#< forced to sleep on a bean bag. Because all the beds are being taken already

[object44object]

my arrm hurts :(( I need to stop leaning on my arm aaaaaaaa

[ghostdrew22]

Can I request a draco x reader where they just stay together all day even tho its a school day so they just like skip school all day and then one of their friends catch them? It probably sounds confusing but I LOVE YOUR WRITING

Where Words Fall Short || Draco Malfoy

So I changed it into a teacher catching them instead, I hope it still suits your fancy. Thank you so much for this request, I had quite a nice time writing it <3

Requested: Yes Pairing: Draco Malfoy x fem!reader Warnings: mentions of mental illness? Idk what I should be warning you against in this one tbh so if you find anything then let me know <3 Summary: Draco is having a hard morning so Y/N keeps him company and they ditch lessons.

WORDS : 2114

~~~

Growing up, Draco continuously watched as a curtain was drawn above the topic of mental health in his household. What should’ve been long, informative discussions about his withstanding family history and hereditary struggles with mental health, was broken down into, “Your father just gets a bit overwhelmed sometimes”, and “Your mother is a woman, and as women do, she often gets erratic until she tires herself out.”

None of it was true, of course, just excuses used to try and avoid the problem. But it wasn’t discussed. Not when Narcissa would sleep for days on end, or when Lucius was hospitalised, and especially not when Draco began to display symptoms similar to his parents. The family healer was called in, Draco was diagnosed and medicated, and it was discussed no further. Because words were just not the Malfoy way.

You’d long become accustomed to his habits when he wasn’t feeling well, he’d told you himself about his struggles, and you’d adjusted quickly enough. Now you know, just by the sight of him, when he’s having a rough day. As hard as Draco tries to follow in his parent’s footsteps and draw a veil on his suffering, he just can’t bring himself to do it when you’re around. You make him feel safe.

You read the watch on your wrist, 8.10am, and sigh when you notice that Draco’s still not in the Great Hall for breakfast. Draco prides himself on being organised and punctual, so when he’s even five minutes late to breakfast you know that he’s having one of those days and he might just not get out of bed.

“He’s just running late this morning, I watched him walk to the showers.” Crabbe says beside you as he notices worry etch its way onto your features. You nod and smile at him.

“Thanks Crabbe.”  You respond before grabbing the empty plate on your other side and filling it up with Draco’s favourites.

It’s another ten minutes before Draco finally walks into the Great Hall, and you feel your heart wrench at the sight of him- hair still wet from showering, faint bags beneath his eyes and a solemn look painting his face- he looks exhausted. You smile at him when he settles into the space beside you and he smiles back, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.

He interlocks your fingers together as he sits down and you slide the plate of food toward him. He kisses the back of your hand as a thank you and you nod before turning back to your own food. On mornings like this conversation is sparse- it’s like a useless chore that you can both afford to forget- and you both resort to actions as a means of conversation.

Normally, words would be spent on endless declarations of love, confirmations of support, queries of comfort and insurmountable pleas to just sit in silence together. But now, now with this routine and understanding that sits comfortably on the border of your relationship, words no longer need to transpire between you both in order for there to be a mutual understanding of what you both need.

Most kisses are ‘I love you’ or ‘thank you’, but every so often when Draco paints every square inch of your face in adoration with his lips, then he’s telling you that you’re beautiful, that every piece of you is just another reason for him to fall deeper into love with you. Hugs are usually him begging for attention, trying discreetly to drag you away from whatever it is that you’re doing and bring you down to his dorm with him for cuddles.

But Draco’s preferred method of communication on days like this, is squeezing your hand. Information by hand squeeze increases in degree; one is ‘I’m fine, just tired’, two is ‘I’m probably going to disappear halfway through the day for some alone time’, and three is ‘Please spend the day with me’.

So when you feel that familiar pressure against your hand come in waves of three that morning, you know that he’s having a particularly bad day. You turn to him and nod, and this time when he smiles at you, it actually does reach his eyes.

~~~

When the first lesson of the day is underway, Muggle Studies, you and Draco are lying in his bed in his shared dormitory. There’s a risk of one his roommates coming back to collect a forgotten book or leftover homework, but it matters little when the two of you are spaced out in the small world of your own invention. You’re running your hands through his hair as his head sits comfortably on your chest, and his fingers are running up and down your other arm in an effort to keep him occupied.

The two of you spend the next few hours like that, just lying in his bed in silence as Draco thinks himself into oblivion and you try to calm him down. It doesn’t work though, and at some point you grow frustrated at the amount of tension that he’s built up in this shoulders, and demand that he gets up.

“Why?” He asks with furrowed eyebrows as he lifts his head off of your chest.

“Do you trust me?” He nods, and you smile. “Good, then come on.”

You pull him behind you quietly as the two of you roam the castle and head toward the Astronomy Tower- trying desperately not to arouse suspicion and get caught skipping lessons just as the day is ending.

When you reach the top and see that the sun is shining faintly, a satisfied sigh escapes your lips. All that cold and darkness in the dungeons wasn’t good for Draco and you’d lugged him all the way up here for some sunshine. You know that it won’t really fix anything that’s bothering him, but at least the Vitamin D might lift his spirits a little bit or help him to relax a tad more.

You sit on the ground and pull Draco down to sit beside you. He drops his head against your shoulder and pulls the back of your hand up to his lips, Thank you, is what the action says and you smile at the small acknowledgement. You lean your own head against his that’s resting on your shoulder and he shuts his eyes in content as you pull out the book that you’d brought up to read.

“Should I read to you?” You ask and he nods very softly, so you do as he asks and begin to read the novel out loud.

It’s mundane, sure, but Draco thinks that he could spend the rest of his life like this. When words have always failed him, you’ve been there to pick up pieces of his unsaid ministrations. Most people, if not all the people in his life, have always found his failure to conjure up words and describe his feelings, annoying. But not you, never you, you have always loved the way he tries so hard to show you his love instead of tell it to you. Whenever he feels torn apart, like a rag doll being tugged on both arms, you somehow manage to remind him that he’s made of skin and bone, not cloth and plastic. It’s you that reminds him he’s worth something, even when he feels as though he’s worth nothing.

“Y/N.”

“Hmm?” You respond absent-mindedly as you turn your head slowly away from the pages and toward Draco. When you catch a glimpse of his contorted features, concern washes over you. “What’s wrong? Do you want to go back inside?”

“No, no.” He shakes his head softly and smiles at you. “I just want to chat, is that okay?”

“Well… I was enjoying this book…” You tease and laugh when you see that he’s not amused. “I’m kidding, am’ all yours love.” You peck him on the lips quickly before closing your book and putting it aside.

He sighs, “I’ve been thinking-”

“Oh, that’s never good.” You immediately respond and he narrows his eyes at you which makes you laugh, “Okay, I’ll stop now.”

“You’re lucky I love you.” He says with a roll of his eyes, and a small smile, before he takes a deep breath and continues. “I’m going off my meds.”

You take a moment to digest what he’s said before nodding slowly, “Oh…”

“Oh…?” He raises his eyebrows in anticipation, worried that you won’t support his decision. “Are you mad?”

You’re taken aback by his question and turn to face him in confusion. “Mad? Why would I be mad?”

He shrugs, “I don’t know, mother was furious when I told her.”

“Okay, but your mother is notorious for having the emotional range of a green bean,” Draco, albeit begrudgingly, laughs at your comment with a shake of his head, “What? Am I wrong?” You ask with a laugh as well.

“You’re not wrong but that’s not the point. You’re bloody rude!” He tries to stop laughing but it’s not working and soon enough the two of you are rolling around on the ground, crying your eyes out in laughter.

After a good three minutes has passed the two of you have finally calmed down and the serious atmosphere has returned. “I’m not mad Draco, I could never be mad at you.”

“You were mad that time I tried to force a Ravenclaw to do my Muggle Studies research for me.” He says in a matter-of-fact tone and you shove him lightly.

“That was because you were harassing that innocent child!” You exclaim with another giggle, “I’ve never been mad at you for doing something that involves only you.”

“What about when I dyed all my pubic hair-“

“I told you never to speak of that.” You cut him off sternly before he can continue and a naughty smile appears on his lips at the memory.

“That was funny, admit it.”

“We were on vacation with my parents! Do you understand how awkward the conversation we had, after the swimming pool, was? They were so concerned about the fact that I’d brought home a boy with blue armpit hair!” You exclaim with wide eyes and Draco bursts into laughter again. “You’re such an arsehole.” You grumble out with a pout and he pecks you with a smile.

“You love me though.”

“I do… I really do.” You respond genuinely as you stare at him in admiration. Even on his worst days, when exhaustion wears his face like a mask and words fall short from his lips, he’s still the love of your life and nothing can change that. “I’m really proud of you, for making a decision like that.”

“Thank you.” He sighs and you can tell how much this has been bothering him over the past few days, if not weeks, by the way his shoulders finally relax. “I just don’t think they’re doing what they’re meant to. I don’t feel any better.”

“Mhmm.” You nod at him to continue as you take his hand in your own.

“I don’t feel worse either though, I feel the same. It’s been a year and I feel the absolute bloody same.”

“What are you going to do instead?”

“Whatever else the healer recommends.” He shrugs, “If she’s got nothing else that will work then I don’t know.”

“Well… I’m here for you, always.”

“I know.”

And it’s true, he does know, sure as he knows that he’s a Slytherin. There aren’t many things and people that Draco relies on, the fear of them letting him down always a barrier, but you he puts his absolute faith in. Because when words fall short to describe the amount of love that he has for you, and the amount of love that you have for him, there will always be actions and you two will always have each other.

You take your hands and cup his face in them before peppering kisses all over his face. He giggles under your touch, an effect that you’ve always had on him and he hates, but you make no move to stop until every corner has been graced with feel of your lips. It’s every word that you could possibly say to him, every sentence that could hold the weight of your adoration, because sometimes, words just fall short.

“Y/N-“ He begins when you finally pull away, wanting to tell you that he loves you, but you cut him off with a dopey smile.

“I know.”

The two of you lie down against the cold, hard gravel- fingers intertwined as you both shut your eyes and bask in the soft rays of sunlight. It’s almost perfect.

Until.

“Mr Malfoy, Ms L/N.” A voice drawls.

“Shit.” You mumble when you remember that it’s Wednesday- Astronomy.

<~>

Did I impulsively write this after declaring I’m going on a week’s hiatus to move? Yes. Did I put off packing for this? Yes. Do I have any regrets? Nope.

anyway,

love you all,

jean <3

[bansept]

Ichihime Week | Day 3: Family

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The Kurosaki family always had little trips prepared for this or that occasion: the end of school, someone’s birthday… And of course, Masaki’s death anniversary. When the children were young, it was a thrilling idea, a way to discover a new place and imagine an exciting story. When the children grew, the mere thought of going away was disturbing, annoying. The meaning of moving to a place with the family got lost in cries of boredom and arguments, but Isshin never gave up.

Yuzu and Karin were still there, in his house, and officially speaking, still “had” to obey his commands, canceling plans they might have with their friends. One day, one of the twins had muttered the word “dictatorship”, and he had cried, whimpering at how ungrateful his daughters were to him. They still came, frowning a little bit, but a smile never too far behind.

Ichigo had been too busy to go on a family trip. First, with the Dojo: who knew a place that was not so visited could be lively at the exact time his presence was required to have fun? The kids and teenagers were far too inclined in asking him to show them moves for him to refuse. A paycheck was a paycheck. Second, Orihime herself was atrociously busy. Being the main confectioner, she oversaw most of the confection of chocolate delights in the bakery. Giving orders was a full-time job, and even if her love for her work brought her happiness, she was as exhausted as her husband.

The third was Kazui. Or mostly, the presence and necessity to oversee a young child, the infant going to a nanny when his parents could not attend to his needs. Moody because of his teething, Kazui was a small little ball of smile, and the next minute, a crying angry puddle of anger. As peaceful and adorable as he could be, he was still so young, so dependable of his parents that taking him anywhere outside of the environments he knew was a big no-no.

“Ichigo, can you please go and get him?” Orihime mumbled, one hand raised to her husband’s shoulder, pushing him slightly to make him understand with subtility that she would not move a muscle herself.

Ichigo, eyes half open and short hair sticking out in a comical manner, groaned a response stuck between a ‘yes’ and ‘you’re next’ before getting up tiredly to retrieve his crying son.

Somehow, and after a good year of no traveling in family, Orihime had suggested a family day here, in their house. To catch up, to brag about how Kazui was able to carry his head by himself and how close he was to sit steadily. Yuzu and Karin could see their brother and nephew, and Isshin could discuss with his daughter-in-law. Strangely enough, the idea was immediately accepted when it was Orihime that talked it out. And so now, the two young parents would prepare their small home for the rest.

Ichigo came back into the room, Kazui sniffling in his arms, little hands gripping his father’s shirt. The man was shushing him, rocking the boy slowly and repeating everything was alright.

“You’re hurting? I’m sorry baby… It should stop soon… Didn’t the doc say it lasted like, 8 days for a crisis? It’s been 6 days…” Ichigo asked, finger going to his son’s mouth so he could massage his gums, anything for the pain to be lessened.

“Maybe he’s hungry too… Here, give him to me.” Orihime answered, sitting up against the bed and opening her arms. Ichigo carefully placed the infant in her embrace, giving him a light peck on the forehead. Kazui shuffled a little but smiled when he saw his mother.

Orihime made some funny gurgles, talking to her boy with a high voice, trying to get him in a better mood until he got something to eat. Ichigo watched the scene with a smile and stretched his back, sighing.

“Should get things ready before the horde arrives.” Ichigo joked, walking to the bathroom near their room to get some water on his face. That should help wake him up.

He heard the funny noise die down as Orihime breastfed their son. Ichigo didn’t need to be next to them to know she was smiling down at him tenderly, and Kazui was certainly looking up at her with the same brown eyes filled with amazement. At least they were in calm waters for now…

.

.

.

By the time it was 9:30, Kazui was set to stay in the living room and play with Ichigo in his cute outfit. Orihime and Ichigo themselves were ready, preparing their small house for the arrival of his family, but nothing too fancy. In Ichigo’s opinion, they didn’t need to have balloons floating around, or a cake ready when it was still morning.

“And right at this moment, that giant ice cream cone yelled at me to run far from the bean paste, but I just couldn’t! How can you choose between two of your favorite things?” Orihime asked, hands on her hips, eyes wide as saucers, clearly expecting an answer from her husband, who definitely knew she had to stop eating sweets before going to sleep.

“Um… Yeah, but that bean paste was clearly trying to eat you… So I’d say, you listen to ice cream.” It was silly to answer her about her own very silly dreams while holding Kazui up so he could experiment walking. But that kind of silly was always welcomed.

Orihime shook her head with a pout, but was interrupted by the sound of someone pressing the doorbell. She got up from her seat, fixing her dress slightly before opening the door with a big smile.

“Yuzu! Karin! Hi!” She hugged them both preciously, the twins greeting her in response. Stepping back, she looked around to see Isshin wasn’t behind them, and frowned, worried.

“Don’t worry about dad, he’ll arrive quickly. We were just ahead so he could work on another file before coming.” Karin explained, waving a hand as her sister cooed at the interesting picture of Ichigo holding Kazui by his hands, the little boy not knowing what to do with the two jelly legs he possessed.

“Ichi! Aw, let me get a picture!”

“Yuzu stop! No! Not a picture come on!”

Karin placed a bag near the door, observing with a satisfied smile her brother being taken advantage of, unable to escape or fight the will of his own sister and his wife.

“Are… No, I can’t hold him… I’ll drop him!”

“No, you won’t. Come on, he’s your nephew, you gotta hold him once in your life.”

Karin frowned, Yuzu prepared her phone for yet another picture and Orihime held up Kazui to Karin, reassuring her that he wouldn’t end up on the floor. The baby seemed to not mind, appreciating any hands that carried him, knowing none would harm him. Ichigo was like an eagle, not even blinking while he stared at his sister, the black-haired girl grumbling a little at how she was forced. But really, she wasn’t.

“Is… Like that, okay? Is that good?” She asked, infant stuck in her arms, and Orihime nodded.

“Yes, just like that. See? It wasn’t too complicated.”

“Yeah… But I didn’t expect him to be so… Heavy? No, not heavy… But he’s not as light as I thought he’d be.”

“He’s growing. Of course he’ll be heavier than at his birth.” Ichigo remarked, snickering at the grimace Karin sent him.

Orihime smiled brightly at the two bickering siblings. Ichigo used to not joke around with his sisters, too busy mopping his anger and pain in his corner, but now, he was having a great time annoying the twins. She guessed it was something older brothers did.

Isshin opened the door loudly, singing about finally seeing his grandson and daughter-in-law again after so long, the ridiculous amount of baby gifts in his hands falling on the floor as he walked in. Now, as to why Isshin, out of all people, had a key to their house, Ichigo was not willing to say. He had chosen Yuzu to have it first, but she had lost it for a good day, and the panic it brought was a cold shower to everyone, to the point Karin mentioned Isshin as the best key keeper out of the three of them.

Which, of course, was true. Since he was an adult and all. But he was still Isshin. Loud, impulsive and horribly annoying Isshin.

“How is he?? Aw, look at him in his cute little clothes! Oh yes, you look just like your dada when he was your age Kazui! Although, thank God you have your mama’s smile!” He cooed at the baby, who of course didn’t understand a single word, but the mere expression and intonation pulled his smile up, showing just a few teeth. Isshin gasped and tickled the baby’s tummy. “Oh, yes, you already have such cute little gums!”

Orihime laughed at the voice Isshin always took whenever Kazui was around, and freed him from the many plushies he had gathered in his arms.

“Oh, thank you, Orihime. So, is everything doing alright for you three?” He questioned, straightening up and looking at the woman. Of course, as a doctor, he’d ask this question with real interest.

“Yes, we’re all fine. Kazui is still having a bit of a crisis from time to time, but we manage to handle it well. And Ichigo is getting better and better at handling Kazui.” She smiled, whispering the last part in a conspiratorial tone. Her husband heard her, and with a blush, frowned in her general direction.

Isshin grinned at the exchange, but didn’t tease his son further. It was strange how one day he was grumpy, and the next, he and Orihime walked into his house to tell him they were dating. From that moment, his son was like a stranger: offering help to do this or that house chores, hesitantly discussing with his family, feeling happy and calm around them… And now that he was a father, he hardly ever yelled at Isshin anymore. Of course, he was still mad at him for being the silly old man he always had been, but Ichigo seemed to be mindful of what his own son was going to grow up to.

By the time Kazui was hungry again, Orihime excused herself as she picked the infant and walked back to her room, giving Isshin the opportunity to talk with Ichigo.

“So… How are you handling all of that?”

Ichigo raised his head from the table, placing another plate on the surface and shrugging his shoulders.

“Well… We’re happy. I think that’s what matters. Orihime and I are working, so it’s a good thing, even if we wish we could be around Kazui more. And Kazui is growing up…” He turned silent after that, the timid smile he had on his face stilling.

Isshin tapped his back lightly.

“You’re doing a good job Ichigo. Although you became a father early, you’re doing your best for him and for your wife. Honestly, you can be proud of yourself.”

The orange-haired man shook his head with amusement, gazing at his goat chinned father.

“I tell myself that. But soon he’ll be able to stand on his own, or even talk… And we’ll have to teach him everything about this crazy world of ours… Things about Shinigamis and Hollows, Arrancars even, so that he doesn’t make the same mistakes I did.”

Isshin looked around the room to his daughters, watching as they discussed on which fluffy plushy was the cutest.

“Your sisters only knew after a good while. But don’t worry about that. Kazui will have a lot of people to teach him, and all these people will keep him safe. Plus… I’m pretty sure he will be safe with the amazing parents he has.”

Ichigo’s eyes opened wide, tenderness and surprise taking the lead in his mixed emotions. Isshin was right : Orihime and he were not alone in this. People from Karakura, the Soul Society and the others stuck between the two would help them keep their child safe. Keep him from being hurt. That simple but truthful knowledge made him gasp for air, relaxed and thankful.

The young man nodded, throat a bit too tight for him to talk in his usual confident tone. Orihime walked back in, Kazui looking sated and in a good mood as his mother placed him in Yuzu’s eager arms.

“You know… I, guess it’s strange for everyone to see me like that… Not yelling at you for goofing around. But Orihime told me she felt that this excitement I almost resented a few years back, this closeness with family members, she thought it was the right way to be wife the family you loved. She wants Kazui to grow up surrounded with love and joy, and I want that too for him.” He scratched the back of his neck, eyes on his sisters then on Orihime. “I still think you’re a silly old man that makes way too much noise. But… I’m happy you’re Kazui’s grandfather, and my father.”

It was Isshin’s turn to have his eyes become the size of tennis balls, tears rushing up. He needed to hold it down, to not explode with joy, to not ruin the moment by hugging his son that had more or less told him he loved him, after so long. So, instead, he ruffled his son’s new short hair.

“It’s my greatest pride to be part of this beautiful family.”

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Aaaaaaand day 3!

More than 2100 words, I like that hehe

I thought about writing Kazui to be taller so he could be asking this or that question or be a cute lil cutie pie, but since I visited a family member who recently had a child, heh, I was more inspired in writing an infant.

Don't hesitate to review this, and see you tomorrow for day 4!

[masonscig]

bittersweet

part two

pairing | felix x flor

word count | 3.2k

warnings | smut. minors dni.

author’s note | so i wanted to write like 2 more parts to this, but honestly... i feel like this turned out great. also yes, i probably should’ve made this a lot shorter, but the prompt got away from me as per usual. not proofread because i’m tired :/ this is for day seven of hot in wayhaven, aftercare!

•─────────────────•

Things have been weird since that night.

She just kind of went back to treating him exactly the same as she had before. She held him at arms’ length like she did with everyone she was wary of letting in.

He was sure that this time he’d made progress.

For the few months leading up till he almost throat fucked her in her dimly lit apartment, she’d been warming up to him.

He managed a few genuine smiles and laughs despite trying less hard to do so. He caught her watching him across the room during meetings, trainings, briefings… anytime they weren’t alone, he caught her staring at least once.

She’d even started asking about him. Any time he was late to a meeting, she bugged Mason with a punch to the shoulder or a scuff of her shoe against the toe of his own.

Didn’t matter how much progress he’d made if it’d just been ruined by one big fuck up on both of their ends.

This particular night, Felix is mulling over the events leading up to when she left, still trying to figure out where things went wrong.

He paces around the room once, twice, before plopping into his giant bean bag chair.

Before he can really settle in there, he’s restless again, jumping to his feet to cross the room once again, climbing into the hammock in the corner.

This isn’t right, either, he huffs to himself, rolling awkwardly out of the hammock and to the middle of the room, flinging himself onto his bed.

He picks up the Gameboy on his nightstand, tap-tap-tapping away on full volume until he hears a single loud thud against the wall across from him.

Abandoning his game of Galaga, he groans in frustration, rolling his eyes at Mason’s feeble attempts to silence him. Tossing the Gameboy to the foot of his bed, he opts instead to grab his tamagotchi, feeding his pet till he’s bored again.

He has lots of things. And these things keep him occupied and hold his attention for a while.

But none of them keep his attention long enough to satiate his wandering mind.

Flor’s been his main focus for a while, but it’s particularly bad this week since she’s taken a vacation for the first time since he’s met her.

It’s not even that she’s a hard worker – she’s just on such bad terms with the captain that she never bothered asking for days off when she knew she wouldn’t get them even if she had plans to get outta town.

Her being on vacation doesn’t bother him at all – it’s the way he’s got unfinished business and he can’t do anything about it.

He can’t seem to think of anything else without her creeping into the back of his mind one way or the other.

He twists off of the bed and walks to his dresser, where his phone’s charging on its surface.

He’s confused. He misses her, he’s angry at her, he wants her –

To say he’s confused is an understatement, really.

He’s been patient, he’s been kind, he’s been understanding – and for her to ignore him for the entire summer?

He’d been counting down the days till they got back to normal. He’s in the hundreds now, and there’s no end in sight.

There’s two endings if he decides to fix it tonight – he’s either getting treated better, or he moves on from her.

The latter option is a painful thought, one he doesn’t give himself time to digest before he taps the number at the top of his favorites.

The phone rings once, twice, and his finger hovers over the end call button. He’s so close to chickening out – this is an awful idea –

“What? Huh?” Flor asks, voice raspy and twinged with sleep. She yawns around her greeting, and he can picture her running a hand through her thick dyed hair. “Who is this?”

Does she really not even have his number saved?

“Uh, it’s Felix. I, um, this is a check in call,” he lies, tensing immediately.

Why’s that his knee jerk reaction? Two seconds into the call and he’s already making excuses instead of standing up for himself.

He really can’t help it, though. She’s so intimidating.

“It’s four thirty in the fucking morning,” she groans. “If you and your little team aren’t gonna respect my sleeping schedule consider any calls from this point on fucking rejected.”

“No, no, I, uh –”

He has no excuses. He can’t lie again… and she already sounds upset, and it’d make the rest of the call even more unpleasant.

“I lied. It’s not a check up,” he sits up in bed, nervously fiddling with the tamagotchi.

“Well then what is it?” She spits, clearly cranky and sleep deprived.

“I have some things I need to say to you, and… I, uh, I don’t know if you’ll like it,” he twists the keychain around his finger, but tosses his little friend to the end of his bed alongside his Gameboy. He needs to focus.

She’s silent. He knows he’s on limited time. 

“I… miss you.”

She goes silent, the static of the phone crackling because of both of their poor signals.

“Thanks.”

The one word response has him silently screaming at himself – he flings himself back on the bed, kicking his legs and flailing.

I miss you. Thanks.

The most embarrassing response he could’ve ever gotten.

“I was gonna say more than that. I’m just… gathering the courage,” he says, takes a deep breath, anchors himself.

“I don’t like how you’ve been treating me, Flor, honestly, and I think you owe me an apology.”

“Oh, I do,” she responds, a deadpan question, nearly mocking.

“Yeah, you do,” Felix bites back immediately, surprised even at himself with how forceful he’s being. “You almost fucked me at the beginning of summer, and now you’re not talking to me? I thought we were, I don’t know, friends at least? I know I’m not your Tina and I never will be, but I want to be there for you.”

“I’m not…” she trails off, and there’s a swishing sound like she’s shifting in bed. “Trying to avoid you, alright? It just seems like that, I guess.”

He can’t stop his hand from clenching into a tight fist, can’t stop it from shaking with rage, can’t stop the venom bubbling up his throat and dripping off his tongue.

“Don’t… tell me how to feel, Flor. I’m upset, so don’t try to downplay it, okay? I know you’re trying to avoid me, and that’s fine, I guess, as long as you, I dunno, let me move on.”

“Move on?” She asks, her tone (surprisingly) cushioned with sincerity.

“Yeah, I, uh,” he stands, striding across the room to the window, and back to the door, pacing (He’s wondering if she’s pacing too). “I like you a lot, but I have to protect myself, too, y’know? If you don’t want me around, you’ve gotta tell me so that I can stop, uh, investing too much of myself into… this.”

“Felix…” she sighs, and quiets. “I know you’re looking for answers, but I don’t have them. I don’t know.”

“So, what, that’s it then?”

“I… yeah. Yeah. That’s it.”

Flor sounds unsure, but he’s not gonna press her further. It hurts, but he has to move on or she’ll consume him in a fiery blaze.

He’s let the flames lick at him, but when it comes down to it, he can’t handle the inferno. He’s walking away before he gets burned, when all he wants to do is be engulfed by her.

It’s easier this way, in theory, but saying goodbye is harder than he’s ever anticipated.

“Bye, Flor. Sweet dreams.”

He disconnects before she can say another word, and he crumples onto his bed, pulling his knees to his chest.

He’s losing another person he cares about, and just like last time, he couldn’t do a damn thing about it.

Tears are falling freely now, and he angrily wipes them away with a rough backhand.

It’s not her fault. It’s not your fault. You’re just not compatible.

That’s what he tells himself, at least, as he’s drifting off to sleep. He’ll deal with Rebecca and Unit Bravo in the morning.

––––

Flor clutches the phone in her hand, her jaw tight.

She didn’t get the last word, and she sure as hell didn’t get to say what she wanted to say.

Felix was hurting and she couldn’t even manage kindness for one goddamn moment.

No one asks to be emotionally detached – it's just easier that way, for Flor, at least.

Wading through the mess of her apartment, she steps into the bare kitchen. Pours herself a cup of water. Chugs it to clear her head.

When that doesn’t do the trick, she takes a hefty shot of tequila. Bad idea, but the burn gives her a sense of clarity she doesn’t have when she’s completely sober.

You’ve been dragging your fucking feet for years now. Get the hell over it. Go to him. Be with him.

Every instinct she has is dragging her towards the front door where her car keys hang. Another bad idea, as per usual.

Before she can talk herself out of it, she shoots him a quick text. Come over. Please. We need to talk in person.

It’s not the wisest idea for her to face her problems head on, but the tiny, reasonable part of Flor’s mind is telling her she needs to fight for him instead of letting him slip through her fingers.

––––

He doesn’t see the text till an hour and a half after she’s sent it.

It’s just past six in the morning. The sun’s just barely creeping its way into his room, golden streaks across his wood floor.

He assumes she just wants the last word and that’s why she sent it – but an even louder part of him entertains the “what ifs” that are bouncing around his mind.

What if she wants to apologize? What if she wants to hear how I feel? And tell me where her head’s at? 

After going back and forth for a few minutes, impulse wins, and he’s tossing on a vibrant graphic tee and shorts before he sprints out the door. 

Nate’s the only one up, reading the newspaper and filling out the crossword puzzles in the soft lighting of the kitchen, and he shoots Felix a knowing look of encouragement.

Unit Bravo knows how infatuated Felix is with Flor, and they constantly flit between telling him to let her go and chasing after her.

Today’s a good day in that regard – Nate’s given his wordless blessing with nothing but a soft smile.

He’s at her place in ten minutes flat, staring up at the apartment like it’s a creaky, spooky haunted house.

His courage is thinning the closer he steps to her front door. His bones are gelatin, and his brain is equally as mushy.

It’s not an ideal state, but he doesn’t know when he’ll get another chance like this. Get the courage again like this.

Rapping his knuckles against the stained door, he waits. He rocks back on his heels, taps his feet, does anything he can to get the jitters out of his system.

When the door finally does open, his heart leaps at the sight of her.

Her hair’s a mess. Her leftover eyeliner is smudged all around her eyes. Her dark eyes are lined with red from lack of sleep. She looks exhausted.

“You came.”

“Yeah,” he breathes, and steps into her apartment when she gestures for him to come in.

She shuts the door behind him, and this time instead of shoving him up against the door to kiss him, she takes his hand.

Laces her fingers through his own, tugs him toward her couch.

He doesn’t know how to start this conversation, and from the looks of it, neither does she.

“What’s up?” He asks, simply, feeling like an idiot almost instantly for making things that casual.

“I’m…” she trails off, nearly black irises softening when she looks at him. He could live in those midnight pools.

“Sorry. I’m sorry.”

He raises both brows in surprise, and his gaze flits to their hands. She’s death gripping one of his hands with both of hers, her jaw set.

“Uh –”

“I’m getting to the why. I just don’t know how to say it –”

She grunts, shifting on the couch. “I’m not a nice person. You know that.”

“You’re nice in your own way,” he offers, rubbing a thumb over her knuckles.

“God, Felix, I’m a mean bitter bitch. Don’t sugar coat it,” she laughs. “I don’t really wanna be this way, but it’s easier than getting… invested in people.”

“Whaddaya mean?”

“It’s just easier to shut people out than to have expectations for them,” she starts, shrugging. “And having them expect things from you, too.”

“So, what you’re saying is, you don’t want us to have expectations for each other?” He asks.

“I’m gonna say this as bluntly and straight forward as I can, because I don’t think I can do anything else,” she answers after taking a deep, shaky breath.

“I like you. I’m attracted to you. I want you in my life,” she holds his eyes, speaking as earnestly as she can manage. “But I need you to be patient with me. I don’t know how to do… this. I don’t know how to get close to people anymore. Last time I did it was fucking toxic and I told myself never again.”

“Bobby,” he murmurs, and she nods.

“If you want me, too, we’ll both have to compromise,” she continues, stiffening a little like she’s bracing for impact. “I have to get used to the way you do things, and you’ll have to get used to the way I am, too. But I promise you, Felix, I’m gonna try.”

“Try what?” His voice is a little shaky, and she’s coming towards him, slowly closing the gap between them.

“I’m gonna try to love you, if you’ll try to love me,” she whispers, her jaw set again.

That’s all he needed to hear.

He closes his eyes and kisses her sweetly, softly, letting go of her hands so he can cup her face.

She’s so precious to him, so he cradles her face like the gem she is.

“Flor…” Her name’s a quiet promise as it falls from his lips.

I promise as long as you’re trying, I’ll try, too.

She clutches his hips as she kisses him, moaning sweetly into his mouth.

He doesn’t know when she starts slowly tugging his clothes off, but soon enough, they’re skin to skin, and he can’t tell where his body ends and hers begins.

She’s different this time, he notices. She’s more timid. Maybe she’s never been taken care of like this before.

As he bows his head between her legs, he can’t help but wonder if he’ll be her favorite or not.

She’s slack jawed and grasping at his head, squeezing her tattooed thighs around his face.

God, she’s beautiful, all spread out for him – she’s a gift of brown skin (and a pretty pink pussy).

She writhes and pants with each stroke of his tongue, his name broken and garbled on her lips.

When she tugs his head upwards to press sloppy kisses on his mouth, he knows she wants more.

“Flor…” he trails off, feeling sweat bead on the back of his neck. “Do you really wanna do this?”

“Only if you want to, doll.”

God, he can barely breathe. A proposition and a pet name. To most, that’s nothing. But to him, it’s the entire world.

She anchors herself on top of him and settles onto his cock, keeping direct eye contact while she stretches around him.

His eyes are fluttering shut, rolling back, and his head is threatening to loll to the side – she grabs his cheeks between her hand and tugs him back up, her half lidded eyes lustful and determined.

“I want to see you… watch me, and I’ll watch you,” she pants as she flexes her hips, his tip the only part inside of her, but she flexes again, taking all of him (every delicious inch).

“Fuck,” he curses, and she grins, bouncing against him.

He fists his hands at her hips, running a hand up her stomach to rest at the barbed wire tattoos lining her under boob. He can’t figure out what part of her he wants to touch so he opts for it all, squeezing, nipping, kissing every piece of skin his hands and mouth can cover.

“You feel so fucking good around me, doll – fuck me just like that,” she grunts as he bucks up into her.

He’s never been one to have a filthy mouth, but boy does he fucking love it.

The sun’s fully engulfing her living room at this point, the golden glow warming both of their exposed skin already, glistening in the Wayhaven sunrise.

She’s so pretty like this. She’s in her element like this, too. Confident.

The nervous, rigid version of herself was long gone.

She’s opening up to him. Albeit emotionally and physically, she’s trying. She’s blooming for him.

Flor means flower right? She’s finally in season, and it’s worth the wait.

––––

In the heat of it all, they’ve kicked all her clean laundry to the floor, but she grabbed a thin blanket from the top to cover them.

She’s cuddled up to him on the small couch, her head resting on his sweat slicked chest.

They’d been at it for a while when they both finally came. He didn’t expect her to want to cuddle, but they did.

“We probably need to clean up, huh?” she murmurs, soft kisses against his skin.

“Lemme take care of it,” he grins, crawling over her before she can protest.

He’s back in a flash with a damp towel and a bottle of water.

“Thanks,” she smiles, taking the bottle from him. When she tries to grab the damp towel, he holds it away from her.

“Can I clean you up?” He asks timidly.

Flor shrugs, mouth still on the bottle. “Okay.”

He bends to his knees and pulls the blanket away, dragging the cloth gently along her thighs, cleaning up the mess he’s made.

He folds the towel and rubs her stomach and thighs again, before kissing her knee. “You’re so pretty.”

Before he can stand up, she grabs his arm and tugs him back down for a long kiss.

When she pulls back, her eyes are shiny, soft. Midnight pools, and he’s submerged in them.

“I’ve never been fucked by someone who cares about me like you do.”

He grins and pulls her in for a kiss again.

“Well, get used to the feeling.”

He wants every messy, unpolished part of Flor he can get, from her crass humor to her sailor’s mouth.

This is the farthest they’ve ever taken things, yeah, but he’s willing to go further and further with her, as long as she’ll have him.

[maybedefinitely404]

Day 19: Prinxiety/Loceit (pt 3)

Part 1

Part 2 

Part 3 is here, with a little added something thrown in! Hope you enjoy!

@tsshipmonth2020

Day 19 - Everyone is born with a compass on their wrist, the needle of the compass points towards your soulmate. 

Trigger/content warnings!! Dissociation, PTSD, talk of conversion therapy and aftereffects/internalized homophobia, food mentions, nausea, anxiety/panic attack, unintentionally skipping meals, emetophobia/vomiting, pulling hair (does that count as self harm?).

Word count: 5k 

He barely remembered the hospital. It was all just a blur of doctors and police officers and more sleep than he’d gotten in weeks. After the first night of twitching in the dark confines of his hospital room and waking up screaming from nightmares the few brief seconds his consciousness faded, he was given sleeping pills, and the rest of the visit was quickly forgotten. The clearest part of the two week stay was near the end, when he was deemed physically well enough to give a statement to his social worker and a policeman, describing his ‘therapy’ and his life at the foster home, which quickly dissolved into a panic attack. They had enough though, and he was left with a sick satisfaction that they weren’t getting away with what they’d done to him. 

They’d lied to him. They had told him the system agreed with what they were doing, allowing it, condoning it. At first, he’d refused to believe them, because that made no sense. But they took his only form of contact, didn’t allow him to leave the house except for therapy, and his eventual addition of medication far too strong for him made him paranoid. Maybe he didn’t believe them as much as he was just trying to survive. He still didn’t know how they’d managed to keep up the charade when they were being checked on bi-weekly; he hadn’t even known when said visits were happening. 

“They’ll be spending some time in prison for child abuse. Not nearly enough, but still,” A social worker said quietly as he drove him back to his old group home. Virgil stared numbly out the window. “The kids were taken from them for the time being. They were deemed unfit parents. Foster care until they can find either some relatives or the parents are allowed them back.”

He didn’t react, although his heart nearly stopped in his chest. The parents hadn’t been great, but the kids had been happy enough. And now they were forced into a shoddy system… because of him. Virgil blinked rapidly to stop the tears that threatened to flow.

“You alright, Virge?” 

He finally turned from the blurry mass of green trees out the car window, turning blankly to the man driving. The worker glanced from the road to meet his eyes, sighing. 

No, he wasn’t alright. But he’d never say otherwise. Volunteering information about himself was how he’d gotten himself into this situation in the first place. He wasn’t about to do it again. 

----------

That had been almost a month ago, and he was still to break out of his selective mutism. It wasn’t as if he was choosing not to speak; it wasn’t stubbornness. He felt as if his brain and his mouth were disconnected, like his thoughts were less coherent and more just abstract emotion, and he couldn’t turn them into words. Any question that couldn’t be answered by a simple nod or head shake was met with a blank stare, a far off gaze, that was unnerving to anyone. They’d tried to put him back into therapy, but the moment it was mentioned, Virgil spiralled into the worst panic attack he could ever remember having. 

He’d gotten his old room back, with two new kids as his roommates. He quickly built up the same reputation as before: this room is mine unless you’re sleeping. No kid wanted to be near him when he was awake, staring at nothing, his only movements being his occasional blinking. Frankly, the younger ones were scared of him. 

And he didn’t care. 

Some days he fell so deep into dissociating that he didn’t even react when he was called for dinner. The world around him dissolved, blurry and unfocused and just quiet, retreating into his own mind where he could breathe. Reality was too much. It was just… too much. One of his doctors had said it might be a side effect as they eased him off his criminally high dose of antipsychotics they’d hidden in his drinks, but that was an afterthought. He was warm, he was full (when he was aware enough to eat), and so he faded into his head. He’d cope with his trauma another day. 

“You haven’t eaten all day, honey,” A soft voice said and he blinked, looking up from his bed sheets at the worker. She was one of his favorites; gentle, quiet, respecting his boundaries. In her hands was a plate with dinner on it.

He gave an almost imperceptible nod, barely more than a single bob, and she sat across from him on the bed, placing the plate in front of him. With heavy hands, he lifted a cold green bean to his mouth. It was gross, but the plate was empty in minutes. Apparently it had been a whole day. 

“Virgil, I want to talk to you,” She said. Now full, his brain would let him stay present for a little while until dissociation took over again. He pushed himself back against the wall and brought his knees to his chest, watching her movements. 

“It’s not anything bad, I promise. I’ve been talking with some other workers, some connections I have across the state.”

He didn’t like where this was going. 

“One of them suggested a couple that’s fostered for over a decade. They have a fantastic record, so I got into contact with them-”

“No.” The first thing he’d said in weeks, his voice scratchy from disuse. For once, the mess in his brain came together to form the single word, an immediate rejection. He pushed himself farther away from her, shaking his head violently. “No, no, no.”

“Virgil, breathe,” She reached out a hand and Virgil flinched so hard his head hit the wall. The hand retreated. “You don’t have to go with them if you’re uncomfortable, hun. Please just trust me, though, they’d never do anything that they did.”

He glared at her, trying to read her expression in the dark room. Silence stretched between them as Virgil’s thoughts drifted back to their state of quietude, leaving him unable to form words, beginning to drift away from reality. His eyelids flickered as focusing became harder, his mind’s eye suddenly alight with the blinding white lights of the therapy room. 

“Will you meet them at least, Virgil? Just for a few minutes? And if you still say no after, I’ll never bring them up again.”

He found himself nodding without properly meaning it. He just wanted her to leave… he just wanted to be alone. So he could drift away, without having to fear anyone hurting him anymore. 

She left, taking the empty plate with her. 

----------

Just because he knew today he was meeting his potential (not gonna happen) foster parents, it didn’t mean he was allowed to be present for the rest of the day. His favorite worker had come back again, motivating him to get ready and dressed, since he couldn’t remember the last time he’d been able to find the energy to even just put on a sweater, much less get himself completely ready. 

Looking in the mirror hurt. His hair was starting to grow back, just barely long enough to run his fingers through, never mind getting anywhere long enough to cover his eyes like it used to. The bags under his eyes were darker than he could remember them ever being and his hands shook as he brushed his teeth. Biting down on the bristles, he grabbed a towel and threw it over the mirror, feeling a slight tinge of relief when he was no longer forced to look at himself. The social worker watched from the doorway, silently. 

He was tempted to go to sleep when he was done, completely exhausted from the little bit of work. But she brought him breakfast and his stomach growled in agreement, so he ate enough of the oatmeal to satiate his hunger, and not a bite more. A nervous nausea was already swirling in his gut and he didn’t need to add to it.

“Would you like to be left alone?” She asked, taking the empty bowl. 

Virgil nodded, already feeling the heaviness and emptiness that came with dissociation starting to creep through his limbs.

“I’ll come let you know when they’re here, okay?” He had no recollection of her leaving the room, but the next time he drifted back to the present, she was gone. 

He took a nap around noon, too tired and overwhelmed to stay awake for any longer. Plus, with new rushes of anxiety flooding his system every couple seconds, he was ready to not be conscious for a hot minute. He tried to convince himself that it would be okay, he’d struggle through an awkward meeting where the foster parents would eventually give up on him and leave, and he could spend his remaining year and a month in the system. Hopefully in that year he could figure enough out to survive when he was alone. 

A joyous child screeching downstairs woke him up three hours later, jerking him awake with a pounding heart. 

It wasn’t an hour later when there was a soft knock at his door and he threw himself into the corner, pulling his blanket up to his chest. No, no, no, he wasn’t ready- The door opened painfully slowly, spilling the light from the hallway into his pitch black room. 

“Virgil? I’m here with one of the foster parents, can I come in?”

She poked her head into the room and squinted to meet his eyes in the darkness, eventually finding his hunched form on his bed. Wordlessly, she opened the door all the way and walked up to him, flicking on the bedside lamp. A pleasantly soft light filled the room, illuminating the man standing at the door. Virgil began to shake. 

He wasn’t overly tall, probably just a head or so taller than Virgil, dressed in a plain yellow button up and black jeans. At first, he didn’t seem too intimidating, but neither had the other family at first glance. When he walked into the room, just so he was less of a silhouette, Virgil eyes were drawn to the large burn scar covering the left side of his face, just a shade darker than the right, but the skin mottled and textured. 

“Virgil, this is Janus Oakmen. His husband was unable to join him today, but-”

Husband? Virgil’s breath hitched. His husband, his husband, he’s gay, gay gay gay- His anxiety skyrocketed, and he couldn’t help the electric-like impulses that ran up his spine and out his fingers. He clenched his fist to hide the remaining twitches. 

She seemed to stumble over her words, trying to hide her shock. To her luck, the man interrupted, smiling softly down at Virgil.

“I’d like to speak to Virgil alone, if he’s alright with that.”

“I’ll be waiting just outside the door,” She said hurriedly, rushing out and closing the door behind her. And they were alone.

Janus looked at him for barely a second before taking a seat on the bottom bunk on the other side of the small room, folding his hands on his lap.

“Technically, I asked if you were okay with it, but…” He gestured weakly to the door. “Oh, well. I was told you don’t talk, Virgil.”

He stared in response, wrapping his fists up in the blanket. The man gave a breathy chuckle, but there was no animosity behind it.

“That’s okay. Just wanted to double check. Is it okay with you if I just talk, then?”

No adult had ever asked Virgil for permission for anything twice in under a minute. His social workers kind of just did what they had to, and he’d never been in a home where that kind of thing was the norm. It was more ‘the kids ask for everything, and the parents get what they want, no questions asked’. Needless to say, he was taken aback. 

He nodded weakly, realizing the man was waiting for a response. 

“Fabulous. Ignoring all the boring details you wouldn’t care about, my name is Janus. Like, from mythology, not a PTA mom. I’m thirty-five, and my husband Logan and I have been fostering since we were twenty-two, so we know what we’re doing. We love it.”

Virgil slowly let his legs unfurl, stretching them out in front of him under the blanket.

“We actually weren’t intending to foster this year, since Logan is looking for a new job. His current one just made it necessary for him to travel more than he would like to, so we wanted to press pause until he was happy at a new one. And then we got a call from good ole Bev out there.” He waved at the door again, cracking a smile. “She told us a little bit of your story, and Logan and I instantly said yes. If you’ll have us, that is.”

The vague idea of “why?” crossed Virgil’s mind, and it must have translated to his face, because Janus continued. 

“When I was fifteen, I came out to my parents as gay. I didn’t think it was a big deal, but they weren’t such big fans, and they put me in conversion therapy.”

His heart stopped. Another round of shocks through his arms. 

“We can talk about that more another day, if you want. I know that’s a tough topic for you. Needless to say, it didn’t work. Because it doesn’t work,” He shrugged, an annoyed tone finding its way into his words, “I understand what you’re going through, to an extent. If anyone can help you, it’s us. I’ve been there. And I promise, we’re fiercely protective. We’d never let anything bad happen to you.”

He stopped, leaning forward on his hands. Virgil realized he probably couldn’t see him that well except for his outline, due to him being pressed into the darkest corner of the room. Despite every cell in his body screaming that it was a trick, he scooted forward into the light of the lamp, still shaking. 

“There you are. Hello, Virgil.”

Virgil raised a trembling hand in a half hearted greeting. 

“I know this is a big, terrifying thing to ask of you. And I’ll understand if you say no. But if you feel safe, we’d love to have you for however long you’re comfortable with. Would you like to think it over?”

He nodded immediately. It wasn’t the hard ‘no’ he had expected himself to feel, and that was more unsettling than it should have been. 

“Okay. You do that. Take however long you need,” Janus said as he stood up, straightening his shirt, “It’s been great to meet you, Virgil.”

And he was gone. The social worker came back a short while later, but Virgil was completely gone by the time she did. He didn’t respond to her dinner calls, didn’t eat when the meal was placed in front of him, safely retreated into the silent part of his mind where he was safe from panic attacks and hard choices.

--- 

He said yes. Of course he did. He was far too intrigued by the man he’d met to refuse. He was scared shitless, that was a given; the first week after meeting Janus, he’d refused to leave his bed, refused to eat or shower or leave his huddle against the wall until the caretaker was basically pleading with him. Even then, it was a struggle to not throw up from sheer terror. 

But his social worker must have seen the way he was giving in, yearning for a grasp of hope in equal parts as his fear, because she set about to convince him. Promised more thorough checks once a week, daily phone calls to keep in touch, and an immediate pick up the moment he was unsure. Bit by bit his resolve was broken, until he finally agreed to give it a try, rushing from her presence moments later to hurl his dinner into the toilet. Hopefully his nerves would relax over time. 

The day came when he was to leave the group home, and he spent none of it in the present. He was so dissociated, so deeply embedded within his own mind, that he wasn’t even able to pack his belongings. His social worker was kind enough to do it for him (though the task itself took less than half an hour- he didn’t own that much) and he didn’t even notice she was in the room, talking, until his black garbage bag was placed on the bed in front of him. 

“ -unresponsive like this all day. We’re not sure what to do.”

“No doubt a response to his overwhelming fear of being placed in a new home after the disaster of his previous one. May I speak to him alone?”

“Of course.”

“Want me to leave too, Lo?”

“No, Janus, you can stay. It may be nice to have your expertise in the subject lest it become pertinent.”

There was some shuffling at the very corners of his consciousness, the light from the hallways lighting up the divots of his rumpled clothing bag, and one of the people were gone. His bedside lamp was flicked on.

“Thank you, Janus.” 

A weight on the bed was the first thing to really snap Virgil back to the presence, for the first time noticing the two men before him. The one standing, he recognized as Janus. The other sitting in front of him, though, he didn’t know. Virgil blinked rapidly, slowly pushing himself further back into his bed frame, despite how it dug into his shoulders. 

“Hello, Virgil. My name is Logan. I take it you’ve met my husband?”

Janus shot him a soft smirk, copying Virgil’s little wave from when they’d first interracted. He barely restrained a rush of twitches, playing it off as a shuffle to rearrange his blanket. 

“Do you think you could move forward just enough to place your feet on the ground? You don’t have to stand, just to begin the process of grounding?”

Virgil didn’t trust this guy for anything. He didn’t know his intentions, knew nothing about him, and his repressed mental state wasn’t making his cognitive reasoning any better. If Logan could help him ground, maybe it would be easier to figure out if they were trustworthy. Odd, that for this to work, he had to trust them enough to ground around them.

He scooted forward, letting his feet flutter off the bed and rest on the floor.

“Well done, Virgil. Press them to the floor firmly. Janus, do you have- ah, wonderful.”

Virgil looked up, nearly throwing himself back as Janus reached out a hand to him. There was something clutched in his fingers, but all the youngest could suddenly think was electrode electrode it’s going to hurt they’re going to hurt you don’t let it touch you don’tletittouchyou DON’T!

“It’s just gum, Virge, it’s okay.”

Oh. His hand paused as he reached out for the offering, a new thought coming to mind. Should he trust food from strangers? What if they’d drugged it, like his old foster home? He bit his lip, slowly retreating back into himself. 

The man seemed to see his hesitation, popping the piece into his mouth and offering one right from the package.

“I didn’t mess with it, I swear.” 

He took the gum, recoiling at the harsh taste almost instantly.

“Yeah, it doesn’t taste great. But I chewed like a pack of this a day when dissociation was a bitch. Snaps you back to the present like-”

“Language, Janus.”

“I’m sure he’s heard worse.”

“That doesn’t mean we should encourage it.”

Virgil couldn’t help the tiny smile that tugged at the corner of his lips. He hadn’t seen just casual bickering in a long time.

“We brought one more bribe-”

“It is not a bribe-”

He outright snorted at Logan’s aghast tone, slapping a hand over his mouth to muffle the noise. Janus looked utterly pleased with himself, slowly handing over a bundle he’d had wrapped under his arm. 

“Again, to help with grounding. And it’s a bit of a drive to our place, so maybe you can get some sleep in the car.”

It was a deep purple blanket, almost impossibly soft to the touch. Virgil couldn’t help run his fingers over the plush material, fighting the urge to just smash his face into it. Keeping an eye on the two, Virgil unfolded it and wrapped it tightly around himself, settling to just let his cheek rub against where it was draped over his shoulder.

It took another twenty minutes for him to feel able to walk without stumbling, but if he left the group home in a fuzzy blanket and starting to feel safer than he had in months, that was his to admit. And he wouldn’t… not yet.

-----------

Virgil stared down at the piece of paper clutched tightly in his hand, re-reading his shitty handwriting for the millionth time. He knew it was proper grammar, and nothing was spelled wrong, and it was clear and concise, but a part of him was still nervous about the idea of giving it to Janus. He was still hesitant to speak, and his new foster family was more than accommodating, giving him a small white board to write on, and even teaching him the most basic sign language for simple questions (courtesy of Logan). One day, he hoped he’d get his confidence back enough to speak, but right now, he felt no rush. 

Being surrounded with these new people, even for the three short weeks he’d been there, had already been enough to minimize his dissociating spells. Logan didn’t have to leave for another work trip for another week, and Janus worked from home anyways, so he was getting way more love and affection than he was ever used to. He hadn’t quite given in to Janus’ offered hugs, or any casual touch at all really, but he was getting used to one of the two just sitting with him for hours, covering him with weighted and fuzzy blankets, and gently distracting him with puzzles or that god-awful gum or just repeating where he was, and that he was safe. Was this what being loved was supposed to feel like?

So he trudged down the steps, hearing the shower running as he walked past the master bedroom, and slowly approached Janus at the dining room table. The man turned to greet him, giving him that soft smirk.

“Morning, kid. Happy birthday.”

Virgil smiled shyly, remembering the sign for thank you after a moment, and dropped the note onto the table next to Janus’ mug. He took a seat across from him, hiding his shaking hands in his lap, and watched with bated breath as he took the slip of paper and read it.

“‘How long did it take you to feel okay with Logan after CT?’ As in, feel okay dating a man?”

Virgil nodded and then, just for practice, signed yes. 

“The short answer? Probably two years, and I was still hesitant going into the relationship. It took us a longer time to get to the comfort level we’re at now. You need to go at your pace, Virgil. You shouldn’t force anything.” 

And then, as he tended to do when no one was there to fill the silence, he began to rant. This was also something Virgil was surprised he had come to enjoy, pulling up his feet so he could sit cross legged on the chair and setting his chin overtop his folded arms on the table. 

“I think it’s ridiculous that our basic human rights are still up for debate,” Janus sighed, taking a long sip of his tea, “Soulmarks are more than enough proof that we have no control over who we love- not that we should need that kind of proof to be validated. But people are afraid of what they don’t know, so they portray us as monsters who need to be fixed.” He’d begun rubbing absentmindedly at his wrist and Virgil’s eyes tracked the movement, noticing for the first time the small compass that was just a couple shades darker than the man’s skin. It almost blended in, and he probably never would have noticed it, if the small needle in the center weren’t slowly rotating towards the stairs. 

Logan entered the dining room from that direction, greeting his husband with a small kiss on the head and his foster child with a relaxed smile. He must have noticed Virgil’s occasional glance at the other’s wrist, wordlessly flipping over his own arm. His matching compass was pulling towards Janus’, an ever present symbol that they were meant to be together. Then, he patted his husband’s shoulder, going to get the coffee his husband always made for him. 

“You’re not broken, Virgil,” Janus murmured. Virgil’s head shot up, surprised at his bluntness, “You’re not. And if anyone tells you differently, they’ll have to deal with me,” He said firmly as he took a long sip.

“No threatening, Janus!”

Virgil snorted into his fist, grinning as Janus winked at him and said, “Sorry, Logan,” into his mug.

“Incorrigible.” Logan sighed as he exited the kitchen with his coffee, dropping into the seat between the two. “And happy birthday, Virgil. Would you like to choose what we have for breakfast, or would you like us to decide?”

That was something they’d learned about him quickly; he had awful choice paralysis. Choosing between two choices was already anxiety inducing, but a variety of things, like having to narrow it down to one food item? Lethal. Virgil quickly pointed to Logan, who chuckled. 

“French toast, then?”

Virgil nodded.

“I’ll get started on that in a moment. Janus, do you have his gift?”

“It’s in the living room, let me go get it.”

And that got his heart racing. ‘Gifts’ weren’t good things. They were leverage, blackmail, with a promise of a ‘returned favor’ in the near future. Virgil didn’t like things held against him like that. What if they gave him a present, and then demanded he pay them back for it the moment things weren’t peachy? Who was he kidding, he was in the honeymoon phase of this new foster family. It would take a month, like it did with the others, and then they’d find something about him that they hated and they’d force him to change it and he wouldn’t be able to refuse because they gave him food and shelter and above all, a gift on his birthday, and he would owe them a debt and he was stuck and-

“Virgil? What are five orange things you can see?”

His head popped up- when had he grabbed his hair like that?- and he noticed how heavily he was breathing. His foster parents were looking at him in concern, not pity, but legitimate concern for his well being (wack), Janus holding his hands behind his back. It was Logan that had spoken.

“Five orange things you can see, Virgil. You can just point.”

Don’t disappoint them more, his mind screamed, so he pointed at the far wall, near the entryway.

“The bridge on the calendar picture, very good. What else?”

Point through the pass through window into the kitchen.

“The sponge, well done. Three more.”

In front of Janus’ empty seat.

“The letters on the mug-”

Quick point to the book shelf in the living room.

“-and the book on my shelf. Last one?”

It took Virgil a longer moment before he found a cup of pens on the small coffee table behind the sofa, gesturing to the orange capped pen amongst the others. 

“Wonderful. Are you feeling a bit better now?”

He didn’t respond, choosing to track Janus’ movements as he sat back into his chair, adjusting his hands so they were on his lap, most likely holding the gift he was hiding. Logan leaned against the couch as his husband spoke.

“Kid, I need you to understand something, alright? You don’t owe us anything. We want to give you a gift because it’s your birthday, and we want to celebrate you. This isn’t some favor that you have to return.”

How Janus understood Virgil’s distress, the younger could only guess. But his words of reassurance were enough to get Virgil to accept the wrapped package as he presented it with minimal shaking, for once demanding his brain relax. Neither of the men mentioned how delicately he unwrapped it, carefully tugging at the tape as to not rip the paper. Why risk it?

His mouth gaped when he saw the present for the first time, holding the box in a white knuckled grip.

“We were told yours was taken from you and never returned, and figured that you needed a new one,” Logan said. 

It was the first new thing Virgil had ever gotten. His clothes were from thrift stores or hand downs, his school supplies consisted of a found pencil and a ripped binder from the group home’s storage, forget ever having his own computer or video games or…

“This is a phone!”

“That it is.” Janus was smiling, taking a sip of his now lukewarm tea.

“I can’t- You can’t just- I don’t-” 

“We can, and we did. You’re seventeen, you kind of need a phone just for everyday life. And unless you give us a reason not to trust you with it, we have no worries.”

Don’t cry don’t cry don’t cry don’t cry don’t- 

Janus slid the tissue box across the table, but Virgil elected to ignore it, refusing to take his eyes off the box in his hands. 

“Thank you,” he barely choked out, “Thank you so much.”

“You’re very welcome, Virgil,” Logan responded for the both of them, returning back to the kitchen nonchalantly as if he hadn’t just given Virgil more than he’d ever gotten in his entire life combined. “I’m going to start on breakfast.”

“I can help you set it up. Then you can download some music… maybe contact the soulmate of yours again.” Janus switched chairs so he was next to Virgil, careful not to touch him, and Virgil couldn’t help grinning blindingly up at him.

It would only be after breakfast that Virgil would realize that he’d spoken. It would be a longer journey until he’d be able to talk again effortlessly, but he was a step closer. 

Part 4 HERE!

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[cyhyr]

Summer of Whump Day 15: Sleep Deprived

Fandom: Naruto

Rating: G

Pairing: Hatake Kakashi & Umino Iruka; Umino Iruka & Uzumaki Naruto

WC: ~3320

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Notes: AU backstory for the purposes of I Wanted To.

A/N: This is just. I don't even know guys. I started writing and then it got bigger and bigger and I couldn't stop. It's just. A Lot.

~

Kakashi has not been able to take care of his sensei’s child the way he should, the way the boy admittedly deserves; and yes, absolutely, he takes that fault personally but also doesn’t do anything about it because really… what can he provide for this child besides instability? He’s hardly in the village anymore, though Sandaime has hinted that, if Kakashi asked, he could be assigned missions closer to home. Instead, Kakashi does what he can without bothering Naruto or letting the boy realize that he even exists. He ensures the bills are paid up in six-month increments, and has the utility companies know to charge to his personal account anything he misses due to being out on mission. He provides non-perishable groceries, placed in the pantry late at night every month or so: oats, rice, dried or tinned meats, beans and legumes. He’ll bring a small selection of vegetables with him at the same time, (no more than three or four items, so they don’t rot before Naruto feels obligated to eat them) usually pilfered from Gai’s garden so he knows they’re not poisoned.

And whenever he’s in the village, he makes a stop at Naruto’s apartment at least once to check in on the wards wrapped into the walls and window frames.

This is how he learns about Umino Iruka and the interest he’s taken in the village jinchūriki.

~

The wards when he gets to Minato’s son’s apartment this time are different. Odd. Not… well, actually, they might be stronger; Kakashi glances at the walls with the sharingan and finds himself mildly impressed. Whoever placed these wards knew about the ones Kakashi put up, and modified their own to augment and strengthen Kakashi’s.

Kakashi says modified because he’s seen these styles of wards before, but never used like this. The key in the front door jingles a bit, like the person unlocking the door knows Kakashi’s in here and is giving him time to leave. Kakashi takes the out for what it is and slips out the window, closing it quietly behind him. He stays plastered against the wall beside the window for a moment, however, wanting to get a glimpse of who’s taking care of his sensei’s kid in Kakashi’s stead.

The door opens and Naruto—gods, how old is he, seven? Eight?—barrels by the figure in the doorway with a grin and shoots straight for the pantry.

“Naruto-kun, take your sandals off first. I mopped for you just earlier this week, I’m not doing it again so soon.”

One arm balancing a paper bag of fresh groceries, a leather school bag over the same shoulder; hitai-ate and vest both neat, but his sleeves and pants legs are scuffed; and his fingers carry the faint dusting of chalk that hours of holding ingrains and a quick wash won’t wipe away. A teacher.

“Iruka-sensei, I can mop later; I’m hungry now!”

“I won’t ask you twice.” The man—this Iruka-sensei—walks barefoot through the apartment and sets the grocery bag down on the kitchen table. Naruto hangs his head and goes back to the door, and once he’s out of the room, Iruka looks at the window Kakashi is peeking in, scowling initially. The scowl lessens when he sees the Konoha ANBU mask, and he nods, but makes a slight shoo gesture.

“What’re we making tonight, sensei?” Naruto bounds back into the room, barefoot as his sensei.

“I’m thinking of teaching you breakfast for dinner,” Iruka says. “Miso soup, tamagoyaki, steamed salmon; how’s that sound?”

“Sounds great!”

“And if we make enough, you’ll have enough for the morning, too,” Iruka ruffles Naruto’s hair. “Go grab out the rice and we’ll get started, okay?”

Kakashi leaves. Iruka-sensei seems to have only good intentions.

~

Iruka is a new teacher, one that (if the very quiet rumors are to be believed) didn’t initially want to be the jinchūriki’s homeroom teacher. Something changed his mind, clearly, and now he’s spending every moment outside of class with the kid.

Every. Moment.

Kakashi notices the third time he’s in the village after meeting Iruka—notices how tired the man seems. He follows the teacher from just before dawn when he wakes up and heads out to Naruto’s apartment and fixes him breakfast. Kakashi watches Iruka herd Naruto around the apartment, brushing teeth, getting changed, gods Naruto where’s your homework I told you to put it right back in your bag last night after I helped you with it. Then they’re out the door and one of them locks the deadbolt while the other activates the wards (Iruka always double-checks the wards if Naruto does them) and they walk to the Academy together.

Iruka spends the day in the Academy staunchly refusing to play favorites. If Kakashi didn’t know that the man had made Naruto eat breakfast while searching for a clean shirt for the child to wear, he’d swear Naruto was Iruka’s least favorite student—based solely on the amount of yelling.

But the two of them have lunch together, talk and hang out during recess unless Iruka shoos him away to play, and then they walk together to either Iruka’s or Naruto’s apartment after school. Sometimes they’ll go out for ramen, or to one of the training grounds to work on a technique they started in class which Naruto needs more time to fully grasp. Iruka is a patient teacher, especially one-on-one, and even though Minato-sensei’s son doesn’t perform well on the tests in school he learns the techniques after class and gains the appropriate muscle memory.

Which is admittedly much more important than the grades Naruto earns. Iruka won’t say as much, but it’s obvious that he agrees when his teaching style puts emphasis on practicals rather than paper tests. Kakashi approves.

After a day of minding twenty-five ankle-biters, an afternoon of extra training for the village jinchūriki, and an evening of making sure Naruto is fed and happy and his homework is completed to the best of his ability, Iruka then helps Naruto get ready for bed. Against the kid’s token protests, they’ll read a story together (Kakashi suspects Iruka does this because Naruto’s reading skills are lacking, but he could also very well just be doing it because he enjoys it—the man’s motives are enigma to him) and Iruka will tuck Naruto in. He stays at the apartment until he knows Naruto is asleep, tidying up here and there or even just leaning in the bedroom doorway watching the jinchūriki’s chest rise and fall.

Only when Naruto’s asleep will Iruka leave, activating the wards and locking up after himself.

It took only two times of Kakashi watching these kinds of days go by before he realized that Iruka knew he had been watched all day. As he passes the tree outside of Naruto’s building, the only one that reaches high enough to afford a glance into his apartment, Iruka looks right up into the limbs where Kakashi is crouched, waves, and continues back to his own home.

(He had been underestimating Umino Iruka’s awareness. He’s intrigued.)

(But anyway.)

Once he’s home, Iruka rushes through grading and lesson plans and adjustments. He makes lunch for himself and Naruto for tomorrow. Cleans, if he remembers; showers, if he has any energy left. Then, Umino-sensei crashes hard around one or two in the morning.

All to start over again at five-thirty the next morning.

It can’t be sustainable. Kakashi is morbidly interested in how long Iruka planned to keep up this kind of schedule.

~

It starts out with checking out during lunch. Kakashi is lounging in the trees on the Academy grounds, pretending to read but listening intently to Naruto ramble on about some new topping Ichiraku is introducing on Friday and please Iruka-sensei can we go? Then the soft click of dropped chopsticks against a bento box made Kakashi look down to the pair sitting at the base of his tree.

“Iruka-sensei? Are you—?”

“Oh, I’m. I’m alright.” Iruka laughs it off, fumbling for his chopsticks. “I was just thinking too hard there.”

“You shouldn’t do that!”

“Hu—?”

“You tell me not to think too hard all the time,” Naruto pouts. “That I’ll hurt myself.”

Iruka’s laugh crinkles his eyes and he tips his head back. “Gods, Naruto, I’m sorry—no, not—um. Listen, forget it, okay? Ramen, on Friday, right?”

“YES!”

And it was forgotten. Except, Iruka is unconsciously rubbing his fingers together beside his hip and Kakashi can see it. Something happened to force the drop—likely, he lost feeling in his hand briefly.

~

Kakashi’s out of the village as it gets worse, but he hears all about it from Shikaku and Inoichi when he gets back. They’re in the hallway outside the Hokage’s office, talking in low tones like they were discussing an attack on the village.

“What could cause such a serious mood shift?”

“Genjutsu; one of the other teachers sabotaging him; another student practicing poorly.”

“Iruka-sensei?” Kakashi asks.

Both men look at him as he approaches. He’s still in his ANBU armor, but the mask is in his locker. It’s an open secret he’s in ANBU; only his codename is high-clearance.

Shikaku nods. “Shikamaru’s complaining about the man’s temper being shorter than usual.”

“My Ino confirmed this behavior shift. We’re understandably worried, if someone if trying to use an Academy teacher to attack the kids—”

Kakashi shakes his head. “It’s not that.”

“And you would know?” Shikaku prompts.

“He’s taking care of Naruto,” Kakashi shrugs. “It’s probably catching up with him, finally.”

“What is?” Inoichi looks honestly confused.

Kakashi tilts his head and then realizes. “Ah. That’s right. You’re both married. You have a way to share the responsibilities.”

Sakumo hadn’t ever been irate with him, but Kakashi can remember him being tired. He lifts his hand and walks away. “I’ll see if I can’t have a talk with Iruka-sensei,” he says, as though he speaks with the man on a regular basis instead of just waving back from his shadowed space in the tree at night when Iruka leaves Naruto.

~

He doesn’t get a chance to talk to Iruka for weeks. When he gets back, it finally comes to a head.

Kakashi is perched outside Iruka’s apartment where he and Naruto are preparing their dinner. Naruto, still talking a mile a minute, hardly notices that Iruka is dazed at the counter, his hands going through the motions of peeling carrots and separating pieces of broccoli without being fully cognizant. He’s much paler than the last time Kakashi peeked in on them—all except for the bags under his eyes; those couldn’t get much darker if they were black.

He flinches forward as Iruka drifts to the side. Naruto catches his teacher before Kakashi can take a step, and the clang of a knife hitting the floor is more than a little startling. Together, they stick Iruka’s hand under running water from the tap, and then Naruto disappears further into the apartment and returns a few seconds later with a first aid kit.

“What was that about, Iruka-sensei?”

Iruka takes a bit to answer. “I haven’t been sleeping well,” he says. “I’m a bit tired, that’s all. Sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologize,” Naruto says. He finishes caring for his sensei and then says, “How about I go get some take-out, and then we can clean up and you can go to bed?”

Iruka smiles tiredly. “We can bring the take-out to your place, okay? I’ll clean up when I come back home.”

“But—”

“It’s okay, Naruto,” Iruka puts his unbandaged hand in Naruto’s hair. “I’d rather make sure you’re fed and well-rested for school tomorrow. That’s what's important.”

“You’re important, too, sensei,” Naruto says.

Kakashi can’t help but agree.

“Let’s go get some ramen, and we can argue about this later.”

Kakashi flashes away to Ichiraku to put in their order and pay. It’s the least he can do, right?

Later that night, Iruka leaves Naruto’s apartment and like always, lifts his head to wave up at Kakashi in the tree. Only, his eyes roll back with the movement of lifting his head and his knees collapse under him and Kakashi makes it just in time to keep the sensei’s head from hitting the ground. He catches Iruka with one hand under his back and the other cupped behind his head and eases him down against his raised knee.

As soon as Iruka is horizontal, his eyes flutter back open. “Oh, ANBU-san,” he mutters. He’s dazed and foggy, but tries to stand up on his own anyway.

“Sensei, are you well?” Kakashi asks, knowing the answer but needing Iruka to admit it.

Iruka waves him away. “I’m fine, I’m fine. Just a little tired.”

It’s more than that if you’re slipping into micro-sleep, Kakashi thinks, but lets the man stubbornly stand up. He’s still holding his hands out, ready to catch him again, when after five paces Iruka tips sideways and falls again. Kakashi keeps him upright this time, arms tight around his waist and back.

Iruka stays under for a few seconds this time, and when he wakes he leans more heavily into Kakashi’s armor and groans. “What’s happening?” he murmurs.

Normally, he would stay and look after Naruto all night, but this seems more important. “Umino-sensei, I’m going to see you to the hospital now,” he says.

“But… Naruto?”

Because of course Iruka figured out that Kakashi—his ANBU persona at least—stays close to Naruto at all times. “Together, our wards are top-notch, sensei,” Kakashi says. “He’ll be okay for a night.” He slips Iruka onto his back, pulling his arms over his shoulders. Iruka’s light breath huffs past his ear as he says, “Hold on.” Then, they’re gone.

~

Iruka wakes up much later, Naruto tipped against his hospital bed, snoring. He feels so much better after however many hours of sleep he’s gotten. He wonders briefly why he’s here, and where the ANBU that brought him here is. If Naruto is here, that ANBU is likely closeby. Iruka lets out a jaw-cracking yawn and settles back down on the pillow to sleep some more.

When he wakes up the second time, it’s because he has to pee so bad oh gods. It’s night time and Naruto is gone—Iruka tries not to feel disappointed. His legs shake under him when he tries to stand to get to the restroom; whatever’s wrong with him, it’s making him weak as a newborn but he will not embarrass himself by not making it to the toilet. He pushes chakra through his legs, and, finally, blissfully, makes it.

He gets a good look at himself in the mirror as he’s washing his hands. His eyes are puffy and red, but he has some color back in his skin. His hair could use a wash and some heavy conditioning—he hadn’t had time for that in awhile. All in all, it’s not bad; but he’s still wondering why he’s here.

Iruka leaves the restroom and is halfway across the room to his bed when his chakra flares unexpectedly. He stumbles, collapses, and feels his eyes blur and begin to roll back.

Before his head can hit the tile, he’s caught and cushioned by Naruto’s ANBU. The ANBU gently picks him up, one arm under his knees and the other around his back, and it’s like Iruka weighs nothing as the ANBU stands and carries him back to bed.

“Thank-you, ANBU-san,” Iruka says, flushed. “I promise I’m not usually so weak.”

The ANBU fusses with the blanket and covers Iruka back up. He (Iruka assumes they’re a he, the voice and height lead him to believe it but he’s been wrong before) seems frustrated, in the way that ANBU show frustration: by being busy, and then by being absolutely still. He’ll make sure the water pitcher is full, and then stand silently by the window for a few seconds. Pace the width of the room from window to door and back, and then stand at the end of the bed.

“What’s going on, ANBU-san? Is Naruto—?”

“Uzumaki-kun is safe, healthy, and well-cared for,” the ANBU says, cutting him off. “You are a godsend to this village, if only to care for the uncared for.”

Iruka glowers. “Someone had to do it. He’s seven years old and living alone and has lived alone his entire life. I couldn’t—”

“I’m aware,” the ANBU holds up a hand to stop his rant. “Believe me, if I could have done more, I would have. But an ANBU is no role model, especially not me. I’m glad he’s had you. That said.” The ANBU somehow matched Iruka’s glower through the mask; he was suddenly glad for all the time spent in Sandaime’s office around the ANBU that he can pick up on these micro-aggressions for what they are.

Iruka folds his arms and waits for the ANBU to continue.

After a heavy sigh, the ANBU says, “Sleep deprivation.”

“I—what?”

“What you’re here for. You’ve been running yourself into the ground, sensei. You slept for twenty-two hours, and you’re still not fully recovered. The medics say it could take up to a week of proper sleep for you to feel normal again.”

Iruka flushes and ducks his head. “I… But, that doesn’t…”

“How much sleep have you been getting? Three, Four hours a night? And then you’re exhausting yourself all day looking after pre-genin and then Naruto.” The ANBU folds his arms. “This isn’t sustainable.”

“I know that. I just.” Iruka groans. “I don’t have time for—” He scrubs both hands across his eyes. Now that he’s actually gotten some sleep he’s really tired. “No one else takes care of him, not the way he needs it; he’s just a kid! It bothers me enough that he lives by himself—”

“Your immune system was compromised when you arrived, sensei.” The ANBU snapped, quieting Iruka’s tirade. “Who’s going to take care of Naruto the way he deserves if you’re stuck on your back with a perfectly, normally treatable form of the flu? What will happen to him if you critically injure yourself due to a micro-sleep at an inopportune time and find yourself off-roster for weeks? What then, sensei?”

The silence is heavy. Iruka picks at a stray thread in the blanket on his lap.

“I don’t know,” he answers, his voice small. “I didn’t… I wasn’t thinking that far ahead, I guess.”

The ANBU nods. “At least you’re aware now.”

There’s a long, awkward pause as Iruka wonders what else there is to say.

“You have a spare room in your apartment, yes?” the ANBU breaks the silence.

Iruka nods, slowly, not sure where this is going.

“Maybe…” the ANBU continues slowly, “maybe changes in Naruto’s living arrangements can be made. If Naruto were living with you, could you agree to a better sleep schedule—one with which you can better take care of yourself and Naruto?”

Iruka could kiss this man.

“Yes! Yes, please, I’ll—yes! I’ll take him, even if it means I have to lose him as a student, I’d take him as a foster.”

The ANBU chuckles. “I’ll speak with the Hokage. If he says no, well… There’s nothing saying that Naruto himself can’t choose where he lives, is there?” Then his micro-aggression is back, leaning over the foot of the bed with his arms wide. “My only stipulation is that you take better care of yourself. A sick guardian can’t very well keep up with any child, let alone a jinchūriki.”

Iruka nods. “Deal.” He covers a yawn with his palm and asks, “Can this taking care of myself clause start now, with me asking you to leave so I can go back to sleep?”

“I’m not leaving,” the ANBU says, standing back up straight. “If you’re to be the guardian of our jinchūriki, you’ll need to get used to the ANBU guard, sensei. But please, get some sleep.” He chuckles lightly, “I think I’ve caught you enough in the last thirty-six hours, don’t you?”

[olivia-anderson-fanfic]

Alt Ending, Part 5

Hot take but finals kinda suck

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Tag: @solangelo252

You’d think her body would be grateful that she was finally giving it food, but no. She put it in her mouth and instantly felt nauseous. It didn’t even want to go down her throat, and keeping it there felt basically impossible.

But Tim had looked so happy when she had tried, so she forced it down.

(Well, she forced some of it down. If he noticed that a good amount of the food she brought to her mouth actually disappeared into the sleeves and folds of her dress he didn’t say anything.)

Tim started coming by three times a day with food after that. She didn’t complain despite her discomfort, she had really missed him.

Also, he looked stressed out and/or exhausted whenever she saw him. She worried about him. They both had a tendency to overwork themselves when they hit blocks, hell she’d sometimes joined him in his week-long deep dives into cases, but now that she was an outsider looking in… she was kind of shocked she’d ever let it get that far for either of them. When was the last time he’d slept through the night? Taken proper time to clean himself, even? A while, she guessed from the deep bags under his eyes and the way his hair was frayed from running his fingers through it.

“Timmy,” she chirped.

He flashed her a tiny smile. “Hey,” he said, coming over and taking a seat beside her on the bed.

She took the bag from him and set it aside, much to his dismay, but then she reached over and dragged him into some cuddles and he suddenly had new concerns. He groaned into her shoulder.

“Bean, come on, I don’t want to sleep.”

She didn’t let go. “You need to.”

“Don’t have time.”

She rolled her eyes, bringing a hand up to start attempting to smooth out his hair. “You have to sleep eventually.”

“And I do!”

She didn’t answer, which he took to mean she didn’t believe him (a good assumption, she didn’t).

“I do! I get at least a few hours a week.”

“Wow, amazing. I take it back. You totally have a healthy sleep schedule.”

“Worry about yourself, first. You don’t sleep either,” he huffed, but he was starting to relax into her hold nonetheless.

“I’m also literally dead.”

“You used to say you’d sleep when you were dead.”

Marinette scoffed. “Well, to be fair, I thought I’d actually die when I died.”

He gave a short laugh, and she opted not to acknowledge that it was a little forced.

She yawned and laid back with his face in her shoulder. “I’m surprised none of the others have drugged you to get you to sleep yet.”

“They’re too busy drugging B --.” He winced just slightly. “They’ve just got a lot on their plates is all, I’m the least of their worries.”

She didn’t say anything about his tiny slip up, just gave a light hum to say she understood.

She didn’t dare to move until she was completely sure he had nodded off. Even then, she only did so to pick up the food he’d brought for her.

Her nose scrunched a little at the prospect of eating, but when she opened it and saw it was fried rice she perked up a little. She nibbled at her food.

Honestly, she didn’t know if it was working. It seemed to be, but then again most of the things that got better could be attributed to other causes. Her skin was gaining color again, but the bleach may have just started to wear out. She was feeling more energized, but then again she was now getting a total of four cups of coffee a day thanks to Tim and Jason fueling her addiction. Exercise was getting easier and she was packing on muscle again, but she was also working out enough with Dick for it to be explainable that way…

She didn’t know if it was working. She didn’t even know if she WANTED it to work. The plan had been ‘kill Bruce and then quickly off yourself before the others can react’ and not having an instant out was kinda problematic when it came to finishing that plan.

Not that the first part of that plan was working out for her, either. Bruce still hadn’t come to see her. She doubted he ever would at this point.

She didn’t even have a way out, as the door was automated and presumably opened by someone outside.

No. The only way she would ever leave was if she managed to ‘fix’ herself, and that wasn’t happening because there was nothing to fix! She would know. Her entire thing as Ladybug was fixing things.

She looked down at Tim. When he slept all the little wrinkles in his forehead smoothed to make him look much younger. She smiled a little at the sight, pressing a kiss to where she knew the creases usually were.

At least, even if her situation couldn’t be helped, she could still help others.

~

She’d come to expect a routine of sorts, so the moment it was broken even slightly her brain short-circuited.

Duke stood in the doorway as usual, but when she glanced past him…

“Where’s Cass?”

His grin disappeared a little, but he pulled his back to his face with ease. “Wow, I’m really feeling the love here, Mari.”

She rolled her eyes. “Please, we both know Cass is the best person to ever exist.”

Duke nodded his agreement and came over to take a seat next to her. She cozied up to him as usual, curled under his arm as he pulled up their newest show on his laptop…

She had a lot of thoughts about Cass being missing.

On the one hand, she just missed her friend’s too-warm body pressed up against her and quiet complaints about how the actors were doing it all wrong.

On the other hand… Marinette was completely aware that they had Cass stopping by as much as she did to check on Marinette, to see if they were making any real progress with her. Cass was a human lie detector, able to detect when someone was going to be dishonest before they’d even realized it themselves, and they’d be stupid not to take advantage that. So, the fact that they were no longer making Cass drop in as often… either they thought she was doing better, or that she never would do better.

Marinette hoped it was the first. She knew it was the second.

She found it harder than usual to enjoy Duke’s snide comments about how dumb and cliche some of the characters were. She turned and pressed her face into his side. The glasses on the bridge of her nose dug into her skin.

Fuck. She was never getting out of there, was she?

She felt his free hand come up to run through her hair and she sighed.

“Duke…”

He pressed pause on the show.

“Tim told me you’re a meta, that you can control light. Can you do it for me?”

There was a beat.

“Why do you ask?”

She laughed a little. “Does it matter? Can’t I just be curious about why my favorite brother didn’t even bother to tell me that he has powers?”

“I thought you already knew. It’s common knowledge.”

She huffed. “Maybe I just prefer to be told things than meticulously look through every piece of information to figure it out.”

“What kind of bat are you?” He joked.

She winced and the hand in his shirt balled it just a fraction tighter. She didn’t respond.

There was a few seconds before he sighed and moved his hand from his hair to her chin, gently pulling her face out of where it was hidden in his side. She refused to meet his eyes.

It was silent again, neither of them sure what to say.

“Here,” he said after a moment, putting his free hand out and making light dance across his palm.

Her face lit up, literally and figuratively, at the sight of the tiny ball of light. She leaned a little closer.

“Aw, it looks like a tiny sun!”

He laughed a little. “Yeah. I can also…”

There was a moment of silence as he concentrated and the tiny ball of light split into the colors of the rainbow. She giggled, reaching out to cup his hand in hers. It was the first non-artificial light she’d seen in months, the first rainbow she’d seen since… Paris, actually.

Well, even if she wouldn’t ever see the outside world again, at least she could still have this little fake sun. It was basically the same, just as good, she told herself. She ignored the tears rolling down her cheeks that were telling her otherwise.

~

She tossed the plastic spoon she’d stolen from one of her meals in the air idly.

The plan had been to turn it into Baby’s First Shank but that probably wasn’t going to work out. Pen to the throat was at about a .01% chance of working, attacking him with a spoon-knife needed a few more zeroes added to that already insanely small number. She gave it a .000000001% chance at best.

Then again, the other option was trying to strangle someone who had an insane height and weight advantage to death before someone else could interfere...

She sighed to herself and put the spoon in her teeth, starting to pull.

She didn’t get very far before she heard the metallic whoosh of the door opening and she barely glanced up to see Dick.

He stared at her from the doorway, his eyebrows slowly raising as he watched her attempt to bite an edge into a spoon of all things.

She pulled it from her mouth with a ‘pop’.

“I think your eyebrows are trying to escape,” she told him.

He blinked at her before rolling his eyes and walking inside fully. “Thanks for the assist. Would have lost them otherwise,” he said sarcastically.

“I’ve seen you lose your phone three minutes after putting it down, Dickie, I wouldn’t put it past you.”

He gasped and rested a hand over her heart. “You think that low of me?”

“Lower. I was being nice.”

Dick pouted and walked over to the bed. She didn’t think much of it until he was diving onto her stomach. She put her hands out in an attempt to soften the blow, but it wasn’t enough to save her. She groaned in pain as his extremely hard head made contact with her not-so-hard stomach.

“FUCK. This is why your parents called you Dick, y’know!”

He only laughed at her.

Despite herself, she gave him a smile.

She rested her head back in the pillows for a moment (mostly just to catch all the breath she’d lost) before pushing him off. “Ready?”

He groaned into her comforter before rolling onto the floor. “‘Kay.”

Marinette grinned as she took a seat beside him, starting her usual stretches. He pushed himself up to sit with minimal groaning and started working on his shoulders.

It was quiet for a while as they stretched.

Marinette bit the inside of her cheek and kept her eyes on her foot when she spoke next: “Dick?”

She could feel his gaze on her.

“I… can I have some more stuff? Everything here is so boring. I just… I want new things to do. Or, at least, new things to look at.”

There was a long silence between them. Anxiety bubbled under her skin. She switched legs so she could gauge his expression through her bangs. His expression was carefully neutral.

She cringed.

“Obviously I’m not ungrateful! You guys have all been really nice and accommodating! I get food and a phone and, honestly, that’s fine --!”

“Mari!”

Her mouth snapped closed.

“It’s fine. You don’t have to apologize. Anyone would be bored here. I can talk to them. It’ll probably depend on what you want.”

She finally looked at him properly, eyes wide. She really hadn’t been expecting that to work.

He slowly pulled his legs to him to sit criss-cross applesauce, head resting on his hand. “I can probably get some baking things, a sketchbook, just blunt objects in general. Deadly, but not before someone could get there.”

Marinette nodded her understanding, a smile making its way across her face.

“You’re the best.”

“You constantly say Duke and Cass are the best.”

She was torn between agreeing with herself and flattering him. Since she wanted something, she decided on flattery: “That was, like, a few hours ago. I’ve grown since then. You’re my favorite now, Dickie.”

“Can I get that as my ringtone?”

“Only if you only use it to mess with Jay.”

“Deal.”

They shook on it.

~

The door whoosed open and she barely moved her head to look at it.

She froze.

Bruce?

No. No way. There was no way in hell.

But was there? Cass HAD stopped coming. Maybe she had somehow convinced them that everything was working out and everything was fine.

Marinette hadn’t done anything differently, though, so that probably wasn’t it…

Oh. Oh shit.

Maybe she was actually going insane. Because there was no way the bats would have made that kind of mistake by letting Bruce in when she was still intent on murdering him. He had to be a hallucination, because nothing else really made sense. Kwami, Tim was going to be SO smug about this one.

Actually, no, he didn’t have to know.

Her gaze slipped away from Fake Bruce and back to the dots on her ceiling. Because, as everyone knows, that if you don’t acknowledge hallucinations they go away…

“Marinette,” Fake Bruce said, trying to trick her into outing herself as losing it.

“Marinette,” he tried again, starting his way over.

She did her best to ignore the footsteps and the way the bed shifted when he sat down. No wonder schizophrenics fell for this shit, this was all so real…

Except... weren’t schizophrenics not supposed to be able to tell what was real and what wasn’t? Wouldn’t her knowing (thinking?) he was fake be an indication that he was actually real? Or was that just her mind trying to justify believing it?

Marinette bit inside of her cheek and let herself look at Fake Bruce again.

He cracked a smile for her. A hand reached over and pushed some hair away from her face. “Hey,” he said.

She hesitated.

It would suck if this all was fake, the others would get confirmation and she really wouldn’t have a way out. But if it was real then this was her only shot. If it was real Cass would be watching the cameras to see what she was thinking and she would know for sure that Marinette was still intent on killing Bruce…

Fuck.

Marinette pushed herself into a sitting position and looked Maybe-Bruce up and down before grabbing him by the front of his suit and pulling him into a hug. Tears pricked the corners of her eyes when he hugged her back.

“Fake.”

The man tensed underneath her and then sighed as he pulled back.

He gave her an awkward smile. “I’m sorry, Marinette.”

She shook her head slightly and fell back. With a flick of her wrists the knife she’d created out of her plastic spoon was in her hands and she absently tossed it at the hallucination. Either it would make him disappear or it would look like it stabbed him and she could pretend that it actually happened.

But then it didn’t do either of those things.

Her eyebrows knit together when the spife shattered upon impact.

He looked unconcerned as he gently swept all the pieces into his hand and then put them in his pockets.

“The fuck?”

“Language,” he chided lightly.

She grinned. “You really need to work on your ‘Bruce’. Accepting a hug that quickly is one thing but chiding someone for language? In OUR family? I’m pretty sure he gave that up by Jason.”

The man chuckled and shook his head. “I’m Superman.”

“Oh.” She blinked a few times before shrugging to herself. “Okay. You look just like Bruce. It’s kinda creepy.”

“Yeah, trust me, we know. It’s pretty helpful, though. One time a person tried to assassinate Bruce and ended up fighting me. It wasn’t their day.”

She smiled a little, but it didn’t last very long. She fell back in her pillows and glared at the ceiling. “This sucks.”

“I’m sorry this all happened to you. You’re just a kid.”

She rolled her eyes. She’d long-since given up on denying that something had happened to her. Not because she no longer believed it, but because it wasn’t worth the effort. No one ever believed her when she said it.

(Could she blame them? No. She almost believed it herself just a few moments before. Still annoying, though.)

Instead of saying any of that, though, she brought a grin to her face.

“You and B should switch houses for April Fools. See if anyone notices anything.”

~

She really should have noticed something was up when her coffee didn’t energize her at all.

It had all been going fine. She was making Jason dispose of all the pieces of food she’d used sleight of hand to get away with not eating (she was still a little bitter about him stealing her pen and this was the most she could really do to get back at him, compromised as she was). They made idle conversation, mostly just about how Damian had got himself a new pet cat that he had named BatCat (though, apparently, they had heard him slip up and call him Charles a few times). They debated over how good that name was and the merit of Jason’s suggestion -- BatPussy, of course -- as she drank her third cup of coffee of the day.

It was about halfway through her drink that she began to notice that something was off. She squinted at Jason suspiciously.

“Decaf?” She asked, her voice worryingly sweet.

He raised his eyebrows and tried to look unimpressed despite stepping back a good half-step. “Please, if it was decaf classical conditioning still would’ve made it work at least a little.”

She opened her mouth to retort, then realized he was right. Or, at least, she was pretty sure. She couldn't seem to think of anything against it.

She frowned, looking down at her drink again and swirling the contents around. She drank the rest of it, trying to figure out why exactly it wasn’t working.

Was she already at the point where caffeine had little effect on her again? She didn’t think she was that bad yet… hell, she probably couldn’t be because she was depending on others to give her her fix…

She shook her head slightly and then quickly realized that was a bad idea. Pain stabbed through her skull and she stumbled into Jason. The plastic thermos slipped from her fingertips and went rolling across the floor. Her head crashed into his chest and arms were quick to wrap around her.

“You got shitty coffee, try a different place next time,” she murmured, closing her eyes.

He laughed a little. “Yeah, okay, kid. I’ll be sure to do that.”

She nodded as much as her headache would allow and felt the arms around her slip down to pick her up. She blinked her eyes open blearily and regretted it when the light attempted to murder her via knife to the head.

Heh. Little light particles with little knives.

Wait.

Did she get a concussion? Somehow? Without getting hit?

She buried her face in his shoulder and it was then, as he set her in bed and tucked her in, that she realized what had happened.

“Bitch,” she murmured above whatever drug they had put in her drink.

He pressed a kiss to the crown of her head and she could do little more than scrunch up her nose and vaguely wave him off. Her eyes fell closed again.

~

Marinette woke up a while later.

The first thing she noticed was that the lights were dimmer, something she didn’t have to open her eyes to see because her head wasn’t pounding as much.

Then she realized a person was with her. They had entwined themselves around her, tangled their limbs with hers. They needn’t have bothered, everything felt like lead. She wouldn’t be moving for quite some time.

… why was she being held down? Oh no. That was probably bad, huh?

Marinette made a sound in the back of her throat and started trying to shift away from the person pressed against her back. She needed to see who they were. They didn’t bother to tighten their hold on her, she wasn’t really getting anywhere.

In fact, a hand stopped holding her down. Instead, it came up to pet her hair.

Oh? This was nice.

A voice by her head told her it was all okay. After a moment she realized she recognized that voice. She smiled sleepily. Cass. She liked Cass. She pressed closer to her and was rewarded with a hand rubbing up and down one of her arms.

She nearly fell asleep again. Cass was safe, Marinette was safe… the warmth against her and the soothing touch… of course, it certainly helped that the drug was still in her system and she was exhausted...

But then her mind wandered back to her first question. Why WAS Cass holding her down? Why did they drug her in the first place?

She moved so her hair could block some of the light and then cautiously cracked her eyes open.

The batboys were all moving things inside almost silently. Jason was carrying an entire fridge on his own. Dick and Damian were arguing over the positioning of the table they had just brought in through angry hand motions. Tim and Duke were working together on… was that a gaming set?

And she was being held down because the door was wide open.

Marinette looked at the doorway for just a moment longer. She allowed herself to imagine getting out and swinging through the city with her lasso, allowed herself to pretend she could lay in the grass, allowed herself to believe that she could see the sun and the stars and just breathe fresh air again…

And then she closed her eyes and sunk into Cass’s grip.

What was the point in trying? Even if she could somehow beat out all six of the people in the room with her and get past whatever security Bruce had to have outside of the room all while drugged… then what? No money or idea where she was… and she’d be running from the bats of all people…

Yeah. Useless. She curled up and allowed sleep to take her again.

~

Quite a while later she woke up and blinked a few times when she realized she wasn’t the only person in bed. At first she thought it was just Cass or Tim, they were the most likely culprits, but then she realized everyone had managed to cram themselves onto the bed with her. Her and Cass had gotten brushed to the side of the bed to make space for Tim, Dick, and Damian. Jason had collapsed across the end of the bed -- presumably for space, but Duke was laying half on top of him so that obviously hadn’t worked out.

Marinette smiled faintly and buried her face back into the crook of Tim’s neck.

~

When she woke up again, most of the drug flushed from her system (somehow…?), she thought she was alone.

This was fine. She was able to stretch out and sit up.

She blinked when she saw Damian, who was sitting on her floor and playing a video game.

Huh? Video game?

She looked around her room confusedly. The bats had basically made her a one-room apartment, complete with kitchenette and a tiny study area. Of course, it was much higher quality than the apartment she’d had, with a high tech gaming system and a little dining area and holy shit that was a MINI LIBRARY?

Wild.

“You’re finally up.”

She hummed lightly as an agreement. She crawled over to the end of the bed and smiled when he handed her a twizzler. It was objectively one of the worst candies, but she liked having something to do. She twirled it in her hand idly.

“Do you think… do you think it’s working?”

She frowned confusedly and dropped off the bed to sit beside him on the second beanbag chair. She chanced a quick glance in his direction to gauge how he was feeling... his expression didn’t let anything on other than that he was thinking hard, though she was pretty sure that was about the game.

“Gonna elaborate on that?”

He clicked his tongue. “Are you going to join the Undead Robins Club?”

She grinned at him. “I wasn’t a Robin.”

“You know what I mean.”

Her smile disappeared a little and she trained her eyes on the game. “I don’t know.”

“You know we never will know for sure, right?”

She blinked. She hadn’t expected anyone to acknowledge it. They were the bats, they were never going to chance taking off her glasses because if they were wrong and she WASN’T better… well, it wasn’t the kind of mistake they could easily come back from.

“Yeah, I know,” she said after a few moments.

“Do you care?”

“Doesn't really matter if I do. It won’t change anything.”

He frowned. “That’s not answering my question.”

She bit her cheek. “I… yes. I care. It still doesn’t matter.”

He looked like he was going to argue, but instead he just went back to playing the game.

“Damiiiiiiiii…” she whined and, when he gave a vague grunt to show he was paying attention, she continued with “... shouldn’t I get to play first? It’s mine.”

“You slept in too long,” he said without looking up.

She huffed. “Only ‘cause I was drugged!”

“Unfortunate.”

She got off the beanbag chair and whacked him over the head with it. He barely acknowledged it outside of an annoyed click of his tongue.

She huffed and pulled the chair back to herself to sit again. “Is it two player?”

“Nope.”

“You’re a bitch.”

He clicked his tongue again.

She pouted for a little while longer before looking back at the screen with a smile. “... heard you got a cat named Charles. Wanna talk about him?”

Damian’s face lit up. “Can I?”

“Only if you let me play.”

He looked pained. If he gave it to her then he’d be giving her something she’d want, which was a sibling no-no, but if he didn’t then she probably wouldn’t listen to him gush about his cat. A few moments went by before he reluctantly handed over the controller.

She beamed and scooted her chair over to rest her head on his shoulder. She could feel him stiffen underneath her but, when she didn’t move again outside of what was necessary to play the game, he relaxed again.

“I thought you were going to listen,” he chided lightly when she didn’t take a break between levels.

“I can listen and play.”

Damian sighed a little and shook his head.

“You don’t have to talk about him if you don’t want --.”

“I’m getting to it! So, he’s a black cat that apparently hadn’t been adopted because everyone thought he was evil so the pet store was going --.”

~

Marinette noticed something was up the minute the door opened.

First of all, it was Duke and Damian. That’s all that really needs to be said. Those two together… it’s never a good thing.

Secondly, they were there as Signal and Robin. Most of the time the others avoided even talking about their lives as vigilantes for fear of setting her off in one way or another, but here they were showing up in their suits? No, something weird was going on.

“Hey, Mari, can we skip a fight and you just put a bag over your head and let us pick you up?” Tried Duke.

Her eyebrows furrowed. “You want to…? Huh?”

“We don’t really have much time to explain. I’ll tell you on the way.”

Damian held up a potato sack and some twine, which really wasn’t all that encouraging.

She hesitated. “... what’s something only you two would know?”

“Really?” Said Damian with more than a little exasperation.

“Hey, we’re all bats here. I’m not moving until you prove you’re who you say you are.”

(Technically, if they were really Duke and Damian, they could fight her and do it anyways. She probably couldn't beat both of them at once. Still, that kind of fight would hurt all of them and she really didn’t want to have to do it at the moment.)

Duke hesitated before shrugging. “Your favorite ice cream flavor is mint. Which I don’t understand. Just brush your teeth if you like that taste so much.”

Marinette rolled her eyes. “Alright, you’re who you say you are. Robin?”

“… early on I lied and said that Nightwing’s real hero name was actually BatNightwing to mess with you both.”

She frowned. “I forgot about that. You’re a dick.”

“No, Nightwing’s a Dick. He’s a Damian.”

Marinette was THIS CLOSE to fighting them anyways.

But she didn’t. She was kinda curious about where all this was going. So, she allowed them to bind her hands and slip a bag over her head. Arms wrapped around her -- she didn’t really care who it was -- and she was lifted off the ground. Then, they were walking.

Part of her wondered if this was some kind of test. They were checking to see how compliant she was or how likely she would be to run once outside. Maybe they had Superman on call in case she tried to escape.

She really couldn’t tell.

She didn’t think that they had any reason to take her out of the perfectly safe and well-stocked place they had put her in.

Maybe her location had been compromised and they were moving her to a backup? No, that didn’t make sense. Duke made sense for transport, Damian didn’t. Damian was one of the worst fighters in the family (he was in no way BAD at fighting, of course, it was just a byproduct of being in the game the shortest amount of time and not being a meta) and he was the second most likely person to end up fighting her after Jason. What the fuck?

Wait, Duke said he’d explain on the way.

“What’s going on?”

“New idea on how to bring you back,” said Duke simply.

Well, she guessed that was more information than she’d previously had. She’d take it for now.

She heard a quiet whooshing noise and frowned confusedly, only to feel herself get set down… somewhere. She felt carpeting underneath her, which meant she was in… a house? No. A car, she thought as she noticed the quiet hum of an engine. She’d been put in the fucking trunk. She kicked out as much as she could without knowing exactly where they were and gave a cry of protest, but then the lid was clicked over her head and she was thrown into uncomfortably complete silence.

She scowled to herself. She shouldn’t have thrown her spife at Superman, it would have been really useful right then. She tested the bindings against her hands and winced at how tight they were. Did they really use zip ties? Those were notoriously bad for circulation.

… oh. Yeah. She was dead. That actually wasn’t that bad, then.

Still annoying. Hard to get out of. Assholes. She wondered if it was worth dislocating her arms…

Yeah. Probably. If she could get out then she would be OUT.

She flipped herself onto her stomach. She pulled her feet up to her arms and then started pushing back. Her body strained in protest and she bit down on the front of the bag over her head to stop herself from making any sounds.

And then she felt a pop in her left shoulder and a flare of pain and the makeshift gag wasn’t enough to hold back her sobs. Her arm throbbed and it was only made worse when they reached the city proper and the roads started getting choppy. Every little bump in the road sent a new wave of pain rolling through her and all she could do was ride it out.

They started hitting smoother roads what felt like hours later... it was kind of concerning because she had no clue where they could be, those were uncommon in Gotham, but at least she no longer felt like she was going to die every few seconds.

She took a few seconds to bring her breathing back to normal before she started slowly wiggling her arms out under her butt and legs and then they were in front of her. Great. She picked herself up as much as she could in the tiny space, checked her angle mentally, relaxed her muscles, and then dropped down on her shoulder to get it back in place.

She breathed out a sigh of relief. It felt weird and still kind of hurt but at least it was mostly better.

She pulled the bag off of her head and relished in the slightly fresher air.

She looked down at the zip ties on her wrists and she sighed a little. Time to do that hack that looked stupid but actually worked if the kidnappers were stupid enough to leave you alone.

She brought her feet up, untied the laces of her shoes, and tied them back around the ties. Then she set to work trying to saw at the zip tie.

She paused when she heard the low rumbling of a plane. Were they near an airport? Oh. That was going to be a problem. She went faster.

Unfortunately, Marinette didn’t get very far before there was a click and the trunk opened.

She cried out in pain at the sudden light and squeezed her eyes shut, turning to press her face into the carpeted interior.

Hands grabbed her and pulled her out of the trunk. Before she could do much to look around so she could get her bearings and make herself a portal, the bag was forced over her head again and a strong grip on her arm (the good one, thankfully) kept her from pulling it off again. Then someone knelt in front of her and fixed her shoelaces.

“Really, NightMare?” Duke said, unimpressed.

“In my defense, I was left unsupervised.”

Damian scoffed.

Someone picked her up again and she sighed as they carried her along. They were definitely at an airport. She could hear people milling about. She was sure it was Gotham, too; she could feel a few stares, but most people seemed comfortable with the vigilantes among them.

Then came the normal airport stuff. Walking. Some arguing over whether she counted as luggage or if she could go through the metal detector with them. Sitting. A little chatting with civilians. More walking. More sitting. Very light chatter, just formalities and asking for drinks (Duke, who she figured out was the person carrying her, slipped a box of orange juice up her bag so she could have something). And then they were in the air.

After some time in the air the bag and zip ties were removed. She kept her eyes closed to let them adjust to light naturally and instead focused on rubbing feeling back into her hands.

One English alphabet later, she opened her eyes.

They were in a private plane (or was it a jet?), which explained why it was as quiet as it was. Damian was drinking a glass of water and reading something on his phone. Duke was nibbling at some complimentary pretzels and working a Rubix Cube. They both glanced in her direction from time to time, but they seemed pretty confident that she couldn’t do anything while they were in the air (which was true, but annoying).

She looked around a little more and found that there were no other bats.

“Um… where’re…?” She trailed off, unsure.

They stopped glancing in her direction, ignoring her and her question. The frown that had been on her face since pretty much when they’d first taken her from the room deepened.

“Do they… do they know what’s going on?”

The silence spoke volumes.

She rested her head in her hand. “I’m going to need something stronger than a juice box for this.”

Duke sighed but called a friendly looking woman inside to get her some wine. Marinette and Duke sipped at a glass each (Damian wasn’t allowed any, something Marinette took a little too much joy in). She scrutinized the two over the rim of her glass.

“Are you going to explain or let me guess? Because letting me guess is going to end up with me assuming you’re doing something way worse than you actually are.”

Damian sighed a little. “It’s hard to explain.”

“We’re in a plane. I’m going to guess we have time. Start talking.”

“We drugged them all -- except Orphan, she’s just out doing patrols and won’t know what’s going on for a good few hours -- and grabbed you.”

Duke gave Damian a pleading look to make him continue for them.

Damian, reluctantly, put down his phone to talk. “Signal and I have an idea on how to bring you back from the dead. The others won’t like it, especially not Red Hood, so we’re making the executive decision to not ask.”

Marinette didn’t know a lot about when Jason had been resurrected, it was a sensitive subject so it was avoided pretty much at all costs. All she’d gathered was that it was a rather messy experience for everyone involved.

She rested her head on her hand and then looked back down at her drink. She snatched the bottle from the table and, when Duke protested, set him a glare and started drinking directly from it. They were actually going to bring her back through probably shady means. She was NOT drunk enough for this shit.

~

She got stuffed in a suitcase when they left, which was extremely insulting (and a little embarrassing, if she were honest).

She rested her head against the side of the suitcase and listened to the dull thrum of people talking on the other side. She vaguely recognized the language, both Nino and Damian both spoke it when frustrated, but the words were all Greek to her.

Well, they were all Arabic, but you get the point.

~

She didn’t even realize she had been asleep until she was awoken. Rather abruptly. The zipper for the suitcase was opened and she tumbled out. Marinette cursed in French as she hit the ground and laid there, her entire body aching from not moving for so long. She hadn’t known her face could get pins and needles, she wished she could go back to her blissful ignorance.

“Are you sure about this? You want to save her?” A woman’s voice said above her, sounding a little skeptical.

Marinette forced herself to roll over so she could glare at whoever it was, she knew when she was being insulted, and then she blinked up at the new person.

A tall woman with dark skin and hair and a body to die for stood above her, hands on her hips.

“Holy shit, Dami. You got terrible genes. She’s gorgeous and you’re… you? What?”

Duke hid laughter behind his hand and Damian scoffed.

Amusement flickered behind Talia’s ‘I could kill you before you could even scream’ expression. “I’ve changed my mind. I like her.”

“Cool,” said Marinette as she quickly pushed herself to her feet. Her body wasn’t ready for that, but that was the least of her concerns. The pretty lady was ushering her along and Marinette wasn’t going to hold her up if she could help it.

“How did you die?” Talia said, which was an interesting choice for conversation.

Marinette shrugged, though, unconcerned. “I don’t know, really, there wasn’t this ‘oh, wow, I’m dead’ moment. My guess is I either drowned in acid or died of dehydration at some point. Does it change anything or…?”

“No. Just curious.”

“Oh. Good.”

“... do you not know why you’re here?” Asked Talia carefully after a moment’s contemplation.

Marinette shook her head. “Nah, they’ve been avoiding telling me. I assume it’s painful.”

“... yes. Very.”

The four lapsed into silence after that.

Marinette felt weirdly on edge as they walked through the facility, her hands rubbing the goosebumps that were prickling along her arms. The further they walked, the more on edge she felt. They were approaching something unnatural, something so undeniably WRONG, and she needed to GO.

But Damian and Duke were behind her, probably sensing her unease, and running ahead would only get her there faster… so she walked.

She bit the inside of her cheek in an attempt to ground herself.

But, the moment they stepped into the room, she froze.

Green water. That apparently hurts.

Acid.

“FUCK.”

Duke was ready for her to run, apparently, stood in front of the only exit and ready for a fight before she could even get a full step away from the hell that awaited her.

“No no no no no no wait it’s fine I actually don’t mind being dead it’s fine guys please --.”

Damian grabbed her arms and she choked out a sob,

“Damian god damn it I was kidding about the mom thing you’re perfectly attractive or whatever I promise I really didn’t think it would hurt you that much we don’t need to do this let’s tALK IT OUT --!”

“It’s not about that --!”

Duke managed to get a hold on one of her legs and lifted and all she had to struggle against either of them was a foot and she was SO fucked --.

“PLEASE DUKE PLEASE I DON’T KNOW WHAT I DID BUT I PROMISE I CAN BE BETTER YOU DON’T HAVE TO DO THIS PLEASE PLEASE LET ME GO I’LL BE FINE WE CAN FIGURE SOMETHING OUT PLEASE --.”

Talia grabbed her last leg and she sobbed as she thrashed around uselessly. They started dragging her towards the acid. Nothing to do no way to run no help in sight no --.

“PLEASE! I PROMISE I’LL BE BETTER PLEASE JUST LET ME GO!”

And they did. They let her go and she fell into the acid.

[dollfaceeeeee]

How the Avengers would react if you flinched when they tried to touch you..😭

I have been dealing with the aftermath of domestic violence for a couple years now, and with intense PTSD and panic disorder, this was so calming to think about tbh.

Tony Stark: Oh gods, he would notice, with immense distaste. He would probably hesitate to touch you afterward, but he would be gentle about talking to you about it, and would reassure you over and over that you’re safe, and that nobody will ever hurt you again. He may also ask for addresses and names, just because he’s..well, he’s Tony. He’s got the power to do crazy shit. And if he cares about you, can you imagine what he would do to someone that hurt you? My sweet man.

Steve Rogers: He would be horrified that you would ever think he would hurt you. He would probably tell anyone else in the room to get lost and sit you down and just hold you, telling you that you’re safe with him always, that nobody will ever hurt you again. He wouldn’t push you to talk about it, but if you wanted to, he would listen. He’s not one to reveal his anger as easily as Tony or Buck, but it would break his heart to hear about it, that’s for sure. He would leave the killing to Bucky and Loki tbh, but he might join in too. Maybe.

Bucky Barnes: He might be hurt, physically, that you would think he would hurt you, but he wouldn’t be surprised at the action. He was a scary guy, at one point or another, but he would gently pull you in against him and squeeze you so tight you couldn’t breathe, maybe even sway with you for a while until you felt better. And then, he’d blow up, ask who the fucker is, where they are, and wouldn’t take no for an answer. He would be on a death mission with only one thing in mind, and that’s keeping you safe. That’s all he cares about.

Thor: Honestly, he might not catch on at first, because he probably doesn’t see domestic violence as much at home, but after you explain it to him or get emotional, he would want to understand what he did wrong. He doesn’t seem like the type to push you, but he does seem like the type to go in to hold you, maybe run his fingers down your back, and just kinda curl himself around you protectively. He would probably bring you to get food too, and maybe ice cream to cheer you up.

Loki: OKAY so the tough one. On one hand, he may understand why you might flinch around him, but boy would he explode once you told him it wasn’t from him, but from..someone else. Holy shit he would be a time bomb. Who is it? Where are they? Do they have a DEATH WISH? He would slide those daggers out like nothing and call Bucky to assist him. He’s out for fucking blood. He would probably leave Thor to babysit you in the meantime lol.

Bruce Banner: Soft boy would be HORRIFIED. He would get it because the green guy can scare people sometimes, but of him? Oh no. He would bring you somewhere quiet and make you a cup of tea and just kinda talk to you gently about it, rubbing your shoulder when it gets tough. He’d probably also put a movie on afterward and just hold you, just to remind you that you’re safe with him. He’s definitely a snuggler.

Natasha Romanoff: She would be joining Bucky and Loki. Someone HURT YOU? Death, on the spot. Of course she would want to understand what happened and if you’re alright, and she would probably just talk to you one on one if you needed it, but she would give you her full attention. And then afterward, she would be joining those boys on a death mission. Those three, as a group, with Wanda too? And CAROL? I mean, RIP whoever decided to lay a hand on you.

Clint Barton: Oh he would be HARDCORE concerned. What do you mean you’re gonna flinch when he raises his arm? Why? He would bring you in the kitchen and force you to talk to him about whatever the hell that was while he makes you a grilled cheese. I mean, what kinda sick fuck hurts someone like that for no singular reason? He’s such a dad, but he’s got your back, always.

Wanda Maximoff: I’d tell her literally all my deepest secrets. She would never take anything personally, but she would be upset that someone blatantly hurt you. Why would they hurt this small, ordinary human? Absolutely not alright. She would hold you for however long you wanted and then make you some good food for dinner while she made you laugh. When you went to bed, though..like I said, she would be joining the death party. Sorry.

Pietro Maximoff: PIEEEEEETRO. He would be so confused, and unsure of what to do, but he would probably blatantly ask you if you wanted the person to die like it’s a normal question, like “hey what’s for dinner?” Yeah, like that. He would make a big blanket fort with snacks and soft blankets and hold you until you fell asleep, and wouldn’t sleep a wink, keeping watch over you the entire night. He’s ✨soft✨.

Vision: He would try so hard to understand what the fuck is going on, but his mind would have a hard time processing why the fuck some idiot would ever hurt you. Why? For what purpose? Even after explaining it, he would probably just be infuriated, no matter what you say. How could they do this to you? Those assholes. He would probably offer a hug, or something to eat to make you feel better, but he would be plotting their demise. Guaranteed.

Carol Danvers: She would start a full out war, given the circumstances. How dare some scummy human being hurt you? She would show them, and make it the worst day of their lives. No matter how much you tried to calm her down, she would be out for blood. No way this woman would NOT be are you KIDDING? She’s too spicy for that.

Sam Wilson: He would also be another one I would tell literally anything to. He would be incredulous that you would ever think he would hurt you, but man would he pay attention when you told him. All that man would do is pull you into his arms, hug you as tightly as he can, and tell you everything is alright now, he would never let them hurt you again, and that he loves you. Sammy just seems like a guy that would tell you he loves you during something traumatic like that.

Doctor Stephen Strange: Another one that wouldn’t quite know how to react. He would probably be confused, at first, and then deeply concerned for you once he caught on, and would probably ask to speak to you about it whenever you were ready. He would probably mention that you can come by later to his room to talk about it when everyone else is asleep so it’s a calmer atmosphere, and would probably rub your shoulder as he passes you, but that’s it. And that’s enough.

Peter Parker: My devastated little bean. He would be WILDLY apologetic, thinking he did something wrong, and just saying he’s sorry over and over and wondering what he did wrong and how to fix it, but then when you explain, he wouldn’t be so..apologetic. Peter would probably order a pizza and pull you onto the couch with him and let you choose a movie, and just let you curl in against him. He would probably fall asleep with you, too, while Tony has to pay for the damn pizza.

T’Challa: Um..tbh I feel like he would be furious, in a plainly way to put it. That guy has venom in his eyes every time he’s on screen, and this wouldn’t make him feel any better. Of course he would move to comfort you first, but that man is a whole king. You think he wouldn’t do something about it? Say goodbye to whoever hurt you. He would take them off the map.

Scott Lang: He would probably joke about it at first and think you’re just messing around, but he would be absolutely devastated when you get upset over it. He would be HORRIFIED that he upset you, and would probably try desperately to talk to you about it, or try to make you feel better. He would probably end up getting knocked out by Sam or Bucky, but he would welcome it after that lol.

Valkyrie: She would not probably comment on it until you guys were alone, because she might think it’s a private matter for you and she would respect your boundaries, but if you got seriously upset on the spot she would probably pull you into a hug and yell for everyone to get the fuck out. She wouldn’t make you talk about it, but she would know when you needed to be alone, so she would make sure you got the time you needed. If you needed her afterward, she would be there.

Groot: I AM GROOT. That is all.

Rocket: A lot like Antman and Thor, he would probably joke about it or think you weren’t being serious at first, but after you were, man he would be upset for you. He would probably comfort you by telling you jokes to get you to laugh, or something, but in his mind he would probably be plotting the end of a pitiful human being far away.

Gamora: She wouldn’t let that shit go, no sir. She wouldn’t pester you, but man she would want to know what the hell that was about, and what stupid, God forsaken bastard decided that you were a punching bag. Not on her watch. Be prepared to tell her, because she won’t let anything like that go. I don’t make the rules.

Peter Quill: Idk if he really knows how to be serious at..serious times..maybe? Anyway, he would make sure to never move that sharply around you again, and wouldn’t say anything about it unless you wanted to talk to him about it. He might ask the others what was going on with you, but he’s not the type to show that he cares about a lot of shit. Sorry, Quill.

James Rhodes: He is such a dad lol. He would be taken back by the action, don’t get me wrong, but he also wouldn’t be one to let it go. Who is it? What happened? He might not be aggressive about it like the others, but he would want to know that they are long gone now, and he would remind you that you’re safe.

Nebula: Ah shit, what did she do wrong now? That’s it. Haha.

Baron Zemo: Who the fuck was it? Who the FUCK hurt you? Oh no, Zemo would be out for blood. He wouldn’t need a team, or partners in the quest, nah, he would be going alone and would scare that bastard in their beds in the night. DING DONG, it’s the boogeyman, I’m here to end you for your bullshit choices.

Hope van Dyne: This badass Queen would not back down from asking you about what was wrong. Did someone in the compound hurt you? Did she have to kill them? But when you tell her, she would be horrified for you, and offer to hurt the person that hurt you. An eye for an eye, right? Up to you.

Drax: Do they need to die? He would do it for you. No charge.

Mantis: She would read you like an open book the second you flinched, so don’t try to deny it, or say that it was just a reflex. She would probably have a detox night and make nachos with you and throw on some comedy movie she heard about from Rocket. She wouldn’t let you hurt on your own. She would be there.

Wong: UGH what a GUY. He would probably make you some soup because it’s the ultimate comfort food and talk about it together. He wouldn’t get agitated, or force you to open up too much, but he would offer his company and his attention as long as you wanted it.

Okoye: She would probably be with T’Challa tbh. Sorry. She would be out for some tucking vengeance.

Shuri: She would be the one to bring you along with her somewhere private, wrap you in a blanket, and hold your hand as she urged you to tell her what the hell that was. She would be one of the best at comforting, and afterward she would show you around her collection of inventions to make you forget about that stupid, repulsive human being.

Pepper Potts: Someone..HURT YOU? Oh no. She would go right to Tony with it and demand that the two of them do something to avenge you. There is absolutely no way that she would let that slide. She would also make you your favorite food, some warm cookies, and get a bath going for you to help soothe you.

Korg: Dude is made of rocks. ROCKS. You expect him to understand what the fuck is going on? He would probably get a video game going to let you release some anger and ask Thor for help in the meantime.

[halfway-happyyy]

The Autumn Cottage

Happy Saturday friends! Autumn has arrived in full force where I live and I couldn’t be happier about it. To celebrate, I have written a sappy, smutty piece inspired by the current weather and this ask that I received: Can u give us a oneshot about a snuggle fuck w alex in a cozy cottage in the fall?

One of the greater joys in her life had to have been waking up to autumn's fickle fingers trying to desperately to reach her from the comfort of her woolen blanket. She watched, sleepy and bleary-eyed as leaves in shades of crimson and burnt umber drifted past her window in no particular direction. Her fingers roamed over the left side of the bed in search of him. Alexander's silhouette was barely visible through the indigo morning light, though she could make out the prominent line of his nose, and the slight curve of his bottom lip. Unmistakable in the minimal glow of dawn was the familiar glitter in his eyes, the glint that said so much about him and then nothing at all in equal measure.

“Good morning.” She whispered, and even that felt like too mighty of a disturbance in the stillness of their bedroom in the cottage. Though if he minded, he never let it show.

“Good morning yourself, kid.”

She reached the tip of a finger towards him wordlessly and brushed a feather-light touch down the bridge of his nose. Moving lower, she outlined his lips and grinned into the air before her as she felt him smile against her touch. She moved around his face with care, tried to memorize each delicate crease and wrinkle in her wake, tried to commit to memory the aspects that he resented about himself, even if she loved them beyond measure.

“Beautiful,” Alexander murmured as he brought the back her wrist to his lips, kissing the soft flesh there passionately. He brushed the pad of a calloused thumb over the rounded curve of her warmed cheek. “Like watching a flower bloom right before my very eyes.” They stayed like that for longer than either of them cared to admit; she could count on one hand in the past year that she had spent a weekend with him like this- alone and entirely undisturbed from anything and everything. He had broached the subject of a rented cottage in passing one morning a few weeks ago. It was one of those mornings where something had gone awry at every turn, and everything had been a blur. He had been late for something important, that much she could remember. He had rushed around the kitchen in a fury, muted Swedish curse words coloured every second sentence. He was out of breath when he reached the front door, weighed down by his leather laptop bag, but before he left, he turned to her and smiled. “Let’s get away together, kid.” She had taken it with a grain of salt until he returned home that evening, tired from a rather long shooting schedule, but in a fantastic mood all the same. “I mean it. It’s about to be a beautiful autumn. Let’s get away, just the two of us.”

“Shall I make you a coffee, or are we just going to lay in bed and stare at each other all day?” She offered him a cheeky smile and an exaggerated eye-wiggle which he simply laughed at.

“I have half a mind to choose the latter option, but I really do need some caffeine this morning.”

She nodded finitely and leaned in for a kiss, the innate push and pull of it caused a fire to ignite deep within her for him. She could easily spend the rest of her life doing this very thing; loving him fiercely and being loved back just as hard in return. “Alright,” She gasped as she pulled away from the allure of his hot, wet mouth. “Meet me in the kitchen.” She rose from the bed silently and padded over to her suitcase that was propped up on a wicker chair in the corner of the room. She noticed Alexander’s cream Sherpa sweater hanging over the arm of it and she ran a fingertip over the unbelievably soft material.

Alexander must have been watching her because when he spoke, his voice still gravelly from recent sleep, he startled her. “I’d be happy if you wore that, today.”

“You would?” She had been eyeing it ever since he’d brought it home from a shoot a month ago. She longed to wrap it around her frame, the sheer feeling of it luxe and utterly comforting on her bare skin. Especially as the months would inevitably grow colder.

“Watching you wear my clothing does something for me, kid. I love seeing how happy it makes you.”

With a small smile, she lifted the sweater over her head and let it fall into place on her body, the hem of it falling just above her knee. She pulled her hair from the confines of it and let it fall in waves down her back. “How do I look?” She asked.

“Beautiful,” Alexander murmured.

Satisfied with his answer, she made her way down the hardwood-floored hallway to the kitchen. She had thought at first that the silence of the cottage would be too loud; that city life had turned her into a creature who thought she craved noise on a near-constant level. But to her pleasant surprise, it had taken less than twenty-four hours to grow accustomed to it, and she knew now that she would miss it dearly when it was their time to go home. Eliciting a yawn, she stood on tiptoes and tried to remember which cupboard Alexander had hidden the coffee beans. Without warning, a large hand reached up above her head with ease and produced the bag for her with a sly smile. “I’d have found them eventually…” She muttered.

“Oh, I have no doubt of that. But- would you have been able to reach them?”

She shook her head and let out a small laugh. “Cheeky, vertically-adept bastard.”

They made their coffee together in silence. It had been one of the many things that drew him to her in the beginning. Where conversation seemed forced with every prospective partner and lover in the past- everything flowed the way it was supposed to with Alexander. There had never been a need to fill the quiet with empty words and small talk. It was a wonderful change of pace. “You hungry yet, kid?”

She remembered the basket of farm-fresh eggs in the fridge, thought of the loaf of homemade bread next to the coffee machine and her mouth watered tantalizingly. “I could definitely eat.” She watched him move around the kitchen with ease; watched the way his worn sweatpants hung low from the edges of his hips. She watched the way his muscles flexed in the light pouring in through the stained-glass window above the sink. She had always been struck silly by the beauty that this man possessed; but the notion that his soul bested his looks would never cease to leave her in utter awe. “What have you got on the go today?” She asked, a fork full of fluffy scrambled eggs rested in her hand.

Alexander passed a napkin over his lips, swallowed the bite of food in his mouth and shrugged. “Thought I might chop some wood for a fire tonight.”

She could hardly contemplate it now; the thought of watching her man hulk through multiple logs of wood caused her to physically clench her thighs together. “You plan on doing that soon?”

“After breakfast.” He confirmed.

True to his word, after the last dish had been washed and dried and properly put away, he stalked over to the coat hook in the front foyer and threw a sweater over his naked chest. Turning to her, he eyed her up and down and cocked his head to the side; a small smirk pulled at the edges of his lips. “Care to keep me company?”

Reaching for a blanket and the book that she had started yesterday morning, she nodded her head. “Lead the way.”

It was warmer outside than she had originally anticipated, though the autumn wind had picked up a little more voraciously, and she marveled at the falling leaves the same way she had earlier that morning. The sky above her was cloudless and a bright azure blue and she found herself thanking a higher being for the blessings in which she had been given. Opening the book to the page she had last left off on, the sound of an axe ripping through the middle of a log rang out through the clearing and she knew then that she would not be getting any further reading done this morning. Instead, she watched in awe as Alexander lifted the axe high above his head and brought it down with a force she had rarely seen before, the log splitting into two pieces and falling away from the stump. It was poetry in motion, really. Alexander’s hair was the longest she had ever seen it; the sandy blonde tresses were grown out and regularly fell over his eyes but she reveled in it. Of the many years that they had known each other, he had always kept a mostly clean-shaven face but quarantine, and the filming of a particularly brutal Viking revenge drama had rendered him more manlier and distinguished than she had ever thought possible. “You are fulfilling lumberjack fantasies for me that I never knew I had!” She called out to him.

Alexander tossed his head back, a hearty laughter bubbled up from the back of his throat and exited his mouth like music from a box. “You can lie to me, but you can’t lie to yourself, kid. I see the way you look at me when I put on my old and holey plaid jacket.” He took a break from chopping wood to wipe the sweat from his brow. “To add to this- you also purchased me a very expensive axe a few years ago for my birthday.”

“Guilty,” She muttered under her breath.

“But rest assured I am elated that this-” He gestured to himself. “Does it for you.” 

The morning continued on in much the same fashion until maybe an hour or two later when Alexander joined her from her perch on the wrap-around porch. Falling into a bench opposite her, he took a few moments to try and regain his breath again. Beads of sweat gathered at the base of his forehead and his broad chest heaved under the weight of recent physical duress. They each viewed each other with a hunger usually only attained after seeing one another for the first time in months. “Come here.” He ordered, softly. She rose from her spot without hesitation and sauntered over to where he sat. He pat the front of his thigh twice, a silent instruction for her to have a seat. She straddled his lap with ease and wrapped her arms around his neck; the heady scent of his perspiration and body wash made her lightheaded with want. It took every ounce of self-control not to grind shamelessly down on his steadily growing erection. As he held her tightly to him, his warm, broad hands rubbed reassuring circles into her back. She shivered into the touch as Alexander kissed his way up the side of her neck, his mouth leaving trails of fire in its wake. “You cold, kid?”

“No.”

He kissed his way up the base of her throat, past the jutting outline of her jaw, and finally to her lips. His mouth still tasted faintly of the maple syrup he had poured over his pancakes hours earlier and the urge to devour everything he had to give her was overwhelming. “You like me like this, don’t you?” He smirked. “All sweaty and dirty from working hard and chopping wood for us?”

“Yes.” Her eyes slid shut and her head fell back as he continued kissing and sucking at the sensitive skin at the base of her throat. All the while his hands roamed greedily over her sweater-clad body, squeezing, and rubbing as they traversed.

“You want me to take you right here, baby girl?” His voice grew gravelly again, though it had nothing to do with sleep this time. “I don’t even have to touch you to know that you’re already soaked for me.” The wind had picked up again and had begun to blow her hair around her face, the cool breeze a welcome reprieve to her heated body. Alexander was fully erect now, his hard cock throbbed tantalizingly at her thigh. She sucked her bottom lip between her teeth and lifted the hem of the sweater to reveal her panties, and the wet patch that had grown steadily in the crotch of them. Alexander reached for her and slid two fingers past the flimsy material to her soaking folds. Immediately she leaned towards him to tuck her face into the crook of his neck, but he stopped her with a soft click of his tongue. “I want to see your face when you come for me, baby.” He brought a free hand up to caress her cheek, and as he held her, he brushed a thumb over her bottom lip. She parted for him without thought and began to suckle softly at it as his other hand started to delve deeper inside of her. He had perfected a rhythm with her now; one that no matter how many times he had pleasured her, would always be the fastest way to get her unravelling for him.

“More,” She gasped when two fingers just wasn’t enough anymore. Alexander nodded wordlessly, his gaze searching her own. He added a third finger inside of her, the stretch of it almost too much to bear.

“So fucking wet for me, baby.” He groaned, as he began to pump harder into her. He could feel her clench around him, could feel the soft, wet button of pleasure at the tips of his fingers. She sucked harder at his thumb the closer she neared to her orgasm. “You’re going to come for me soon, I can tell…” He murmured as she started to ride his fingers. “And don’t you dare be quiet about it.” He warned.

These words had helped to spur the wave of pleasure building in her belly and she arched her back against his fingers, her nails digging miniscule crescent shapes into the soft skin of his shoulder blades. “Fucking hell, Alex…”

He nodded up at her. “You look so fucking beautiful like this, my queen. That’s a good girl. Come for me,” He then angled his fingers in such a way that he had her screaming his name into the wind before them, her voice raw with unbridled pleasure. She continued to ride his fingers until she came down from her high, dropping her head to rest in the warm comfort of his neck. She couldn’t be sure how long she had taken solace there, but he eventually patted her bottom. “You came so good for me.” He pressed warm, wet kisses against her temple.

Taking his chin firmly in her grasp, she gazed at him. Unending vast oceans of blue peered back at her and took her breath away. “It’s your turn.” She crashed her lips against his again, the need to have him inside of her entirely all-consuming. He lifted her up in one fell swoop, standing tall from the bench as she wrapped her legs around his waist to keep from falling. He carried her into the warmth of the cottage, stumbling down the length of the hallway to their bedroom where he laid her as gently as he could manage, on the bed. He made impressively quick time of ridding himself of his clothing, and as he stood before her, naked and unbearably erect, she realized that she genuinely loved the man before her. It had occurred to her before that she felt this way, but she could honestly say that no matter what they would go through together, no matter the pain he would put her through in future, she loved him deeper than she had ever loved anyone before. “Come here,” She insisted.

Alexander crawled up the length of the bed, holding her head in his hands as he did so. He entered her all-consuming heat with a loud groan, the feeling of him stretching her to maximum fullness was incomparable to any pleasure she had experienced before. Having him inside of her was a comfort that she never knew she needed until it had happened. As he moved inside of her, his head dropped to her shoulder where he scattered dozens of open-mouthed kisses to the skin there. She held him tightly to her as he bucked his hips against her, his cock managing to hit all of the essential nerves each time he bottomed out. He was muttering nonsensical things now, random pieces of Swedish and English found her ears and she smiled into their embrace. She clenched around him after every other thrust, and soon his movements had grown sloppy. “Fuck,” He growled as her fingernails raked through the soft, firm skin of his broad back.

“You feel so fucking good, Alex.” She gasped against his bearded cheek.

He cried out as his hips stilled against her own and she could feel the familiar throb of his cock as he spilled everything he had to give, inside of her. He allowed himself a few more powerless thrusts, and another low whimper before he pulled out of her completely. She found his sudden absence almost painful. They remained like that for an unknowable amount of time, each just trying to catch the breath that they had lost a while ago. Eventually Alexander turned on his side to view her, bringing the back of her hand to his lips and kissing it gently. “I love you, kid.”

A crimson leaf lay next to his head on the down pillow, and she smiled softly to herself. “I love you too, Alex.”

[tenmillionwhumperflies]

Cloudwalker Series Part 11

Not sure if anyone’s actually still interested in this but I still love it and I enjoy writing it so I’m going to keep going. Now we start making Avizon nicer, only for worse people to later enter and whump the beans.

Warnings for this one are more squick warnings. Ihuka has wound fever, and there’s a part where feathers are put back onto his wings with magic. Master-list Here

Approx WC: 1700

Ihuka’s fever did not improve by morning, that much was clear when Dyan came to Avizon alone and asked him for guidance. Avizon went down to their room to see what was wrong with him, to see how sick he’d gotten. Ihuka didn’t even raise his head when the door opened. The discomfort was clear on his face, the blankets were on the floor and the mattress was damp with sweat.

Avizon grimaced. “His wounds were cleaned, he shouldn’t have gotten this ill...” but even as Avizon spoke, he examined the lash marks, the skin red and shiny, he saw the burn, he felt the heat behind the skin which made Ihuka groan and try to move away. He could see where his wings were getting red and developing mottled skin. “Too much,” Avizon mumbled, though more to himself. “He doesn’t look like he’ll be able to fight off this fever on his own. He needs medicine, and if not… magic.”

Ihuka whimpered as Avizon picked him up, and Dyan was surprised to see that he picked him up without using magic. Ihuka’s head fell against his chest and he shivered as his bare wings almost trailed across the floor.

“S.sorry...” Ihuka managed, swallowing hard. It was enough to make Avizon feel a pang of pity for the creature, a twinge of guilt. This was not how he wanted him to be at all. He wanted them trained, not terrified of him. He had gone too far- he should have known better! Perhaps he really was an evil sorcerer, but he didn’t want these two beautiful creatures to think of him that way. Maybe he really was a fool for thinking he was capable of anything but hurt. How had he been so blind?

“Follow.” Dyan obeyed, following Avizon up the stairs of the tower until they came to Avizon’s office, where he did most of his potion-making and other work. Dyan had spent hours cleaning the table the day before, sanding it and varnishing it and now Ihuka had been settled onto it. Ihuka writhed on the wood and tried to crawl off, but Avizon’s heavy hand on his shoulder, as well as gentle hushes was enough to make him stay still. He whined as Avizon turned him over onto his front, being careful when he moved his wings.

“You will be alright, little bird. You can sleep.”

Avizon spent hours tending to him, cleaning and resealing wounds, wiping him down with a cool damp cloth, while Dyan could only watch with wide eyes. Avizon gave Dyan the cloth and the instruction to keep dabbing his face and neck while he hurried to prepare a potion. He boiled it down, and added one ingredient after another, not caring how it bubbled and fizzed and glowed until it formed a strong elixir to help him fight the fever. 

He should not have hurt him so much. Why could he only see it now that the fire had left Ihuka’s eyes? Now that he’d broken him down enough to obey, was he able to acknowledge just how fragile his body was, how thin his arms and legs were. He should have known that hurting him so much would bring on a fever, even if Ihuka had bitten him. Perhaps he should not have lost his temper so badly, he should have stopped the punishment once he'd knelt the first time…

Why was he such a monster? And why were these thoughts only entering his mind now? Why was it only clear now the damage had been done? He felt the desire to confide in his old master, but that would have to wait- that was, if Orrien even wanted to talk to him.

Avizon approached Ihuka again and sat him up, cradling his head in his arms once the elixir was ready and cool. “Drink, little one. Drink.” Ihuka tried to look even smaller in his grip, and although he did succeed in that, it wasn’t going to stop Avizon. “Drink. Dyan, translate it for me. He must drink, it will help him get rid of his illness.”

Ihuka wasn’t paying him much attention in his lethargic state. Avizon carefully used his thumb to part his lips, to ease his mouth open just enough to pour the liquid in a little at a time. Ihuka shuddered and managed to grab hold of his wrist.

Dyan stood, shuffling from one foot to the other. “Is he going to be okay, master?” Avizon looked up at his sorrowful face and nodded softly. “I will do all I can… In truth I don’t know.”

“We have stories,” Dyan practically whispered. “That our wings… our feathers, are what give us our strength...” Dyan stopped himself, but Avizon could finish his sentence for him ‘and you took them away’. “The feathers give you vitality? The magic inside them...”

Light magic was in need fragile, Avizon forgot that. He was so used to dark power, so used to not caring, not having a need to care. Perhaps it was being in the presence of light magic again that had made him realise just how cruel he had become. His heart sank. So many people that he loved would have been devastated at what he’d become… What would his beloved Ro have thought?

Avizon looked at Ihuka and sighed. “How long does it take you to grow your feathers back?” “Months… maybe less if we're warm and fed.”

Avizon smoothed the hair out of his face. “If he does not improve on his own within the next few days-" No, not a few days. Ihuka’s weak cough made it clear he might not have a few days "Dash it all. Dyan, get the bag of his feathers.”

Dyan did so with a confused frown. He held it out to him and watched as he took out a single black feather, examined it, and then traced his finger over the nib. He murmured something, a sound Dyan had never heard before, some sort of spell perhaps, and the feather floated all on its own when he let go. It swayed slightly before it went to Ihuka's wings and settled down near the skin on the underside of his wing. There was a bright glow, and Ihuka whimpered. Once the glow died down, Dyan was able to see it had fused on his back again, as if it had never been taken away.

“This will take time, and it will hurt him. You have my permission to leave the room.” Dyan swallowed hard. “I don’t want to leave him- if that is allowable?” “Yes, but do not get in my way.” Dyan knelt by Ihuka’s head once Avizon eased him back down against the table and turned him onto his front again. Dyan offered all the comfort he could as Avizon worked. Some feathers only drew groans, but the biggest feathers were enough to make him scream. He was crying by the end, clawing at the table beneath him, but he couldn’t get up.

Yet, the longer Ihuka endured, the more feathers that were returned to him, the easier it was for him to move, to breathe, to speak. It was helping.

“Alright… that is all the feathers I can salvage. He does look better… unless that’s simply the elixir.”

Avizon picked him up as his body shook with little sobs and eased him down onto a bed by his desk that he’d prepared for him earlier that morning, a nest made of pillows and blankets for him to sleep on. “Hush, little bird, hush… I know, I’ve hurt you again, but this was for your own good, look, you have your feathers back, they’re back to stay. Good bird, good bird. Shhhhh.” Avizon decided it best to just step back when Ihuka didn’t calm after a minute. “I’m going to go and eat. Stay here with him, Dyan, calm him if you can.”

Avizon let out a half frustrated sigh before he slipped away out of sight. Ihuka raised his head but he didn’t have the strength to hold it for long. “What d.did I do wrong?” Ihuka croaked at Dyan. “Was it because I couldn’t do what he wanted?” “No, Ihuka, he put your feathers back, he helped you. It… just hurt to put them back. I had no idea humans could do things like that...”

Ihuka forced himself to sit up.

“What does it mean? Why would he...” “Because you…” Dyan bit back his answer of telling him he was dying. “You were really ill. Master was worried.”

“What does that mean… for us?” Ihuka whimpered. Dyan pursed his lips and looked up at the door. “It means things might get better, but I don’t know for sure… You should sleep, little firefly. Save your strength.”

“How do I thank him? What… what is the word?” Dyan smiled sadly before he told him and helped him practice.

When Avizon returned a little while later, Ihuka crawled towards him. Avizon walked forward to meet him halfway. Ihuka reached for his leg but thought better of it and tried to get on his knees, to hold the position he’d suffered so much to accept. He fluttered his wings a little bit and looked up at him. “Thank you, master, I’m sorry...”

Avizon crouched, and it was only then did Ihuka realise he was carrying bowls of food. “Here, little bird- back on your bed. You don’t need to thank me.” Avizon put the bowl down by the blankets and gently ran his hand through Ihuka’s hair, before it settled on his warm forehead. “Not when I was the cause of it,” he mumbled. “Eat, and sleep. You’re still slightly feverish.”

Ihuka curled up with his wings around him, which, although patchy in places, looked a great deal better than before. The bed was beside Avizon’s desk, near his chair, so Avizon could reach down whenever he wanted. Ihuka didn’t look too afraid when he sat down, though he looked to be enduring it more than relaxing. Perhaps time would change that. “Now then, Dyan, back to work, yes?” “Yes, master.”

[marvelousstevetony]

Hi! I was just wondering if for the emotions prompt thing, you could do insecure Steve. With Steve being nervous about Tony thinking he is gross when he’s sick? Maybe he’s worried because another avenger in the tower was sick and Tony seemed disgusted by it... so Steve assumes Tony will feel the same about him? If that’s too specific, feel free to do whatever with insecure :) Thank you for your writing! :)

Ahh, anon, it’s not too specific at all! This prompt is so soft and so so sweet. I’m sorry I’m taking so long to answer these prompts, but I’ve beens super busy lately. I hope you see this and enjoy this little ficlet <3

3.1k, steve/tony

***

“Don’t you think you’re being a tiny bit… overdramatic?” Bruce asked cautiously.

“What? This?” Tony gestured to the medical mask he was wearing, as well as the plastic gloves and the disinfectant spray he held defensively in front of him. “Absolutely not.”

It was Friday evening and the entire team was gathered, for once, which could only mean one thing — team movie night. It had become a routinely thing for them, and every movie night seemed the exact same. They always watched something different, but everything else was just like it used to be.

Well, almost everything.

During the first couple of movie night, every team member had found their regular seat. Nat had quickly call dibs on the large armchair closest to the kitchen. Bruce had claimed the second armchair that stood on the opposite side of the sofa, and though Thor was often off-world doing off-worldly stuff, he would usually sit in the bean bag whenever he was at the Tower. The sofa was occupied by Clint, Tony and Steve; Clint in the end closest to Nat, Steve in the other, and Tony was squeezed in between them.

It had been like that since they established team movie night, but this time, Tony was going to break the tradition.

“Tony,” Steve sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Please, just sit down.”

Steve tapped the empty space in the sofa next to him and sighed yet another time when Tony grabbed a spare chair and put it next to Bruce.

“I am,” Tony said as he sat down in the solid, uncomfortable seat with a thump, “sitting down.”

“Tony,” Steve said again, this time with an exasperated tone.

Tony just quirked a brow and eyed his usual spot with disgust. “You’re dead wrong if you think I’ll sick next to patient zero over there.”

As if to prove Tony’s point, Clint wrinkled his nose and coughed harshly into his fist. Steve looked sympathetically at the archer and scooted over, filling the place Tony normally would. “Then we’ll switch seats,” Steve said persuasively.

Tony went quiet, gaze flickering between Clint, Steve, the empty seat next to his boyfriend and the wooden stool he sat on. After a few seconds of deliberation, Tony seemed to have made up his mind.

“I guess that’s… negotiable,” he drawled, but he had already started moving towards the sofa, and when Steve lifted his arm for Tony to fit under, the brunette cuddled in close. Steve smiled in victory and pressed a kiss into Tony’s soft, messy hair.

Tony sighed contently against the warmth of Steve’s body, suddenly feeling sleepy, and he let his eyes fall shut. Just a few seconds later, however, Tony took a peek at Clint through narrowed eyes.

“I’m keeping the mask and gloves, though.”

***

The next morning, Tony was called to an SI-meeting in Tokyo. He and Steve had only been together for about two months, officially dating at least, but Tony was already in so deep that he couldn’t picture not sleeping next to Steve for an entire two nights. Steve had chuckled at him and kissed his pout away, wishing him a safe flight.

On Monday, the day Tony was going to be back in New York, Steve woke up with a sore throat and a stuffy nose. His head felt fuzzy, like it had been stuffed with cotton, and his vision seemed to blur when he sat up a little to quickly.

He reached for his phone, then blinked rapidly and turned down the brightness, his sensitive eyes still not fully adjusted to being awake. When he could see somewhat clearly, he saw a message from Tony.

Good morning, handsome. Can’t wait to see you tonight. Might be late for dinner but I’ll be home before bedtime. xx

Steve smiled, looking forward to being cuddled up in bed with Tony after a couple of nights of sleeping in a bed that was far too cold and far too large despite Steve’s super-soldier sized body. Then, suddenly, a cough rattled through him, and Steve bent over a the waist with the force of it, and he was left wheezing slightly.

It felt familiar; Steve could never forget feeling this way, this fatigued and feeble.

He was sick and he internally cursed Barton, positive that he’d spread his germs during movie-night. But then Steve remembered that he was the one to voluntarily sit next to his cold-ridden team member and basically placed himself directly in the risk zone.

Steve sighed heavily. Maybe he should’ve taken a page out of Tony’s book and worn a mask.

***

“uhhTSCHooosh! Ugh, excuse mbe.”

“Bless you,” Natasha said, an off-hand comment as she continued looking at mission files, but she nudged the tissue box closer to Steve when he kept sniffling into the cuff of his hoodie.

Steve grabbed a tissue and scrubbed at his nose with it, sighing a stuffy thanks into the material. He blew his nose quietly to stop the sniffles, but it only seemed to intensify the lingering itch. He could feel it burning all the way from the back of his nose, but it seemed stuck, leaving him with teary eyes and a series of false starts.

“h’ehh! ehh- snff! Uh- h’uh!”

Steve’s breath caught, the itch now filling his entire head, and he shook his head uncontrollably, trying to impede the sneeze, or coax it out, it didn’t really matter. All he wanted was to get rid of the irritation, one way or another. And after a few seconds, the tickle grew stronger, his nose twitched violently once, twice, and then he drew in a sharp breath.

“uhhhISH’uhh! huhHIISHHoo! USHHiew!”

Steve sighed, satisfied when his head was cleared from the buzzing sensation, but he felt bleary and snuffly after the forceful sneezes.

“Geez, Rogers, you’re a mess.” Natasha looked up from the files with a concerned expression. “Bless you.”

“I know… sorry,” Steve said shyly, rubbing the back of his neck. “I think I picked up Clint’s cold.”

“You think?” Natasha raised an eyebrow and smirked, but it was good-naturedly and her eyes were kind. “From what I can tell, this seems worse than what he had, though.”

“Yeah, I, uh, snff! I don’t think I’ve had a cold this bad since before the serum.” He tried to recall when he last felt like this, like he might pass out from exhaustion, even though he hadn’t moved all day, but he just remembered the times when Bucky had taken care of him before the war. “I’m alright, though.”

“Sure you are, tough guy,” Natasha grinned as she stood up and dipped down to squeeze Steve’s shoulder as she headed towards the kitchen. “So, what kind of tea do you like?”

***

“Sorry, Cap,” Clint said, sounding genuinely apologetic as Steve recovered from a coughing fit.

Steve shook his head and swallowed a sip of water from the glass Clint had given him as soon as he’d started coughing. “Not your fault,” Steve croaked, his voice raspy.

Natasha took a bit of her apple and leaned across the kitchen isle, glaring at Steve with examining eyes. “I still don’t get it. You were fine last night.”

Steve shrugged and ran a hand over his face. “I guess it just hit me all at once.”

Clint just hummed, and Natasha frowned, but didn’t say anything for a while.

“I think I might go to bed,” Steve announced after a few moments of quiet. Natasha and Clint exchanged a look Steve was too tired to even try to interpret what meant. He pushed his chair back from the table and stood up, crossing the kitchen to put his glass in the dishwasher.

“Bed? It’s 7:30, we haven’t even had dinner,” Clint pointed out.

“I’m not really hungry. I think I just need to lie down a little,” Steve said and smiled tiredly, trying to look like he was still a functional human being even though he was sick, but failing miserably with his bright red nose, watery eyes and slumped posture.

“You sure?” Natasha asked. “We can make soup for dinner, it’ll be good—”

Steve shook his head. “Sorry, I’m just not hungry… thanks, though. Really.” He smiled at them again and walked out of the kitchen, turning left around the corner.

“Uh, Cap?” Clint called out, confused. When Steve’s head popped back into view, he continued. “Your rooms is the other way, pal. You sure you’re okay?” Clint’s tone was light and jokey, but behind it was a thick layer of concern.

“Oh, yeah… Yeah, I’m just going back to my old quarter.” Steve pointed a thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the room Steve had slept in before he officially moved into the penthouse with Tony.

“Why?” Natasha asked, also confused.

“I, um… Tony’s coming back tonight and I just… God, it’s so stupid.” Steve chuckled self-deprecatingly. “I just don’t want him to see me like… like this. Everyone saw how disgusted he was when Clint was sick, and now I’m the one who’s all gross and germy and…” he trailed off as Clint and Natasha looked at him with soft expressions.

“Steve, if you think Tony’s going to break up with you because you’re sick then you’re an even bigger idiot than I thought,” Natasha said, voice somewhere between sincere and exasperated.

“… I’m too tired to take offence to that,” Steve sighed. “I’m not worried about him breaking up with me, he’s not a monster… he’s coming back from Tokyo and he’s probably exhausted, and he definitely doesn’t want to have to deal with… all this.” Steve made a vague gesture to his face and completed his sentence his a sniffle.

He sniffled again, and as if on cue, his nose twitched. Holding a fist loosely in front of his face, he jerked to the side and let out two throat-scraping, congested sneezes.

“hrruuushhh! Hrrushch!”

“Bless you,” Natasha and Clint said in unison. Steve acknowledged the blessing with a nod and reached into his pocket and pulled out a crumbled tissue to sniffle into. He looked absolutely miserable, his nose chapped and raw, cheeks flushed from fever and his eyes were glazed over and completely drained from energy.

“Look, Steve… I’m positive Stark won’t mind, and if he does, then that’s his problem. It has nothing to do with you, and everything to do with his own messed up mind, okay?” Natasha’s eyes were wide, and her eyebrows were drawn into a frown that said do you understand? It softened, though, when she watched Steve duck his head and his lips curl upwards.

“Thanks, you guys,” Steve mumbled in a small, fond voice.

“You sure about that soup, though? Or tea, tea would also be-“

“Not hungry,” Steve repeated, almost sounding sorry. “I’ll head up then. And, uh, thanks… again.” He smiled faintly and walked out of the kitchen. A few moments later, the two spies heard the ding! that sounded form the elevator heading for the penthouse.

***

“Honey, I’m home!” Tony called out as set down his briefcase before toeing off his shoes and loosening his tie. He sighed contently at the mixture of the relief of being home and the thought of finally getting to cuddle up next to Steve. When his boyfriend didn’t answer, he called out again. “Steve?”

Looking at his watch, Tony frowned. It was barely 10 pm, which was a lot earlier than the time usually went to sleep. He went to check the bedroom anyways, but the bed was empty and unmade, which… that was odd, because Steve always made the bed.

He wasn’t in the bathroom either, so Tony went back to the living room, and… oh.

On the sofa, lying in a nest of pillows and blankets, was Steve. One could only guess at how Tony had missed that when he walked in, but he was tired and jet-lagged, so he excused himself. He went over to examine the den and smiled adoringly down at Steve. His face barely peaked out from the cocoon he was wrapped up in, but Tony could clearly see the relaxed expression on his face.

Groaning as he sat down next to the sleeping soldier, Tony rubbed a hand up and down what he thought to be Steve’s arm. He couldn’t quite tell, though, through all the layers, but he kept smoothing his hand over the blankets until Steve’s eyes slowly fluttered open.

“T’ny?” Steve rasped.

“Hey, you,” Tony said, smiling. “What are you doing out here, hm?”

As Tony’s hand moved towards Steve’s cheek, the soldier drew back. At Tony’s bewildered appearance, Steve explained.

“Don’t— uh, you probably shouldn’t touch me. I, umb, snff! I have a cold.”

Steve blushed, and the pink tint to his cheeks wasn’t from the fever as much as it was from embarrassment. He glanced at Tony, then turned his gaze away when he felt Tony’s eyes locked on him. He drew even further away from Tony when he felt a well-known tingle in his nose, nostrils quivering and face crumbling before he stifled two sneezes into the blanket.

“huh-NGxtt! Hnngt-Ngxt!”

“God bless you,” Tony murmured and placed his hand on Steve’s cheek even though Steve had told him not to. “Why didn’t you tell me you were so sick, honey?”

That was… not quite how Steve had expected him to react, but he melted into the gentle touch, too selfish to flinch away again.

“I didn’t, uh-huh! s-sorry, hh-! H’ushoo!” He sneezed more freely this time, curling away from Tony. “Excuse mbe, SNFF! I didn’t want to bother you with it.” He felt kinda silly saying this, especially after seeing Tony so… not bothered at all.

“God, Steven, you could never bother me,” Tony said as he ran a hand through Steve’s sleep-mussed hair. “How long have you felt bad?”

“Just since this morning… been tired all day, though, so I thought an early night would do me some good.”

“Why aren’t you in bed then?” Tony asked, looking at the massive pile of blankets.

“I knew you were coming home, and I-I just thought it’d be better if I slept out here so I wouldn’t disturb you.”

Tony rolled his eyes. “Didn’t you hear what I just said? Disturb me,” he said incredulously. “Why would you think that?”

Steve felt himself go shy. “Because I’m all… icky and gross and— and I know you don’t like germs  and all that, so.”

“Please, Steve, I don’t care about that. You’re sick, there’s no way I’m not taking care of you.”

Steve thought his heart might have doubled in size with emotion, warmth flooding in his chest as Tony soothingly stroked his forehead.

“Sorry,” Steve said. “You just seemed at little… twitchy when Clint was sick, so I figured…”

“I know. Maybe I was a little overdramatic… Only a tiny bit, though,” Tony smirked and Steve chuckled.

“Well, look where it got me.”

“Hm… I’m sorry if I seemed insensitive, and I’m even more sorry if I made you feel bad for being sick. Friday was just… long and exhausting.” Tony sighed. “I promise you, I don’t mind one bit of this.” He leaned in closer to Steve, pressing a kiss to his forehead and letting out a concerned noise at the feel of burning hot skin against his lips.

“You need to get out of these. You’re burning up.”

Steve whimpered in protest as Tony tugged at the blanket. “But I’m cold.”

“You’re running a fever, Steve… We need to get you some medicine and into bed, okay?”

Steve nodded and slowly sat up straight, feeling woozy at the shift in position. Tony steadied him and helped him to his feet, bringing an arm around Steve’s waist and guided him towards the bedroom.

“Sorry I’m so sick,” Steve murmured, slumping onto the bed and started pulling his hoodie over his head, leaving him in his sweatpants and a white t-shirt.

“Shh, don’t apologize,” Tony cooed. “Get comfortable, I’ll be back in a second.”

The comforter was cool when Steve’s shifted underneath it, feeling good against his feverish skin and sent shivers down his spine. He leaned back into the pillows, head resting comfortably, and closed his eyes with a quiet moan.

Steve wrinkled his nose and rubbed firmly at it, trying to impede the building itch, but within a few seconds it became too strong, and he pulled the collar of his t-shirt over his mouth, waiting for the inevitable sneezes.

“Hh… eh! Heh’CHushh! TSS’hhuh! snfSNF! Hh’tsh!” He released his grip on the tee and gave a little ticklish cough, muttering under his breath, “Jesus.”

“God bless you, sweetheart.” Tony emerged from the door, carrying an overloaded tray. “Good thing I brought tissues.”

“Along with half of CVS,” Steve sniffled and smiled softly.

“These are essential, Steven,” Tony defended and sat down on the bed. “Tissues, Tylenol and de-congestants, some… other thing I found in the cabinet, tea…”

“I think I’ve had enough tea for a lifetime,” Steve admitted, but he reached out and grabbed the steaming cup anyway.

“Sick people can never have too much tea,” Tony said, putting his hand in Steve’s hair and massaged his scalp gently.

Steve sighed, feeling tension he hadn’t even noticed was there bleeding out of him, and snuffled into the tea. The steam made him able to breathe through his nose again, but it left him sniffling and it made his nose run. He gratefully accepted the tissue Tony offered him and handed over the cup before blowing his nose.

Tony hummed sympathetically when blowing his nose made him cough, and Steve went a little bashful at the attention. “Sorry…”

Tony shook his head, wanting to tell him not to apologize for what felt like the tenth time within the hour he’d been home, but instead he snuggled closer to him, wrapping an arm around Steve’s broad shoulders and placed a soft peck into the messy, blonde hair.

They ended up putting on an old 80’s movie in the background while Steve took the medicine and finished his tea. After that, they cuddled up, Tony telling him about his trip to Tokyo and the SI-project they were starting, but before Tony got to the part where he got off the plane in Japan, Steve had dozed off, his head resting against Tony’s shoulder.

[ashintheairlikesnow]

The Rescue, Part 3

I finally got the final part of the Rescue edited and ready to post! This is the third and final part of the series on how Danny and Nate got out of the cabin in Canada. Please read The Rescue, Part One and The Rescue, Part Two for context and to maybe have a refresh! 

CW: STRONG dissociation (it’s a main theme of this piece and is vividly described), references to noncon and torture. Muzzling. 

@whump-it, @finder-of-rings, @bleeding-demon-teeth, @spiffythespook, @burtlederp, @whumpywhumper, @18-toe-beans, @pumpkinthefangirl, @special-spicy-chicken, @whale-whumps, @swordkallya

The Rescue Part One || The Rescue Part Two

Nate Vandrum had a plan, but it took him most of a month after the day he was allowed to bring Danny back up from the dog kennel in the cellar to figure out where Bram hid the drugs.

Once he found them - in a small wooden box under a loose floorboard in the back of the bedroom closet, a place Nate and Danny never went because it was where Bram kept all his things that caused pain or worse - he began to pinch, just a little at a time, from each little bottle or bag.

Ketamine, ecstasy, rohypnol - this and that, the things Bram used sometimes when he wanted Danny to be fucked up and foggy for days, or affectionate and touchy, or just to knock him out. He didn’t use them any longer - Danny with the thing on his face day in and day out was obedient and blank-faced, an empty body that breathed and ate and moved in the bed, did as it was told and nothing more.

Danny was someone else, twenty-four hours a day, and Nate had waited too long trying to find the courage to save him but he wasn’t going to wait much longer. It was already becoming clearer every day that he was running out of time entirely before Danny was gone and didn’t come back.

By mid-November, the leaves had long since changed and fallen off the trees - the ground already hard and frozen - and he had all of it he would need. A mix of powder and crushed-up pills, every fucking drug Bram kept here. Not enough missing from any one stash that it would be obvious, but hopefully enough to buy Nate some time.

He has a plan. He would wait until mid-December, and he had one month to have everything ready.

He had his own hiding places, spots Bram didn’t know about because Nate had never had anything really worthwhile to hide. Danny never spoke any longer so he couldn’t tell on him - and Bram couldn’t see everything, could he?

Sometimes, Nate thought he could read minds. This time, Bram never showed a single sign that he knew Nate was up to anything at all.

After midnight, Nate would sneak out, put on a movie like in the days before. He moved Danny onto the couch where he would stare, blank-eyed, at a screen he didn't ever seem to really see. Sometimes he sat with him, rubbing at the places where the thing hurt the most, trying to calm the pain in his jaw for as long as he could.

Every time he touched along the edge of the muzzle, Danny would lean hard into the touch, using the pressure of Nate’s thumbs to soothe himself, all with those empty eyes, with all the core of Danny absent and only the body left behind. This Danny did not feel pain or fear unless he was actively being hurt. This Danny only sat where he was placed, cooked meals, made drinks - all of it with nothing behind his eyes.

With each passing week, that initial burst of rage on Danny's behalf cooled in Nate, set and hardened into a hatred that overrode every ounce of love Bram had forced him to feel. 

What had been a forest fire became coal. What had been coal became a diamond

Bram could not see it.

Nate wanted Danny back, and watching him drift like a ghost doing whatever he was told had eaten away at him, day by day, until all that was left was the determination to get him the fuck out of here.

The mix of drugs, a handwritten note with all the directions he could remember Bram turning when he drive into town (left, straight for a long time - counted to 200 at least three times, turn right, more straight, turn left after counting to 75, left again after count to 50), a match here and there - Nate squirreled it all away, bit by bit, in the bookshelf behind his collection of leather bound Tolkein - a gift from Bram after one supply run, one of the most wonderful things the monster had ever given him. He didn’t dare to hollow anything out - he loved these books, that felt like sacrilege - but he slid little things here and there behind them, his black-handled knife with the silver stag engraving down into the loosening spine of the Silmarillion, and if he was careful, no one saw him but Danny.

Danny, still trapped in silence inside his own head, didn’t even seem to notice, not even when he was staring directly at him as he did it. He knelt on his mat, quiet and dazed, his eyes following Nate’s movements with a total absence of comprehension.

It was the eyes that drove Nate on, those empty fucking eyes. Bram never took the fucking thing off, and Danny - funny and sarcastic and kind of sweet Danny, who he'd taught four kinds of dance by now and who could do all the lines to Casablanca and who sometimes hummed music he remembered while he scrubbed the floors - never came back.

Even Red, nervous and eager-to-please and always trying harder, trying to be so good, didn’t come back. Watching a muzzled Danny move was like witnessing a walking corpse searching for a grave to fall into, simply waiting for permission to decay.

In October and November the leaves went bright and brilliant and then fell just as rapidly, the nights cooled and then shifted to icy winter, and Bram spent his days outside preparing for the snows that would all but shut them in here until spring. He knew something was different, he had to, but Nate smiled and stuttered said I love you and was everything he wanted in bed and did everything just right to hide the chorus of I'm going to save him, you fucking bastard that sang inside his head.

Nate took his chances when he had them, and he was careful. He asked for a book he remembered, and Bram brought it back to him and never even looked through it.

Which was good, since it was a book with a very detailed description on how to hotwire a car.

Although in the end he didn't expect to need that, Nate wanted a backup plan. You always had to have a backup plan. Bram had said it all the time -and Nate had learned every lesson either Bram or Ashley had to teach.

He knew how to steal, and kill, and bury the bodies, and he knew how to be a fucking monster, too, now.

Once he had everything, he waited until Abraham needed to use some old machinery and came back from a supply run with an extra four full canisters of gasoline more than he usually kept on-hand for trips to town.

He only needed one to fill the tank for the truck, just to get them to the nearest town with a police station.

The other three…

Well.

Nate settled in to wait. He was the perfect black-haired prince, Abraham Denner’s true love. He was everything Bram could ever have wanted him to be. And while he was all of those things, he watched the actual man he loved kneel, empty and broken, on the floor and eat scraps from Bram’s hands... and he planned a murder.

***

“I came back awake when he was ready to go,” Danny told Ryan, one night when he couldn't sleep. They were sitting at the kitchen table - Ryan had asked him to sit in a chair - and Danny let his fingertips trace a pattern in the woodgrain, little squiggly symbols that could have meant anything, or nothing, or everything.

Nate was still asleep, and part of Danny wanted to curl up on the floor and be there with him, maybe ask to earn the bed so he could sleep right next to Nate, but he didn't have to do that anymore - and when he asked to earn the bed, the sadness in Nate’s eyes hurt to see.

I'll sleep on the couch, Nate said almost every night, and every night Danny said, no, stay with me.

Nate stayed.

“What do you mean?” Ryan tilted his head, watching him with the soft honey eyes Danny had never forgotten, never stopped dreaming about. Here, and real now, and Danny always smiled a little bit every morning when he got to see Ryan again.

“When Nate got me into the truck, he took, uh, he took it off,” Danny said, rubbing at the bridge of his nose absently, soothing a phantom pain there. “He took it off my face. The first thing I remember is turning to look and he was throwing it into the cabin and the cabin was on fire.”

“On fire? The cabin was on fire when you woke up?” Ryan's eyes were wide.

“Yes. Before that, I was, um… I was gone, still.”

Someone else had been in the body for months. It wasn’t Danny - it was some distant thing that moved his limbs and ate the food it was given, but it wasn’t Danny in there. It wasn’t Danny in control the night that Nate set a fire.

No, someone else had knelt like a good dog with its head in Abraham’s lap, took scraps of food straight from his fingers with the muzzle off just long enough for dinner - not quite long enough for Danny to try and come back. Someone else had taken the constant movement of cold hands with grateful whines and whimpers for the affection.

Someone else stayed kneeling, not noticing its feet going steadily numb, as the two voices that made up its entire world chatted and talked. There were sounds, in the bedroom, while someone else sat on the mat and thought about nothing at all.

Then there was, for a while, silence.

Someone else heard the sounds of scraping and rustling and thumping and ignored them. Sounds meant nothing to dead bodies and that's all it was, now. A dead body that still, inexplicably, kept breathing and eating and hurting on command.

This other person, wearing Danny’s face behind the muzzle, stayed still as one of the others walked back and forth, pulling things from bookshelves and talking to himself. Someone else was very, very good and had been told to go to the mat, and so someone else stayed there.

Someone else tried very, very hard, and was very, very good and did not notice the heavy scrape of a sleeping body dragged outside, the thunk of the cellar doors pulled open. The time that passed as someone else sat alone in the cabin.

Danny Michaelson was far, far away, letting the other person live uncomplainingly without a voice while within himself, he never stopped screaming.

Someone else registered, as though through a distant fog, a voice that told them it was almost time to go. That someone else stared dumbly down at their ankle as hands unlocked the chain that tied the body to the wall - the body was chained again, because otherwise someone else would get up and walk around sometimes at night and it bothered Abraham to see it - and someone else thought, I will be ordered into the bed now.

That person raised hands to touch the hips of the one who would hurt them, only to have their hands gently pushed down and away, cupped their face around the muzzle, pressed it just a little at the jaw where it felt so good, it felt so soothing, and someone else closed their eyes and whined, deep in their throat.

"H-Hate that sound. We'll g-g-g-get the last b-bit off later," A deep voice said.

Someone else knew the voice, and moved towards its sound instinctively. The deep voice came with soothing touch, gentle words, no pain. Someone else wanted more of that voice. "We n-n-n-need help to g, to get the ankle cuff off. Th-the cops will help, I'm s-sure. Good th-th-thing it's been raining all month so the forest w-w-won't burn, too.”

Someone else did not care about the forest, but only about the hands attached to the soft voice, the good voice, the voice that did not hurt. The warm forehead that pressed lightly to its own. The thing that wore Danny’s face tried to put their hands up to the metal grid still locked in place and stopped, an inch away. Never touch the fucking muzzle, Red.

Someone else made a pleading sound, someone else begged without words in an animal's whine, take it off, I'll be good now, please take it off.

"Ssshhhhh, once we get out of there," The good deep voice said, and it didn't stammer at all. "The k-key to the lock on the b-b-back is in his truck. I've g-got you now, just trust me, okay?" The voice wasn't afraid, and it seemed like a good voice. It was his favorite voice.

Someone else relaxed.

It trusted the voice.

***

“I don't understand what any of that means,” Ryan frowned, putting his hands up over his face, as Danny tried to talk his way through it. “You were there, the someone else was you. Why do you keep saying it like that?”

He only shook his head. “Dr. Rosa calls it dissociation,” he said. “It's normal. She says it's normal, that- that I'm not… I'm not broken because of it, and it could take a long time to stop-”

“It's okay,” Ryan said, and reached out to grab his hand. Danny's skin still crawled at any touch he hadn't asked for, but he didn’t pull away. It seemed to make Ryan feel better, anyway. It made Danny feel disgusting, like a thing anyone could touch whenever they wanted. You can make my body do whatever you want. “You're okay. I'm sorry, I pushed when I didn't mean to. Keep talking. I want to know everything.”

Danny nodded, slowly, and took a deep breath.

***

Someone else had taken the offered hand and stood, walked with a slow, stumbling gait through the kitchen and out the door. Someone else shivered in the frigid air, until the owner of the voice slid a heavy woolen coat over their shoulders, clad only in a thin, torn-up T-shirt and even thinner pajama pants.

“S-Sorry, I forgot to g-grab a sweater, and it’s k-k-kind too late, now.”

Someone else wrinkled their nose at the smell of gasoline, overpowering and heavy, that filled the air and floated around, settled deep in their lungs. Someone else was led to Abraham's truck and put inside. Someone else listened to sounds they did not recognize. Someone else smelled the smoke.

Red hair, already long and shaggy because it was winter and Abraham liked his hair better long in winter, fell over empty blue eyes as someone else curled up against the early shivers that came with the frigid cold, pulled the wool coat more tightly around themselves, buried their body in it as best they could.

Someone else heard the driver side door open and close.

Green eyes met theirs, and someone else blinked, and for one moment Danny looked up at Nate and the strange, stricken expression on his face. Eyes wide, and his hair was mussed-up and messy, and he was wearing his sweater inside-out. He smelled like gasoline, too. Then Danny tried to speak, and felt the harsh bite of the muzzle cutting deeply into his jaw, and Danny slipped back away.

Someone else thought, puppies aren’t allowed in the truck. Puppies don’t go to town.

"I d-d-did it," Nate said softly, his voice shaking.

Did what?

Someone else had been dimly aware of a hand sliding around behind their head, the click of the key in the lock and the thump as the little lock dropped onto the floorboards.

Danny’s heart jumped at the sound of the lock falling. Someone else felt less, as Danny felt more.

Warm, loving hands were undoing the buckle that was always too tight. He felt the sudden lift of the pressure and pain that had become all he ever felt anymore, winced at the sting of fresh air against skin, the trickle of fresh blood as removing the muzzle pulled wounds back open that had been trying like hell to heal around it.

He watched - Danny watched - as Nate got back out of the truck, holding the muzzle by the straps in his good hand, his jaw set in a grim line.

The cabin was on fire.

Flames licked orange somewhere inside the living room, and Danny could see straight through the kitchen door to where the fire was racing along the lines of gasoline that had been splashed around. Smoke poured upwards into the sky, the opposite of the rainstorms Danny had been locked out in so many times. The big doors to the cellar were flung open, and Danny looked carefully away from the darkness there and back at the brightly shifting, dancing light that lit the clearing with a sickly glow.

He watched Nate walk with purpose close enough that he must feel the heat trying to push him back and throw the metal and leather muzzle as hard as he could through the open kitchen door, where it thumped to the ground and then skidded along to a spot where the flames lit the inside of the cabin so brightly Danny’s eyes couldn’t bear to look.

The muzzle was gone.

Danny went away again. He didn’t know for how long. He came back to someone shaking him. He heard Nate’s voice, low and worried, soft against his ear. He was whispering, "Pl-please, please, I wasn’t too late, I w-w-wasn’t, please, please come b-back to me, D-Danny, please…”

He remembered shaking his head, still far away, because it had hurt to come back, he didn't want to any longer. His jaw throbbed, his nose ached, there were spots across his body that lit up with new pains when Danny stepped back up to feel them. Then Nate's hand slid up around his jaw, cool fingers over the cuts that burned hot, and Nate's mouth was on his, and Danny… felt.

Warm, and soft and desperate, tasting lightly of the whiskey they’d been drinking, he and Abraham. Danny opened his mouth for Nate, because that was what you did - but it wasn't like before, this was different, and he closed his eyes, hesitantly kissing back.

"Oh th-th-thank Christ. W-Wake up," Nate begged, in a voice ragged and hoarse and half-gone from breathing in the smoke. "Pl-please, please wake up, there h-has to be something l-left of you to s-s-save, Red, please, please t-t-tell me I wasn’t too late, pl-please..."

"W-we're not allowed in the truck without Abraham," Danny said hoarsely, his disused voice like gravel in a sore throat. Freed from the metal grid, his skin ached. Burned and bled in the cold air. "You'll get in trouble."

Nate laughed, a half-crazed sound of relief, and turned with wide, white-rimmed green eyes to start up the truck. "F-fuck trouble, Danny.  I got you out, I did it, we did it."

"You're not allowed to touch the keys," Danny said, almost plaintively, but it was sinking in, and his eyes were starting to widen. "Wh-where's Abraham? He's, Nate- he's going to be so mad when he finds us in the truck-"

"He w-w-won't care about th-that now," Nate said, voice firm and steady. "He d-d-doesn't give a shit about anything right now, Red. I hope he fucking chokes on his g-g-goddamn lying t-t-tongue.”

Nate shifted gears, and the truck roared to life as they jerked forwards and began to move down the gravel-lined dirt tracks through the woods.

“I'm getting us the f-f-fuck out of h, here."

***

“Where was Abraham? What happened?” Ryan had let go of his hand but Danny still felt the touch like spiderlegs and he pulled his hand back to himself, looking down at the tracks of scars along his veins, swallowing against the panic that threatened around the edges of his mind when people touched him.

“Nate gave him ketamine,” Danny said, and felt himself starting, slowly, to smile at the thought. “And some, um, some other stuff. “Got him too high to move and chained him to a bar Abraham had in the ceiling for-... for me, and left him to, um… to die.”

“Chained him…?”

“Handcuff Year.” Ryan winced, the memory of that conversation its own special torture. That first Christmas, Nate staring with an awful, resigned look of familiarity at the leather and metal cuffs in the box Danny had opened. “Nate found them and he… he tied Abraham up in the cellar with them to die.”

“But he didn't die. He's, he's on trial.”

“No, he didn’t. He was still… still alive when they found him, not even burned. Just smoke inhalation.”

Ryan whistled. “Lucky son of a bitch.”

“Blessed,” Danny corrected nervously, and watched Ryan's answering blank stare with a spike of guilt for not being better already. “His, um, he served a, a god, he said. We were blessed he loved us.”

“He was a fucking lunatic if he told you that bullshit. He didn't love you.”

“No.” Danny frowned down at the table. “You're right. Not me. He loved Nate.” And Nate had loved him back, right up until he didn't any longer.

Right up until he had to choose between them.

***

Danny and Nate drove away in the truck, and Danny saw the woods around him for the first time in months.

Had they always been so pretty? All the leaves were gone by now, bare branches everywhere reaching fingerlike towards them across the dirt path to the real road. There had been snow, but it had mostly melted with some sunny days while someone else sat outside in the thin, weak sunlight soaking up whatever it had to give, muzzled face tilted up to catch the warmth.

"Do you, um, know where we're going?" He asked, and hissed as his face hurt, his jaw too long held shut to keep speaking so easily again. His voice still sounded so weird, like he wasn’t meant to have one, and he barely managed to speak above a whisper.

"No," Nate said, and shrugged. "Other than we t-turn left and then there are s-s-signs. We'll find c-cops when we get to town."

He drove with one hand and reached the other out. Danny took it, and it was something solid, and real, something that anchored him to this side of his head and not the side that just went away.

Behind them, the cabin burned, a pretty orange glow against the pitch-black night sky.

When they made it to the road, Nate sat for a second, letting the truck's engine rumble as he and Danny looked at real, honest to God pavement.

Danny hadn't seen a road in four years.

"Red."

He turned, and Nate was looking at him, intensity in his face. Danny shrank away from it - expressions like that never boded well. "What?"

"N-No one's g-g-going to do th-that to you eh, ever again. Ever. Again. G-Got it?"

Danny nodded, slowly, but he wasn't sure he believed it yet. Not until Nate smiled, slow and a little shy, the way he used to smile before Abraham brought them here, and kissed one of the scars on the back of his hand.

"H-Here we go," Nate said, and turned the truck onto the road, the two of them driving away from the burning cabin to find a town, a police station, and hope.

***

“So by the time we got to town and the cops went back, everything burned down, but they found Abraham in the cellar, still alive. They found, uh, a lot of the… the things he used on us, too. They found the… for my face.” Danny shuddered, a little, phantom aches breaking out like a line of fire along the scars. “The leather burned a little but the metal part…”

“You don't have to talk about that. What about the bird?”

Danny blinked at Ryan's question.

“The bird?”

“The, the raven thing up on the wall. That you threw the beer bottle at. What happened to it? Did it burn?”

“No. Yes. Maybe.” Danny's heart skipped, just thinking of its pink eyes and empty dead glare, the way it seemed like it was always staring at him from its perch above the doorframe. “Nate said it wasn't in the house. The cops s-said they never found any sign of it, either.”

Sometimes he was sure he'd look out his window and see it staring back in at him, with that look in its eyes, waiting for him to go somewhere - anywhere - alone. Which was why Danny never did. He stayed with Ryan, or Nate, and he never, ever was alone.

On the worst Red days, Danny tried to come up with a plan for what he would do if Abraham came for him - even though Nate and Ryan told him nobody walks out of a maximum security prison.

It didn’t really matter.

Abraham would come back for him, eventually, and even if Danny didn’t want to think about it, Red knew.

Danny kept a notebook in the closet, and he wrote down everything he could think of, and he tried to make a plan for just in case, because he had been someone else for nearly half a year and he never, ever wanted to be someone else again.

When he was scared, at night, he curled into a ball next to Nate in the bed and he closed his eyes and dreamed about the rumble of the truck, Nate’s warm hand grasped so tightly onto his - the softness and ferocity in the kiss that brought him back to life…

And he dreamed of a cabin on fire.

[writingkeepsmewhole]

I Need You

This is part 11 of The Cowboy and the Girl. It’s been forever I know. This fic is kinda hard to write. Gotta be in the right head space haha. Anyway here it is hope you like it.

Fic Summary: Trish remembers a dark part of her past.

Joel Miller x OC Trish

Warnings: Language, attempt at suicide, talk of murder,

I would love tag you: @amandamaesweetheart @jodiereedus22 @el-dibidibidorado1 @yourgirltaz​ @lemondropirwin​ @iovemoon​ @lookinsidemyhead​ @my-awakened-ghost​ @avengerssstuff​

Part 1  Part 10

I woke up to my mouth dry, that plus the thumping in my head told me I was most likely dehydrated.

Joel was nowhere to be seen but Ellie was putting her blanket inside her backpack.

“Where’s Joel?” I ask as I push myself up from the floor falling off the bean bag chair at some point in the night.

“No good morning?” She asks, smiling at me.

“Sorry, good morning.” I say getting my own bag to pack up.

“Joel went to go get Bill, guess he’s in a hurry to get rid of me.” She says shrugging, her eyes downcast.

“Don’t take it personally he’s in a hurry to get rid of me too.” I say despite what happened last night.

“Why do you say that? I got the feeling he likes you.” She says making my heart pick up a bit.

“He tolerates me. I make him like me.”

“So is that what I should do?”

“I think you should just be yourself, because you're awesome.”

“Your right I am pretty cool.” She says grinning.

“What are you two amaering about?” Joel asks walking into the room holding all of our cantens.

“You.” I say honestly watching him left an eyebrow in my direction.

“What about me?” He asks, handing me my canten it full of fresh water.

I quickly open it and take a drink so I don’t have to answer.

“Are you ready to go? I have other crap to do besides help you idiots.” Bill says stomping into the room.

‘How can someone be mad this early in the morning?’ I think as I put my backpack on.

“We’re ready.” Joel says jerking his head towards the door as if to tell us to get going.

I do as he said ready for whatever the day is gonna bring.

That was the thing about the end of the world. You didn’t get to wake up whenever you wanted, have a nice cup of coffee, watch some TV or browse the web. You hit the ground running and you made every little thing count.

It was hard and fast but it was the only way to stay alive.

Maybe that’s why I stuck close to Joel. Him never seeming to crack. He could go for what felt like months without sleep. He was strong and resurfull. They taught us in school that a female picks her mate, whoever is the strongest. In this world, I understood that.

Joel knew exactly how to lead us through anything.

He walked through a yard full of clickers like he was taking a stroke through the park. My heart was beating out of my chest the whole time but Joel knew when to stop and when to go.

I watched as he would use a bottle or a brick to distract them. Him using the bow we found yesterday to take out the runners.

I would sometimes get lost watching him. I knew it was stupid and pointless but I couldn’t stop the pull I had towards him.

I hated it truthfully. I knew getting attached to someone always ended in pain. The still fresh loss of Tess proved that.

Joel was cold but he was colder since it happened. I think we all were. None of us spoke as we snuck around the infected town trying not to get eaten alive.

But there was just something different about today. Something in my gut that I couldn’t shake. It hit me like a ton of bricks as we walked through a house a dead guy hanging from the ceiling. This could all be over in a split second.

“He killed himself?” Ellie asks but it sounds more like she was shocked.

“Yeah come on you don’t need to see this.” I say grabbing her wrist gently, pulling her back outside.

“I’ve seen worse.” She says making my heart clench.

“Well that doesn't mean you should see more horrible things.” I say take a breath.

“Are you okay?” She asks looking at me as I lean on the side of the house.

“Yeah, I just know what it’s like to be in that headspace. It’s not the best place to be.” I say memories filling my mind.

I sat on the wet ground, my hands numb, my breath puffing out in a cloud. Rain poured down on me but I didn’t move. I stayed on my knees, it was how I fell after I took another life.

I was surrounded by corpses. Not the infected kind but the very human kind. Most people would claim they had to. There was no other choice. But that’s not true. I could have talked, told them what they wanted.

That would have stopped them, or at least kept them from using me the way they wanted. I guess that didn’t matter now. It was too late.

I was covered in their blood in the literal sense. My clothes were torn and ripped. I could feel my muscles twitch the adrinial still pumping thru my veins. My heart, fighting to keep me alive in the condition I was in.

But I didn’t care, I felt numb. But why wouldn’t I be? I was a killer. The lifeless child in front of me was proof of that. Him killed by me before I even thought about it.

His father was the first to go, him leaving me laying the mud after he forced himself on me. Him not realizing he left a knife behind.

It's funny how fast you can kill someone with a blade. Your brain just cuts everything off, you black out and wake up to carrange.

It is most likely why Joel left me behind. Him seeing me black out like this one too many times. Waking up alone then being ambushed and taken away for days makes you care less about the people around you and care more about how to get out alive.

I jump when hands grab my shoulders. With the survival knife still in my hand I lift it ready to kill again before I even think about it.

“Trish it’s me.” Says a hoarse voice.

I blink away the rain looking up into the bruised face of Joel Miller.

“What happened?” He asks, pulling off his flannel and laying it over my shoulders.

It made me realize how bad I was shaking.

I drop the knife falling backwards, the mub slapping around me.

“I-I killed him.” I say looking at the kid.

“What happened?” Joel asks again, moving to help me to my feet. Them asleep, sharp tingles shooting through them.

My knees buckle under me, Joel catches me before I fall him letting out a grunt as he does. I look at him seeing a bleeding wound on his shoulder and maybe his side. All I could see was blood coming through his soaking wet white T-shirt.

“They took me.. I..” I don’t finish my sentence as Joel helps me walk to the nearest run down house.

Us in an abandoned trailer park. It growed up with weeds, and trees.

“They took me too. I thought they might have killed you. You had me worried.” He helps me into the house.

It wasn’t much warmer than it was outside but at least I wasn’t getting rained on. 

“You didn’t leave?” I ask looking up at him, surprised and relief filling my voice.

“Why would I leave? We make a good team, even if you are annoying.” He says setting me on the bed in one of the bedrooms.

“I’m a killer.” I say that explaining why anyone would leave.

“You and me both sweetheart.” He says turning away from me to dig through the dresser.

“They had me locked in here, trying to beat information out of me. I kept telling them they had the wrong guy.” He says sitting next to me with first aid supplies.

“I killed that kid.” I say looking at him feeling tears fill my eyes.

“You didn’t mean to.” He says gently pushing his flannel off me.

“How do you know?” I ask softly.

“You love kids. He surprised you I’m guessing.”

I nod the memory of it fresh in my mind.

“It’s okay, just try to forget about it.” He says looking me over for wounds.

Besides the busted lip and black eye I got while killing them I was wound free. Them preferring to use rape instead of there fist or wepons on me.

“You need to rest. I’ll leave you alone.” Joel says but it sounds far away.

I nod barely noticing him leaving and closing the door behind him.

I sit there staring at the wall. Replaying the events from today over and over in my head. I sat there even after it got dark.

I realized that it didn’t bother me as I sliced through those people. It was like second nature almost. I remember when I killed for the first time it bothered me for weeks and now I didn’t even think about it.

It was so easy to me I killed a child without thinking about it. Without pausing to see what I was doing.

I was a horrible person. I’ve become like the men inside that storage container. Something I swore never to do. I didn’t deserve to live.

As the thought whispered through my mind I knew it was true. I knew I had to do something. I couldn’t go on like this. The world didn’t need another mindless killer like I was becoming.

I looked around the room seeing a pistol on the dresser I stood up and grabbed it. It was cold and harsh in my hands. Like I never held one before. The weight almost seemed like too much as I lifted it to my head.

One bullet and the world would be a better place. It would be better off. Joel would be better off. I was annoying, I slowed him down. I was a monster.

Placing my finger on the trigger I could feel my hand shaking. My mind is having a war with itself. But the image of that child laying in the mud kept coming to the front. Telling me what I really was. What had to be done.

I didn’t flinch or make a sound when the door opened. Joel stood there with a lantern.

“What the hell are you doing?” He asks his voice thick and angry.

As if the weight of the gun became too much it fell from my hands just as I fell to my knees. Hot fat tears rush down my cheeks.

“I’m sorry.” I mumble looking up at him.

He sighs, placing the light down he moves to sit next to me.

“You’re a fucking idiot. What do you think you were gonna accomplish doing that?” He surprised me by wrapping his arms around me.

“I became a horrible person. I-.”

“Shhs with all that. You ain’t no worse than me.”

I don’t say anything, not knowing what to say. How do you explain the feelings I was feeling?

“Don’t ever try to do something like that again.” He says lifting my head makes me look at him.

His face shadowed by the dim light in the room but despite that I thought I saw tears in his eyes.

“I need you so you can’t be killing yourself.” He says letting go of me and moving to stand up.

I quickly reach out grabbing his wrist making him stop.

“P-please, don’t go.” I whisper my voice cracking.

He nods offering his other hand.

“Come on you need to sleep.” He says softly.

I place my hand in his letting him pull me to my feet. He leads me to the bed and pulls the covers back.

I climbed into the bed, Joel joining me on the other side after he turned off the light. I shiver the room seeming so much colder now.

I wasn’t numb or full of adrenaline so I was suddenly feeling everything again. I move closer to Joel without thinking, jumping when a jolt goes through me the moment my hand bumps his. His touch shocked me. Him grabbing my hand tightly.

Joel was lying on his back, his other hand tucked under his head. I was laying on my side facing him. My mind was fried from the past few days but I couldn’t sleep. The memories of what I did, of what happened to me not letting me rest.

I couldn’t tell if Joel was asleep. His eyes closed but that was it.

“Are you awake?” I softly ask if I woke him up but I was scared of what I would do if I laid there alone with my thoughts.

“Yeah, what is it?” He says roughly.

I chew my lip not having anything particular I wanted to talk about. I just needed a distraction.

“Did you mean it? That you need me?”

“I said it didn’t I?” He says harshly.

“Yeah, I just didn’t know if you meant it.”

“I wouldn’t have said it. Now I need you to go to sleep.” He says turning over to face me, his hand leaving mine.

“I can’t.” I whisper softly.

“I know. But you need to.” He says softly.

He places his hand on my face gently stroking my cheek.

“Just close your eyes and think happy thoughts.”

I nod my head doing what he says praying it works. The soft caress of his hand helped me to drift off into much needed sleep.

[toziers]

wife can u do a fic or smth with reddie and napping please

hands down, no questions about it, the hammock was the best feature of the entire bunker.

bev liked bean bag chairs ben had added. she and ben could sit in the corner listening to his tapes through shared headphones for hours, cycling through new kids on the block and madonna and prince until the batteries wore out.

ben also liked the bean bag chairs.

the bookcase was stan’s favorite, mostly because it gave him a great swell of pride whenever one of the losers borrowed a book he’d stocked it with. it was still pretty empty, and three of the ten books were specialty handbooks for bird spotting, but it was there.

eddie contributed a polaroid camera he’d gotten for christmas because he had the artistic eye of seaweed and every photo he took came out blurry and half-developed, for whatever reason. bev had taken to snapping pictures of the losers in various unexplainable situations, and now there was a nice string of pictures hanging near the entryway, so eddie felt good about it.

mike and bill had brought in a game table and spent most of their time mutually sucking at scrabble (though mike usually won — stan liked to stand behind him pretending to read his book but subtly hint at different combinations mike could make, leaving bill to lean back in his chair and huff out a “wh-why do i even bother?”)

but fuck all of that: the hammock reigned supreme. when it had been installed, it was clear every one of the losers had been excited to take a turn — to the point they’d needed to come up with a schedule for usage or there was going to be hands thrown. at some point, though, the rest of them had taken note that fighting richie for time on the hammock just wasn’t worth it.

except eddie.

it was always:

“how come richie’s always the first one on the hammock?”

“because i’m the first one down here.”

“yeah, ‘cause you pushed me!”

richie adjusted his glasses on his nose. “your mom likes it when i’m pushy with her.”

or:

“richie, you can’t hog the hammock the whole time.”

“i can’t hear you, i’m sleeping.”

“you’re literally talking to me right now, fuckface.”

“i’m probably sleep-talking, and you know they say you’re not supposed to disrupt sleep-talkers.”

“that’s sleep-walkers, richie,” mike chimed in, and bill groaned “r-really? zoology on a tr-riple letter square?”

“STOP FAKE SNORING, DICKHEAD, I KNOW YOU’RE AWAKE.”

or:

“it’s my turn on the hammock, richie.”

“richie tozier isn’t here right now,” richie said, not looking up from his comic. “if you’d like to leave your name and number at the tone, he’ll get back to you after he’s done fucking your mother.”

eddie never dropped it, though. at some point he’d decided that there was no forcing richie out, so he’d just have to get in. so he did, mumbling expletives and shoving at richie’s too-long limbs the whole time he adjusted to sharing the swing of the hammock.

it was, like, the biggest win of richie’s life.

for the most part, they sat at opposite ends, limbs tangling together as they read the latest editions of spiderman or she-hulk. eddie spent a lot of time playfully kicking richie or knocking his glasses off with his toes, and richie spent a lot of time letting him. when they hit high-school, though, and richie shot up like a knobby-kneed corn stalk, sharing the hammock became less and less feasible. at least, the way they’d been doing it before.

“c’mon richie, get the fuck up,” eddie whined. “i wanna’ take a nap.”

he and stan had spent the whole afternoon studying for an algebra test tomorrow while richie played his game-boy ‘for moral support’. stan already left, though, mumbling something about not being able to handle ‘this repressed shit’ anymore, whatever that meant, and eddie was in that post-study cranky mood.

“hop on in, chap,” richie offered, patting his chest like it was some sort of enticing pillow.

“oh, fuck you, i just wanna’—“

“i’m serious,” richie argues, letting his legs splay over the sides of the fabric and making an eddie sized space. “or you can go home. i’m sure sonia would love to have her eddie-bear cuddle up for a nap.” the look in eddie’s eyes was downright feral and richie was worried he’d legitimately pissed him off but then eddie’s shoulders just kind of dropped and a yawn overpowered any fight left in him.

“fine.” so he’d crawled in and collapsed on richie’s body (after elbowing him sharply in the stomach and making a pleased humming sound at richie’s pained oof).

and. it’s not like they’d never been curled up like this, but they were usually accompanied by the other losers, and it was never quite this close. richie could feel eddie’s heartbeat getting slower and slower against his ribs, could feel eddie’s soft breaths on the bit of exposed skin above richie’s shirt collar.

“shut up, richie.”

“i’m not — i didn’t say anything!”

eddie just huffs in response, and after a few moments, everything is quiet. so richie picks up his comic, wishes his pulse into some semblance of a steady beat, and pretends he’s not focusing on every rise and fall of eddie’s shoulders.

after that, it’s almost tradition: they argue, richie makes room, and eddie crawls in like he was made to fit between richies legs. sometimes richie stays awake and reads, sometimes he falls asleep too, counting the freckles on the bridge of eddie’s nose. sometimes richie wakes up before eddie and finds their hands interlocked, and sometimes eddie wakes up before richie and slips his fingers between richie’s before falling back asleep.

they never, ever nap together in front of the other losers.

which is why, when the roof-top door swings open as richie’s just about to take off his glasses and join eddie in dreamland, his heart stops.

it’s bev, and ben, and richie lets out a little sigh of relief because bill enters rooms with all the finesse of an elephant on roller skates and eddie would’ve woken up immediately.

as it is, eddie gives a little shift when bev laughs quietly at whatever ben had said, so by the time she and ben turn around, richie’s shaking his head as violently as he can without disturbing the sleeping boy atop him.

bev’s hand flies up to contain her gleeful laugh, and ben just stands there looking about as shocked as he had when he’d discovered bill and mike were fooling around; which is to say, not that shocked. ben just puts his hands up and smiles before crawling back up the ladder, and bev looks like she’s about to follow, but something on the bookshelf catches her eye. richie knows what it is before she’s even grabbed it, and his cheeks flush bright red when she pulls the polaroid from the shelf. there’s no feasible way to get out of this without waking up eddie, defeating the entire purpose, so richie just lays back and accepts his fate with a sigh and a middle finger to the lens.

—

later, after eddie’s forced him to buy them both ice cream before he split off to go home, richie tacks up the stolen polaroid beside his bed.

there’d be plenty of opportunities for bev to snap another.

[is-that-another-soulmate-au]

Zukka Soulmate AU part 11

@mypureessence

@chaoticidiott

@ari-shipping-stuff

@knightedbot

@idkhowbutimgayer

@swampy-beans

@angrylittleintrovert

"Kurt? Kurt I thought I'd never find you! And here of all places!" Jen called out as the pair turned to him "and... with an.. earth girl... Kurt, we've talked about this"

Kurt pushed Lily behind him "no, you burned me, there was no talking dad."

"Wait, this is your dad? Your dad was one of them?" Lily asked in a terrified voice "does that mean the other two are alive?"

"Uh... who are you exactly?" Jen asked with a bored tone

"Amber village the Soyin family you burned before being taken down by earthbenders? I fell out of the cupboard afterwards" Lily said while holding her side holstered blades.

"Oh yes! I remember you! The nonbender who was playing hide and seek with her big sister Yana right? Pity she didn't last long, her heart must have been struggling for a while, such a shame. Really it is. But its too late for you to save her now little Lily petal"

"YAAAAH" Lily pulled out her blades and threw them at Jen managing to pin him against the wall behind him without damaging anything else "How dare you speak her name! How dare you pretend to care! How dare you show yourself in a sacred library of all places!" Lily grabbed Kurt "I. Hope. You. ROT." Running off they quickly lost sight of him and closed in on where they knew the rest of the group was.

"I had no idea my dad was one of the men who... Im so sorry, I would have to-" Lily pulled Kurt into a kiss right as the reached the group

"Im not angry with you Kurt, now please stop talking so much... just, wait until we're out of here okay?"

"A-hem! Hello earth to love birds what's going on?" Sokka snipped out "come on we have a clue we need to figure out"

"Lily, He will get out of that, we have to get everyone out of here before he tries to kill us again" Kurt murmured when the others walked off

"Till that man who just left tries to kill you?" The researcher said from behind the pair making them turn to see a glimpse of Jen before he managed to get out.

"Yeah... that man..." Kurt said with a sigh of relief

"Well, I think you two are good now, go catch up with your friends"

Meanwhile outside the library Zuko was throwing flame after flame while landing kicks on the sandbenders to no avail, he was quickly caught in... well... sand, forced to sink in completely before Tarren could get to him. He held his breath knowing if he took a breath he would likely inhale sand and practically drown.

With his world dark and most of his senses practically shut off his mind spun around like an infinite top. In this moment he finally had the ability to think, and that was never good. Thinking to the band on his wrist he remembered Sokka being gentle with him that morning and tying it around his neck, and then his harshness when he told him how angry it made him to see it there. What did he want? All Zuko wanted was for Sokka to at least give him a chance. He just wanted that gentle feeling from that morning back. He didnt understand what was going on. But he wanted to, maybe he could fix it.

Suddenly he was being forced back up and his world was light again and Tarren ran over to him while he was gasping for air and choking "the sandbenders!" He wheezed out "where are they"

"Tarren said they ran off with Appa" that wasn't Tarren... Zuko looked up to see Sokka and flinched back "woah, what's gotten into you?"

"I... it's nothing," when Sokka went to help him up he pushed his hands away and stood up by himself seeing the disappointed look cross Sokka's face when he did.

With Aang flying off to find Appa and Katara leading the group around with an intoxicated Sokka, their odds of surviving were thin, but... eventually they made it out with the help of a sand sailor, a returned Aang, and the Sandbemders who took Appa in the first place.

After they made it out they stopped to recuperate at a town a good while away from the desert and oasis. They took up two rooms in the towns inn, the rooms being given for free on the account of Aang being the avatar. There were five cots in each room, Aang, Katara, Sokka, Toph and Zuko took one while Tarren, Lily, Kurt, Iroh and Jee took the other.

"Ah! Cozy bed, not a hard ground with the possibility of pricklesnakes getting into Sokka's sleeping bag and him waking the rest of us up!" Toph exclaimed making everyone except Sokka laugh

"Oh will you guys shut up! It happened twice! And the first time it was Aang messing with me!" Sokka turned to see Zuko still laughing a bit, covering his mouth that was clearly formed into a smile as soon as Sokka turned. That smile that Sokka saw so rarely that it pissed him off. "Why are you laughing? You haven't even been in the group that long" Sokka snapped harshly at Zuko

Zuko looked surprised for a second before glaring at him hard "what is your problem with me!? Ive done anything and everything I can to help all of you since I joined, I just almost suffocated in sand trying to save your bison!"

"That doesn't matter! I mean yeah, it matters! But-!"

"But what?! But what Sokka!? I dont know what you want from me! I mean fuck! I was wearing this band on my wrist to be respectful to you because I know it looks similar to betrothal necklaces, but you were the one who tied it on my neck that morning! And then all of a sudden it makes you mad!? Whats that about huh!?" Zuko's voice cracked "do you really hate the fact that we're soulmates that much? Do you hate me that much?"

"I mean... of course you hate me! Why wouldnt you!? I'm a terrible person thats pretty clear right!? But I'm trying to do better and it just.. it just seems you don't even want me to.. to be here? To be alive? Fuck sokka why did you run to me when I was pulled out of the sand!?" Zuko let out a laugh through his spilling tears "I mean it's not like you care right? You don't even want me in the group!"

"Shut up! Of course I want you in the group! I don't hate you Zuko! I tied the band around your neck because I love you okay!? And thats why I'm so mad! I'm mad because people like you took my mom and now you're my soulmate, but I wouldn't change you out for anyone in the world and it makes me so mad how much thats true okay! Now can we all just go to sleep!?" Sokka blurted out while backing Zuko into a corner

"You... you love me?" Zuko breathed out in a near silent whisper

Sokka sighed "Zuko, shut up. Just go to sleep"

And with that Sokka turned and got into his own bed quickly dozing off as if he didnt just confess everything to Zuko infront of everyone. Zuko on the otherhand was frozen in place with red tear stained cheeks looking at everyone before Katara moved to help him to his cot "sorry" he mumbled to her only receiving a 'youre fine in return

Meanwhile in the other room the group was staring at the wall they shared before clearing their throats and turning back to eachother "well, Im glad nephew figured it out" Iroh said

"Yeah, hes been suppressing that outburst for a while, I was surprised he didn't snap before we got here" Jee shrugged before the two old men rolled over to sleep.

Tarren and Lily hand pushed their cots against either side of Kurts with Tarren bending some rock around the legs to keep them in place through the night. Kurt just laid stick straight, awkwardly laying there before Lily and Tarren wrapped their arms around him and he relaxed into the affection with a sigh. "Is this alright?" Tarren asked in a whisper

"Yeah, yeah, its okay" Kurt said with a small sigh when Lily ran her fingers through his hair and he absolutely melted into the feeling.

Soon enough the entire group had fallen asleep, though they would soon wake up and have to prepare for a journey to Ba Sing Se on foot.

[meterokinesis]

Skin and Bones

Read it on AO3

Prompt: Starvation

TW: Hunger/food insecurity, ED mention (very short), Implied/referenced drug use

Summary: Jason Todd knew what hungry felt like. Hunger and Jason had always been bosom buddies.

Jason Todd knew what being hungry felt like.

That’s always what they called it when he was a little kid and the teachers tried to pretend that most of their class had full bellies. They’d say “when you haven’t had lunch yet, you’re hungry. But when you don’t eat for days, that’s hunger.”

Hunger and Jason were bosom buddies, and had been for years.

It was bad enough when it was just him and Catherine. At least then he could pilfer through her pockets for enough loose change to buy them rice and bread and beans. It wasn’t much, but it kept them alive in between the free lunches Jason got at school.

It got worse when Catherine had to be admitted to the hospital. Jason wasn’t stupid--he’d gotten an A on that last English paper. He knew that she was doing drugs. He knew that their food money went into plastic baggies full of powder and who-knows-what-else. He knew that their already low budget would be gone as soon as the hospital started sending bills.

He started stealing parts off cars that he passed on the walk home, then selling them to the shady guys at the garage. He’d sneak what he could from pockets and couches and placed it in places no one would ever notice. Bills rolled up in the toes of his sneakers, pennies and nickels shoved into his sock drawer. Jason was good at sneaking around already, but he learned to be even better. His life depended on it.

Catherine died the Friday after Valentine’s Day. Her hospital room was full of discount flowers and cheap chocolates. She squeezed his hand before she died, and she smiled. Her smile was unmatched, totally unique. In the days that passed afterwards, Jason would wonder if his smile ever looked like hers.

As Catherine’s breathing slowed and then stopped, Jason snuck out of the fourth floor and onto the street below. He had one, maybe two days left in the apartment before CPS found him and tried to force him into a foster home.

He’d rather die than go there.

So Jason Todd, eleven years old and barely five feet tall, broke into his apartment to survey the life he was leaving behind. Some of it was easy. He could afford to take two bags: a backpack and a duffel. The duffel got a pair of boots, a pair of sneakers, five sets of clothes, jackets, and a copy of Huckleberry Finn. He’d already read Tom Sawyer, he didn’t need to bring that too.

The backpack got essentials, like his toothbrush and toothpaste, his school ID, the money he’d saved up, and another set of clothes. His birth certificate and Social Security card were wedged under the loose floorboard already, so he left them there. When his path led him to the kitchen, Jason swallowed hard before grabbing a knife and a pair of scissors, then wrapping them both carefully and placing them in the backpack too.

He crawled into his bed, with its blue striped bedsheets, and tried to fall asleep. The sounds of Gotham weren’t comforting anymore, but rather like every monster under his bed amplified. He was too old to be scared of things that weren’t there, but every Gothammite knew that the city was not to be trifled with. The city he’d soon be in the heart of.

The clinking of keys on the apartment’s old doorknob woke him up. He’d always been a light sleeper, but for a second he thought it was maybe just Catherine coming home. Then he remembered how she’d never come home again. Jason was out of bed in a matter of seconds, grabbing his bags, tugging on his shoes, and climbing down the fire escape. The old watch he’d taken from Catherine’s room--he thought it was his dad’s--read 7:12, which meant it was really 3:17. Jason crept through the streets, not letting his heart catch up with his head. He’d have to squat somewhere for the night, maybe an abandoned warehouse or something. He’d found a few while adventuring the summer before, and not all of them could have been blown up in the last eight months.

“Clinton and Hall has a good one,” he mumbled to himself, steering his feet that way. It was cold, even for February, but he had no choice. It was either walk seven blocks now or walk straight to CPS. He’d take the seven blocks.

It was a quiet night, at least for Crime Alley. There were the usual shady guys doing deals in the back alleys and the over-rouged women in heels and too-short skirts, but at least no one was running around trying to blow the city up again. A night without Batman and Robin coming around was a good night, as far as Jason was concerned.

It wasn’t that he didn’t like Batman, just that he tended to invite more trouble than he did away with. Even the most well-intentioned people couldn’t fix Crime Alley. Jason would know, he was Crime Alley through and through.

He finally reached the warehouse and dragged himself up seven flights of stairs, where there was an office that sat mostly untouched. There was a boarded-up window and the walls were probably full of asbestos, but the door locked, so as far as Jason was concerned it was great. The boy placed his duffel bag under his head and slipped his backpack around so it covered his stomach. As the first breaths of sleep came to him, he could hazily feel hunger stab at his stomach. He hadn’t eaten in three days.

                                         _______________

In the eight months since Jason had taken to the street, he’d learned a few things: trust people sparingly, only share if you have enough, and never let anyone give you shit. His copy of Huck Finn was tattered now, but it was the only real piece of home he had left.

He wasn’t alone by any means. There had been some older kids who had taken him under their wing for a few weeks back in April, but they got busted for dealing and Jason hadn’t seen them since. He and his occasional allies worked pretty well, a shared meal here, a hand-me-down there. Life wasn’t so bad like this, if you were careful.

Stealing the tires off the Batmobile wasn’t careful.

Jason felt Batman before he saw him. The guy just had that kind of energy, like a horror villain. But Jason already had three wheels off, with one stashed nearby, so there was really no point in stopping now.

“Excuse me, what are you doing?” The gruff voice asked, and that’s when Jason knew he was well and thoroughly fucked.

He didn’t answer, because Jason was never the type to admit guilt. A large hand fell on his shoulder, and he couldn’t help but jump. Batman turned him around, more gently than Jason thought he treated most criminals.

“Kid, you’ve gotta be what, thirteen? Come on, put those tires back on and get in the car.”

Well, Jason might be reckless enough to steal from Batman, but he wasn’t dumb enough to make himself an enemy. So, he silently put the tires back on the Batmobile and turned to face Batman. He was just as intimidating as everyone said he was.

“I know that you have stuff stashed somewhere,” Batman prompted, like he’d already seen thousands of alley kids today.

“Behind the dumpsters,” Jason muttered, staring at his scuffed-up sneakers.

Batman ducked behind the dumpster, and emerged with the two bags and a tire. Jason sheepishly put the last tire back, then stood and opened his hands for his bags. His hands were stained with dirt and grease, like black blood.

“In the car,” Batman ordered, and Jason’s stomach dropped.

“No!” He cried, his throat as dry as bone. “Please, you can’t turn me in. They’ll send me into the system or juvie or something. I’ll die in there, I know kids who have.” As much as he wished that was a lie, it wasn’t. Foster kids didn’t last long in Gotham.

Batman hesitated a moment, then spoke again. “Fine. Get in the car. I won’t take you to CPS, but I can’t let you go back on the streets.” His voice was firm, but also gentle. It was… strange.

Jason nodded, and tucked himself into the passenger side. Batman sat down in the driver’s seat, and with a reminder to fasten his seatbelt, the pair was off.

The drive wasn’t particularly long, but Jason was antsy all the same. His heart thundered as they entered a long tunnel in the side of what looked like a mountain, but Jason was pretty sure that there were no mountains in Gotham. Finally, they parked in some sort of weird cave-garage-thing. Batman turned to Jason, and looked him in the eyes.

“I have a doctor here. She’s going to take a look at you and make sure you’re okay. You can spend the night here. Then, we’ll discuss other options. No matter what, you’re not going on the street again.” He said this all in a perfunctory manner, but it was polite nonetheless.

Jason scrambled out of the Batmobile, only to see a familiar face waiting for him.

“Hello, Jason.” Dr. Thompkins smiled, and he tried to hide his surprise that she remembered him. He hadn’t been to the clinic in at least a year.

“Hi, Dr. T,” he mumbled.

“Alright, let’s get started. Can you sit down over here for me?” Jason followed her gesture, only to see a full clinic set up. What kind of garage was this? He nodded absently and shuffled over, then sat on the crinkly paper.

Dr. Thompkins walked him through a normal check up, with some added questions about how the past year had been. The whole time, she kept glancing at his face, like she expected him to start crying at any moment.

“So, Jason, I’m so sorry to hear about your mom.” She said as she tested his reflexes. His heart lurched in his chest, but he tried to keep his face from betraying him.

“... Thanks.” He mumbled, then left it at that.

Dr. Thompkins finished the exam, then stepped away to speak to Batman. Jason laid down to stare at the wall, but he couldn’t help but overhear some snippets of conversation.

“... known him for years… neonatal abstinence syndrome… only eighty pounds… severely malnourished… needs individualized support…”

The conversation trailed off as footsteps padded back into the room.

“Alright, so we have to get you up to date on vaccinations, and then you’re all done with me. You’re brave, you’ll be okay.” Jason nodded, and she injected the first vaccine. After three more, his arm was sore and his head was heavy. Dr. Thompkins led him to a reclining position, then pulled the curtain shut.

“Goodnight, Jason. It’s going to be okay.”

                                            _______________

Jason hadn’t expected to like the Imposter’s girlfriend so much, but he did. Stephanie got it in a way no one else did. The pair sat on a Crime Alley rooftop, sharing a combo meal from BatBurger.

“-And then, they accused me of being anorexic! Like no, I don’t have an eating disorder, I just can’t afford to eat more than saltines and water!” Stephanie rambled, gesturing wildly with a fry. “Seriously, I don’t think I ate an actual meal that wasn’t made by a lunch lady until I was fourteen.”

Jason chuckled, “My first big meal was when Bruce took me in. Until then, I thought having pizza or chicken nuggets for dinner was a splurge.”

Stephanie quieted, then looked from the carton of fries to Jason.

“Hey, does it ever get easier? Do you ever stop panicking when you grocery shop or when you treat yourself to lunch?” She questioned, her voice hoarse.

Jason took another bite of his burger.

“No. No, it doesn’t.”