*proceeds to fight her way down his throat and then punch out through his chest

His ||Jungkook|| 0.3

Member: Jungkook x Reader

Type: Angst, Fluff, Smut.

Teaser | 0.1 | 0.2 | 0.3

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Waffles and War - Jaykyle

They’re buying crepes when the shooting starts.

Kyle, unperturbed, chews happily at his crepe, reveling in the taste of cheap New York street food. Feeling a weighty presence on his left, Kyle turns to meet Donna’s gaze, mouth still full. She looks pleadingly back up at him.

“No.”

“Please, Kyle.” Her hands are squeezing her crepe dangerously.

“I’m on vacation, Donna,” he whines.

“I know,” she replies, “I’m sorry. Just let me go check it out? I’ll be quick about it, I swear.”

He stares. “I can’t believe you’re doing this to me.”

“Thanks, Kyle. You’re the best.” She kisses his cheek then casts a quick glance around for any stragglers. Everyone had successfully run screaming into a safer area. Kyle wonders where the crepe vendor went. Donna heads towards the chaos and proceeds to shuck her sweater off, revealing her suit, patterned like the night sky.

“Who are you, Superman?” Kyle mutters, sliding down against a wall. He finishes his crepe and looks down at Donna’s, sighing.

There’s a loud crash in the alley two streets over where the fighting is taking place, and Kyle hears Donna yell out. He’s on his feet instantly, cursing himself and his friends and Ganthet, for giving him this stupid ring and getting him involved with a bunch of stupid superheroes. He runs towards the alley, lifting off the ground easily as his suit slides into place over his skin. Kyle is already prepared to give whoever had interrupted his week off from intergalactic crises a beatdown, so he is rather disappointed when he finds himself in a sea of knocked out goons and subpar weaponry. What is surprising, is that Donna is not alone. It takes a moment for Kyle to recognize who she’s standing with, but when he does he can’t help but stare.

Jason Todd.

Jason pops the helmet off his head, peeling the domino off with a wince. Donna reaches up to hug him, then sucker punches him in the arm. Kyle chooses that exact moment to burst into laughter. The two of them look over at him and Donna grins. Jason, rubbing his arm(which had to hurt a damn lot after getting clocked by an Amazon) gives Kyle a measured look of disdain. Kyle only laughs harder, taking it as a win when Jason’s lips twitch at the corners.

“Missed you too, Rayner,” he says. “Nice suit, by the way.”

Kyle looks down at his White Lantern suit and lets the construct of his mask fade so he can give Jason an exaggerated wink. “Like what you see, gorgeous?”

Jason coughs, flushing, and it’s Donna’s turn to laugh.

—-

They end up in Radu’s after Kyle gets Jason a change of clothes. He’s been crashing in his old New York city apartment, and flying certainly had its perks. Jason is taller than him, but not by much, so he fits into them without much trouble. Still, there’s something novel about seeing the Red Hood, terror of Gotham’s underworld, in a 90’s band tee.

They exchange casual information about the goings-on in their lives, and Kyle and Donna are both surprised to hear who Jason has been working with recently.

“Roy?” Kyle asks, “Man, I haven’t seen Roy in ages. How is he?”

“He’s fine. He and Kori are—um.”

Donna laughs aloud as Kyle gapes.

“Roy and Starfire?” Kyle asks, astounded.

“Sounds like Kori,” Donna says, smiling.

Jason nods, “They’re good for each other.”

“They’re freaking beautiful, Jason.”

It’s Jason’s turn to stare, bewildered, and the thought that Jason is as beautiful as they are, more so even, crosses Kyle’s mind. He pushes it away. “Oh. Well—well, yeah. They are. I guess. Got a crush, Rayner?”

Kyle drops his head into his arms dramatically, “If all the pretty people keep pairing off, what hope do the rest of us have?”

Jason snorts, “Like you’re going to have that problem.”

He and Donna fall into comfortable conversation as Kyle turns Jason’s words over and over in his head.

Huh.

He was fairly sure he’d just been called pretty.

—-

The next time Kyle sees Jason, there’s a bullet in his shoulder.

Jason blinks. “Ow.”

Koriand’r floats down, worry pinching her expression, Roy not far behind.

“Jason,” she says, kneeling and reaching for him, “We are going to help you, and get that out of your shoulder, okay? How do you feel?”

“I’m fine,” Jason replies, but he’s sweating and his body is wound tight.

“That’s Jason for—Well for everything, actually.”

Jason glares up at Roy, but the archer is already behind him, tugging off his jacket with gentle movements, gentler than those of the Roy Kyle had known long ago.

“Hey,” Kyle says, feeling a bit like an outsider and guilty for interrupting their moment. “Let me.”

Roy looks surprised and Jason turns a confused gaze on him. For some reason, it’s Koriand’r who understands. Kyle’s never even really met her before.

“Let him,” she nods. She exchanges some kind of silent look with Roy and he moves back.

Kyle crouches next to Jason and observes the wound, trying not to get distracted by the way Jason’s pale eyes stare at him with unabashed curiosity.

“This is going to hurt a bit. It’ll also probably feel pretty weird.”

Jason nods, still not looking away.

Breathing out slowly, Kyle closes his eyes and focuses on the piece of metal cutting into Jason’s shoulder. Jason tenses, gritting his teeth, as Kyle extracts the bullet and immediately lays a hand over the puncture, knitting the skin together.

A moment later, there’s no trace of the wound, just drying blood surrounding the area where it had been.

Jason looks up at him in wonder and Kyle finds himself memorizing the planes of his face. “How did you do that?”

It takes a moment for Kyle to realize the question is directed at him. Roy and Koriand’r wear identical awed expressions.

“New powers,” Kyle says, indicating the white ring and coughing a bit as they all stare at it, unsure what to do with the attention.

Roy whistles and Kori just smiles, something knowing in her expression that Kyle doesn’t want to read into.

“Thank you,” Jason says, and his voice is softer than Kyle’s ever heard it.

Kyle draws his hand away gently, desperate to disperse the tension before he says something stupid.

“Anytime, gorgeous.” Kyle was going to ask Donna to personally come over and kick his ass.

But then Jason laughs and now it’s Kyle who can’t stop staring.

—-

“Donna, I have a problem.”

“Ice cream?”

“Yes, please.”

—-

“I don’t get it,” Kyle says fifteen minutes later, mouth full of rocky road.

Donna pats his arm in what he assumes is a placating gesture, but her amusement betrays her as she licks her spoon clean.

“He’s crazy.”

She considers this, frowning at Kyle as he hugs the ice cream carton to his chest, unwilling to share. In his defense, he was having a crisis. Of the non-galactic variety.

“A bit,” she concedes after a moment, giving up on stealing Kyle’s carton and walking to his fridge where she’d stowed the rest.

Kyle groans, a brain freeze in progress, and drops his spoon for the moment.

“Then why does it feel like the Amazons as a collective race are punching the insides of my stomach every time I see him lately?”

Donna laughs and Kyle is not so egotistical that he will deny that he pouts in response. Every good person was entitled to their pouts.

“What do I do?” he moans, and Donna winks at him.

“Don’t worry,” she says, “I’ve called for backup.”

Kyle has a few seconds to ponder what this means before a Tameranean woman flies through his window and lands lightly on his coffee table. He stares up at one of the most ethereal beings in the multiverse with ice cream dripping onto his shirt. Kyle decides he hates Donna.

—-

“He thinks very highly of you, you know.”

Kyle, still a little bit in shock, startles at Kori’s comment.

“He said that?”

She shakes her head. “He does not have to.”

Donna punches his arm happily, without much force considering her strength, and Kyle suddenly feels vicious remorse for laughing at Jason the other day. Because what the fuck. Ow.

He frowns, realizing with painful clarity all of a sudden that he has no real idea what he’s doing. Kyle has been in his fair share of relationships, but he isn’t really relying on his track record.

“You don’t need to rush into anything, you know,” Donna says, sensing his plight, “Just take it as it comes.”

Kyle relaxes a bit and nods, resolving to do exactly that. Accepting that his mind is continually going to float to those handful of memories he has of Jason’s smiles, Kyle sighs, though not unhappily.

“Hey,” he asks, turning to Kori, and because he has no dignity left to lose, continues, “Do you like rocky road?”

She grins, pleased, and the three of them proceed to eat through sixteen cartons as they marathon old, cheesy films that Kori had once thought were the epitome of Earth romance.

—-

“Kyle?” Jason’s voice is grainy over the phone, but Kyle can hear the worry in it.

“Yeah,” Kyle says, and his throat feels like sandpaper. He has a vague memory of being thrown repeatedly into a titanium wall. “Yeah, it’s me. Jason? Is something wrong?”

“I—“Jason starts, then seems to cut himself off. Kyle rubs at his eyes, wondering why he can’t remember ever reaching his apartment last night. “The fight, last night,” Jason begins again, his voice thin with concern, and Kyle realizes something really must have gone wrong. “I saw you fall from the sky, Kyle, and you hit the ground somewhere near the old tower and I—I couldn’t find you. No one could. Hal eventually figured out Carol had taken you home and used her cellular regeneration to fix you up a bit, but not totally, and I just—Are you okay?”

The memories come back in bits and pieces. Kyle remembers Oracle’s distress call about a prison break at Arkham. He’d been in town, hanging out with Jason, actually, and they’d both run to lend a hand. Sometime during the fight he’d lost sight of the Red Hood, but had continued fighting, hoping he was safe. Kyle had been tangling with the infamous Harley Quinn, and flown up to get an advantage, only to be sidetracked by a giant waving plant-tentacle-thing. This is where everything went choppy. He remembers, as Jason said, being knocked out of the sky, and hears flashes of Carol’s voice, telling him it was going to be okay.

“Kyle?”

“Oh,” Kyle snaps back to the present, “Yeah, Jason, I’m fine. Just sore, I think.”

A flash of yellow catches his eye and he rolls over, reading through a note from Carol telling him he was stable and that she’d had to run out to deal with some space thing(Kyle knew the feeling), but that he should get some rest and Hal would be over to check on him sometime at night.

He drops the note, falling onto his back and returning his attention to Jason. He likes Jason, his mind provides. He likes him a lot. Huh. Maybe he was concussed.

“What number is this?” Kyle asks instead of pondering his possible concussion.

“New one,” Jason replies, still sounding a bit strung.

“And you remembered my number? I’m blushing, Hood.”

“Uh huh,” Jason says, and Kyle lets out a fond breath.

“I really am okay, Jason. Promise.”

He can almost feel Jason relaxing. “Okay,” he says, and Kyle is actually really sure he’s concussed now, because there is no way sane Kyle would have said what he says next.

“Tell me about your day.”

“What?” Jason asks, sounding as surprised as Kyle feels.

“I don’t know,” Kyle defends, suddenly awake, “I just. Like listening to you talk.” Yeah, keep digging, Rayner, you’ll reach rock bottom soon enough.

Kyle expects teasing, but all Jason does is say, “Okay,” again, then continues, “Tim poured orange juice into his cereal today morning, because sleep is a foreign concept to him and he wouldn’t be alive if Alfred wasn’t around, and Damian, that demon…”

Jason talks and Kyle listens, drifting between sleep and wakefulness, and giggling at Jason’s indignant exclamations at the sheer lunacy of his family.

—-

An hour or so later, Kyle’s stomach starts to growl. He’s still on the phone with Jason, but decidedly more participant now that his hunger has woken him more permanently.

“Hey, Jason?” he asks, at an interlude in their conversation.

“Yeah?”

“I’m hungry,” Kyle says, staring at the ceiling like it will answer all his questions or maybe, preferably, rain sausages.

Jason hums on the other end of the line, contemplating, and Kyle can imagine the scrunched Thinking Face he has on. He silently thanks the universe for outdoing herself with Jason Todd.

“Do you like waffles?” Jason asks.

“I would give my life for them,” Kyle replies without hesitation, and Jason laughs. Kyle feels a victorious twinge in his chest at being the one responsible for it.

“Give me forty-five minutes. There’s this breakfast place Steph loves that actually makes waffles descended from the heavens. What do you like on yours?”

“Strawberries and whipped cream,” Kyle says into the phone, suddenly excited.

“I knew there was a reason I liked you,” Jason says back, a grin in his voice that makes Kyle’s heart skip a beat. He hangs up and Kyle spends the next forty-five minutes trying to convince himself out of bed. So much for willpower.

—-

A loud knock resounds through the apartment, and Kyle finally flops off his bed to answer the door.

“Honey, I’m home,” Jason says when the door swings open, holding up a bag of sinfully delicious smelling waffles.

Kyle looks straight at the bag when he says, “Welcome back, sweetie.”

Jason puts a hand over his heart. “You only love me for my waffles.”

“You caught me,” Kyle replies, straight-faced, and Jason sticks his tongue out at him, coming in nonetheless.

They sit at Kyle’s small island, munching on unhealthily syrupy waffles at 6 P.M. on a Saturday in comfortable silence.

“You were right,” Kyle moans, “These are literally to die for.”

Jason nods through a mouthful, swallowing before replying, “I told you so. Stephanie Brown is a strange girl, but her taste in waffles is both obsessive and exceptional.”

Kyle thinks on that for a moment. “I can’t believe Batgirl has an occultist obsession with waffles.”

“Yeah?” Jason asks, wiggling his eyebrows in a way that makes Kyle jealous, “Then you won’t trust me when I tell you Batman does her makeup.”

Kyle’s mouth drops open and he stares at Jason in mute astonishment.

No way.

“Yep,” Jason says, taking pleasure in Kyle’s open-mouthed expression. “He helps Cass and I with eyeliner when Steph drags us to her college parties too.”

“But he’s Batman,” Kyle replies dumbly.

“What,” Jason challenges, “Rich vigilante father’s can’t wear makeup?”

Kyle shakes his head, “I just always thought he spent his time hiding in caves, or something. He’s just so—Batman. Material possessions just seem, beneath him.”

Jason laughs, finishing his waffle. “I’m kidding, Kyle. And you’re not totally wrong. We do call our hideout ‘the Cave.’”

“I don’t think I can handle this much classified bat information in one day,” Kyle says, shaking his head again—though this time it’s more for dramatic effect.

Jason arcs a single elegant eyebrow as he joins him at the sink and Kyle scowls.

“We get it, nerd. You’re eyebrows are more acrobatic than your older brother.”

A grin splits Jason’s features and Kyle is struck by how beautiful the man standing in the fading light of his tiny kitchen window is. “Jealousy isn’t your color, Rayner.”

“Uh,” Kyle says, pointing to his ring, “Every color is my color, actually.”

For the third time that day(Yes, Kyle is counting, leave him alone, pining is difficult) Jason laughs aloud and a thought strikes Kyle with winding force.

’Oh shit.’he thinks, ‘I might be in love with him.’

—-

Kyle feels his heart stop as the dagger slices through Jason’s armor. He hears Dick scream in the distance, but it’s muted, as though Kyle is underwater. Lark, who the knife was meant for, catches Jason, setting him on the ground gently and pausing, hand on the side of his golden helmet. Kyle detachedly wonders if he’s calling for help on his comm.

Then he’s running, or flying, he doesn’t really know, and is at Jason’s side in an instant. The hood is popped off and Jason’s chest moves unevenly. Kyle reaches an arm out, fighting his exhaustion and his own injuries to try and heal Jason. A hand clamps around his wrist and the man shakes his head.

“Don’t, Kyle. You’ll knock yourself out.”

Nightwing had arrived at some point, blood running from his forehead, rapidly engaging with Lark about getting Jason back to the Cave.

“Jason,” Kyle breathes out, “Jason, I don’t care. I don’t care if it knocks me out, I don’t care if it kills me. Let me heal you.”

Jason frowns up at him through the pain, shaking his head again. Kyle wants to cry. He thinks he already might be. “Let me heal you,” he whispers again, pleading.

“You’ll hurt yourself,” Jason says, his voice soft, his eyes closing. “I’ll be okay, I promise. I’ve had worse.”

Kyle doesn’t want to think about that.

There’s a pressure on his shoulder, and Kyle looks up into the masked face of Red Robin. Tim’s face is worried, but not damning, and Kyle feels a bit of hope flicker in his chest.

“We’ll get him to the manor. He’ll be okay.”

Kyle looks back at Jason’s prone form, panic almost choking the words from his throat. “Fine. But I’m going with you. If he gets worse, I’m gonna heal him.”

He catches Dick’s gaze as he says this, and the first Robin nods resolutely.

—-

They do end up making it to the Cave with Jason in one piece, and Batman doesn’t even question Kyle’s presence as he descends on his son. Alfred, the butler of legend, has already prepared a cot with an IV drip, an oxygen mask in hand. He and Bruce set to work, the latter’s mouth set in a grim line. Dick lends a hand when needed, his domino off to reveal worried blue eyes. Mostly he flutters around the Cave, unable to stand still as his brother’s life hangs in the balance. Kyle alternates between watching, and feeling too sick to. Black Bat stands beside him, silent, but Kyle can’t help but feel reassured when she takes his hand and squeezes.

He leaves after Jason stabilizes, called to Guardian headquarters on Oa for a special mission. Tim promises to text when he wakes up, but Jason doesn’t leave Kyle’s thoughts for the entirety of the trip, and phones don’t really work in space.

—-

Kyle returns to Earth after a week, exhausted and craving the comfort of his bed. He has a matter to attend to before that, however.

Flying down to the balcony of Jason’s favored safehouse, Kyle smiles when he sees Damian and Stephanie arguing in the kitchen over a dish of what looks like lasagna. He slides through the partially open glass doors and waves hello, ignoring their surprised expressions in favor of perching on the coffee table by the couch, watching over its occupant. He would have gone to the manor, but he remembers Tim mentioning once that Jason didn’t like staying there when he was injured. He assumed Robin and Batgirl’s presence meant the family was coming to take care of him in turns, so as not to overwhelm him.

“Are they arguing about lasagna again?” Jason asks, arm thrown over his eyes.

Kyle laughs, quiet, and nods, before realizing that Jason can’t see him.

“Yes,” he says. “I think Damian is winning.”

“Really?” Jason moves his arm to meet Kyle’s gaze. “That would be a first.”

“I heard that, Todd!”

“Love you too, baby brat!”

“Doing okay?” Kyle asks, letting his concern show in the soft light of Jason’s living room.

“Yeah,” Jason says, smiling up at him in a way that makes Kyle’s heart do tricks he wasn’t aware it was capable of. The smile fades as Jason’s eyes flick over his face and he frowns. “You look like you got your ass handed to you. Repeatedly.”

A fair assumption. Kyle makes a vague gesture and says, “Space.”

A crash resounds from the kitchen and Jason pushes himself up to go investigate. Kyle is about to protest, but is beaten to it by Damian, who saw Jason move from his perch on the island.

“Do not get up, Todd. Everything is fine.”

“You said that when Tim’s closet was on fire too, so forgive me if I don’t completely believe you. Tell me what broke.”

Damian, instead, gets off the counter, balancing four plates of lasagna with ease.

“Brown will take care of the mess.” He smirks, “She lost a game of that foolish rock-scissor game to me.”

Stephanie’s voice floats in from the kitchen. “I am not having a good day!”

Jason rolls his eyes, an affectionate smile crossing his face.
“I’ll take care of it, Steph. Come have Alfred’s lasagna.”

Stephanie pokes her head into the room to glare. “If you so much as take a step from that couch, I will tell Alfred, and we’ll see if his lasagna saves you then.”

Kyle watches the exchange amusedly as Jason retorts and they continue firing insults at one another. He feels someone sit next to him and turns to look into the unwavering eyes of Damian Wayne.

“He trusts you,” Damian says quietly, and he does not have to specify who.

“I trust him too,” Kyle replies, and Damian takes this with a nod.

“Then I will trust you to look after him at times when we cannot.”

Kyle smiles, feeling somewhat proud of himself for whatever reason as Stephanie joins Jason on the couch. The four of them sit together and eat the best lasagna Kyle has ever had, and it occurs to him that he doesn’t feel like an outsider at all.

—-

When they’ve finished, Jason fights them all into letting him walk to the sink, grumbling about not being fragile. Kyle joins him as Damian and Steph flip through channels on the TV, leaning against each other contentedly as though they hadn’t been fencing with butter knives fifteen minutes earlier.

Jason sets the dishes in the sink and turns on the water, rinsing them down and starting to clean them. It wasn’t part of the deal, but he looks okay and Kyle knows the frustration of being babied when he really was feeling better. He wordlessly stands beside him, toweling the dishes dry and setting them in a rack. He yawns as he sets a cup down, the week’s events catching up to him.

Jason frowns over at him. “You can stay the night.”

“I don’t want to intrude.” Kyle waves him off.

Jason tilts his head a to the left a little and Kyle genuinely wonders if this boy was created for the sole purpose of sending him into cardiac arrest.

“It’s fine, Kyle. Stay.” There’s something different in his tone and Kyle looks at him, distantly aware that the sink is empty.

Instead of replying, he says, “You really had me worried, you know.”

Jason looks at him, silent for a few moments before turning to sink. “I know. Thank you. For offering to save my life. I never would have let you, though. Not when you looked like you’d been beaten six ways to Sunday.”

“Oh my God,” Kyle whispers.

“What?” Jason asks, alert all of a sudden, “What’s wrong?”

“You are so fucking gorgeous.”

Jason blinks, staring at him the same way he had the first time he’d drank Kyle’s paint water. Then he bites his lip, leaning forward uncertainly and Kyle stops to wonder for a moment at how adorable he is, even now. Then he’s surging forward, pressing their lips together with bruising force. Jason freezes for a moment, before going boneless against him, making a soft noise that did all sorts of things to Kyle. He pulls Jason against him, hands tracing gently over his hips as the other boy’s fingers come to rest lightly on his face.

There’s a rustling sound from the couch, then Stephanie yells, “Get some, Jayjay!”

They break apart to look over at her. Damian is sprawled across her stomach, a hand pressed futilely against her mouth. “I tried to stop her,” he says, giving Steph a disdainful look. Then Kyle starts to laugh, just like that day in the alley, but this time Jason’s shoulders quake as he joins him. There’s a flush across his cheeks and Kyle really, really wants to kiss him again. So he does.

—-

They crawl into bed together much later than they probably should have. Stephanie and Damian had left minutes earlier, Damian dragging the blonde out with an embarrassed hand over his face as she winked at them and called, “Be safe!”

There’s a shelf of books on the wall by the bed that Kyle assumes are Jason’s favorites by the well worn covers and pages. There’s a larger shelf in the hall that’s wall to ceiling, filled with books of all different colors and sizes, and Kyle knows for a fact that Jason has even more at the manor. He picks one off the shelf.

“Read to me,” he says, handing it to Jason, who laughs.

“You’re worse than Cass.” But he doesn’t complain. They lie together in the lowlight of the bedroom, Jason’s voice serene as he read to Kyle words that he’d read a hundred times over. Kyle doesn’t remember when he falls asleep.

—-

He wakes up in a tangle of limbs, resenting the sun as light shines on his eyes. Jason, who to Kyle’s delight is a secret cuddler, is curled around him in a way that likens him to an octopus. He reaches for his phone on the bedside table, and is surprised to see a message from Donna, the emoticon next to it indicating a picture attachment. Wondering what it could be, Kyle opens the text, freezing mid stretch to stare at his screen in abject horror.

The text itself, is a winky face, followed by a series of hearts. The image is what stops him in his tracks.

A picture of Jason and him tangled together like some sort of awkward plant looks back at him, taunting.

Donna’s written, ‘Courtesy of Dick Grayson.’ beneath it and Kyle groans, flopping back on the bed as Jason blinks awake next to him.

He was going to kill Nightwing when Batman came for his head.

author’s note - this is the longest thing i have ever written im kind of proud. anyways, hope you enjoyed! i would give my life for jaykyle and also waffles :)

[Mark] Racing Hearts (Chapter 3)

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I get out of my car, hot and exhausted. It’s my first full day of training, without any interruption coming from the almighty Tuna, and I had forgotten how tiring driving could be. I am a little rusty, but not as much as I thought I would be. I know I have this in my blood. I mean, I’ve managed to pull that handbrake stunt after 10 years without practicing it. I did faint after that, but I did it.

“Siv, you’re doing great, really, but I know you can corner faster than that.” Xav tells me, and I know he’s right but I can’t tell him that.

“I can’t do five thousand an hour in a corner.” I retort because I’m bratty, and head towards the exit to go and have a well-deserved shower.

“Well ten years ago, you’d be much closer than that number.”  He retorts.

“I think she did just fine.” Someone says before I can defend myself. The man, who had been leaning against the fence guarding the bleachers, pushes himself off of it and ambles towards us. He has long, gray hair, smiley and wrinkly eyes, and he’s Asian.

“Ray.” He says, stretching his hand out.

“Sivan.” I reply, shaking his hand. He smiles at me and points above his shoulder.

“I’m Mark’s trainer.” He says, and my face falls.

“Oh.”

“And I also happen to be his father.” He adds. My god.

“Oh.”

“Yes.” He shrugs, sinking his hands down in his pockets.

“Your son is a dickhead.” I inform him, in case he doesn’t know. I give him a tap on the shoulder, because it must be hard to have a son like that, and walk on towards the exit. He’s trained by his father, how classical. I bet he doesn’t know shit about racing. Talking about him, Tuna comes in my field of view as I get closer to the exit. He’s in the starting blocks with his submissive brunette and another guy. Probably another trainer. He’s talking to him, the trainer, but the submissive had her arms around one of his, and she doesn’t look like she’s listening but still had her dreamy eyes glued on his face. He doesn’t acknowledge her; I don’t think he ever does, but lets her be.

Poor thing.

I shake my head at them, but can’t seem to be able to look away. It is actually quite interesting. If she’s here, it’s obviously because he wants her to be here, but then he doesn’t seem to give the slightest fuck about her.  And she’s happy with it- because she gets to be called his girlfriend. When they finish talking and the presumed trainer steps back, his eyes snap up as if he had sensed my presence while the brunette kisses the corner of his mouth. The look in his eyes is impassible, he almost looks as indifferent as I am about him. I actually don’t care about the way he looks at me, but I find it funny that we hate each other for the same reasons.

I walk past him, full of disdain and scorn. And as I’m about to leave the track, I see a Kyosho TS020 coming from afar, zooming past me to park in the starting blocks. Our Kyosho. My blood cools for a nanosecond, and then starts to boil when I realize I’m not the one driving it. I turn on my heels so quickly I almost bump into Xav.

“Who took this car out?!” I yell as a crew member steps out of the car. I know it’s not that guy, because crew members only bring the car to the racer that asked for it. But that Half of the people here should know who that car belongs to. Hell, all of Reno should know.

“Kamron!” I call for an explanation. My uncle is cleaning his hands with his rug, and looks like he has no idea what’s happening. I am fuming, pacing over to the car, ready to snatch the keys and destroy everyone. Who dared defying me like that?

“I did.”

I lift my eyes around and find Tuna fastening his helmet over his head while walking towards the car, all zipped up in his dark grey suit. Oh, no. Oh, no, he did not.

Something twitches inside of me, some like a switch that triggers an internal tidal wave of heat. Not like physical heat, but heat of emotion. Fury. And I’ve not felt like that in a long time. It goes from my head to my toes and back. And with a little bit of hindsight regarding my state, I tell myself that at this level of fury, had I had a weapon near me, I seriously think I would have killed him.

My brain over heats and I can’t think anymore. I could kill him before even realizing it. And he looks so fucking scornful. Even after I flat out beat him he still manages to look at me like I’m a piece of shit, when he is the biggest douchebag I’ve ever met.

“This car is mine!” I shout at him, clenching my fists. No one else can drive this car. No one. He would never forgive me. I would never forgive myself.

The small crowd in the starting blocks goes quiet. I have twenty, maybe twenty-five people staring at me.

“Yours is the Bugatti. Stop fussing.” Tuna sighs, calm and content and stupid.

“And this one as well, you’re not driving it!” I retort, taking furious steps towards him, ready to swing at him. Violence is the only way I can react with him.

“The hell, I’m not.” I hear him mutter, and he opens the door. A primal growl escapes my throat, and I bolt towards him, like a lioness protecting her offspring, but I was already too far to catch up.

“No!” I shout as he gets in, slamming the door closed. My car. This is my car, and this guy is going to drive it as if it was nothing. As if it was meaningless!

I hear the motor roar. A sound I hadn’t hear in years. It shakes me to my bones. How dares he?

He drives off at light speed before I cm pull it out of it.

“Motherfucker!” I yell, watching our car go. I’m not letting him to this, there is no fucking way. I run towards my car.

“Sivan, Calm down.” Xav says, holding his hands in the air and preventing me from reaching the driver’s side. I heave and shove him away.

“He’s not driving our car! It’s ours!” I tell him before getting inside my Bugatti. I drive off the opposite direction, my intention being to force him to stop.

“Sivan, stop!” Somebody, Elijah or maybe Sam shouts in the micro phone. I’m not listening to anybody, just my heart telling me I can’t let anyone drive this car.

My hands are trembling around the steering wheel. I don’t have my gloves, nor my helmet, and I’m reaching 200 mph. After three corners, the Kyosho comes into view. I speed up, adrenaline pumping through my veins so fast, I don’t think I’ll hesitate to hit him head on. 

I set my course that way, drive straight towards the incoming car. And at this moment all I can think of is making him stop. I can die while doing so, but he can’t drive this car.

“Sivan!” Someone calls again., and can’t see anything anymore. It’s blurry, but I can see the car coming towards me. I can’t see because I have tears in my eyes, because I’m crying, and I hate this man and I’m going to kill him. He’s going to pay for this. Taking over the school was a thing, almost killing me was a thing, telling me blond doesn’t suit me was another, but this-

“Sivan, stop!”

I swing to the left, turning my car perpendicularly so he can’t avoid me and either crashes against my car or stops. He swings to the right and hits his brakes.

“Sivan!”

I hear the sharp noise of the hot tires against the track, and he’s drifting away, but stopping. I let go of the steering wheel, out of breath, my chest rising and falling furiously, and my legs trembling. Now I can kill him.

I open the door and storm out of my car. I pace towards the Kyosho as Tuna steps out. He takes his helmet off and throws it to the ground, but he has no idea I al way, way more furious than he is.

“Shit, are you crazy?!” He shouts at me, and I soon as I’m close enough I punch him in the face.

“Don’t you ever touch our car again!” I yell, louder than him while he stumbles back, and shove at his chest until he falls to the ground.

“What the fuck are you doing?!” He screams while I kneel down, and I punch him again, with all the strength I have left. Left fist, right fist, I’m not counting the blows. He’s protecting his face with his arms but he’s not fighting back. I hit him and hit him and my knuckles hurt but I am a tornado of fury. I want him to bleed, to hurt, to never want to defy me again.

“It’s our car, it’s ours!” I yell and get up, and kick him in the ribs. “You don’t have the right to drive that car! Who the fuck do you think you are?!”

“Fuck, stop!” He shouts and crabs my foot. I try to pull it out of his grip but he sits up and circles his arms around my thighs, making me stumble and fall back, the back of my head hitting the hard ground.

“Ah!” I cry and hiss, my head hurting, and before I can proceed what is going on, he’s hovering over me, pinning my hands on either side of my head. I look up at him, and I still can’t see anything because of the tears but his face has gone from again to shocked. I hear the steady thud noises of people running on the concrete. I know they are coming to separate us, but I’m not done with him.

“I’m going to kill you.” I tell him, writhing and trying to get my hands around his neck. “I’ll fucking kill you, you son of a bitch.”

My struggle is vain, because Kameron, Elijah, Sam, Xav, and Tuna’s crew arrive at the scene and pull us apart.

“Come on, guys, that’s enough.” Kam says, as calmly as ever, grabbing Tuna by the shoulder and lifting him off me. I get on my feet as well and shove everyone out of my way. I open the Kyosho and get a glimpse of the inside. The leather is blue.

Blue.

I grab the keys and slam the door closed.

“No one else can drive this car, okay?!” I yell, making sure my audience hears the message. Tuna has a cut over his brow bone, and the cut on his lip reopened. Even though I just beat the shit out of him, he doesn’t look annoyed nor angry, confused and pensive.

“No one!” I repeat, and throw the keys to Kameron so he can bring it back to the garage. He catches them but says nothing and everyone looks at me. I feel like a freak, like every single person here is judging me, but at least I got my car back.

I turn on my heels, not wanting to show them I’m crying, and get back inside my Bugatti. I drive myself back to the exit and leave the car with the keys in and the door open, my legs carrying me quickly to the lockers when I collapse on the floor.

And I am a crybaby. I cry a lot, because this is worst thing that could ever happen to me. He’s never going to forgive me.

-

I shower for a long, long time, mostly crying and sobbing, until my mind is clear, until I calm down. I shower with ice cold water to calm the fiery emotions inside me, and by the time I’m doe I’ve regained my composure. I don’t feel like killing Tuna anymore, but I do feel like making his life a living hell here. This has definitely made him my number one enemy. And I am not a mean person, I don’t go around bullying people, unless they are him. And I’ve never met anyone like him before, so careless, self-involved, pretentious, arrogant and rude.

The heavy metal door of the lockers’ room opens, but I don’t mind it, not until I hear the voice that speaks to me.

“Whatever is going on with this car, you didn’t tell me.” He says reproachfully, trying to clear his name. I have a moment of daze, mostly because I’m realizing I’m half naked giving my back to him. But then I realize he’s probably seen tons of butts in panties. I reach for my bra.

“I told you it was mine and you couldn’t drive it. That much should have been enough.” I retort.

“Not with me.” He says flatly.

‘Fuck you.”

I hear him.

“What’s the story behind this car?” He asks, his tone demanding.

“You can find it on the internet.” I grab my jeans. “I’d rather hear it from you.”

“I’m not telling you.”

“You were crying.”

I lift my eyes to the ceiling, sighing deeply. The dickhead saw me cry, and now he’s going to be kind to me.

“If you’re that curious, google me.” I tell him, zipping myself up.

“Have you googled me?” He challenges.

“No.” I reply, reaching for my T-shirt. “Because, I, unlike you, don’t want to know your story.”

I tune around to face him once I’m dressed, and see he’s still in his racing suit. And with the time that has passed, I can see faint bruises on his face. I’ve scratched him up; I’m happy with myself. But on the other hand, I don’t understand why he’s even talking to me. I beat him up for fuck’s sake.

“You’re an arrogant asshole who doesn’t give a fuck about anything but himself, and I don’t want to know you.” I explain calmly, putting my socks on. My words don’t seem to faze him. He crosses his arms over his chest.

“You know what?” He prompts. “I’m going to drive this car for every punch you threw at me if you don’t tell me why you care so much.”

“Without the key, it’ll be a tough job.” Slipping in my shoes, I wave the keys in the air. Kam dropped them in my locker while I was showering. I don’t even look at his face falling.

“You filthy bitch.” He says, but he sounds admiring. I put on my sunglasses and swing my bag over my shoulders.

“Bye.” I sing, already starting to think of a plan to destroy his life. “Oh, and I met your dad.” I call over my shoulder.

“And?”

“He doesn’t know where he went wrong.”

“Haha.” He deadpans, and I exit the room. Outside the school, on the parking lot, I find Ray smoking a cigarette.

“Sivan.” He says, joining me as I walk back to my car.

“Hi.” I reply.

“It was brought to my attention that you and Mark don’t get along?” He asks casually, as if he didn’t know I beat the shit out of his son.

“Who gets along with him except his groupies?” I retort.

“But I understand that fists were involved.”

“You’re here to scold me because I’ve punched your son.”

“No.” He laughs, sincerely. “He probably deserved it.” He waves a dismissive hand.

“But he’s not that much of a bad guy.” He says more seriously as we arrive to my old Ferrari. He throws his cigarette to the floor.

“And things would be much easier if you guys weren’t fighting all the time.”

“He stole my-“

“Dad.”

He both turn our heads and see Tuna leaning against a Rolls Royce, arms crossed over his chest. When did he get changed?

He nods his head towards the car, calling his dad over. He looks like a sulky teenager. How old is he by the way? Twenty?

Ray turns to me and gives me a sympathetic smile.

“You’re both going to have a shitty season you keep that up.” He says, and it sounds like an advice. I hadn’t thought about that. What’s my goal for this season?

FIC: Unsent Correspondence (10/10)

Title: Unsent Correspondence
Fandom: SWTOR
Pairing: Theron Shan/f!Jedi Knight
Synopsis: Before he starts something new, Theron needs to finish something he started years ago.
Warnings: See Part 1.
Author’s Notes: In which I switch narrative styles to wrap everything up, and Theron proceeds to kill my word count, as per usual.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9Crossposted to AO3


The whisky stung as it came in contact with the split in his lip. It had only recently scabbed over on the long flight, but had opened up again right as he had ordered the drink from the bartender. The metallic tang of blood mixed with the smokey, almost sweet alcohol. He tried not to wrinkle his nose at the taste, still acutely feeling every still healing bruise. His sorry state only earned the briefest of looks, as most of those who either took up residence or conducted business on Asylum had found themselves on the wrong side of trouble at least once. No one really came to the freeport for the sightseeing.

Keep reading

Soulmate AU #1: Steve (8)

anotehr fic set in ws??? there will likely be 1 or two more after this so wow, bucky galore (except not really).

one / two / three / four / five / six / seven


“Hey guys!” You wave as your suited captors surround you. They used to be people you could rely on. Suppose you could still rely on them, to capture you, that is.

“Hey Y/N.” One of them whispered nervously, clicking your cuffs and you grinned a Cheshire smile. Glad that you still had that fearful and awe filled sway over at least a few. “What’re you doing with this lot?”

“Looking for my soul mate. I hope it was that metal armed guy from earlier but who knows these days.” You smirk and the group lets you climb to your feet, watching as the gun is pointed at Steves head and you freeze, your face going white.

“No.” You whisper, heart suddenly erratic and out of control, hands grabbing you to move you along but you fight them, eyes glued to the super soldier.

The gun pulls back and your breath leaves you in a rush, though the shocked expression on his face doesn’t fill you with anything other than worry.

Shoved inside the van, you wait across from Sam until Steves bailed inside. Gluing yourself to his side, your fingers interlink with the few you can reach and he momentarily presses his forehead to yours, inhaling a deep breath.

“It was him. He looked right at me.” Steve’s voice a low rumble and you quiver with the urge to protect him, to fix it all. “He didn’t even know me.”

“How’s that even possible, it was like seventy years ago?” You glance between the three of them, unsure how to proceed. None of you could comfort him, and you had no questions to ask. They’d edited Steve, why not be able to edit Bucky?

“Zola. Bucky’s whole unit was captured in 42’, Zola experimented on him.” Steve’s faces rises from his lap, staring blankly at the wall. “Whatever he did helped Bucky survive the fall. They must have found him and…”

“None of that’s your fault Steve.” Natasha breathes, her expression turning to the back doors tiredly.

“Even when I had nothing, I had Bucky.” Steve mumbles and you press yourself closer to him, let him lean into you.

“We need to get a doctor here. We don’t put pressure on that wound she’s going to bleed out here in the truck.” Sams voice startles you from Steve, your eyes darting to the helmeted guard as they brandish the electrified baton.

Your mouth opens to comment when they swing the weapon, stabbing it into the man beside them. A swift kick to their head and the larger guard is falling into the laneway and onto your feet.

“I love it!” You laugh, eyes glued to the helmet for the reveal.

“Ack, that thing was squeezing my brain.” Maria pants, brushing hair from her face and your jaw falls open, a wide grin spreading across your face.

“She still has it.” You whisper to Steve in amazement and he watches you fondly, but without a smile.


“About damn time.” Fury grumbles and you gape, backing into Steves chest. You can feel your heart rate rising and you glare at him furiously.

“You bitch.” You snarl, burying your face into Steves chest and he clutches you close.

“Why all the secrecy? Why not just tell us?” Steve asks after Fury details his wounds and escape route. It doesn’t make you feel better. If anything, you want to punch him more. Instead, you settle for letting Steve hold your hand, promising to save it for later.

“Any attempt on the Directors life had to look successful.” Maria explains and you squeeze the palm in yours.

“Can’t kill you if you’re already dead.” Nick pipes up and you growl accidentally.

“I can try.” You snarl softly and he glares at you, Steve reeling you back against him from where you’d stepped forward. “Besides, I wasn’t sure who to trust.”

Without another word, you storm from the room. You don’t have to have looked at Natasha to know what she’s feeling; you can feel it yourself.

“I need somewhere to lie down!” You shout back and hear soft voices before footsteps follow after you.

“Come on, Hill told me where we can rest.” Steve sighs pityingly and you eye him desperately, letting him lead you to a room with a pair of beds. Steve collapses onto one, and you gingerly place yourself beside him, watching him carefully. Reaching out, your fingers press into his wrist, feeling the speed of his heart rate and giving in to the urge to clamber on him and hug him.

His arms encircle you instantly, squeezing you roughly with shaking hands. You know he means to be gentle, that hurting you is the furthest from what he wants, so you don’t worry, letting him clutch you. It’s better he let it out however he can than bottle it up.

“It was Bucky.” You mumble and he flinches, pressing his face into your throat and your fingers trace patterns on his back. “But it wasn’t your Bucky.”

He tenses at your words, and you can feel him shifting away from you but you clutch him closer. “It wasn’t your Bucky, he’ll never be that Bucky again. But you’ll get a Bucky back, one that is neither and both.”

He stops trying to escape you, instead choosing to just breathe you in, heart rate slowing as you trace over his shoulders, through his hair and back down his back.

“He had no idea who I was.” Steve whispers to your skin and you gently pull his face out of hiding, seeing his dry eyes and blank expression. Your sigh ghosts over his lips and his head tilts toward yours, forehead bumping your temple before settling there, his eyes closing and you lean into the touch.

“He will.”

“What if he doesn’t?”

“If it wasn’t Bucky, he wouldn’t know you. If it is Bucky, then there’s no chance he won’t feel something.” You promise softly, and his hands reach for you, dragging you onto his lap to straddle him properly.

“If it wasn’t Bucky?” He asks softly, voice a little hope filled, that maybe this wasn’t his best friend, that maybe the dark and confused man on the road was someone else, that his best friend hadn’t gone through whatever it takes to make a man like that.

“Then he’s a drone clad in a nightmares skin.” Your voice is as weak as his, the very idea ludicrous but at least it’s something.

He huffs half a laugh and you palm his jaw, other hand kneading the tensed muscles in his shoulder. “Either way, it’s not him anymore.”

Your heart breaks at the words, but they don’t stick, fluttering from your mind like ashes on the wind. Because that is Bucky, it was Steves best friend trying to kill them but maybe, now they knew, they could bring back the human in him. Not War Hero Bucky, or even Brooklyn Baby Bucky but maybe they could help him become a new Bucky.

“I need to start searching him up.” You mumble, but Steve doesn’t release you, instead his fingers tighten and his head tilts left then right. So you stay, waving Natasha to grab your laptop while he holds onto you.

“Don’t look at my screen.” You warn softly and he mumbles an assenting sound, pulling his face away enough that he can watch you instead, watch your familiar features turn in familiar expressions. You know he wants to kiss you, that he always wants to kiss you, but you won’t give him the go ahead and you know he won’t just take the kiss. You’re going to finish this mess before you let his lips touch yours.


this is os long and i don’t see an end in sight but i know how it will end. it’s just deciding how  to throw the end in that’s hard.

2

Collateral Damage ~ Liam Dunbar x Reader

Requested: Hey can you do an imagine where the reader is a werewolf and she is stuck in the library by theo on the super moon and Liam comes and they fight instead of Scott fighting with Liam. And at the end could the reader die and Liam brings her back because he is stronger on the super moon? I wanted to request this because of the finale:) love you xx

A/N: I tweaked it a lot, I hope that’s all right 🙈

She wasn’t part of the plan. She wasn’t supposed to be at the library. Stopping by the police station to touch base with Lydia and Parrish was a spur of the moment decision. Parrish was expectedly locked behind bars per his own choice, but Lydia was nowhere to be found. Lydia had been gone awhile, long enough to cause some worry. Parrish encouraged her to go looking for the banshee and she obliged without much convincing.

Unfortunately for her, the school library was not the place to be. When she entered the building no one was around, at least that she could see. Her senses had been off balance lately. She wasn’t hearing, seeing, or smelling as well as her werewolf abilities should have allowed for. She wasn’t as strong either.

There was an open book on the table in the center. The page it was opened to told about The Wild Hunt. She was in the process of reading when she was struck across the back of the head with a blunt object. A few weeks ago she would have heard someone enter the library before they even crossed the threshold, but this time she didn’t even hear him a few inches behind her.

Now she sits on one of the tables watching Scott run at the mountain ash barrier only to be thrown back into the other tables. He’s been at it for at least an hour now, and every time the outcome is the same.

“Scott,” she sighs, watching him scramble to his feet. To some degree she admires his tenacity, but at this point it’s just depressing. It’s etched all over his face that he feels like he’s failed them, all of them. And vainly charging the barrier is just one more reminder that despite being a True Alpha, he can fall, too. 

“I’ve done it before, I just… I can do it again,” he mumbles more to himself than to her. He can’t afford to admit defeat, not after letting Theo implode the pact by undermining every sense of trust and security. 

She hops off the table, her feet hitting the floor with a sharp clap. She walks over to Scott, placing one hand around his bicep and the other on his shoulder. “Let’s try something else, okay?”

Scott nods in agreement, letting her pull him away from the blocked entrance/exit. Getting his ass thrown across the room repeatedly has grown tiresome. As he turns his back, the ajar supply closet door catches his eye, giving him a new idea.

“I’m gonna check out the roof, you wait down here,” Scott instructs as he heads for the ladder.

“Wait for what?” she calls after him. 

“In case someone comes looking for us,” he clarifies as his body disappears from her sight.

She nods soundlessly even though Scott can’t see her. Waiting around for someone to come find them doesn’t seem worthwhile, but the least she can do is humor her Alpha. And it’s not like she has anything better to do.

She wanders up to the second floor of the library, exploring the shelves casually. She doesn’t know why Theo would want to keep them trapped here, or what’s in store for them, but it can’t be good.

From the ground floor there’s a faint sound of shuffling and muttering. At least that’s what she thinks she hears. Whether she’s hearing things or not, it’s worth checking out.

When she gets to the main floor she sees a figure heading for the supply closet. In the darkness of the library it’s hard for her to identify the person, but with the broad, hunched shoulders it’s obvious that the figure is male.

“Hey!” she calls to the person, rushing over to them. She tugs at their arm, causing them to turn towards her. She nearly jumps out of her skin at what she sees.

“Liam,” she gasps, gaping at his wolfed out appearance. His wolf form is not a new sight to her, but he looks different this time. There’s no denying that it’s Liam, but he doesn’t look like himself. Not at all. Every little piece of him that makes him Liam is absent. He looks like a monster.

“What are you doing here?” he growls, retracting his arm violently, making her stumble back a few steps. His voice has a menacing edge to it that makes her want to run far away. This isn’t him, but then again he hasn’t really been himself since Hayden came into the picture. 

She hasn’t seen much of him lately, and when she has it’s only because he’s asking for help with keeping Hayden safe. ‘Don’t be jealous,’ she would tell herself. But it’s becoming clearer that this has less to do with her unrequited feelings for her friend and more to do with Liam just being an idiot.

“I could ask you the same thing,” she retorts, trying to keep a neutral demeanor. On first thought she wanted to ask why he wasn’t with Hayden since things are looking pretty grim for her, but the look on his warped face makes it clear that if she wants to live to see another day she shouldn’t mention it.

“Don’t follow me,” he warns, advancing towards the ladder. His tone of voice gives away that what he really means is ‘Don’t get in my way.’

“What are you doing?” she starts toward him, blocking his path.

Despite his animalistic appearance, his reaction is not something she would have predicted from someone she’s spent long nights with staying up and distracting each other from their formidable lives.

He grips her shoulders harshly, his claws digging into her skin and drawing blood. Her back is slammed roughly against the wall, the back of head smacking against ceramic wall with a lurid crack.

Her vision blurs as the white hot pain spreads throughout her body from the torn skin at her shoulders to the repeated head trauma. The room looks even darker than before as she falls to her knees when Liam releases his grip. 

Her eyes glow yellow as she struggles to gather her bearings and get a grip on the situation at hand. She tried to give the Liam the benefit of the doubt these last few weeks. She let him put her on the back burner when Hayden became a priority. But she can’t defend what he’s turned to or what he just did, and what he’s planning to do.

The clatter of shattering glass startles her back to her senses. She pulls herself up, claws extended and teeth bared as she runs back into the library.

The glass ceiling is, predictably, completely wrecked from the two bodies crashing through it. The two boys struggle with each other as they regain balance. Scott has been weaker lately, too, and Liam is amped up on rage and the super moon.

Roars echo off the walls, the sound engulfing her completely. She roars back, adding to the chaos erupting before her eyes. Her instincts take over before she can make a conscious decision on how to proceed. 

She jumps into the middle of the rumble, ducking before Liam’s fist connects with her jaw. Her foot pushes off his chest as she strikes to knock off his balance. Liam tumbles back, he wasn’t anticipating being double teamed.

“What the hell is going on?” she yells to Scott, who’s removing himself from a pile of rubble composed of glass, metal, and wood.

“This is exactly what Theo wanted,” Scott shakes his head as Liam jumps back to his feet.

“No, I want this. I want to kill you!” Liam growls, lashing out at Scott. The two spin around in a tangle of limbs striking out at one another as Scott attempts to control his Beta without hurting him too badly.

“This is the more overdramatic temper tantrum I have ever seen,” she mutters under her breath as she rushes to get between the two.

She raises a hand and brings it down to slash at Liam’s back. The material of his shirt and unyielding skin give way as blood begins to drip out of the wound she just inflicted. Liam hisses in pain and spins around drag his claws against her collarbone.

Blood spills out of her body this time as she gasps in pain, her hand moving to clutch the injury. Liam continues his assault, elbowing her in the jaw as Scott tries to turn the attention back to him.

She teeters to the stairs, her vision going blurry again as Liam appears to be winning the fight. Scott lands flat on his back as the beta begins swinging his arms back and forth in a horrifying motion as blood splatters about the air.

“Liam!” she screams, pulling herself up. He shows no sign of hearing her as he continues to wail on Scott.

She slams into his side, the two of them flying through the air before hitting the ground with a thud. She scrambles to her feet, knowing the only way she’ll survive this is if she’s faster than him. Her foot connects with his stomach as she kicks him while he’s still down. Despite her quickness, Liam is back on his feet and angrier than ever.

She extends her arm swiftly, landing a solid punch to his left cheek. He stumbles to the left but regains composure quickly. She runs at him, her intention to get on top of him. Before she can leap onto his shoulders he catches her throat in his clawed grip, his palm crushing her trachea. 

A strangled gasp leaves her lips as he slams her body into the ground. His gaze is devoid of any emotion other than uncontrollable rage. It’s hard to believe that this is the same boy who looked to her for comfort when he suffered PTSD from the berserkers just a few months ago. 

It was a Saturday night when she heard a knock on the front door. She had opted for a relaxing night in since she had the house to herself for the first time in a long time. When she opened the door Liam was standing there with this scared expression on his face. He looked so innocent, so fragile.

She sat with him on the couch, running her fingers through his hair to soothe him from the images that plagued his mind. He relaxed at her touch, looking at her with those glossy blue eyes that held so much adoration in them. She made him believe that the pack would always look out for him, that they would always protect him. But now he’s throwing that all away for some girl who couldn’t have cared less about him three days prior, and that hurts more than his hands at her neck.

“Liam, please, stop,” she whimpers, tears pooling in the corner of her eyes. It’s uncertain if the tears are from the immense amount of pain she’s in, the fear of what might happen next, or the realization that she’s become disposable to him.

He snarls in response, tightening his grip on her throat. His claws pierce the sides of her neck, blood spurting out grotesquely. She reaches her arm towards his face, a weak last attempt at surviving this predicament.

A reflective, shiny object catches his eye, making his expression go blank. She’s wearing this bracelet on her wrist. It’s a dark gray material with an anchor charm secured between the two ends of the fabric. 

It was a ‘thank you’ gift. Thank you for being there for me, for not giving me up on me. He had seen the bracelet while he and Mason were out one day during the summer. Mason had wanted some new swim trunks and Liam began to wander while Mason tried some on. The bracelet was in the middle of one those clear bowls full of jewelry. It reminded him of her so he bought it.

The look on her face when he gave it to her was one of the most enchanting things he’d ever seen. She looked so genuinely happy. Seeing her smile without lingering traces of anxiety caused by supernatural happenings made him wish he could see her smile like that more often. But after all of this, it may be nothing more than a memory of how things used to be.

Liam’s features begin to soften, returning to their human shape. He whispers her name, the expression on his face the one of someone who has just woken up from a horrible nightmare.

He falls back onto his butt, staring at her with wide eyes. She’s coated in blood and it’s all her own. They used to fight to protect each other, so how the hell did they end up here?

“I’m so sorry,” Liam exhales breathily, leaning towards her. His statement is irrefutable, but that doesn’t matter. Not now. 

“Get the hell away from me,” she snaps, swatting him away weakly. The tears that had been pooling in her eyes spill over in anger. This has all been too much. “You can say you’re sorry all you want, but you don’t hurt the people you care about. God, did ever care at all?”

“I didn’t mean to hurt you. You got in the way… You were just…” he struggles to find an adequate string of words that will make this all better. 

“Collateral damage,” she finishes for him. “Good to know that’s all I am to you.”

“You know that’s not true!” he looks scared. Scared of what he’s done and scared of what will happen because of it.

“Bullshit,” she snarls, “You’ve barely acknowledged my existence since like the second week of school. I made up so many excuses for you, but I can’t justify you trying to kill Scott, and me consequently. You’re so important to me, Liam, but I can’t let you do this to me. I can only take so much and I deserve to be surrounded by people who don’t only act like I matter when it’s convenient for them.”

“Please, please let me fix this. I can fix this. I-”

“Liam!” Mason shouts, entering the scene. He stops abruptly, taking in all the destruction. He looks to Scott who is beginning to regain lucidity, then to her and Liam who look like their whole worlds have been shattered.

“Hayden. She’s dead. She died a few minutes ago. She’s dead,” Mason breathes out, feeling lightheaded. 

She looks at Liam, who is devastatingly broken, and in that moment she realizes that when we let our emotions get the best of us, we’re the ones who lose.

“Go. There’s nothing here for you anymore,” she says quietly, her voice hoarse.

Liam gets up and he runs. He runs past Mason, out the door and out of sight. 

It hurts so bad that even now it’s still Hayden. She knows he never meant to hurt her, he didn’t consciously push her away. But he did, and he became selfish.

 The abrasions on her skin will heal in time, but she became collateral damage the moment Hayden became more than just the girl from sixth grade.


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