worried
“We’re good,” Stella calls back as she looks him in the eyes. She’s still laughing and it’s probably her adrenaline still burning off.
“Stella-”
“What is this, round ten of me saving your ass? You should think about bringing me onto Squad-”
“Stella,” he chokes, a little louder this time. He can’t wait, maybe it’s the adrenaline, maybe it’s the fact they both just almost died (again), maybe it’s just all his feelings bubbling up inside of him all at once, but he can’t wait. He can’t wait for a weekend trip or a romantic date on a boat. “Stella I love you, and I’m sorry I spent the past couple days avoiding you. I was being an idiot, but I need you to know I didn’t mean to, I was just trying to figure something out-”
“Kelly, let’s not do this right now, we just survived jumping out a window to escape a flashover, let’s just-”
“Marry me.” Kelly blurts. He doesn’t want to wait a second longer. Stella’s eyes widen in shock like she’s completely taken off guard by the question. Even Kelly’s a little surprised with himself for throwing it out there so quickly and rashly and unromantically. He tries to think of a way to recover. “I mean- I love you Stella Kidd. In this job there are so many ups and downs and you never know what's going to happen- if you’ll make it home, but there’s one constant and that’s you. I love you and I want to spend the rest of my life with you-”
“Yes! Kelly yes!” she gasps and grabs him and kisses him. “You idiot, yes I’ll marry you!”
“I was gonna ask you normally, I swear. I had the ring and a plan- ask Sylvie,” he mumbles, trying to justify what was probably one of the worst proposals in history. No one proposes on a fire scene.
“Is that why you were acting weird?” Stella asks, pulling away from him just a little. She looks relieved and amused.
He nods his head. He can’t stop shaking, and it occurs to him it’s probably because they’re standing in freezing cold water in January in Chicago. “I didn’t know how to do it, and didn’t mean to make you think something else was going on.”
“Kelly, it’s okay,” Stella promises, cupping his cheeks in her hands. There are tears in her eyes. “It’s okay.”
Then she’s hugging him again, and it’s the best feeling in the world
“We should probably get out of the pool now,” Stella says without lifting her head from where it’s tucking into his shoulder.
“Yeah,” he breathes. He can barely even feel the cold, either that or he just doesn’t care. The only thing that matters is that Stella said yes.
“You had one job, Severide,” Sylvie scolds, throwing a blanket over his shoulders as he climbs out of the pool behind Stella
“Yeah, and wasn’t it to get her to say yes?” he chuckles, shaking his head as the paramedic
ruffles his wet hair fondly.
“You crazy idiot,” Brett says fondly, shaking her head with an amused smile. “Looks like you got the freezing cold and wet engagement after all.”
***
“You two are both going to get checked out at Med, right now,” Casey says as soon as Severide and Stella walk around to the front of the house with Brett escorting them. He’s just now able to breathe at a normal rate. He’d thought for sure that they were both goners. Gallo and Ritter too. But by some miracle they’d all managed to find a place to bail out before the flashover happened. It was all to close for comfort. “And probably taking the rest of the shift off.”
“Casey-”
“That’s an order, Severide. You and Kidd just took a dive out a second story window into a pool. You’re getting checked out-”
“No, Case, she said yes,” Severide says with a grin.
“Yes to- wait-” Casey breaks off astonished. Only Kelly Severide would ask the love of his life to marry him after jumping out a window into a pool in the middle of january.
“And I need a best man.”
“Come here you!” Casey cries joyously, and grabs Severide. He doesn’t even care that the lieutenant is sopping wet. After everything he’s been through he deserves this, Stella too. “Of course I’ll be your best man! Congratulations you crazy son of a bitch!”
Severide laughs and gives Casey a slap on the back. “I had this whole plan, and then that happened and it just popped out!”
“We’ll celebrate after shift, but you two still have to go to the hospital,” Casey says. He hasn’t seen Severide this happy in a long time, he’s laughing and can’t stop smiling.
“And you’ve still got a house fire to take care of,” Severide says, gesturing to the house.
***
“Hey man,” Ritter says and sits down on the back bumper next to Gallo who is glaring into space. He looks angry and relieved all at once. “You okay?”
“We almost got cremated in there,” he says under his breath and shakes his head.
“But we didn’t, and hey, thanks for coming and getting me,” Ritter says offering his friend a water bottle. Gallo’s not the only one shaken up. Things could’ve ended really badly if Gallo hadn’t found him and if they hadn’t found that window.
“Of course,” Gallo says, finally blinking away his spacey expression to look over at Ritter, and rests a hand on his shoulder. “I’ll always come get you. I’m not leaving any more of my family to face fire alone.”
Ritter gives him a sad smile. “It’s that family, isn’t it?”
Gallo nods solemnly. “They just lost everything, and those kids might still lose their parents.”
“They got them out pretty quick, I’m sure they’ll be fine,” Ritter tries to sound reassuring, but the two parents had some pretty bad burns and severe smoke inhalation. Gallo turns away and keeps glaring, there’s something more bothering him than just the similarity to what happened to his family. “What else is bugging you?”
“It’s not just this family.”
“What do you mean?”
“The one on Christmas, the one with the three kids before that…” Gallo trails off and looks to the flaming house. Things seem to finally be dying down, 51 and the other engine companies on scene are hitting it with everything they got.
“Talk to me man,” Ritter presses. “You can’t bottle this stuff up or it’ll eat you alive.”
“I know, I just… I don’t know Ritter, something seems off to me,” he shrugs and takes a sip of water. “But I can’t put my finger on it. They’re all so familiar.”
“Because of the families?”
“No. Families live in houses, houses burn down. That’s not strange or out of the ordinary- so I mean I guess it is familiar, but not in the way I’m talking about,” Gallo replies, glancing at him.
“You think someone is setting these fires?” Ritter asks. He hasn’t noticed anything peculiar about the fires, they just seem like fires to him, different from the previous ones but just as deadly. But Gallo clearly sees a link between each of them, even if it’s just a gut feeling. He trusts his friend’s gut- that gut is what got them out of the fire today. And this fire almost got not only the two of them killed, but Severide and Kidd too, so even if it’s just a hunch, it’s a hunch worth looking into.
“I don’t know,” Gallo says and stands up. “I’m going to ask to stick around here to go over the scene with the arson investigator.”
***
“Chief, can I stick around and go over the scene with arson?” Gallo asks, approaching the chief as he waves 61 to leave the scene with Severide and Kidd.
“We’re a little short handed right now, Gallo,” Casey says without showing him a whole lot of attention. The chief looks happy and pleased- too happy and pleased for a chief that just almost lost four firefighters. “With Kidd going to the hospital truck is down to three people, so I can’t spare you. Sorry. But I’m not leaving 81 with a two man crew.”
“Chief, please,” Gallo pleads. He doesn’t know how to describe the chief, the feeling deep in his gut that there’s more to this fire, more to the other ones too.
“I can’t do it Gallo. I’ll let you know when arson finds the cause but I can’t spare you right now,” Casey says curtly, making it very clear that the conversation is over and that Gallo should go find something useful to do with his time.
“Yes sir,” Gallo mutters and starts to walk away but stops, not ready to roll over. “Chief, there’s something off about this, and the last couple fires we’ve had. I want to stay to look around for myself.”
Casey sighs. “You’re not staying, Gallo. We don’t have the man power. Besides, the reports for those fires already came out. They were accidental.”
“Chief, I’m telling you-”
“Gallo, this isn’t a discussion. And I know these fires probably hit close to home for you, but you’re not staying,” Casey says, shortly. He’s getting pissed, but so is Gallo.
“Don’t do that, please-”
“Gallo! We’re done talking about it. If you keep trying to argue, I will make you go sit in the truck.”
Gallo tightens his grip on his helmet that’s dangling from one hand. He wants to throw it, smash it against stuff, and shout, but he bites his tongue and decides to go help Ritter with his yard line instead.
“How’d it go?” Ritter asks, as he sets his stream on the house.
“He completely blew me off,” Gallo grumbles. “He’s going to regret it when I’m right.”
“That wasn’t a threat or anything right?” Ritter asks sheepishly.
“No, but he’ll see that I’m right,” Gallo replies and squats down on the hoseline behind Ritter to help him keep the thing steady.
“This call has been a lot, maybe when everything’s calmed down he’ll be more willing to talk about it,” Ritter suggests.
“I’m not holding my breath.”
***
“I just got off the phone with arson,” Casey says as Gallo slips into his office a couple hours after the fire. Matt had decided it was best for him to cool off a little before he tried going for round 2 talking about what happened on the scene with Gallo. “And they said it was an accident. The residents had a gas stove. The gas got left on and it got sparked.”
This seems to strike a cord with Gallo, but whatever the firefighter is thinking he doesn’t say it out loud. “What happened to the two parents?”
Casey ducks his head. He wishes he had better news on that front. “They didn’t make it.”
Gallo closes his eyes and lets out a slow breath.
“And I know you wanted to stay and look into that fire, but you have to understand where I’m coming from. And I can’t have you arguing with me on scenes.”
“And what about where I was coming from?” Gallo demands, he’s pissed and Casey can tell he’s trying to hold back shouting. It’s a valiant effort really.
“I have more firefighters to worry about than just you Gallo!”
“Yeah! And I’m not the only one who almost died back there! Ritter, Severide and Kidd were in there too!” Gallo claps back, finally losing his edge and raising his voice. “Just because everything ended up okay and you get to be your buddy’s best man doesn’t make that go away!”
“Go home Gallo.” Casey isn’t putting up with this. Gallo walks the fine line with insubordination just about every day, but he just took a flying leap over it. “And I would advise against saying anything else because I have yet to decide if I am going to write you up!”
“Fine! And maybe I’ll come back with a pink slip and transfer back to 90 where my captain at least listens to me!” Gallo snaps, raising his voice to a shout and before Casey can say anything else, he’s gone and closes the door behind him.
***
“I don’t mean to question your infinite knowledge, chief, but why’d you send my guy home?” Stella asks, slipping cautiously into Casey’s office. She can tell he’s still pissed about whatever went down in her absence. “Oh, me and Kelly got cleared by the way.”
“He crossed a line,” Casey says as Stella sets her and Severide’s discharge papers down on his desk.
“What kind of line?”
“Insubordination,” Casey replies, grudgingly. “He wanted to look into those fires, and then fought me when I said no.”
Stella nods her head. “Okay, but why not let him look into them?”
“I can’t let him now, that’d be rewarding bad behavior. He’ll make a habit out of it.”
“Chief, the kid’s got a good head,” Stella says after a moment of thinking. Arguing with the chief right now is risky, but she needs to have her people’s backs especially when they might be onto something. “Good instincts. Sure he’s a hot head too, but he’s not the only one.”
“What are you saying?” Casey sighs.
“If you think there’s a chance he could be right don’t let your hurt pride get in the way of letting him pursue it,” Stella replies coolly. “What if he’s right and you’re wrong and more people die? What if it’s one of us who dies next time?”
***
“Hey, You okay?” Ritter asks as Gallo opens the door for him. He came to check on his friend as soon as the shift got over.
“Not really,” Gallo says, and he’s angry. It also looks like he hasn’t slept since getting kicked off the shift. “Casey won’t listen to me, and I’m right.”
“Maybe if you tried apologizing-”
“I’m not apologizing to him!” Gallo snaps, cutting Ritter off mid-sentence.
“Before you jump down my throat would you hear me out?” Ritter asks patiently, deciding not to be insulted by his friend’s harsh interruption. “You don’t have to actually have to mean it. You just have to make Casey think you do-”
“Why? So he thinks he’s right?!”
“No, because locking horns with him and having a full on bull fight with him obviously isn’t getting you anywhere. You dig in, he digs in. You have to take a different approach, because the one you're taking now is gonna get you fired.”
Gallo lets out a frustrated sigh. “An apology isn’t going to get him to let me investigate, especially since the case is closed.”
“It’s closed already?” Ritter asks. He decides it’s best not point out that if the investigation is already closed then it probably wasn’t arson.
“Yeah.”
“What was the cause?”
“A gas burning stove. The gas was left on and sparked a fire,” Gallo replies. “That’s how my house burned down.”
“But the other two fires were a christmas tree catching on fire and a burner being left on,” Ritter points out.
“I know, but there’s a connection. I just don’t know what because I haven’t been able to look at any of the scenes.”
“Have you tried asking Severide? He’s a genius at arson investigation, and he’s got connections,” Ritter suggests. The squad lieutenant seems to have an appreciation for following hunches, and he’s probably the best investigator in the city.
“You think he’d help?” Gallo asks, perking up.
“I don’t know, but it wouldn’t hurt to ask. Plus he was one of the people who narrowly escaped that fire, so he probably feels pretty strongly about it too.”
“We’d still have to get approval from a chief to reopen the case, and Casey’s made it pretty clear that’s not happening.”
“Maybe just investigate on the down low, you know keep it under the radar until you have something solid to give him that proves your right,” Ritter says. He’s not sure if Gallo is right about all this, but he’s going to have his back with it and be there for him. “But I’d try the apology route first.”
#chicago fire#chicago fire fic#cf fic#brettsey fic#stellaride fic#oc fic#please reblog.#im too lazy to try to come up with a creative way to say it this week.
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Inhisar
Summary: After an hour of waiting, Dick goes to hunt for Tiger who didn’t make an appearance. Tiger isn’t just fighting a migraine but something else he refuses to meet head-on with.
Characters: Tiger King of Kandahar, Dick Grayson, Jason Todd (mentions), Damian Wayne (mentions), Bruce Wayne - as Batman (mentions)
Warnings: Mentions of a knife but no blood, gore or anything.
Additional notes: 80% of the fics I see revolving Dick and Tiger are usually Tiger looking after Dick but because I’m a sucker for hurt characters who’ve been through hell and refuse to open his/her/their mouth, I swapped the roles and did something hurt/comf ish. I’m also setting up my ao3 where I’ll transfer my fics there too. Enjoy!
Word Count: 1,801words
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inhisar - reliance
***
Dick waited at the rooftops for close to an hour already. He couldn’t shake the buzz from his body as he did a few backflips to shake the feeling off. He was supposed to meet Tiger here close to thirty minutes ago but he hadn’t shown up. It was strange of the usually punctual man who promised some vital information on Dick’s current case. The extremely resourceful man never ceased to amaze Dick although he came off rather cold sometimes.
No matter, he thinks as he shoots his grapple towards the neighboring skyscraper and swings with ease. Metal after metal building appeared in the backdrop of the neon Wayne Industries signage, a testament to Gotham’s cry of need. Dick snorts at the idea before heading over to Tiger’s small place in Gotham. His usual residence wasn’t here but Dick insisted he take one of his safehouses (to which Tiger begrudgingly agreed to). It was one of the smaller ones Tiger argued about since one man doesn't need too much space, idiot.
He nimbly sweeps down to the window and sees it’s dimly-lit, almost dark inside. Frowning at the fact that it was ajar, he pushes it and rolls in silently. He flashes out his escrima sticks, lightning blue and making the crackling sound he’s accustomed too and sneaked to the obvious occupant on the couch. He’s about to swing when he realizes-
-its Tiger.
Asleep?
Dick has to hold back laughter. His previous anxiety was ill-seated as he cheekily leans against the armrest of the sofa.
“Excuuuuse meee?”
He starts, in a fake and airy voice that’s loud but not enough to somehow wake Tiger up who just changes his position and curls deeper into the leather couch, pulling himself up in a small ball.
Dick’s eyes are up at him like a wolfhound. He knows that Tiger is indeed a very light sleeper and he should be awake right now and calling him an idiot and realize he’s the bigger idiot for missing their meeting. He lazily curls himself in a painful-looking position and waits on him.
Sensing the pressure change, Tiger suddenly opens one exhausted green eye and looks at a smiling Dick in civilian clothing. Blinking and clearing his sleep-ridden eyelids, he tosses a cushion at Dick who caught it easily.
“Idiot-”
“Don’t flatter yourself, you didn’t make to our meeting so as a friend-”
“We aren’t friends”
“-okay, okay whatever but hey I gotta make sure you didn’t die out there.”
“I’m not incapable, Agent-”
“-I’m in civvies! You can’t just Agent 37 me.”
Dick retorts, smiling widely. Tiger mutters something under his breath before swinging himself up but his vision spins before he falls back on the couch, angrily staring down at the floor. His head is pulsating again wildly. He only hears the roar of gushing blood in his ears.
Dick is still talking in the background, probably a lecture about something Tiger couldn’t care much about right now. He just needed to make sure he’s not about to kneel over and possibly embarrass himself.
“WIll you shut up for a minute?!”
He hisses, head in his hands, pressed tightly as he tries to filter out the remainder of the supposed light present. Dick is immediately silent before he asks, undisguised concern in his voice.
“Are you okay?”
“Sit down,”
Tiger tests his limbs, and slowly gets up before half-stumbling to the small attached kitchen. Dick had worry etched all over his face as he tossed his jacket onto the vacated couch before switching on the television. He knew no matter how much he insisted, Tiger never told him what was wrong.
He chose to keep to himself, quiet and only spoke when needed. Dick was the one who added life, chatter and still kicked ass alongside the man. Don’t get him wrong, Tiger was a brilliant fighter but he was too quiet, more than usual. Dick was usually good at reading people, seeing the truth in their eyes and figuring out what’s wrong before they can.
Dick cannot say the same for Tiger. He remembered when he met him for the first time. Tiger was unreadable, almost neutral and it threw him off balance. The few things he figured out was his upbringing in war-torn Afghanistan, his love for really hot qehwa and Medjool dates as well as his preference for darker colors. Belatedly, that was it. The rest of it was shut behind cold, emerald eyes almost similar to Damian’s ones. Tiger was a man with calculation, precision and silence, that much Dick knew.
Speaking of silence, it had been ten minutes since Tiger left the couch for the kitchen. Dick decides to go there anyway, at worst a pan might hit his head. He enters the sparsely furnished kitchen and the first thing he registers is a man leaning against the counter, lost in space as he absentmindedly swung a paring knife and his trigger finger constantly twitching. Tiger hadn’t worn his shemagh so Dick can see the ebony hair and slight curls .
“Yes?”
Dick is now slightly afraid of the paring knife in Tiger’s hand so he makes sure he’s a safe zone away from him. Still absentmindedly flicking the knife, Tiger looks at Dick questioningly and with deadly ease, throws the knife at a poor apple sitting on the countertop.
“You didn’t answer me back there, Tig..”
“Hm?”
Hands in his pocket, Dick tries to start a conversation but Tiger pinching his nose bridge stops him from opening his mouth. He observes his silent friend lean a little more against the cold exterior of the marble countertop as the water boiled with lazy wisps of steam trailing near the surface.
Pity washes over Dick who lowers the blinds at the kitchen window and sees some tension from Tiger dissipating.
The water is whistling, bubbles frantically escaping and Dick steps forward to switch it off. Tiger looks up and Dick can see him clearly. Exhaustion, frustration and irritation all rolled up in one impressive eyebrow raise.
“Go back, I’ll finish this. I’m sure you trust me enough to fuck this up.”
He doesn’t bother with a jibe, just heads back to the couch and loses all track of time. Face buried in the leathery couch, everything was tilted off its axis. He vaguely registers throwing a warm jacket left there off the couch before sinking into the cold surface.
A strong smell of qehwa enters the room as Dick balances both cups at a ridiculous angle. Setting them down, he feels Dick sit beside him on the carpet, cross-legged and rocking back and forth.
“Are you gonna tell me what’s wrong?”
“Minor inconveniences”
Is all he says as he buries his face deeper into the couch, blocking all light because it was making his head worse and then Dick had to come here and be an annoying prick. He woke up that morning with a dull pressure from his neck and decided to sleep it off since he had no urgent things to do, blessedly. However, he swore he did set an alarm two hours in advance before their meeting-
Oh no.
“I can give it now and you can be headed on your way.”
Dick stops rocking and narrows his eyes at the figure on the couch, wondering what Tiger meant before a slow grin starts appearing on his face.
“You can’t even walk straight to the kitchen so I’m staying. It’s like a sleepover and don't feel bad about missing our small reunion. It’s okay to feel like absolute shit sometimes.”
He helpfully suggests as he passes a cup of the hot beverage to the man whose face is still planted on the couch. Tiger points one finger at the small coffee table and shakes his head, the action making everything worse. He doesn’t understand why his stupid little... headache isn’t leaving him but he doesn’t care anymore.
Dick had been watching his actions the entire time, evaluated if his chances of dying were high and then gently but softly asked Tiger.
“Migraine? Seems pretty bad. I’ll be back.”
He gets up to hunt for some Imitrex and grabs a cold compress before turning off the lights completely on the way back to the lofty living room where Tiger had already fallen asleep in a very still position.
He has no heart to wake him up because he knows he gets only so much sleep. Gently tapping his shoulder and shaking out a tablet, he probes him again.
“Sit up, I got you some meds. It should help.”
A small groan comes from the couch and then a reluctant turnover as he faces Dick blankly, eyes squinted and Dick instantly feels terrible for waking him up.
“Tell me about one of your inane adventures.”
Tiger asks quietly from where he’s still laying with Dick hovering over him, pill in hand. Confusion momentarily graces his face before he launches into some story about a mission with Damian.
Dick is animatedly whispering about the entire thing as his unconscious hand reaches out to ruffle Tiger’s thick hair. The heavenly head scratches surprisingly comforted Tiger who leans ever so slightly to the touch. It felt nice to be treated like this for once.
Don't get sentimental.
He faintly ignores that voice and reaches out to his primary need of relief and comfort. Dick had gone on to his second story about Jason and how he loved reading. He joked about how he’d spit lines from plays and shoot with equal jest. There was a wistfulness in his tone and a small part of Tiger hated himself so much for being so soft and vulnerable and letting Dick comfort him but it felt normal and everything else considered. He’s unnerved by this unfamiliar experience and he has to get it to stop before he’s caving in and dependent.
He can’t do that.
It’s incredibly stupid and dangerous in his line of work.
What if one day he’s gone?
What would he do?
“Are you feeling any better?”
Dick asks kindly, softly smiling at Tiger who’s trying to suppress all the new emotions Dick stirred up and it somehow warmed him a little but he doesn’t show it.
“Thank..you?”
He fumbles slightly, awkward and the usual firm line on his face was replaced with one slightly curved at the ends. Dick is grinning wildly.
“Did I make the great King smile?!”
Tiger is trying to hide his face before Dick lets out an ecstatic yell.
“You’re smiling! I didn’t know your facial muscles allowed for that action!”
Another cushion was thrown at Dick who’s caught it again before sticking his tongue out at Tiger.
“Agent 37, still childish as ever.”
Tiger doesn’t mind, he really didn’t mind, even if his qehwa turned cold.
#tiger king of kandahar#Tony#Tiger#Agent 1#Richard John Dick Grayson#Nightwing#Agent 37#they're like blood brothers i love them so much#brothers#Jason Peter Todd#Jason Todd#Damian Wayne#incorrect dcu#writingunderthehood#Damian#Spyral#exploring soft feelings#not feelings for each other broski just brothers#hoodedwing#hurt/comfort#self-evaluation ish#this is gotham#and they deserve more comics#can i mention that @ dc my brothers#tiger HAS SO MUCH POTENTIAL and you didn't use him? :(#i will forever fucking love him and dick's banter and how he says we aren't friends but dumdum u are his fRiEnd#man im rly triggered today#there's like fics on these 2 and i can count them with my one hand#iimagine#listen now im in charge of these 2
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Hey, my city has just been put into lockdown :( so I thought I might send a prompt... maybe something about some of the times Vision phases through Wandas wall? Idk but I hope you're well and I love your writing :)
hello! I am so sorry to hear that your city has been put into lockdown! I hope you are staying safe and looking after yourself. I bumped this to the top of my list so I could get you something nice to read quickly. It's mainly about Vision comforting Wanda but I hope it brings you some comfort too!
Mixtape track # 28: Time After Time cover by Theresa Sokyrka, Jesse Brown
| read on AO3 here | mixtape playlist | send me an ask with your song/prompt request |
lying in my bed, I hear the clock tick and think of you
synopsis: Three times Vision phased into Wanda's room unannounced and found her in varying states of disarray/ injury. Aka a fluffy comfort fic for those of you who need it.
Warnings: mentions of blood and stitches, illness (flu), mild swearing
Vision was sitting at the kitchen counter, a novel before him when Steve hurried into the kitchen and began rooting through cabinets. Vision placed a finger to mark his page and glanced up in confusion.
“Is there something you need help with, Captain?” He asked, curious at Steve’s haste. The captain jumped visibly, and Vision looked down sheepishly. The team was yet to grow accustomed to his presence in the Compound and he was still learning to be something like human. It was a slow process.
“Vision,” Steve said, a hand pressed to his chest in surprise. “Sorry, I didn’t see you there.”
Vision nodded. “What are you looking for?”
“Cold and flu medicine,” Steve replied, turning back to the cabinets and pushing aside two different bags of coffee beans and a pot of sugar. His hand scraped around the back of the shelf to no avail. “I know we had some here somewhere.”
Vision tilted his head curiously. There weren’t many at the compound who could fall ill, Steve and himself included. Tony was away with Rhodey in New York for the weekend, Clint was with his family, and from what Vision knew of Natasha, she didn’t seem the kind of person to accept medicine.
That only left one other person in the enormous building he now called home.
“Is Wanda okay?” Vision asked his voice sound slightly strained, even to his own ears. He hadn’t quite mastered control over tone yet but was getting better at identifying such markers in other’s speech.
“She’s okay,” Steve mulled as he moved things around, moving to another cupboard. Vision heard the concern in his voice. Forgetting his page, he shut his book all thoughts now directed to Wanda. Where could she have contracted an illness? Perhaps it was overworking, of all of them, Wanda pushed herself the hardest. The last few weeks had been particularly rough with training every day, minor missions interstate, and relentless press appearances.
“Aha!” Steve cried in triumph, holding up a packet of cold and flu tablets.
“I can take them to her,” Vision said jumping to his feet and moving swiftly to Steve’s side, a glass in his hand ready to fill with water for Wanda. Steve jerked back a little, evidently, he was still not adjusted to the synthezoid’s super speed.
“Okay,” Steve sounded hesitant as he passed over the thin package. “Don’t smother her, alright? She’s not in a very good mood.”
“I won’t,” Vision said pleased as he filled up the glass with water and headed off down the corridor. As he walked, he quickly had a look at what ‘smothering’ meant – why Steve thought he might cover Wanda’s head with a pillow, Vision couldn’t understand. A little more looking revealed it could also mean overwhelm. Vision shook his head, he would make every effort to not overwhelm her, he just wanted to make sure she was comfortable and provide anything that might make her feel better.
Out of Steve’s sight, he hurried quickly down the corridor that led to Wanda’s bedroom. Once he was close enough to her bedroom he phased effortlessly through the wall, bringing the water and pills with him.
He arrived in her room to find that the lights were out and the curtains drawn despite it being mid-morning.
“Vision?” Wanda exclaimed, or tried to. Her voice cracked and she coughed most of the way through his name.
He hurried to the other side of her bed, concerned to see her covers pulled up to her chin even as sweat made her forehead shine.
“What did I saw about knocking?” Wanda said, her voice hoarse, her eyes struggling to stay open.
“That I should?” Vision said hesitantly.
Wanda murmured something in affirmation, and he felt guilty.
“Sorry, I will next time. I brought you some medicine.” He set the glass of water on her bedside table which was cluttered with tissues, empty glasses and unfinished books.
“Don’t need it, thanks,” Wanda murmured, turning onto her side.
Vision sighed. She looked dreadful, which was saying something as he rarely found her anything but beautiful. Concerned, he slowly reached out to press his hand to her forehead. Wanda shivered, feverish.
“You have a high temperature; the medicine will make you feel better.”
Wanda opened her eyes blearily and huffed in frustration. She heaved herself up to lean against the headboard and held a hand out for the pills. Vision popped two of the night pills into her palm before extending the water glass. She swallowed the medicine and shivered again.
“When did you start feeling bad?” Vision asked, trying to make conversation as he hovered about her room, not yet ready to leave her in such a state.
“Last night, but woke up feeling like the plague this morning,” Wanda mumbled, slipping back down onto the pillow. He moved forward to pull her pillow up so she was more comfortable.
“Okay, well we’ll keep an eye on your fever,” he said nervously more to himself, feeling the need to speak the instructions he had read about online aloud. But Wanda’s eyes were already closed, and it seemed she was relenting to an exhausted slumber.
Vision bit his lip, unsure if he were allowed to stay in her room while she was asleep. Glancing at her bedside table he decided to at least clean up on his way out. With the empty glasses stacked and the tissues in the bin he set about opening up a window a little bit to allow for some circulation. Even if Wanda felt cold, her fever needed to come down. Finally, unable to see a reason to stay Vision went over to adjust her blankets. Seeing that she was peacefully asleep he pressed his palm to her forehead, glad to feel that she felt a little bit less warm. She murmured something sleepily but didn’t wake.
Vision returned to her wall with the glasses in hand and phased through it once more, leaving Wanda to her fever dreams. For the remainder of the day, he kept a keen eye on Wanda, phasing through her wall each hour to take her temperature and replace her water glass. She remained asleep or at least didn’t acknowledge his care, though each time he left her mouth twitched up at the corners.
“Wanda!” Vision’s voice was a singsong as he phased through her bedroom wall, eager for their promised game of chess. He had taken up teaching her the game not long after he had learnt it himself. There was no one at the compound who could play that well but he always had fun with Wanda. Even when Vision knew all the tricks, she still surprised him. In exchange they had been following up each game with a few episodes of the Dick Van Dyke show. It was their Saturday night ritual now, though they had only known each other 6 months. Wanda had only just returned from the mission she had been on with Steve and Nat. Perhaps chess was off the table, but he hoped she would let him keep her company and watch some television. Vision struggled to understand how keenly he had felt her absence in the past week.
He phased through the wall and for a moment his sight was clouded. He emerged into the bedroom that he had slowly been acquainted with. Vision knew the view from her windows, the books on her desk, her guitar in the corner and the pattern of her bedsheets. His eyes checked off each of these features before looking to the bed. His heart dropped sickeningly when he caught sight of the figure laying atop the covers.
Wanda had propped herself against the headboard, her mouth twisted in pain as she nursed a gash that was bleeding all down her left arm.
“Wanda?” Vision whispered. Her eyes opened weakly, and she grimaced a smile.
“Hi.”
Vision was at her side instantly. “Hi? What do you mean hi? Are you okay what happened—”
“Shhh,” Wanda whispered, reaching out to grab his arm and squeeze. “Don’t want the others to know.”
“What do you mean?” Vision asked furiously. “You’re hurt, why didn’t you go the med bay when you got back?”
“Please,” she turned her eyes on him and he registered the pain behind her gaze. “Help me and I’ll answer any questions you want. I tried,” she gestured to the trail of thread she’d been using to stitch herself up with, “but my hands are too shaky.”
He ignored that she was half undressed, more focused on how her blood had soaked through the left side of her top and was dripping onto her bed. Vision spared less than a second before he was speeding away from her side. He trusted Wanda, if she said that she didn’t want the others knowing then he would wait to hear her reasoning. For now, he just wanted to alleviate her pain.
He thanked the gods for his super speed as he dashed down the corridor, down the stairs through two walls and into the empty med bay. He dipped in and out of the internet finding a reputable source for stitching up a wound even as he lectured himself for not understanding such an important procedure sooner. He grabbed more supplies, gauze and bandages, antiseptic and a fresh needle and tweezers. He sped back upstairs and arrived in Wanda’s room just as she was swiping tears away from her eyes.
“Sorry,” she winced, trying to sit up better as he set his supplies on her bedside table.
“You have nothing to apologise for,” Vision said soothingly. “Let’s get you fixed up.”
“You weren’t supposed to see,” Wanda sighed, her eyes closed as he set about propping her arm up with a pillow and a fresh towel to mop up the blood.
“Lucky I entered without announcing myself then,” Vision murmured perching himself next to her tense body. He wasn’t usually squeamish and managed to maintain a distance when it came to gore. But seeing Wanda’s blood trickling down her arm had his heart thumping far too quickly. He took a few calming breaths.
Vision straightened her arm and watched her forehead contort in pain, sweat beading. Silently he took the medical scissors and cut off the thread and the mess Wanda had made of her wound. On closer inspection he was relieved to see it wasn’t too deep and that the blood had stopped flowing. He cleaned and numbed the area.
“It’s not as bad as I thought,” Vision murmured as he helped her sit up taller, so she was at a better angle for the stitches.
“Feels bad enough,” Wanda winced.
He frowned at her pain. “Tell me about your favourite episode of Dick Van Dyke,” Vision prompted as he set about threading the needle. Wisely, Wanda decided to turn her attention to her sweeping windows and the clouds drifting across the amber sky.
“Season 2, episode 20,” Wanda said. “It’s not necessarily my favourite but it’s the episode I’ve seen the most. Rob watches this movie with aliens and monsters, it was scary for me as a kid, but I found it funny how out of control it became—” Wanda broke off with a pained groan as Vision began the first stitch.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered.
“Now it doesn’t scare me but it’s still eerie...” she trailed off to prepare for the next stitch. Moments later it was done, and she breathed out slowly as Vision tugged the thread gently, closing the wound.
“— it’s interesting to look back on the episode and –” She thumped her other first on her thigh as the needle dug in once more.
“—and see how far my life has changed since I first watched it – oh fuck that!”
Vision startled, not used to hearing her swear. “Two more and it’ll be done,” Vision replied, conscious that he was leaning over her torso and that there might have been easier ways to sit for stitching up the gash.
“Two more?” Wanda sighed her right shoulder slumping in defeat.
“Almost there, almost there,” he murmured soothingly, starting on the next stitch. Wanda cried out, biting her fist. His heart twinged painfully in sympathy.
“You’re okay,” Vision said, doing his best to be comfortingly. “One more and then it’s done, one more and it’ll be over.”
He continued to murmur small comforts, hoping his voice would distract her from the thin metal dipping in and out of her skin. Despite her pain he had successfully kept the stitches neat and hoped that they’d be suitable enough for healing. At least he had used the thread that dissolved as the wound healed and she could avoid the new pain of having them taken out once more.
As he pushed the needle in for the final stitch Wanda’s head lolled against his neck. He froze in fear.
“I’m okay,” she whispered, “just, keep going.”
Her head remained pressed into the crook of his neck, her breath warming his skin in slow, controlled breaths. Vision did his best to focus on finishing off his work. He completed the final stitch, tied it up and cut the needle free. As he moved his materials to her bedside table and picked up the gauze, he became conscious of Wanda’s shoulders shaking slowly.
“Sorry,” she said quietly, her voice thick with tears.
“It’s alright, Wanda,” Vision said with a comforting smile, though she didn’t raise her head. He raised a hand and gently stroked the back of her head in what he hoped was a soothing manner. “I’ll wrap your arm up and give you something for the pain.”
Wanda sniffled against his shoulder. “I’m glad you’re the only one who can phase through physical walls.”
Vision smiled happily; glad Wanda couldn’t see his reaction.
Vision hovered; his hand raised to knock on Wanda’s bedroom door. He’d been standing there for a few moments debating on whether or not to disturb her when he’d heard the soft noises of Wanda’s cries. Vision knew how she sounded when she was upset. In the year they had been living together there had been a few nights he had spent sitting outside her door, listening to her cry and waiting for her to fall asleep. Often, all she’d allow him to do was bring her food or a cup of tea, insisting she be left to her sorrows. But Vision was struggling to bear it tonight. He worried that she thought herself a burden, that she locked herself up in her room on her bad days as a way to save the rest of the team from her anguish. But Vision hated seeing, or hearing, her pain.
Unable to wait any longer Vision side stepped the door and phased right through the wood. The room was dark, and the air was still, Wanda hadn’t left her bed all day. Quietly, Vision walked slowly to her bedside and crouched beside her curled up form. The covers were pulled up over her head, her arms wrapped around one of her cushions. His throat grew tight with emotion as he gently placed a hand on her shoulder.
“Wanda?” He whispered. The covers shifted and her head emerged, tear tracks looked as though they had made permanent lines down her face, dark circles hung under her eyes.
She didn’t say anything, just rolled over so that her back was to him.
“Is there anything that you need?” Vision asked removing his hand, hesitant to take her rejection, he’d wait until she explicitly asked him to leave. Wanda didn’t reply, her breath catching in her throat, and she shook her head slowly.
“You don’t have to do this alone,” Vision said quietly.
“I don’t want to bother anyone,” Wanda whispered, her voice hoarse from not speaking. Vision raised to stand, hovering next to her bed. He desperately wanted to wrap his arms around her and hold her close, to banish all her sadness and protect her from fear.
“You could never be a burden to me, it is a privilege to be a part of your life.” His words sounded raw, even to his own ears and he heard Wanda hiccup emotionally.
It didn’t take much, just her hand emerging from beneath the covers to tug at the hem of his woollen sweater. It was all he needed to know she wanted him to say.
She shifted to make room and Vision settled onto the bed next to her. Almost reluctantly, Wanda slid closer though her face was still hidden. When he was close enough, he pulled a blanket from the floor and wrapped it around her shoulders. She leant in, sniffling tearily. When he held his arms open, she hesitated for a few moments, her body stiff with tension. Finally, she relented, pressing her forehead into his shoulder and allowing him to wrap her in his warm arms. The tears started again, and he rocked them back and forth as she trembled.
“It’s alright,” Vision whispered over and over. He rubbed a hand in circles on her back, holding her close.
They remained that way for a while, Vision let her cry as much as she needed, not feeling the need to ask what was causing her such anguish. She would tell him when she was ready.
“When you’re feeling up for it, we can go for a walk,” Vision said soothingly, “there are wildflowers out by the woods, I even saw some bluebells the other morning. Maybe you can point out some other flowers you recognise to me. I think the birds miss you out there.” He talked slowly about small things, none of them important but gradually her sobs slowed into hiccups.
“Thank you,” Wanda whispered into his shoulders, her hands tangled up in his jumper.
“It’s okay,” Vision said softly, “just because your brain tells you you’re alone, doesn’t mean it’s true. There are so many people who care about you. Whenever you need me, I’ll always be here.”
#WandaVision fanfiction#scarletvision fanfiction#wanda x vision#scarletvision#wandavision#vision x wanda#mcu fanfiction#scarletvision fic#comfort fic#visionsofusfics#fluff and comfort
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Let me give you my life
Pairing: Loki x Tesseract
Warnings: Major Character Death, Mourning, delusions, mental illness, alcohol, Original Character Death, Odin, fantastic racism
Summary: After Frigga's funeral, Loki starts hearing a voice. It changes their life completely.
Chapter 4: Bridge and Chorus
Chapter summary: the aftermath
Chapter warnings: Odin, Major Character Death, suicide
Chapter note: this chapter is dedicated to @lucywrites02 because she pretended to be a bad bitch yesterday.
Previous chapter AO3
No masters or kings when the ritual begins
The shackles sing as Loki walks towards the throne, fighting back a grin. Odin, on the other hand, sits on his high quality chair, believing to be intimidating.
"You have committed a grave crime against the-" Odin tries to speak, but Loki chuckles.
"I know what I have done, Odin. No need to repeat yourself," they interrupt, using a voice they've been hiding in their throat since they learned how to speak.
And it has so much to say…
"Has your mother taught you no respect for your king?" They yell, their favourite way of speaking to Loki. In all these years, Loki cowarded away at this voice, scared of a physical expression of the anger. This time, he laughs at it.
"Not my mother, and I have no king but myself," they smile, watching a new wave of anger flashing in the old charlatan's face.
"Silence! You never knew how to shut this mouth of yours!" Odin raises his voice, hoping to see the now natural cowering of Loki. The only answer is another laugh.
"Do you really want me to start speaking, Odin? To see who is truly guilty, with all these good dicks and whores listening?" Loki asks, a glow in his eyes as he gestures around as wide as the shackles allow. The harshness of their tongue makes the nobles who watch the "trial" gasp.
"Who taught you this language?" The old man spits, narrowing one eye.
"Apart from your anger? And that old warrior you ordered to teach Thor and me how to survive in a forest? And there are the guards, I can name a few but stitching is a worse crime than murder…" he mutters, acting if like he's chatting with a cup of tea other than being on a trial for murder.
There's no sweeter innocence than our gentle sin
"Enough with your games! Why did you murder Lord Gæirasson in cold blood?" Odin asks the "big question", as if the right answer will lift the charges from Loki's name.
"Because… one, because he was a racist and offended me, to which the punishment is death. Two, because he started a war-"
"You started a war, Loki," Thor interrupts, taking Odin's side, like every time.
"A war had been started. Let's not blame people, Thor. Now where were I? Oh, yeah, at how Gæirasson started a war. Also, he refused to pay his taxes and you know how seriously I took my responsibility of being in charge of the palace's finances. Did war crimes against my people, father would be proud the son of a bitch is dead. And lastly, but definitely not least, a dreadful sense of fashion. Have you seen what his grooms wear? I think I threw up in my mouth when I saw it…" they finish with the rumbling, not even thinking of answering seriously. Odin will execute him anyways, would some fun be so bad?
"I said, enough with the games!" Odin basically screeches, their face going red.
In the madness and soil of that sad earthly scene
"For the murder of a lord, cause of a war and disrespect towards the throne, I Odin Allfather sentence you to a life in the dungeons," he decides.
"Dungeons? Not axe? Did Frigga's ghost or this moron talk you out of killing me?" Loki questions, taking their turn to narrow their eyes.
"If you keep talking, I might change my mind," Odin sighs, rubbing his temple.
"And get rid of this perfect pawn to hold King Laufey from the balls? A shame, really," Loki poutes and shrugs, pretending awfully that he cares.
"I will not stand your disrespect any longer! I had granted you your life, Loki, more than once! You will learn to respect me for it! Take them to the dungeons!" Odin speaks the final order. Four guards grab the chains that lead to Loki's shackles and push him away, forcing him to walk with them
Only then I am human / only then I am free
On the way to the dungeons, Thor stops the guards and demands to speak to Loki.
"Just tell me why, brother. Please. What didn't we give you to make you care so little?" they ask, grabbing Loki's shoulder, just like they always used to do.
"A family. That's what you didn't give me. And that's what I've earned," Loki answers, staring right into his no-brother's eyes, the blue in them and the pale lines that resemble his lightning. They know they won't see Thor from this close ever again, and they deserve a proper last memory.
"Then, I'm sorry. It's late, I know, but remember this, please… I shall visit, whenever I can, Loki. I swear. You shouldn't be in prison all alone," Thor promises. Loki gives only a nod, enough to make Thor dismiss the guards and let them keep walking Loki to his future and last chamber.
The only sign of emotions they allow themselves to show is a sigh, only out of sympathy.
For he knows that his freedom just begins.
Take me to church / I'll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies
The moment the guards put Loki back into the white vacant cell and take their eyes off them, they cast an illusion of them settling on the floor and staring at nothing. The real Loki is walking up and down the room, waiting for the Tesseract to speak.
"Now?" he asks, feeling it close.
"Now, you need to learn who your family is. Not Odin, not Laufey, your true family, Entropy," they answer.
"What with this name? After all this, can't you call me by my name?" Loki groans.
"I am. You have many names. Entropy, the Chaos Stone, the Death Stone, the Knot… the last one, actually, is the name you're most familiar with, translated to Old Jötunn tongue," they speak, all matter-of-factly.
"You're lying, the Chaos stone is a myth," Loki brushes off the answer.
"It does exist. A black gem, created by billions of ropes, strings and threads tangled together. The hardest one to wield and command and impossible to find. The Jötnar had found it and worshipped it. And when Laufey found out that his son is nothing but a dead baby, he sacrificed the infant for the infant. And Odin found the baby crying in the altar, the gem gone,"
"So I own my life to an imaginary stone, apart from an old piece of shit. What a surprise…" Loki throws their hands in the air.
"No. You are the imaginary stone. In order to give life, the Chaos gem entered your body and never left. You are the flesh of a corpse and the mind of an infinity stone. And it's time to leave the corpse and join us,"
The aimless walking stops, and Loki's heart skips a beat
I'll tell you my sins so you can sharpen your knife
"You made me kill a man, for this?" he asks, glaring at nothing. They don't answer.
"You made me kill a man! Just so I could die!" boiling hot tears streaming down their eyes and slither into their shirt as burning red eyes stare at the empty room for something. "I trusted you! You promised me a family!" he yells between his sobs.
Their feet cannot support them, and they kneel down, turned into a crying sobbing and yelling mess. A hand, created by mist, grabs his shoulder, trying to provide comfort.
"I hate you," they spit, flaring their nose drills as they stare into the blue eyes of the illusion they use to pretend they're close to them.
"I'm sorry, hurting you was… if I could prevent it…" the stone says and gives him a small squeeze. And they mean it. If there was a way to do it without any pain, they would. But it's too late, Loki is already hurt…
Offer me that deathless death
Loki throws themselves into the tightest embrace they ever had, weeping like a baby. "I don't want to die. Please, I don't wanna die. Anything but this, anything, please!" he whispers, diving his head into their shoulder without a thought of holding back the tears.
"Shhhh, you won't die. Not truly. Your mind is the stone, as long as it exists you exist. And the body will stay intact until you need it again. You will be fine, I promise," they whisper, hoping of making them feel better.
"I'm scared, Tessie. I'm so scared, I can't," for a prince, Loki sounds so small, almost like the small child they used to be. Tessie starts playing with his hair, hoping to calm him down, even for a bit.
"It's alright. Everything will be fine, no matter if you do it or not," they shush them.
"If I do it or not?" Loki repeats, sniffing quietly and breaking the hug only to look at the misty blue eyes of Tessie.
"I… you're in so much pain… if you decide that you had enough, you'll be left alone," they explain. Loki nods, still quivering from the crying, but determined.
"No. We got so far. I-I-I'm not giving up," he lets his voice get louder, and then stands up. "What do I do?" they ask, collected once again.
"Get comfortable in a position. And once you're ready, make the ropes appear and let them wash over you," Tessie explains, holding this sympathetic voice. Loki nods and sits back down against the white wall, moving to get comfortable.
Then, with just a thought, the ropes appear and fill him with this calming sensation. Tessie walks closer and cups their cheeks. "See you on the other side, Loki," they smile and kiss their forehead before vanishing.
Loki takes a deep breath, and looks around the cage. He remembers a field day he had when little, a good day. Odin was sleeping on a bench and Frigga was yelling at them and Thor to not get into trouble as Thor dragged Loki, who was just above six, on an expiration of the forest around a castle in Vanaheim. Of course, they returned after the sun was down, with scraped up knees and dirty clothes and Loki had traces of tears in his cheeks because a bug scared him. But it had been, and still is, the best time they ever had with Thor.
He holds tight into the memory as he lets the ropes cover him and closes his eyes.
Good God, let me give you my life
The guards don't know how this happened. One moment, Loki was gazing at nothing and the next…
How does one say this to the Allfather?
The healers walk out of the cage when Thor storms in the dungeons, on the verge of panicking. "Is he alive?" It's all they ask.
The healers won't answer, it's enough to know.
Thor walks in and sits beside what used to be Loki, holding their cold and deformed hand and letting tears run down his face.
Loki doesn't respond, how could he?
He's a statue, as if made from black stone, and his hands covered in stone black ropes, with a faint glow where his heart should be being the only sign that there was once life there.
Loki's face doesn't have the signature smirk, and there's no gleam in their closed eyes. But he does wear a peaceful smile. A smile Thor regrets he had to see this body in order to know that his brother knows finally peace.
#loki fanfiction#loki fanfic#loki#loki marvel#tesserloki#marvel angst#angst#heavy angst#no happy ending#dark#odin's a+ parenting#tw major character death#tw suicice#tw language#delusions#mental illness#it's bad#what did i do#what have i done#grab your zoloft and be ready for a rollercoaster#marvel fanfic#marvel fanfiction#marvel#marvel fanfic series#fanfic#fanfiction#fanfic series#multichapter#last chapter
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I KINDA SORTA RAN TO TUMBLR BC I HAD AN IDEA TO ADD TO MY REVERSE ROBIN AU AND FUCKKKK WHY I DO THIS TO MYSELF? ILL NEVER KNOW BUT AM I UPSET THO? NOT REALLY SO UH THIS IS A LITTLE HEADCANON/IDEA OF BRUCE AND ROBIN (DICK) GOING OUT, BRUCE GETTING HIT BY FEAR TOXIN AND IS SEEING JASON EVERYWHERE AND DICK HAS TO TALK HIM OUT OF IT SO Y E A H
it had been a reasonably quiet night, suspiciously quiet really when bruce looked back on it, but hindsight is 20/20. that didn’t really stop him from blaming himself.
he had repeatedly asked dick to go back home, that he wasn’t needed tonight (really it was the encapsulating fear that was gnawing at his heart, he could not afford to lose another son, he didn’t even know if he could make it after this loss)
dick had interpreted that as go home, you’re going to be deadweight on my mission. this, of course, sparked his famous temper that could only be rivaled by jason, and even then alfred was the only one who could properly tame dick when he was riled up in anger. so, the young vigilante stubbornly refused, stomping his feet onto the ground and staring right up at bruce. a determined glare that would’ve made anyone besides bruce or alfred back down immediately, but even bruce had to admit, it was going to be a lot more work having to deal with dick stubbornly refusing his orders, than it was if he let dick follow along safely, and it was a quiet night anyways.
it wasn’t a quiet night. and bruce had ended up resisting a full spray of fear toxin long enough to detain the criminals and sprint off into an alley. his eyes were squeezed shut, because everywhere he looked he saw a little ghost. bloody, mangled and bruised with a shreded black costume, reaching out to him and asking, “why.” shutting his eyes didn’t exactly stop him from hearing his sons little voice all around him, whywhywhywhyhelpmehelpmehelpmehelpmelookatmelookatmedadpleasedad
dick had blamed himself. after hastily explaining the situation to commissioner gordon he took off. swinging around the city trying to find out where bruce had went. his mind was screaming, asking how stupid he had been to let bruce take the spray for him. his whole point of being out here was to protect bruce, before he self-immolated on his pyre of self-loathing. he then managed to find bruce curled up at the end of a twisted alley.
slowly approaching, dick could hear bruce’s heavy breathing, shuddering with every heave of his lungs. he managed to get close enough to sit in front of him, and whisper, “bruce, can you hear me?”
that had been his first mistake, as bruce’s lens on the cowl blasted open and he backed up even farther away, pushing off from his leg and whispering something. dick could feel his stomach plummet as he swore he could hear bruce muttering, “jason.”
he swallowed the ball of tears climbing up to his throat. he would not cry, because he was not a child. bruce needed him, and he would always be there for him. he tried again, “bruce, i-it’s me. it’s dick, alright?
he knew better then to take off his domino but maybe it would bring bruce some comfort to see blue eyes rather then the green ones haunting his vision. he slowly ripped his domino off, approaching bruce yet again. he promised bruce he wasn’t going to hurt him, he was just sitting. just sitting. he knew better then to startle bruce when under fear toxin, that had been a lesson jason had shown him before, on the rare occasion bruce hadn’t been able to resist long enough for an antidote. it made dick’s eyes burn with unshed tears yet again, because he wasn’t jason. he couldn’t be jason, but that was okay (was it) because he was still going to get bruce out of this.
he sat in front of bruce, crossing his legs and stretching out his hands with his palms up, “see? i’m real, bruce. take my hand and you’ll see, i promise it’s just me. it’s dick, no-not jason, okay? here, take my hand and try.”
he waits a bit, but he stays still. he waits for bruce whose breathing heavily and darting his eyes around, tracking an invisible being dick couldn’t see. his vision then falls on dick, who gives a soft smile and keeps his hands out, stretching them towards bruce more, as an invitation.
it was a swift movement, as bruce pulled dick by his hands and into a tight hug. he held onto him like his life depended on it, pulling him to his chest and pressing his forehead against dick’s head. dick practically melted in his arms, wrapping around bruce in a koala like posture. he had dialled for alfred a while ago, to prep the antidote and to get the car to drive over here on auto drive (dick could drive it, alright? he knew how, jason had taught him but bruce didn’t have much trust in jason’s teachings, after dick and jason had trotted home, with scrapes and cuts all over the place because jason had been trying to teaching dick how to drift, even though neither of them had even been legally allowed to drive. bruce swore these boys would be the end of him)
they stayed like that for a while, bruce rocking back and forth with his son in his arms. driving away all the screams of a dying ghost, leaving only remnants of a whisper. it wasn’t until a while later that dick gently tapped on bruce’s arm, after catching sight of the batmobile pulling up. bruce was paranoid at first, holding dick even tighter and darting his head around, searching for an indescribable danger. dick softly whispered that everything was alright, he just wanted to take bruce to the batmobile, that was all.
bruce had become somewhat lucid, going on one of his only lucid stretches of that night to dick’s dismay but also relief as he managed to pull bruce into the batmobile and lay him down in the back, locking all the doors as he sat in the drivers seat. he knew better then to start driving when bruce would most probably start losing his lucidity and try to claw out of the batmobile. he just started the car and directed it to go home, as he climbed into the back, laying on the car floor next to bruce, just holding his hand that practically engulfed his own.
when they had arrived home, and alfred had been able to inject the antidote in intravels, did dick let himself tear up a bit, as he changed out of his robin uniform. he just wanted jason here, that’s all he wanted. he wanted him to ruffle his hair, give him warm hugs, watch movies with him, hold him tightly and tell him that everything was going to be fine because he was jason’s little brother, and no one would fucking hurt him, not as long as jason lived. dick took a deep breath though, he was fine. he had no need to cry right now, he could do that later. bruce still needed him, his father needed him. so he would suck up his fears, vulnerablities and everything else, and shove it into a little box in his heart, and spin around and go help bruce. with a firm nod that no one saw, dick did just that.
that night, dick had been curled up in bruce’s behemoth of a bed, holding onto bruce tightly, as a movie droned on in the background. bruce was absentmindedly playing his dick’s hair, taking deep breathes and reassuring himself that dick was here, he was safe. no one was going to hurt him. he was currently next to him, not blown up to bits in a warehouse in Ethiopia and the ghost clinging onto his wilting mind was just that. a ghost.
“bruce?”
“hm.”
“i love you.”
with a kiss to the forehead and a sigh bruce whispered, “i love you too.”
SEE I CAN WRITE FLUFF. SOMETIMES. MAYBE. LISTEN HURT AND COMFORT IS MY SHIT OK? AND LIKE IK THIS IS RUSHED BUT I LOVED THE IDEA SO MUCH?? AND I REALLYY LIKE THIS AU SO LIKE YK IMMA RUN WITH IT BC LIKE WHY NOT?? HONESTLY ID LOVE TO WRITE A SERIES OF FICS OF THIS ON AO3 BUT LIKEE SIS DOESNT HAVE THE PATIENCE FOR THAT NOR DOES SHE HAVE THE TALENT BUT THATS FINEEE SO YK TYSM FOR READING HEHE AND UH EXPECT MORE IG I ADORE THIS AU SO :)!!! (OH AND EXCUSE ANY SPELLING MISTAKES IM SORRY, I DEF DID NOT PROOFREAD THIS ENOUGH)
#dick grayson#jason todd#big brother jason#bruce wayne#batman#robin#reverse robin au#fear toxin#young dick grayson#father and son#fluff#feels#lOTS#OF#FEELS#also angst#I CANT FUNCTION WITHOUT WRITING ANGST CLEARLY#DW ILL WRITE SOME FUN SHIT#I PROMISE#THIS AU HAS BECOME THE DEATH OF ME#YALL SHOULD SEE MY NOTES#THEYRE FULL OF IDEAS FOR THIS AU#BUT THIS ONE WAS A SPUR OF THE MOMENT#BC I WAS PROCRASTINATING HEHE#SO PLS ENJOY HEHE#batfam#dc universe#batkids#reverse au
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misplaced guilt
(Read below or on AO3)
It’s been a while since Bruce has been to one of these galas, and for once, he is neither hosting nor making a speech. It’s a nice change, to say the least.
Dick is sitting next to him, kicking his legs under the table. Bruce would tell him to stop, but at least he’s actually using the chair as intended with both feet closer to the floor than the chair, so Bruce lets it go for the moment. If it gets too out of control, he can always reach out and stop him, but for now, he’ll let the kid release some pent-up energy.
Bruce keeps half of his attention on Dick and the other half on his conversation with Jasmine Owen, a woman who works at one of Gotham’s youth centers. Bruce knew from the second she introduced herself that she came over in hopes of getting a donation, but he doesn’t mind; that’s one of the main purposes of these things, and Bruce is happy to help however he can.
“Babs,” Dick gasps excitedly, shooting upright when he catches Barbara walk into the room, Commissioner Gordon by her side. Bruce looks over at Dick, quirking an eyebrow. Dick smiles back, asks in his I’m-in-public-so-I’m-behaving-like-an-angel voice, “May I please be excused?”
“Hnn,” Bruce says, pretending to think over his answer.
“Bruce,” Dick whines.
Bruce smiles. “Alright. But stay in the ballroom. Dinner is going to be served soon.”
“Okay, thanks!” he slides out of his chair and offers a wave. “Nice meeting you, Ms. Owen.”
“And you, Richard,” she smiles back. When he’s gone, she turns to Bruce again and says, “He’s a sweet kid.”
Bruce can’t help but think at least in public, and at least to people who aren’t me. He’s half-joking, but there’s some truth to the statement: Dick has always seemed to behave better for Alfred, and he’s nothing if not an angel around strangers, even when he’s mad at Bruce.
At home, it’s not that Dick isn’t a good kid—he is—but he’s still a kid. Dick can be sassy, and he has a taste for anything that will make Bruce’s hair turn gray (usually dangerous, usually far away from the ground). He also has no qualms about making fun of Bruce when Dick feels it’s called for. Then there are the arguments, the borderline tantrums. Both have been decreasing in frequency, and Bruce attributes most of them to processing and coming to terms with his parents’ murder, but they are—difficult, to say the least. Dick will have these rough days—sometimes rough weeks—where he’ll lash out at Bruce over the smallest things. Sometimes it seems like he yells at Bruce just to put his hurt somewhere.
Bruce tries to take all of it—from the jokes at his expense that even he has to admit are funny, to the meltdowns—as a good sign, one that says Dick feels secure and knows that Bruce will love him regardless of his behavior or attitude. But there are certainly days when Bruce thinks it would be nice if Dick would listen to him like he listens to Alfred—like when Bruce tells him to get off of the unstable shed roof, for example.
Despite the challenges that come with raising a child, there are also so many blessings. There’s no other word to describe it. Seeing Dick learn and grow and thrive is something Bruce will never get tired of. On top of that, Dick is just this brilliant, funny, and kind child. He has the biggest heart Bruce has ever seen, and he cares so deeply and widely. Bruce doesn’t know how he got so lucky. Dick is Bruce’s light, his whole world.
Bruce pulls himself out of his head, says, “He’s the best thing that has ever happened to me.” It’s something he can say with complete honesty. “Do you have kids?”
“Oh god, no. I think I’m still a little young for that,” she laughs. Then, thinking about what she said, her face falls. “Not that you were too young, just for me, I’d rather—”
“No, no, it’s fine.” He puts his hands up and smiles. “I was really young when I took Dick in. I go to parent-teacher conferences, and most of the other parents are at least ten years older than me. But I like to think I’m doing alright, and Dick’s happy, so that’s all that matters.”
“Yes, I suppose.” She smiles, but looks down at the table.
“So, what’s it like day-to-day at the youth center?”
She looks up, coming alive again, and the conversation picks back up.
oOo
After dinner, Dick and Barbara disappear again, and Bruce is left alone to mingle. Most people come to him, but he only has to escape a few times, so it’s going about as good as these things can go.
That is until a very urgent Barbara runs into him and tugs on his arm. “Sorry everyone, but I need to borrow Brucie for a second.”
Bruce ducks down to look Barbara in the eye. “What is it?”
“Dick. Just come with me.”
He follows her without another word to the group of people he was talking to. She leads him into the hall and toward the lobby. When they turn the corner, Dick is on the ground in a lateral recumbent position. Gordon is talking to him gently, though Dick seems unresponsive.
“Dick.” Bruce lurches forward, falling to his knees and reaching out to find Dick’s pulse and check his breathing. “What happened?”
“Barbara thinks he had a seizure,” Gordon answers. “An ambulance will be here soon.”
Dick’s breath hitches and he lets out a low moan that feels like a twisting dagger in Bruce’s chest. His eyes find Bruce’s, and he unwraps one hand from his stomach to reach for Bruce’s. Bruce takes it, squeezing it gently in a reassuring manner.
“I’m right here,” Bruce promises, running a hand through Dick’s hair.
“It hurts,” Dick gasps.
“Shh, the paramedics are going to be here soon. We’ll fix it.”
Dick shakes his head and squeezes his eyes shut. “I don’t feel right.”
Bruce tightens his grip slightly, hoping to keep Dick conscious. “What’s wrong? Where does it hurt?”
“Head, stomach,” Dick mumbles. “Feel hot, an’ dizzy.”
Bruce frowns, trying to determine what could be causing Dick’s symptoms. Is this the beginning of an illness, or a seizure disorder? Has Dick been poisoned? There was a run-in with Scarecrow a few nights ago, and Dick had needed to take an untested antidote for the fear toxin. Could this be a delayed reaction to the concoction Bruce had come up with?
Dick’s grip loosens.
“Dick?” Bruce calls urgently. “Dick!”
He gets no response.
oOo
Dick is staring at a white ceiling when he realizes he’s awake. Sunlight is streaming in through a giant window on his right, and there’s a framed painting of giraffes across from him. He’s tired and confused, and his gut tells him that something is wrong, that something bad happened. His first thought is that he wants his mom.
He turns his head to the left, finding Bruce in a chair and holding his hand.
“Hi,” Dick says, slowly pushing himself into a sitting position. Bruce grunts some kind of greeting and raises Dick’s bed while Dick takes in the medical bracelets on his wrist—one ID bracelet and one that indicates that he’s a fall risk—and the IV in the back of his hand. “What happened?”
Bruce shifts in his chair, face serious. “We were at the gala. You were poisoned.”
Dick matches Bruce’s expression, trying to think. He remembers being with Babs, telling her that something was wrong. Then he’d been on the ground, and there’d been sirens.
“The man who poisoned you had planned to offer me the antidote for a price, but he didn’t realize that you would react to the poison so—so severely,” Bruce explains, rubbing his thumb over Dick’s knuckles. “He was working as one of the waiters and heard the commotion. He came forward shortly after the ambulance left and he’s currently in custody.”
Dick swallows. “Why did he . . .” Why did he poison Dick in the first place? Need money so badly? Feel that poisoning Dick was the only option? “Would it have killed me? If he didn’t give us the antidote.”
Bruce, like always, is honest with Dick. “The doctors were able to stabilize you, but they needed to neutralize the poison quickly, and the antidote did that. It’s hard to say what would have happened without it, but things were touch and go for a while.”
Dick nods, not sure what to say as he takes it in. Eventually, he asks, “How long have I been out?”
“A few days. You woke up a few times yesterday, but you were incoherent,” Bruce says.
Dick wracks his brain, trying to pull up some inaccessible memory.
“I’m sorry that this happened, Dick.”
Dick squeezes Bruce’s hand. “Not your fault.”
“Hnn.”
“What? Are you seriously guilty that you didn’t taste all of my food first or something? ‘Cause that’s nuts, B.”
Bruce says, “You are my child. I am allowed to feel guilty when I fail to protect you.”
“You didn’t fail,” Dick interjects. “I’m okay—really.”
Bruce’s face is still pinched and concerned, and he’s looking at Dick like he might fall apart. Dick leans toward him and stretches his arms out, and Bruce quickly pulls him into a tight hug.
“I’m not going anywhere, Bruce,” Dick promises. And even to himself, it doesn’t sound like a reassurance most nine-year-olds should be giving. But it fits with his new life, he supposes. “I’m okay.”
Bruce tucks Dick’s head under his chin, says, “I was . . . I’m glad that you’re alright.”
Dick nods into Bruce’s chest and lets himself be held for another moment. It’s not the hug from his mom that he woke up wanting, but it’s close. It makes him feel safe and reminds him of home, and maybe that’s all Dick needs.
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Honey Bunny
Levihan | Rated for language and one mention of doing the deed
It’s on Ao3! https://archiveofourown.org/works/27387343
Hanji and Levi have breakfast at a diner. They find themselves in a bit of a situation-
"We have you surrounded! I repeat! We have you surrounded! Come out with your hands in the air!"
“Tch... Too goddamn loud for the morning...”
“And so.... I politely asked him to suck on my fat dick.”
“You really said that?”
“Yeah... Not really a big win for me considering he’s only humiliated because he lost his balls to a girl...”
Levi snorts. Shitstain of a man, he adds, and Hanji beams at him.
“Anywho... Can you remember that song I said I liked... We danced to it at the pub. This was before you went to the toilet and that whole debacle with shitstain of a man happened...”
“I don’t remember...” Levi folds the napkin and sets it back down on the table. Hanji is pouting, disappointed.
“I honestly don’t remember much besides him yelling at you, then the look on his face after you kissed his girl. Somehow that left a bigger impression.” Levi replies with snark.
Hanji laughs, justifiably pleased with herself. “She enjoyed it though...” Levi knows. What’s there not to enjoy. Hanji takes a sip of her coffee and makes a face. “Levi, try this... It’s the worst coffee I’ve ever tasted... And I’m not a person with any standards...”
Levi hates coffee. Even a cup of the gourmet stuff (or at least that’s what the label had said) had failed to impress him. So he doesn’t know why he relents and takes a sip. “Tastes like dick...” he nearly spits it out and Hanji cackles.
“Wanna go somewhere else that doesn’t have shit coffee?” Levi asks. Hanji looks out the windows, at the flashes of red and blue and the glare of floodlights. The diner has found itself in a bit of a situation- on the business end of the guns in the hands of the boys in blue. It’ll be hard to navigate round. It’s an inconvenience really.
“Hmmm... Sounds like too much trouble...” Hanji drawls, “besides... I can’t complain about the pancakes.”
“The service leaves much to be desired though...” Levi quips, eyes rolling to glare at the empty spot behind the counter. He can hear whimpering from where the waiters are ducked, knees pulled close to bodies, shaking like leaves. He might have to help himself with the refills later on.
Hanji stares absentmindedly out the window when she hears a crackle from the loud hailer. “Here we go again...” she mutters under her breath.
"Levi Ackerman! Hans Zoë! We have you surrounded! I repeat! We have you surrounded! Come out with your hands in the air!"
“Tch... Too goddamn loud for the morning...” Levi says, annoyed, but he doesn’t shift his gaze from Hanji.
“It’s Hanji Zoë... What- Why do they- Ugh... They can never get it right?” Hanji throws her hands up in a show of exasperation.
“I’ll make sure to tell them on the way out.” Levi chaffs.
Hanji turns her attention back to him. “So... Considering our predicament... It might be a good time to reminisce... You wanna start cowboy?” She plays coy, resting her chin in her hands and batting her eyelashes at him. The sight of Hanji like this always tickles him. But it also makes him want to take her to a motel and screw the living daylights out of her. And yet, his face gives nothing away, save for a slight tug at the corners of his lips. Hanji notices. She eases back into her chair, putting on a show for him by stretching long legs out toward him.
“Remember the day at the bank... When we first met?”
“Ah... How could I forget... Out of all the banks in the South side of town we had to pick the same one,” Hanji chuckles, “you hated my guts...”
“I lied... I was angry because I wanted to kiss you stupid right there and then.” Levi shrugs and stirs idly at his lukewarm cup of tea.
“Oh...” Hanji says, lips pursing. There’s a dust of pink high in her cheeks and suddenly she finds it hard to meet Levi’s searing gaze. “That was... Dammit Levi... That was actually really sweet... You’re making me look bad...”
“Spit it out four eyes.”
“I was just gonna ask if you remember the time we had that fight about me forgetting to take the bins out?”
“And you freaked the fuck out and went berserk?” Levi supplements.
“Yes... And I told you our bins weren’t empty because I saw the neighbours put their trash in them? Well... I lied... You were right... I just never took the bins out...”
“I know...”
“Then why did you apologise?”
Levi shrugs, “if you said you took the bins out, you took the bins out. You’ve stood up for me on far less...”
Hanji hums a reply, that she has. She presses her ankles against Levi under the table. “Tell you what... I’m going to walk over to you now and kiss you stupid. Right here. In front of all these strapping young officers. Then we’re going to stop with this sappy nonsense and talk business.”
Levi grunts a reply, sliding his chair out to give Hanji space. And in one long stride she’s sitting in his lap. Hanji keeps her promise and kisses him till they’re both gasping for air. All tongue slipping behind teeth and soft lips as practiced a million times before. She still feels the rush of adrenaline when Levi rests his hands on her hips, fingers digging into skin with possessive fervour. Her arms are thrown around his shoulders and she pulls him impossibly close. This feeling will never get old, she thinks. Like the thrill of a heist. They break apart and Hanji has a dopey smile on her face.
“Do you wanna talk business? Or you wanna continue staring?” Levi smirks and Hanji throws her head back to laugh.
“What do you say? What are our odds?” He says, drawing circles into the small of her back.
“Hmmm...” Hanji scans the windows. She loses count on the number of shaking fingers precariously gripping triggers. “If we’re just talking numbers... Not looking too good...”
“Well they can all- What did you say? Suck on a fat dick?”
Hanji laughs, yeah... she says, a little breathless when Levi reaches to tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear. She presses a kiss to the tip of his nose. God does she love him.
“If we survive this, Levi Ackerman... Mark my words, I’ll make an honest man of you...” There’s a sparkle in Hanji’s eyes and Levi can’t help but return her smile. He deliberates debating the concept of an honest man, after all, they are far from honest people. Levi also has lots to say about the concept of “ride or die” too, considering he’s not one to prefer dying to be on the cards. Their skillset and expertise have not particularly allowed for glorified visions of going out with a bang, they always make it, and it's not luck either. It’s better to be alive, live to love another day. But it’s all petty semantics.
Because he sees the gleam in Hanji’s eyes- audacious, but far from ill-advised and he smiles, an ease consumes him. Whilst not preferable, dying with Hanji by his side isn’t too bad an idea. But Levi remembers it’s Hanji’s turn to clean the house and it would be unfair on him if they die today, considering how he’s been the one cleaning the past three times. He’s not going all soft when she whines this time. This time she’ll be the one cleaning for sure.
Semantics can go to hell.
“I’ll hold you to it, Hanji Zoë...” he whispers as he kisses her chin where he can reach. Levi pats Hanji’s thigh as he shifts to stand. His hands already on the holsters of his guns. She cocks her pistols, this isn’t anything they haven’t done before. And Hanji thinks the odds are still up in the air, it’s a little premature for visions of a glorified death. Besides the chicken in the fridge will go bad if they don’t have it by today. A good roast sounds perfect for dinner. They can have it with that bottle of wine they’ve been saving.
She sets her eyes on the targets and counts them off again in her head. She watches them with interest as they squirm in their boots. Hanji cracks her neck and shakes her knots loose.
Hanji freezes suddenly, “wait Levi...” she says with urgency, “I just got it!”
“No don’t-“ but before Levi can stop her, she’s already humming it- the song they had danced to at the pub. Hanji sways along to the tune. Levi clenches his fist and taps it against his forehead. Why does he have to love her so goddamn much.
“Do you know the name of the song? It’s absolutely killing me!”
“Hanji... I don’t know the name of any song...” Levi squeezes his eyes shut and rubs at his temples. “Great... Now it’s stuck in my head too...” he mutters through grit teeth. They walk toward the entrance of the diner.
Hanji grins. “Ready Levi?”
He nods, smiling at her once more for good luck.
“Let’s fuck shit up.”
#levihan#levi x hange#levi x hanji#levihan fanfic#levihan fanfiction#attack on titan#shingeki no kyoujin levi#shingeki no kyoujin#levi ackerman#hange zöe#hanji zoë#shingeki no kyojin#mine#whew tagging is tiring#i'm hiding from manga spoilers tell me when it's over#my fic
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