#'needs to be cradled gently' he also needs to be shaken violently by the shoulders

[wraithsoutlaws]

Zephyr is such a neat character. I love his design so much.

aaaaaaaaa thank you so much🥺 that means a lot, he's a very special boy to me he needs to be cradled gently

[yayteaberry]

*SFW* Babysitting (Bakugou)

Rarely did he ever take a Saturday off from either training or studying, he was determined to stay better than everyone else. But, it had been raining since yesterday and he felt like he deserved a break anyways. From morning to afternoon, he enjoyed doing absolutely nothing, scrolling his social media and avoiding liking any of his friends posts on principle.

Shitty hair still won’t shut up about the selfie he liked so now nobody gets any.

His planned day of nothing is interrupted by a knock at his door, and he’s been pacified by memes to a degree where he doesn’t react violently to the intrusion.

Instead he shoves his phone into his pocket as gets up and opens the door, plain faced until he sees it’s you and that you’re holding something. Well, someone.

“Hey!”, you greet with an unusual level of enthusiasm, “I need you to do a favor for me.”

“A favor?”, he asks while he takes in the fact that you’re holding a baby, dressed in a striped onesie.

“Yeah, I’m kinda busy with stuff and I need someone to keep an eye on this little cutie for a bit!” To emphasize the importance or maybe sway him, you turn the baby around so he can see the chubby face.

“... If you’re asking me to babysit it, then no.”

You click your tongue against your teeth, rolling your eyes. “Well don’t call her by ‘it’, and I really need you to do this for me!”

He puts a hand on the door to signal that he’s about to close it, “Nah. Ask shitty hair or Deku, I think they’d love to drool over your kid.” “It’s my aunts baby!”, you say as you put your foot over the threshold, jostling the baby somewhat, which excitedly babbles as it meets his eyes, “They’re busy too, I tried asking! Believe me, you weren’t my first choice.”

“What do you mean by that?” He speaks with annoyance, opening the door fully as his competitive nature rises.

Internally you give a sigh of relief, externally you place the baby on your hip. “Bakugou, I think we both know that you’re awful with children. But you’re my last option and I have nowhere else to turn.”

“I should’ve been your first choice! I’m a fuckin’ wiz at keeping brats well behaved! Gimme!”

“Ah!”, you step out of range of his attempted grab and put out your pointer finger, “Don’t yell at the baby, don’t be aggressive with the baby, and most of all, don’t yell at the baby.”

In spite of your words you know full well he’ll do nothing of the sort, just wanting to give the appearance so he’ll be on his best behavior. He doesn’t have to know he was actually the only one you wanted to watch her.

After all his surface level bullying you can tell he’s soft on the inside, knowing he’s the least likely to give into a baby's whims while also being gentle enough to avoid making her cry.

“Yeah yeah.”, he grumbles, taking her from you when you extend her towards him, “When are you gonna collect the brat?”

You give a 50/50 gesture, shrugging, “Ah an half hour to two hours, but I’ll be back before three hours for sure! She’s been fed and changed recently but just in case,” A bag is revealed when you pull it from behind your back, taking it off by the strap and setting it inside.

“Diapers and toys, if she’s hungry there’s something for her in there too. Just, be careful about that, she’s sorta young for it.”

He nods at your words, watching her grapple at his shirt, having not once taken his eyes off her.

“Thank you!”, you chirp and give him a kiss on the cheek, knowing that he can’t do anything about it while holding her. That makes him glance up at you with some minor malice, which is reduced severely by the dusting of pink across his nose.

With that you take your leave, confident he’ll do fine.

He shuts the door and sits at the edge of his bed, cradling her in his arms. After a moment he takes a look over to the bag you left, thinking it’d probably be best to fish something out of there for her to do.

While he wasn’t experienced in caring for a baby in any capacity that felt like common sense. Plus, it’d allow him to continue wasting time on his phone.

“You,” he gently places her on the middle of the bed as he stands, “are not taking my Saturday from me with your tiny incapable hands.”

With one hand he grabs the bag off the floor and sets it on the bed beside her, opening it and digging through its contents. You were right, the thing is loaded with diapers and many different plastic objects.

Keys, babies love keys.

That toy seems the best choice, taking that and a blanket out before putting the bag on the floor nearby, holding the baby like a barrel under his arm while he flattens the blanket, then placing her on her belly.

He dangles the keys in front of her, watching as her eyes widen as she takes a horribly aimed swipe towards them. With a laugh tinged snort he lets her have them, sitting with his back against the bed and taking his phone out, resuming his leisure hobby.

A minute passes before he peeks over at her to make sure she’s still there, idly chewing on an orange key. It reminds him of something a puppy would do, up until she shoves it in way too far.

He drops his phone and yanks the keys away with concern she’ll vomit, not expecting her to look so upset over it. Briefly she contentedly waits for them to be returned, but when it becomes apparent they aren’t, she scowls.

“No,” he preemptively says, putting the keys down at his other side to keep them away, “you did something fucking stupid, so now they’re off limits. Don’t get all upset over it.”

She huffs and slams a hand down a few times, making a ‘gah’ with very demanding intent.

“I said no. Let me find something else then, calm down.”, he says as he reaches over to grab something random out of the bag, finding a plush red dinosaur. “See? Fun. Chew on this.”

He sets it down in front of her, and she immediately pushes it over, repeating herself. If nothing he gives her credit for having a strange amount of object permanence.

“I. Said. No. The fuck do you want me to do? You’re the one who can’t handle having the damn thing!” With a curt ‘no’ as a final statement, he leans over her to shove the keys back into the bag.

This turns out to be a huge mistake.

In a universally understood way, her face screws up as she starts taking in heavy breaths, which makes his eyebrows raise.

“Don’t. No crying.” his tone is as assertive as he can get it, shaking his head as if to cement it. Her tiny face turns red, sniffling once before fat tears begin to roll down her cheeks.

With no idea what to do in this situation, he starts rummaging through the bag for a solution, diapers spilling out as he digs for a similar toy if there even is one. He cringes as she really starts crying, caving and getting the keys back out, giving them to her. “See? See??”

She either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care, bawling in the way only babies do, arms giving out as she lays down.

His instincts on consoling anyone are terrible and usually not to be followed but he acts without thinking, picking her up and setting her in his lap, bouncing his leg as he pets her back, softly shushing her, ignoring the part of him that does in fact wish to yell at the baby.

Her tiny body trembles, pawing at his shirt as she rubs her tear stained face into it. Continuing to follow his instincts he lifts her up, both arms cradling her as her head rests against his shoulder. She does eventually calm, relaxing as quiet hiccuping replaces her sobs, breathing regulating.

She's effectively soothed, he on the other hand is completely shaken up.

Jesus, why did that scare him so much? He’d heard babies cry before and always was irritated by it, but this time there was something so different about it. Even now his heart is still racing, mouth dry as he stares forward into the wall with a mixture of worry and gratefulness.

Once she’s relaxed, he picks up the previously discarded dinosaur, placing it in his lap next to her. Thankfully, she seems to have forgotten about the keys, happy to latch onto the plushy.

He takes his phone back out with the intent to resume his earlier scrolling, but he can’t entirely take his eyes off her.  He’s more interested in watching her reactions than he’d ever admit.

In some ways she reminds him of you, mainly the eye color and the way her cheeks pinch up when she smiles.

You seem the motherly type to him so he assumes you’re leagues better at this than he is, but you’ve never mentioned having to babysit her before.

In fact you’ve never mentioned her before at all.

Maybe you enjoyed doing it but kept quiet so you didn’t have anyone intruding or asking to see her, babies can feel stranger danger so that made sense, it’d probably be overwhelming. She doesn’t hate him though, maybe you knew that she wouldn’t? 

Despite the panic she’s sent him through he really wouldn’t mind watching after her again. It'll probably be easier with you here, though he isn’t sure what he’d do if you were, he’d just be sitting around while you did everything.

God, she is really goddamned adorable. He smirks as he takes a second to allow himself to outwardly express something positive, watching her slap her tiny hand against the toy.

Usually the idea of having a baby is the worst one anyone can have, but right now he isn’t all that opposed to it. Not that it looks simple, more that it looks to be worth it.

He knows he’d make super cute babies, based on what he looks like and has always looked like the kid would outshine any other snot maker.

While he didn’t know what you looked like as a baby he just assumed you did too, briefly considering what a baby would look like if it came from you and him.

He’s got his mother's blonde hair despite his father's brunette coloring so that’s a dominant trait, possibly overriding your own but who can know, it’d more likely have more of your features.

Out of anything he’d want a little girl just like this one, though he’d be happy with anything as long as it's yours. Your features have always been something he likes, face as well as body, you’re built well in every aspect he tends to care about.

That, and your winning personality, even he can see that it’s a very pleasant contrast to his own. A kid with a mixture of both would be undoubtedly unstoppable, making him proud left and right.

Suddenly the thought bubble pops as reality rises to the surface.

You’re not his and he doesn’t like you anyways, this doesn’t bear so much thinking since it’ll never happen.

A heat takes to his cheeks as he tries to move on and pretend he wasn’t having a domestic fantasy involving you, mostly pretending he hadn’t had any fantasies about you.

It was something that’d creep into his mind sometimes.

Kirishima and Deku tended to have some softer traits alongside their bolder ones but it just wasn’t the same coming from either of them.

You had a certain tenacity to you, it was totally within your options to let some rich older man take care of you but you wanted more for yourself, you wanted to be a hero.

It made you strong, and you were strong because you worked for it constantly. As thick as your innocence tended to be, he was fairly confident you could knock him unconscious if it strikes you as the right choice.

He shook his head and made an effort to clear out all his emotions, directing his attention back towards the baby to ground himself. 

At some point during his daydreaming she’d knocked out cold, the dinosaur laying on the floor beside him, propped up against his chest, quietly snoozing while drooling a slight amount. Even if he wanted too he couldn’t be grossed out, it was way too cute of a sight for him to get mad.

Looking at her makes him feel tired, so he decides that taking a nap wouldn’t be a terrible idea. Careful to avoid waking her, he shifts around to get comfortable, hooking an arm around her so she doesn’t teeter backwards while he’s moving.

He thinks about whether he should turn her over and lay her on the blanket, unsure of what the proper protocol is.

His neck is gonna get super fucked up if he stays sat like this, so he very slowly gets up and lays on his bed, keeping her held to his chest until he’s flat enough to let gravity do the work. For a moment he returns to thinking about laying her on a flat surface but he lets her stay as she is, being a light sleeper means he’ll be able to deal with any problems if there are any.

-

After thanking Aizawa for the extra sparring lesson, you quickly get yourself showered and changed.

It’s been about two hours since you left her with Bakugou and you were getting increasingly worried he was reaching his limit.

Honestly you didn’t expect to be gone this long, but you were glad you gave him the estimate because it meant he’d have less reasons to be upset with you.

You prepare yourself for him to yell at you for leaving him alone with a demon for so long, even if she’s rarely a problem you do suspect he’ll be dramatic.

Still, it was a godsend that he said yes to begin with, you were going to make sure to tell him that.

When you get to his room you don’t bother with knocking, opening it to let yourself in without hesitation.

You were going to say something, but you forget the instant you lay eyes on the scene in front of you.

Practically swooning, you place a hand over your mouth to prevent making any noise, getting your phone out to document perhaps the cutest thing you’ve ever seen.

He’s laying on his bed, one arm over her and one over his eyes to block out the light, her tiny hands secured around the collar of his shirt, both of them peacefully asleep.

Not intending it to be blackmail but being aware it would probably become that, you take pictures from several different angles, wanting nothing more than to show everyone.

Though, for his own sake, you don’t actually send them anywhere near the class.

This doesn’t mean you don’t send them all to his mother, you do.

It does pain you to know you’ll have to hold off on showing people lest the information come back to him, but you do make it your phones home screen anyways. 

[the-girl-in-the-box]

Can You Imagine? VII

A/N: Just a clarification in this chapter- I did not make any mistakes with Baldur's age! His age is entirely intentional, and will make sense in future chapters ;) But, I have very little more I want to say, and so I will leave you with this! Skål!

Summary:  Freydis was dead. At least, when she’d lost consciousness, she’d been sure she was. But now she has woken up in a cold, sterile environment, one she is certain is not Valhalla, and the world as she once knew it has changed. People now have strange abilities, some of them, and people they call ‘scientists’ are trying to give them to her. The bigger issue, though, is the fact they have also woken the very man who killed her. Ivar the Boneless lives again as well, in the same way Freydis does, and if they want to survive… she may have to learn to trust him again.

Masterlist

--

Stay Alive

A feast had been called to celebrate the arrival of King Harald to Kattegat. It had been pulled together quickly, but once it was well underway, no one seemed to care all that much. Food and drink was served freely, and Freydis and Ivar sat on their thrones. The former cradled her baby in her arms, smiling as she looked down at him.

She gently tapped the tip of Baldur’s nose, an affectionate smile on her lips. “What must you think of all this, hm?” she asked him, as though he could answer. “It must be a lot. You are so young, not even a week old, are you? I can imagine you must find this all rather… loud. But you are a very good baby. You are the son of Ivar the Boneless, and you are already unafraid.”

Lifting Baldur, she pressed a kiss to his head, and then held him tightly to her chest. “You are a blessing to us, do you know?” she whispered then. “The Gods have blessed us with you. You are our reward for every good thing we have done in taking Kattegat, and for every good thing we will do with it. You are proof that the Gods are with us, and that the Gods love us.”

The baby cooed as if he could understand Freydis’s words, and she giggled softly as she looked down at him again. “Yes, my love,” she replied. “And the Gods love you, too. They will love you, and they will favor you above all other men.”

Ivar turned to her as King Harald finished his conversation with him, and went into the crowd. “Is he enjoying the feast?” the King asked his wife, and she turned to him with an adoring smile.

“It seems he is at least tolerating it,” she teased, and Ivar chuckled a little, leaning over closer so he could see his baby.

“One day, one day he will come to love these feasts, when he is a brave warrior just returned from his first raid. Then, he will return to a feast thrown in his honor, and he will enjoy it. Hm?”

Freydis felt a slight tug at her chest, and she looked up at Ivar. “In many years,” she agreed. “In many years, yes. But he is only a baby right now. Let him be a baby.”

Ivar chuckled softly and kissed the side of her head lovingly. “Of course,” he said. “Though I could not have any say in that if I wanted to.”

Something vaguely crossed Freydis’s mind, as though she suddenly felt that she could. Whatever that meant, she wasn’t sure, but then Ivar was kissing her and she wasn’t quite concerned with it anymore.

Her hand came up to cup Ivar’s cheek as she kissed him in return, and after a few moments, her other hand came up to cup his cheek as well. He smiled a little against her lips, and gave a contented hum. But, at a small voice, he pulled away to look down to the source.

“Mamma,” it had said, and Freydis turned from Ivar to smile at the small boy standing there. Two or three years old at the most, she laughed softly and turned her body, gesturing for him to come to her. He was giggling, and had some sort of food smudged over his face.

“You made a mess, didn’t you, Baldur?” she quipped, and the boy giggled as Freydis wiped the food from around his mouth. “I thought we taught you better how to eat, hm?”

Baldur simply giggled again, and Ivar gave an affectionate shake of his head. “Come here,” Ivar told him, and Baldur did as his father said, walking over to him. He took the boy’s face in his hands and tilted it a little, looking to see if Freydis had missed anything, and when he was satisfied she hadn’t, he gave Baldur’s head an affectionate shove, making the boy laugh again as he popped back up.

Freydis looked out at the people who were starting to thin out, as the night wore on, and she soon looked back to Baldur. “Mm, I think it is time for little boys to be going to bed,” she said, reaching over to ruffle his hair. Baldur started to whine, but Ivar chuckled and shook his head.

“No, your mother is right,” he said. “It is late, and you need your rest.” When the boy seemed about to whine again, Ivar cut him off by adding, “And so does your mother. She runs a lot around here, I am sure she is very tired, and you do not want to keep her up longer than she needs to be, hm?”

Baldur shook his head now, giving his mother an embarrassed smile, which earned a chuckle from the Queen. “Come along, Baldur,” she said, and stood from her throne. The boy followed his mother from the room easily, and as he did, King Harald again approached Ivar, his cheeks flushed from the amount of mead he’d ingested throughout the night.

“Ah, King Ivar,” he said, clapping Ivar on the shoulder. The younger man pushed himself to his feet, and smiled tightly at Harald. “For having only had a few hours to prepare, your people sure know how to put together a feast.”

“You gave us no warning you were coming,” Ivar pointed out. “We would have had more prepared had we known. But, the best always come to Kattegat. This was nothing they could not handle.”

Harald gave him a tight-lipped smile and a gruff chuckle. Clearly, he wasn’t quite happy with what Ivar had just said. It was no secret Harald had great ambitions for his kingdom of Vestfold, and so hearing Ivar so easily talk about the success of Kattegat was not something he was happy about. Not that he could show it, nor that he would.

“Of course,” Harald said. “Well, I am glad to see your wife and son are well.”

Ivar nodded, a distrustful smirk on his lips. “The Gods have always favored my family,” he pointed out. “I would be surprised if they weren’t.”

“Well, the Gods can be fickle beings,” Harald said. “Their favor may not last forever.”

Ivar narrowed his eyes a little, and gave him another false smile, this one accompanied with a half bow, before he turned to leave the room. After all, he had a wife to attend to once Freydis had put their son to bed.

The night passed peacefully, as did the nights of the next weeks. Harald eventually left Kattegat, of course, but a few days after, Ivar found himself being shaken almost violently awake by his wife.

His eyes looked at her, widened drastically, as his heart began to hammer in his chest. “What-?” he started to ask, but her panicked question cut him off.

“Where is Baldur?” she asked.

If he hadn’t yet been awake, he was now. “Is he not in-?”

Again, he was cut off by the way she shook her head.

Ivar didn’t take the time to put the braces on his legs, flipping onto his stomach and sliding right off the bed, crawling as quickly as he could to their son’s room. And, just as he’d gathered from Freydis, Baldur was gone.

His heart sank into his stomach, a very sick feeling settling there as Freydis followed him into the room. Their son was gone. Their son, their perfectly behaved son who would not have wandered off in the middle of the night, was gone. There was only one explanation either of them could come up with- someone had taken him in the night.

At that realization, a blinding rage began to build up in Ivar, and he was suddenly turning and pulling himself with all haste into the great hall of their longhouse, calling to every servant within earshot to gather there. Freydis picked up her skirts so she could follow him as quickly as she could, and she came into the room in time to see the servants assembling in front of their thrones- one of which Ivar was dragging himself up into.

“One of you must have seen something,” he seethed. “If none of you say, then you will all be questioned, by myself, until you confess.”

Of course, that sounded like a nightmare to each of them. Ivar wasn’t known for his mercy, quite the opposite, in fact, and none of them wanted to go through such a thing. A few of them looked to Freydis, hoping their Queen may have some mercy for them, but the anger in her eyes revealed they would find none with her. And it made sense. What woman would show mercy to someone who may know something about her missing child?

One of the servants, a man, met her eyes. Something shifted in them, her brows creasing as she looked at him, and he quickly looked to the ground. It occurred to her what she found so odd about him, and then her eyes narrowed. She didn’t recognize him.

She stepped down from the dais, and stalked over to that man, whose heart was now beginning to pound in his chest. This was bad for him. She knew.

“Who are you?” she demanded of him.

“My name is Svend, my Queen,” he answered, not quite meeting her eyes.

“I don’t believe you,” she hissed out. “Perhaps that is your name, but I am not your Queen, am I?”

His eyes finally looked to hers, knowledge and acceptance that he had been caught in them, and suddenly Freydis was grabbing his shirt, shoving him back into the nearest table and bending him back over it. “Where is my baby?!” she screeched, and everyone in the near vicinity backed away.

Svend looked up into Freydis’s eyes with no small amount of fear in them, his heart racing now. He didn’t answer, and so she lifted him a little, and slammed him back down. “Where is he?!” she demanded again.

When he didn’t answer, Freydis backed up, and suddenly lifted him from the table with her hand, red smoke pouring out of her fingers and swirling around his body. Her eyes glowed a bright red as she glared at him, and he began to hyperventilate as he looked down at her.

“Wi-witch!” he cried, panic beginning to claw at his throat. Or, no, that was more of the red smoke. She was strangling him.

“Call me what you will,” she snarled. “I will call you what you are. A traitor.”

Ivar leaned forward in his throne, his eyes wide and interested in every move Freydis made. He’d always been enthralled by the power that flowed through his wife’s veins, but in moments like this, when he saw her use it, it occurred to him that there was no other woman he’d have been happy married to but her.

“I would confess, if I were you,” Ivar said, and the sudden casualty of his tone struck a cold fear into Svend’s blood. Freydis was going to pull an answer out of him, however she had to, and so Ivar had relaxed, calmed as he realized this. And so, Svend made his decision. His King was not worth dying at the hands of an enraged Völva.

“He is with King Harald,” Svend said suddenly, and was dropped back onto the table, which cracked beneath his falling weight.

Freydis turned back to Ivar with fury in her eyes, though the red in them had gone, and her husband met her eyes with a fury of his own. “How dare he take our son, after we extend such hospitality to him?” he growled.

“It is simple,” Freydis replied. Her voice had gone cold, and Ivar knew this to be the worst stage of her anger. “The man wishes to be sent to Valhalla. That must be the only reason he would give me reason to blood eagle him.”

A dark smirk came to Ivar’s face at his wife’s words. “Of course,” he agreed. “And you will have the chance, my love. The rest of you, you are all dismissed.”

Svend tried to get up then, but found his muscles entirely paralyzed. Fearing for a moment that he couldn’t move after what Freydis had done to him, his head lifted, looked at his body. That was when he saw the red smoke, still wrapped around him, coming from the closed fist at Freydis’s side. He was going nowhere.

And, as one of Harald’s men, of course he would be going nowhere. Freydis and Ivar both intended to have their time with him, to learn all they could about what King Harald intended to do with their son.

It had only taken a few days before the man had given them everything, and then they began making plans, preparing to go and rescue their son.

Harald had taken Baldur as a way to bring Ivar to his knees. His belief was that, if he threatened his son, Ivar would be willing to do whatever was necessary to take him home. Even, if things went the way Harald planned, giving him his throne.

Ivar would have none of that.

He was going to lead a group of warriors and shieldmaidens into Vestfold, and they were going to rescue Baldur in the dead of night, take Harald as prisoner, and he would deliver the King to his wife as he promised.

Then, of course, Vestfold would be absorbed into their Empire of Kattegat. Really, all of this was going to backfire entirely on King Harald, with the plans Ivar had made.

Only a few mornings later, just long enough for a medium sized army to be formed, Freydis stood on the steps of the longhouse she shared with her husband, kissing him lovingly before she sent him off.

“The Gods go with you,” she told him, looking at him seriously. “Bring home our son, and return to me.”

“I will,” Ivar replied with a serious, meaningful gaze to his wife. “I will bring Baldur home.”

Freydis gave a sharp nod, and as Ivar kissed her once more, and turned to lead his army away, she found herself whispering a soft prayer.

“You Gods,” she almost breathed out. “Bring my husband and my son home to me. You know they are my world, and though I know I can rule Kattegat without them at my side, I have no desire to do so. I know the Norns have already decided Ivar’s fate, as well as Baldur’s, but if I am meant to lose them, then change the web they have weaved. Do not let them die in Vestfold, but send them home to me.” Her eyes darkened slightly. “And let them bring me King Harald, so I may send him to Helheim’s gates.”

She took a deep breath, and then turned to step back inside the longhouse. Kattegat needed ruling until Ivar returned, which she had faith he would do, and so she would do it. Until the King and Prince returned home, the Queen would rule with a fist of smoke and magic.

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[chocoluckchipz]

The Other You - 9

Read it on A03, FF.net, WattPad

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Chapter by Maerynn

By the time Alya came home from her lunch with Marinette, she was way beyond tired.

The meeting with her friend had left her exhausted and shaken. She had walked into the dragon’s den without any clue on her friend’s mindset, without the slightest idea of how their conversation would end. Would they be able to mend their friendship, or had they let things go too far? Was their bond beyond repair?

Thankfully, the worst had been avoided. Marinette had been willing to listen to her apologies and even had opened up a little about her current living arrangements. True, she had been very vague, especially about that mysterious friend helping her out, but that was a start.

Marinette hadn’t shut her out.

They could fix this mess.

But the entire encounter had been draining, and she had come home to an antsy Nino that had some shocking news of his own, forcing her to deal with the conflicting emotions the unexpected return of Adrien Agreste into their lives was stirring within her.

Alya plopped herself down on their couch and stared at Nino with a blank expression.

“Are you absolutely sure about what you texted me? This entire mess was really nothing but a huge and ugly misunderstanding?”

Her fiancé nodded, seating himself beside her on their couch. “I’m sure. When you really think about it, that makes much more sense than what we thought happened.” He sighed deeply, running his hand through his hair. “This is so messed up. We just shut Adrien out, without giving him a chance to explain himself or his blatantly out-of-character actions.”

"Nuh-uh, Nino. No way. Why now of all times? What's his angle?" she protested, shaking her head.

"Why now? Maybe because we're actually talking to him now? What else was he supposed to do, Alya? From his point of view, we kicked him out of the chat and blocked him everywhere else without a benefit of the doubt. It’s basically like telling him to piss off and never talk to us again. He was only doing what we wanted,” Nino argued.

“We were all hurt and didn't think clearly, and we thought that was what he wanted. But...” Alya sighed, propping her feet on the coffee table. “Yeah. Okay. I concede that point.” She huffed and scrubbed her face with both hands. “In hindsight, I do kinda feel bad for him. Poor guy must have been so confused about how big this whole thing blew up. I hate to blame his father, but the way Adrien was raised probably played a huge role in this whole mess.”

Nino shrugged, burying his face in his hands. “Don’t I know it,” he whined. “The guy was only trying to protect Marinette from his father, and we all abandoned him without even as little as an explanation. What kind of best friend am I to do that to him?”

Alya sighed, “Marinette won’t be pleased about all this. She let herself judge too harshly and didn't give him a chance to explain himself. Once she realizes she threw away years of friendship based on assumptions alone, she’ll be mortified and might be reluctant to admit her wrongs straight away.”

“I think we still owe it to Adrien to tell her,” Nino countered. “She needs to know.”

“I agree. Hopefully, she’ll believe us. Knowing he didn't write that message and didn't quit the chat on his own might get her to start the process of forgiving him and we'll see how it goes from there,” Alya summed up.

“He’d still be on his own for stealing her application file, though, but I think if he plays his cards right, he could get her to forgive him someday,” Nino added.

They sat in silence, side by side on their couch for a few moments before Alya laid her head on Nino’s shoulder. He kissed her hair, brushing a few stray locks away.

“How was your day?”

“We made up, Marinette and I. Though, she found another place to live for now.”

“To be honest, some distance would do you both good,” Nino said, wrapping his arms around his fiancée. “I know you love each other, but sometimes living together isn't what even the bestest of friends can or should do. Apart, you’ll be back to normal in no time.”

“I’m worried about her, though. She wouldn't tell me where she’s living. Nor who’s helping her. A man, Nino. She said one of her male friends is letting her live in his place. She said she’s living there alone, but still, I don't like it.”

Nino quirked an eyebrow. “So what if a man is helping her? Would you be worried if I helped out one of our female friends should she need a roof over her head?”

Alya’s eyebrows knit into a frown. “No, not you, but I know you. You’re a saint.”

“And what makes you think that this particular male friend of Marinette’s isn't?”

Alya stalled, letting out a sigh a short while later. “I'm just… I'm so used to us not having any secrets, so—”

“I think,” Nino interrupted, tightening his hold on her. “You should learn to trust Marinette more. She doesn't need you overseeing her every step. I love you. Marinette loves you, but she is a grown woman, Alya, and you aren't her mother. Marinette can take care of herself, so trust her. That’s what’s being a friend is all about.”

“I know. You’re right. It’s just so hard for me to watch her destroy herself and do nothing about it.”

“You don't have to do nothing. Support her. Unconditionally. I’m sure that's the only thing she needs from you, and something that I dare say you weren't giving her lately.”

It took her a few moments to reply before she pressed closer to him and murmured, “I’ll try my best. How did your lunch go? You never told me the details apart from the big news.”

“It went well,” Nino gave her a shy smile.

Alya quirked an eyebrow. “Oh! So you made up?”

“In a way? We decided to try and see if anything can be rebuilt between us, but that’s about it. Though… after everything, after the way I treated him, I don’t feel I deserve his friendship anymore.”

“Do you want it?”

Nino let a sad puff of air escape his lips. “Do you even have to ask that?”  

“Then everything will work out.” Alya leaned in for a quick kiss to his cheek. “I know how much you’ve been missing him all these years. Even back then. You were angry, but still wishing everything would just fix itself and give you your friend back.”

Nino lowered his eyes. “Alya—”

“That’s okay, Nino. Everyone makes mistakes, but everyone also deserves a second chance. I have Marinette to know how you feel. Friendships like these don’t come often, so if you want and you think you can rebuild your friendship, I say go for it.”

Nino didn’t answer, giving his fiancée a smile. He brushed her hair with his hand, gazing in her eyes before whispering, “Let’s go to bed. We’ve both had a long and hard day today.”

Alya smiled back. “Alright. But know that I love you and will support your decision on this.”

“Thank you, babe,” Nino pressed her closer. “Thank you.”

***

Ladybug landed on the Eiffel Tower beam with a soft thud around nine p.m. on Sunday evening, her gaze instantly landing on Chat Noir. She loved that man so much, her heart warmed up at the simple sight of the cat ears peeking through his wild blond mane. “You’re here early, Chaton.”

He shifted toward her, lifting a hard gaze her way. “He’s gone, Bug.”

Ladybug paused when she saw his angered expression, scooting closer to him on the beam and gathering his face between her open palms. “Chat? Kitty? What’s wrong? Talk to me.”

“He’s gone. That bastard is gone, and I can’t even explain it to you.” He had a dry, angry laugh.  “How fitting. He’s ruining my life even from beyond the grave.”

Tears suddenly spilled over his mask with a choked sob, and he dissolved into a teary mess in her hands. Taken aback by the sudden shift in his mood, Ladybug hugged her partner to her heart, cradling him like she would’ve done with an upset child and softly stroking his hair.

Chat cried for what seemed like hours, sobbing violently in the crook of her neck, his fists bunched into tight balls on her back. He was hiccupping violently, broken sobs tearing out of his throat, and Ladybug felt her own heart shattering in her chest.

Her partner was hurting, there was nothing she could do to help him, and she hated it.

Ladybug rocked him through his meltdown, holding him up in the storm as he was seemingly freefalling, his emotions choking him and making it hard to breathe.

“Chaton?” she eventually asked, when his sobbing subdued to quiet sniffing. “Chaton, talk to me. What’s wrong? Who’s gone?”

He stiffened in her hold, but let his head rest against her collarbone limply.

“Chat? Chat? Are you okay? You’re worrying me.”

He let out a pitiful sob, and curled up against her chest, his hands clinging to her even tighter than before. “He’s dead, Bugaboo,” he whimpered. “That bastard is dead, and I just don’t know what to do or how to deal with it.”

Understanding that he was upset over the relative he’d recently lost, Ladybug knew that he just needed someone to listen to him, someone to lean on for a bit. “I’m here,” she cooed in his ear, stifling the selfish urge to kiss him better. “I’m right here, kitty cat, and I’m not going anywhere. We’ll get through this together, okay?”

She kept him like that, sobbing in the crook of her neck, until the crying eventually gave way to quiet hiccups, rubbing comforting circles on his back.

“I’m right here,” she assured him again, allowing herself to press a chaste kiss on the crown of his head. “We’re partners, through thick and thin. For better and for worse.”

His pitiful whimper was enough of an answer for her. She held him as he clung to her for comfort, and gently drew small circles on his back through the leather of his suit.

Chat Noir shifted within her embrace, sitting a little bit straighter on the beam. “I’m sor—”

“Don’t you dare start apologizing,” Ladybug answered flatly. “You’re obviously going through some really hard times. You’d do the same for me in a heartbeat, Kitty. You’ve been there for me through rough patches before. I’ll do the same for you.”  

She smiled and nudged him with her shoulder, trying to lighten the mood. “Wanna race? We both could use some exercise.”

His smile was slow to appear, and she felt that he had to force himself a little, but he eventually stretched his long legs in front of him. “The first at the Arc de Triomphe wins?”

“Nope. Catch me if you can!” With those words she was flying into the sky, the hoarse laugh of Chat Noir chasing her.

***

Chat Noir landed on her balcony right as the clock ticked nine on Monday evening, and Marinette happily opened the door when she heard the familiar sound of boots hitting the concrete. He seemed calmer than he had been the night prior. More collected, but somewhat exhausted.

She had woken up late that morning, having had quite a fight with her hairbrush upon coming home from their impromptu race, strands of black hair sticking in every direction and framing her flushed cheeks. But it had been worth it to hear his breathless laughs as he chased her on rooftops and to see his brilliant grin finally appear when he wrapped his arms around her, chuckling a soft “Gotcha, Bug” in her ear.

She had been so tempted to destroy the last few barriers that still stood between them at that moment. To cross the heartbeat between their lips, to let go of masks and pretences and tell him that she loved him. Heart, body, and soul. She wanted so badly to belong to him, to start a new life for both of them. Find a cute little house with a white picket fence, get married, maybe have a child or three. She’d even trade the hamster in for a cat if that made him happy.

Because that’s all she wanted him to be. Happy.

Hopefully by her side.

She had resisted. The moment hadn’t been right, not with him grieving for his family. She didn’t want to add to his obviously full plate of problems and decided to find a better (and more romantic) time and place for that long overdue reveal.

“Evening, Princess,” Chat greeted, unaware of her rambling thoughts and flashing a smile her way that looked every single bit fake. “I don’t know what’s on the menu, but it smells truly amazing.”

Her own smile faltered in response to his, and she promptly turned her back to him to keep herself from commenting on it, marching to the kitchen with what she hoped was a determinate step. “You mentioned you weren’t much of a cook. So I figured you must not eat roasts that often.”

It was unfair that he had that kind of effect on her both in and outside the mask. As Ladybug, she could hug him, stroke his hair to soothe him. They were partners, best friends, and physical contact was a thing they were dealing with daily. How many times had they gotten tied up together, and how many times had they launched each other toward an akuma? How many evenings had he held her to his chest as she spoke about Alya, about her friendship bursting out at the seams? How many times had she dug her fingers in his hair to comfort him after a rough week, how many cuddles had they shared away from prying eyes in the past few years?

As Ladybug and Chat Noir, their relationship was shifting, and it was exhilarating. They weren’t just friends anymore, but they had yet to slap a label on what they were. They were exploring this new side of their bond together, pushing the limits a little further every now and then and playing it by ear.

They trusted each other more than anything in the world.

Things would fall into place in due time.

As Marinette, though, she had no right to feel that way. No right to want to wrap her arms around him, to wish she could know what was going on in that handsome head of his. Wish she could soothe whatever pain he had been in the night prior, wish she could pry into his civilian life and help him out.

She focused on the vegetables cooking in a steamer basket, pushing a stray strand of hair behind her ear, trying to get her furiously beating heart in check. He crept up beside her, leaning against the kitchen counter and studying her carefully.

“Are you okay, Marinette?” he asked, his voice soft with worry. “I really didn’t want to add to your already full schedule. I’m being a bother, aren’t I?”

She giggled, lifting her gaze toward him at last. “Don’t you dare go anywhere, Chat Noir.”

“But—”

She didn’t give him time to go further with his objection, only shaking her head as she took plates out of the cupboard and retrieved oven mitts from a nearby hook. “Work has been harsh lately, as you know. My assistant quit, as did most of the good employees, so I’m kinda on my own to handle everything. I’m exhausted, but I’m gonna make it. Honestly, having a good reason to leave work and come home to cook will probably save me from the asylum. Besides, you kinda look like you need a friend right now.”

Her eyes were trained on the wooden spoon in her hand as she spoke, but she felt Chat shift beside her. He tensed, looking at her intently, and she could almost feel his eyes searching her soul.

“Thanks.”

The word tumbled from his lips, unbidden. A simple acknowledgement that he indeed needed a shoulder to lean on, and Marinette felt her heart constrict in her chest.

Chat Noir smiled shyly, an expression that seemed oddly out of place on her normally exuberant partner. “I’m… I’m going through a rough patch right now. I’ll be fine though, don’t worry.”

By the time he finished speaking, he was standing right in front of her, his fingers merely an inch from hers. “I really appreciate your concern, though, Marinette. Thank you.”

His carefully crafted façade tremored for a brief second, and it broke Marinette’s heart. Did he have anyone to talk to, outside of the mask? Did someone care for him? Did anyone worry whenever he came home late?

Plastering the brightest, fakest smile she could muster on her face, Marinette spun around with two full plates of food. “No problem! Are you hungry? Because I’m starving. Oh, and by the way, I found a game console here, and it isn't that old. Do you happen to know anything about it?”

The smile he flashed her right then was the first genuine one she’d seen on his face in two days. “I bought a new one a few weeks ago and since my previous console wasn't that old yet I didn't want to throw it away. I thought you’d enjoy it, since, if I remember correctly, you were quite a gamer back in days.”  

“What do you mean were?” Marinette smirked. “I still am and to prove that I bought Ultimate Mecha Strike VI today, so you could attempt to beat me if you dare.”

“Watch me,” Chat gave her a matching grin, sitting down at the table. “After dinner, you’re going down, Princess.”

Next >

[pips-fics]

ask: hyunjin having a stomach ache and chan and jisung take care of him. 

wow, a fic!  i actually made this a continuation of this fic, so feel free to read that first if you’d like something longer to read!  you don’t need to have read that fic first though, this fic will make sense on it’s own as well!

pt. 1

please enjoy :)

——

when jisung got back to the dorm, it was quiet.  he didn’t know who else was home, but he was grateful to them, breathing a shaky sigh of relief.

it wasn’t that he was against noise in general.  in fact, most of the time, silence kind of creeped him out.  but today specifically, as he set his bag down and rolled his aching shoulders back, he was too tired for noise.

it had been a long week.

that was the other thing: it hadn’t been a long week, at least not longer than any other.  7 days long, filled with practice, songwriting, and sometimes sleep.  so why did it feel so much longer?  it didn’t have an explanation, so in jisung’s opinion, it wasn’t worth worrying about.  it definitely wasn’t worth worrying his members about.  the only thing is, he didn’t like to lie.  so sometimes, like today, he left practice earlier than most of them.  other days he left later - much later - to make up for it.  in either case, it was much easier to avoid his members, and thus avoid having to lie.

as usual, he went straight to his bedroom.  he noted the click-clack of chan working on something on his computer and felt distantly guilty for not doing the same, but walked faster as he passed by.

as he entered his own room, he froze upon seeing hyunjin.  he hadn’t expected that.  hyunjin nearly always stayed with the rest of the group, disliking being alone even more than jisung normally did.  fortunately, he looked to be in a deep sleep, his breathing heavy and unflinching even when jisung had entered the room.  another sigh of relief.  hyunjin was a deep sleeper, but jisung was still quiet as he climbed into his own bed.  just in case.

his bed felt so nice.  it was the only thing that seemed to feel nice these days.  he sunk into his pile of pillows and blankets, eager to let sleep overtake him, feeling drowsiness approaching in the quiet room—

only to have the silence interrupted suddenly by a whimper that normally would have had jisung springing out of bed in a heartbeat.  instead, he squeezed his eyes shut tightly, ignoring the guilt that pushed him further from the sleep he so desperately wanted.  it was probably nothing, he reminded himself.  just another one of hyunjin’s nonsensical nightmares that he would laugh about when he woke up.  sure, normally jisung would be the one to wake him up to prevent it from becoming any worse, but it wasn’t like it was his responsibility anyway, right?

hyunjin made another noise, this time sounding somewhere between a sob and a whine.

any hope of sleeping disappeared in an instant.

jisung dragged himself out of his bunk, ignoring the way doing so seemed to hurt every bone in his body, trying not to fall off the ladder in spite of his shaky hands while he climbed down.  he sat heavily on the bed beside hyunjin, who still seemed to be sleeping, even while in pain.  jisung shook him gently, forcing a soft, and hopefully reassuring smile onto his face.

“hyunjinnie…”

the other boy was apparently only half asleep, because at the sound of his name, even spoken softly, his eyes fluttered open readily.

“jisung?”  hyunjin sniffled and wiped tears from his face.  “ah, i- uh- is practice done already?”

jisung felt his smile falter for a moment.  “almost, i think,” he lied, brushing hyunjin’s sweaty hair off of his forehead.  “you look awful,” jisung said with a chuckle, as a distraction but also as a truth.

the older boy looked as bad as jisung felt, pasty and sweaty and shaky, his face scrunched up and eyes darting frantically back and forth…  jisung couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen him looking so shaken.  “did you have a nightmare?”

hyunjin shrugged, saying “yes but i don’t want to talk about it” without speaking a word aloud.  jisung nodded, fighting against his own drowsiness, but now seriously concerned.  “are you feeling okay, buddy?”

“stomach- my stomach hurts,” hyunjin said, barely holding back tears.  “sungie… it hurts so much, ch-channie-hyung said i-it would feel better.”

realizing that this had likely been a day-long issue made jisung’s heart hurt.  and to think, he’d almost ignored hyunjin, out of pure selfishness.  it made his own stomach churn.  he squeezed hyunjins’ hand.

“it will feel better, okay?  has chan ever lied to you?  just give it some time.”

crying now, hyunjin nodded, looking at jisung with hopeful and pained eyes.  “did channie-hyung leave?  h-he s-said- he said he’d s-stay.”

“he’s here, buddy.  i’ll go get him-“

“no!”  hyunjin latched onto jisung’s sleeve, eyes wide with alarm.  “please,” he said quietly.  jisung nodded, and took a deep breath.

“channie-hyung!  come here, please!”  he shouted as loud as he could.  it was a toss-up whether chan would hear him, if he had his headphones on while composing their next track, but it was worth a shot.  hyunjin almost cracked a smile, so that didn’t hurt, either.

seconds later, chan was rushing into the room looking flustered.  “jisungie?”  chan blinked for a second, confused, then shook his head and hurried to hyunjin’s side upon seeing the sick boy’s tears.  chan looked devastated.

“hyunjinnie, i’m so sorry,” chan mumbled, cradling hyunjin’s head to his chest as the younger boy sobbed.  “i got too wrapped up in my work again.”

chan turned to jisung, still petting hyunjin’s hair gently.  “and why are you home?  i figured practice would be another few hours.”

“wanted to work on some lyrics on my own.”  the lie slipped out of jisung’s mouth disturbingly easily.  he hated it.  he suppressed the urge to shudder when chan nodded, seeming to trust jisung completely.  jisung turned his attention back to hyunjin, who was playing quietly with the straps of chan’s hoodie.

“you doing okay, kid?”

“kid?  i’m older than you!”  hyunjin retorted.  jisung snickered, engaging with hyunjin in a bit more bickering, but he made sure to keep it light.

unnoticed by the younger boys, chan watched on with a tinge of pride at how much they cared for one another, fully aware that jisung was being more gentle than he normally would.  as cute as it was, hyunjin was looking worse by the second, sweat beading on his forehead and neck.  chan could tell that jisung noticed too, because he gradually fell silent and just played with hyunjin’s hair, glancing at chan occasionally.  hyunjin’s eyes started to droop shut and he leaned his head into jisung’s hand like a puppy being petted.

chan was just starting to hope that hyunjin would fall back asleep, but no luck.  the sick boy cringed very suddenly, and a hand flew to his mouth.

“hyunjinnie…”  chan said quietly.  jisung moved his hand to the back of hyunjin’s neck, looking worried.

hyunjin nodded, one hand still covering his mouth, the other searching for something.  chan offered his arm, and that seemed to do the trick because hyunjin latched on.  chan stood, his free hand on hyunjin’s back to guide him.  hyunjin opened fearful eyes slowly and with a whimper.

“c’mon, baby, it’s okay,” chan assured him.

they walked to the bathroom together.  they paused once on the way there when hyunjin gagged, but he shuddered and they kept going.  they made it to the bathroom and hyunjin dragged chan to the ground with him.

“hyung…”

“you’ll be okay, baby, i promise.”

“i don’t want to” hyunjin mumbled, hiccuping.

“you’ll feel better if you just let it happen,” jisung commented, leaning heavily against the doorway with a water bottle on hand but not wanting to crowd them.

hyunjin whimpered and he squeezed chan’s hand tight.

“just breathe, hyunjinnie.”

a burp rolled out of hyunjin’s mouth and chan helped him lean over the toilet just in time for sick to spill into it.  hyunjin began crying immediately, but once he started being sick he couldn’t seem to stop.  he coughed and shuddered, his arms gripping the toilet rim instead of chan, his whole body shaking violently, back arching as his puked again and again.  he coughed and groaned, a bit more sick spilling over his lips, then moaned and rested his forehead on his arms, which were crossed over the toilet.

“you’re okay, baby, you’re okay.”  chan rubbed circles onto the younger boy’s back.

hyunjin groaned and shook his head.  his muscles tightened with a long retch which eventually brought up a long stream of sick, after which hyunjin gasped and threw up again.

hyunjin, panting, threw himself away from the toilet and grabbed onto chan, sobbing.  “woah, hey…” chan caught him by the arms and looked at his red face, trying to wipe away tears.  jisung came in and quietly offered the water bottle, which hyunjin refused.

“jinnie, do you feel better?”  chan asked quietly.

hyunjin shrugged.

“do you think you’re gonna be sick again?”

hyunjin shook his head.  “channie-hyung, i feel disgusting.”

chan had to cut off a laugh at that, and even jisung cracked a smile.  it was just such a hyunjin thing to say after being sick.

“do you want to shower?”

the sick boy shook his head.  “i’m tired.”

“hyunjinnie, face me for a second.”  jisung had a washcloth, wet with warm water.  he gently used it to massage hyunjin’s face.

“my hair is disgusting.”

jisung came with a beanie and puts it on hyunjin’s head.  “cute.”

abut 10 minutes later, hyunjin’s teeth have been brushed and the sick boy is back in his bed, out like a light.  jisung is envious.  he’s about ready to head to his own when chan’s hand on his arm stops him.

“hey, what’s going on with you?”  chan asks, quietly.  jisung is caught off guard - he thought he’d managed a convincing show.  but maybe it shouldn’t be such a shock; chan has always been able to read him like a book, even when no one else can.  jisung decides to make one last-ditch effort, just in case.

“nothing, hyung, i’m fine!  why?”

chan gives jisung the sort of stern but caring look that makes him regret all of his lies instantly, but shakes his head.  “if you don’t want to talk about it right now, that’s okay.  just… promise me you’ll let me or one of the others know if it gets too bad?”

jisung relaxes.  chan always knows the right thing to say.  jisung has a sudden urge to hug the older boy, so he does, burying his face in chan’s sweater, hiding the tears that had sprung to his eyes but also finding some much needed comfort as chan returns the hug, rubbing circles into jisung’s back.  jisung thinks that chan would probably let him stay here forever if he asked.  a part of him wants that, but he’s not prepared to take advantage of chan’s kindness.  at least, not tonight.

“thank you,” he whispers, pulling away.  chan nods, ruffles his hair.  jisung feels safe.

“any time.  really,” chan smiles gently, and jisung knows he’s telling the truth.  “now, let’s get you to bed, hm?  you look exhausted.”

jisung nods.  i am.

——

feel free to send more asks

[ivegotbreadinmypants]

okay okay, after being heavily inspired by watching Man From UNCLE again, let's just say that this geraskier au is sort of like a reincarnation 60s spy au.

Hear me out

Geralt is one of Kaer Morhen's top agents (its a secret agency tasked to wipe out the worst threats to governments and humankind. The secret agency isn't specifically tied to one country, their agents are hired by governments over the world to wipe out the worst type of threats) and one day he gets the assignment from CIA of all things.

He's hired to finish an underground job because one of their best agents is nearly compromised in an eight month secret mission (Geralt holds back the urge to roll his eyes because really? That's their best agent?)

So then he's told he doesn't have to know who the agent is, all he gets is the information on what needs to be done to complete the mission.

Under any circumstance, Geralt must not fail the mission, even if it means the CIA agent has to take the fall.

So Geralt understands it. Yes, it's a little cold to leave their best in the dust to die but for the sake of thousands of other endangered lives, Geralt gets why he must finish the job.

So then he's in, and then he finds out he's dealing with the worst type of people. Human trafficking, multiple drug rings, a black market for basically anything, and plans of dangerous weapons that should never be seen in the light of day.

Geralt has dealt with each of those things separately, and for a moment he feels out of his depth. But he's Geralt of fucking Rivia, known to have killed a small army on his way out of captivity; The Butcher, they called him.

So soon enough, he finds himself neck deep in fake identities and a web of lies. He slowly makes his way up the ladder, taking down supervisors and getting his hands necessarily dirty.

He's violently efficient enough that one night, he's invited to meet with the higher ups, the ones in charge of the drug rings. An invitation to an elite speakeasy.

So he goes. Sits there around a table, on his second whiskey for the night. He's told there's live entertainment, the best singer they've had at the establishment. And Geralt nods and grins easily like he belongs there, like he isn't planning on spiking their cigarettes in an hour. He waits and waits for the opportunity, and then the lights dim, the curtains draw and there—Geralt can take the moment of distraction to pour the cyanide lined powder into their drinks.

But then a voice rings out, curling over the people like smoke—

And he stops and looks up.

The entertainment of the night stands upon the stage, a mic cradled gently in his hand, lips brushing over it with every smooth word spilling of his mouth, wearing a bowtie and a suit that looks like sin.

Bright cornflower eyes stare into the crowd and Geralt feels a full-body shiver run through him, the words—no, the voice, that voice—resonates deeply within him, pulling a thick string in his body taut and tight, pulling and tugging until Geralt has no choice but to keep looking at him, listening to him.

Because he knows him. He knows him.

He keeps staring, unable to tear his eyes away no matter how hard he wills his body to because there's no way he should recognise the man but he does, he does and there's a haunting hollow pit within him, pushing him into the hole to the point he's free-falling and fuck—

He knows him.

And the empty abyss within also tells Geralt that he lost him.

His eyes roam over the man's face, body, something twinging with recognition at the sight of his tall, lanky body, but it also pinches with the empty air in the man's hands, feels like he should be holding something, nimble fingers playing over the fretboard—

Geralt swallows hard when those blue eyes dance around the room and they stop on his. The man's voice barely catches in the middle of his performance, but his eyes stop, staring, focused back at Geralt with the intensity of a hot camp fire—

Tell me, why even bother setting up a camp fire when you can wave a hand and do it in a second?

The voice of the man in utterly enchanting, enrapturing Geralt in a vice he doesn't even know if he wants to get out of—

It's like ordering a pie and finding out it has no filling.

Geralt loses his breath, the tight rope in him coming loose when the corner of the man's lips quirks up, keeping his gaze steady, still singing with immeasurable passion.

The man beside him guffaws, slapping his shoulder with amusement and the fog in Geralt’s senses recedes, shaken out of... whatever the fuck that was.

They tell him Geralt’s not the first fan their singer has had and they offer him a chance to meet him face to face.

Geralt agrees.

They bring him to the back of the establishment, giving him and their entertainer privacy.

Geralt can feel him through the door, something in the air vibrating with unseen energy.

Then the door opens without Geralt needing to knock and a slender hand pulls him inside.

The second their skin made contact, Geralt chokes, intense power rocking through his body and

You're the witcher, Geralt of Rivia

It's one night bodyguarding your very best friend in the whole wide world, how hard could it be

Well, who knows, maybe someone out there will want you

She saved your life, Jaskier, I can't let her die

We could head to the coast, get away for a while

If life could give me one blessing—

"Jaskier," he breathes, cracks lining the edges of his heart with unrelenting grief

Brilliant blue eyes stare up at him, widened by shock and relief and everything Geralt can't even imagine Jaskier has felt after the dragon hunt, after everything.

Then Jaskier slaps a hand over his mouth, leaning in and pressing a finger to his own lips, signalling him to be quiet. Geralt is silent, but he can hardly hold back from gripping the sides of Jaskier's suit and breathing in the scent of sandalwood, flowers and—

"In this room and out of it, my name is Edwin," he whispers, his blue eyes desperately searching Geralt's, fingers almost digging into his chin.

Geralt furrows his brows, squinting at his bard—at the performer and quietly hums, questioning.

What does he mean his name is—

Geralt's eyes go wide, his heart plummeting.

Jaskier smiles but the sight is saddened, and Geralt finally sees the exhaustion and pressure and worry weighing heavily on Jaskier

Fuck.

Jaskier is the CIA agent.

The man leans in, hand still pressed over Geralt's mouth, and he utters, lips brushing against his ear, "I'm guessing you're the agent they sent in to finish the mission."

Geralt's eyes search the room, looking for anything that would tip off a bug. Because Geralt hates the idea he might be adding onto the risk of Jaskier's cover getting blown.

"You're compromised, aren't you?" Geralt quietly says once Jaskier's hand moves away. The man nods, curtly, eyes hardening. He chuckles darkly. "Had to clear up my trail, get rid of any evidence."

A small smirk makes its way to Jaskier's mouth, and fuck, it reminds Geralt of the many times Jaskier would shamelessly flirt with everyone and everything and Gods, he didn't know he missed it until now.

"Just like you taught me, Geralt." And Geralt huffs a small laugh, the memory of painstakingly explain to Jaskier the importance of clearing their tracks when hunted.

Gods, Jaskier is holding him, pressing up against him, smelling the same way he did in their other life—

And Geralt can't find it within himself to let go, melting protectively against Jaskier.

He can hardly breathe because he's here, he's here

And he'd be damned if he's letting any of the bastards get their hands on his bard.

Geralt changes tactics, changes the mission.

He doesn't care if the mission will go sideways, he doesn't care if he'll have to burn the entire organisation down to the ground himself because—

Under any circumstances, will he ever let Jaskier get hurt again, whether it be by his words or anyone's hand.

Cue every espionage romance clichés there is.

Having to kiss in public to get rid of suspicion?

Hiding in small closets, chest to chest, just as a guard walks past the door?

A moment where Jaskier has to seduce his way out of trouble and Geralt being unbearably jealous?

Geralt getting close to death and Jaskier getting super emotional just before Geralt wakes up?

Competence kink? Geralt quickly finds out that Jaskier is rather handy with knives. Jaskier says he always wondered why it came so easily to him when he first trained in the CIA, and Jaskier reveals that in their other life, his bard already knew how to wield daggers like Geralt did with his silver sword.

All yes.

It ends with Geralt and Jaskier saving the world by a hair and ending up as partners when Jaskier resigns from the CIA and applies for K.M.

[incogniiita]

{ ✴ }   ︎——   THE SOIL IS RICH AND DARK WITHIN HIS PALM.  there’s an eerie peace within the moonlit silence of the night.  quiet enough for victor to hear the silent whispers that he wished he could drown into nothing.  they are guides to him, but also a constant mockery of his regrets.  weary eyes trace the fading stone carvings upon the crumbling headstone.  the fact it had stayed around this long was surprising to him.  no new body arose to claim this grave.  and for that, a part of him was grateful for it.        calloused fingertips move across the cool grey stone.  worn over the centuries of erosion and weather.  the headstone was hidden away versus the rest in the graveyard.  high towering brush and shrubs keeping it safe and secluded.  victor took his time removing dead branches and weeds that the cold winds of autumn have brushed upon it.  lush green grows around the grave, but nothing dares to touch where the body is buried.  a sign of respect and care.  something that wasn’t visible within him in day to day life.  that was something he reserved for her.  and  only  her.  

       even if it had been almost three hundred years ago, the memory stays fresh and wounded in his mind. he had lived only a hundred years before that time ---- marking him in present day as almost half a millennium old.  just beginning his training within magic and necromancy.  life had been lonely once his mentor had passed on, giving all skill and knowledge he had to victor to continue on within his studies.  magic and necromancy had already given him a longer life and vision of youth.  but he knew it wouldn’t last for long.       traveling as a stowaway, wanting to see the world and break from the confines of europe, that was how he had met  karinne.  she was sweet, kind hearted, and warm.  a french aristocrat who wanted to become an author even if the only thing expected of her was to marry well.  victor wasn’t necessarily poor from the contracts and jobs he took, but he wasn’t of nobility either.  a grey patch that was difficult to place in society’s standards.  he had respect as a necromancer and magician though. he kept people safe and disposed of threats when needed or hired to do so.      both himself and karinne grew close, their bond to one another strong but shy.  even after a few years, they had yet to utter  i love you  to one another.  barely holding hands, fleeting kisses exchanged upon their knuckles with rose tinted cheeks.  her smile filled his heart with an immense feeling of belonging. they knew what their hearts felt, but they did not speak it.  and that regret will forever cling to him.       one night, in the dead of winter, his mentor’s mistakes came back to haunt him.  mistakes that victor was unaware of.  mistakes he wish he knew about sooner.  a corrupt sorcerer sought revenge, but since victor’s mentor was no more, he decided victor was the closest closure he would receive in the end.  the sorcerer had snuck his way into the house, confronting victor first by the warming furnace.  karinne being tucked away upstairs.  she had been visiting victor and had fallen asleep as victor continued to study downstairs.        victor attempted negotiation, offering money, valuables, even old tomes that once belonged to his mentor.  but the sorcerer was only interested in taking his life.  before the magic-user could make a move,  karinne had snuck downstairs, hitting the intruder from behind with a cast iron.  creating the perfect opportunity for a counter attack by victor, stunning the enemy.  instructing karinne to run, victor ushered her outside.  suddenly, the secluded home victor had chosen outside of town didn’t feel like a good idea anymore. the flickering orange-yellow lights was barely visible through the falling snow.  it was then a singing, burning, pain raked down victor’s back.  a horrid scream of pain ripping across his throat.         the corrupted sorcerer, with dark magic encasing his hands, marked victor across his spine.  the magic burning through the soft linen of his shirt, creating permanent black hand marks that shreds downwards upon his skin.  karinne, stumbling through the thick sheeted snow pauses in her escape, looking to see victor collapsing to the ground in agony.  swirls of smoke floating into the air with the scent of burnt cloth and skin.  victor can still hear the call of her voice calling out his name in panic.  mind fuzzy and shaken from the shock of magic, he attempts to crawl towards her.  but is grabbed by his attacker.  i’ve thought of something more suitable than your life,  the man states in his ear,  i’ll take hers instead ... and you will suffer as i wish your mentor had.          and like a flash of lightning before victor could shout even a warning, karinne was struck down.  her body falling easily within the snow below as the sorcerer seemed to disappear without a trace.  victor’s ears rung with deafening silence.  the cold winter winds was all he felt against him now.  that cold forever following him in years to come.  with aching bones, victor moves through the snow to her.  he hadn’t noticed the tremor within his hands until he reached for karinne, holding her close to him.  it was as if she was in a quiet slumber.  frozen tears begin to cling to his cheeks as he sobbed in grief.  a visceral shout of rage and agony moving through the mountains.  an echo of loss spanning across the woods.       he hadn’t told her.  after all those years and he was too cowardice to admit three simple words to her.  months before, he had bought a ring.  keeping it hidden within his bedside table.  waiting and anticipating for the right moment to ask her hand.  he had been too late.  too late because he  hesitated  in the end.      that was when the shift began.  the moment he decided to move down a darker path.  one that he hadn’t dreamed of taking in the entirety of his career as a necromancer.   he wanted to barter with death.  to change what had been done.  to tell her that he  loved  her.       he worked through ancient tomes, ones that his mentor had warned him about using.  ones that taught necromancers how to raise the dead.  which meant he had to barter with death.  the summoning was a tolling experience.  only souls of the dead can speak with the reaper himself. and so, for five minutes, victor had died upon markings of chalk.  knowing if his plea would fail, it would result in a permanent death.  a high risk that many within the magical community never dared to take.       victor met face to face with death themselves.  bargaining to bring karinne back, offering anything in return to mend his broken heart.   death, feeling pitiful that day, spoke calmly:   i will grant you the gift of reviving the dead ... but in return, you shall face everlasting consequences for your decision if you choose to accept it.   not caring about the fine lines of the contract, victor hastily accepted the terms.        and with a harsh gasp of breath,  he was reborn.        after karinne’s funeral, he awaited until nightfall.  until the moon was high in the sky above the graveyard.  placing his hands upon the ground where her body lay, old latin begins to fall from his lips.  shadows calling to him like a beacon.  little did he know that those shadows of death would stay within him.  thus began the whisper of voices.  his eyes filled with black, turning into ebony orbs as he called upon his newfound gift granted to him by death themselves.  the ground beneath him began to rumble.  like a hum of electricity racing through the dark soil below.         a pale hand then erupted from the ground below.  karinne now struggling to climb out her shallow dug grave.  with a breath of relief, victor rushes to her aid.  both embraced tightly within their arms.  ‘i love you’  he desperately whispers to her over and over into the crook of her shoulder.  his heart weeping in happiness that his love had returned.  she was weak, but gently she laughed.  repeating his words with a faint dazed smile.        the two returned to the home in the mountains.  the first few days being absolute bliss.  victor finally giving her the ring he had held onto months before her death.  unofficially marrying.  it was untimely bliss ... that is, until karinne began showing strange symptoms.       throughout moments in the day, there would be times where her expression would turn blank, staring into space.  becoming unresponsive.  repeating daily tasks.  muttering inaudible sentences and words.  her skin beginning to mold as her eyes began turning milky white.  victor, horrified, he was at a loss of what to do.  was this one of the consequences death spoke of ?  trying to bring some sense back to karinne on one of the worser days, she suddenly lashed out and attacked him.  shrieking about how he put her within this torment. how she wanted to return to a peaceful slumber.  victor attempted to plead at her to stop, but her violent outburst worsened.  out of panic, his hands fly to the frame of her face, eyes returning to black orbs through tears.  her restless life slowly draining from her body.  he could feel her life fade through his fingertips.

     cradling her lifeless body again for a second time, he realizes this ‘gift’ is a two way road.  he can give but also take away life.  silently, tears of grief roll down his cheeks.  losing karinne for a second time.  having to take her life by his hands.  now his hands were the only ones to blame. now you understand,  a voice echoes to him,  the consequences that you will have to burden for the rest of your life ...  use it wisely, my hand of death.            he reburies her at the graveyard and later leaves the town.  becoming a traveling drifter.  never truly staying in one spot.  taking contracts and hiring jobs.  a natural title surfacing around his reputation across the supernatural community:  the hand of death.  a fitting title.  but a title he does not care for.           and thus, he finds himself in front of her grave hundreds of years later.  he hadn’t visited this town in a long while.  he actively avoided it when he could.  but this time, work lead him here.  letting the familiar dark rich soil fall between his fingers.  a soft sigh is exhaled, standing slowly from where he knelt in front of the grave.  with one last touch upon the grave stone, he quietly utters:  i loved you,  before moving onwards past the burial site.  placing a toothpick between his grinding teeth.  jaw tensed and sharp.         with each step he takes across the lush green dewy grass, it silently withers under his boots.        

[buckys-forgotten-plum]

Hold Me Tighter

Prompt- You were a human test subject that had been rescued by the Avengers Team. Your recovery wasn’t looking too good, and not even Tony knew how to handle it. That’s when you met Bucky. 

Warnings- maybe a little angst, language, mention of abuse

I wrote this in a day so I am genuinely so, so sorry if this is bad. 

anyways, pitter patter lets get at her...

—————

It was your twelfth day at the Avengers Tower and nothing had changed. You stayed in the room that was given to you, pecked at the food that they had brought, barely slept in the bed provided, and showered at least twice a day in the shower that was in the bathroom. You knew it wouldn’t work, but the idea of scrubbing off all the filth of your past in the fancy shower, clouded your mind petulantly. You refused to talk to anyone, look at them, and especially touch them. Touch was not going to happen.

Though you were freed from your inhumane compounds, the mindset still remained and it was painful to even try to escape them.

“Miss y/n, Mr. Stark would like to enter your room,” the AI Friday, who you actually liked for the fact that the only thing she did was talk and play music for you, spoke softly as to not scare you out of your wits.

That was a very easy task.

All you did was nod, not wanting to hurt your throat anymore after all the screaming done whenever you unwillingly fall asleep.

The door to your room unlocked and a handsome, tall man walked in holding a small tray that had pancakes and a small glass of juice, “thought you might be hungry,” he murmured quietly.

You nod silently from the corner of the room in which you had decided to be the place you spent most of your time.

“I was thinking that...you might wanna come out whenever, and uh just kinda look around the tower? Of course someone would have to go with you- security reasons and all- but just to get some sunlight and I don’t know stretch or whatever,” he trailed, losing eye contact with you after your lack of response.

Did you want to leave the room? For some reason, you felt like you were safe, and yet you didn’t want to risk falling into some trap. 

“I promise I won’t hurt you...” Tony’s voice was soft and he crouched down to your level, gently putting the small tray in front of you. 

You didn’t say anything, as per usual, but you made the move to lightly pull off a piece of one of the pancakes before putting it in your mouth. You didn’t like the flavour. 

“Not your kind of food? If you want I can take you to the kitchen and you can make something yourself,” he offered, taking the tray back.

it was either that or starve... And you were really hungry. You waited a few moments before nodding your head microscopically. Tony slowly stood up and and began walking out of the room, “Kitchen is this way kid,” He says, a small smile on his face. 

You got up slowly, almost falling over due to the low blood sugar you were suffering from. You silently walked behind Tony, remembering to look over your shoulder every few moments to make sure you were safe. It didn’t take long before the small trip was over and Tony stood by as you silently explored the large, modern space. It had been a very long time since you had seen a kitchen, in all reality it had been a really long time since you had seen anything other than a concrete wall and angry men who jabbed tasers at you. 

“Hey friday, tell the others to stay clear of kitchen 4b,” Tony spoke quietly to the bracelet on his wrist, but it still startled you a little, making your body flash in and out quickly. 

The action made Tony pause and his eyes grow to the size of saucers, “What the hell was that? What did you just do?” his voice was a little shaken as he looked at your small frame. 

As Tony started walking towards where you were, you began to feel trapped and panicked. It wasn’t until he got about a foot away from your body that you completely broke and disappeared from sight before showing up in the hallway a second later. You heard Tony mutter a confused string of curses, before deciding to find your way back to the room that had become your safe haven. As you turned to go the opposite direction, you ran into a tall, dark wall. 

A quick gasp left your lips as you saw the gruff looking man in front of you, looking just as surprised as you did. There was no time for the scary man to react before you flashed out of existence again, leaving him confused and slightly disoriented. Unfortunately, when you reappeared back in your room, the dizziness that overcame you from lack of food and using too much energy too fast, made you stumble around and fall to the floor with a heavy thump. 

“Owww” A quiet whine left your lips as you gently cradled your now bruised elbow. 

“Are you okay?” the sudden, deep voice that came from your doorway scared the shit out of you and made you let out a surprised yelp. 

You whipped around to see who made the unexpected entrance and was faced with the same, scary man who you had bumped into in the hallway. He immediately noticed how scared you were and put his hands up, getting down on his knees and bowing his head. The action made you eye him a little suspiciously, but also gave a small sense of relief. The way he crouched down reminded you of the way you used to, when the assholes with the tasers came in to do more tests on you. 

“My name is Bucky, is your elbow alright?” the man, Bucky, asked as he looked at you, head still bowed in a sign of submission. 

You nod your head silently and begin to assess the large man in front of you. He was dressed in a normal black t-shirt and grey sweats, his hair was in a bun and his blue eyes stared into yours. The last thing, quite surprisingly for you to notice, was the metal arm that was placed between his kneeling legs to help steady him. Your mouth slightly fell open at the sight as your eyes studied it closely. Small little clinking noises were heard as the arm flexed and move with the shifting weight of Bucky. 

“Can you tell me your name? The place we found you in was empty of all the subject files, including yours. And from what I saw in the hallway, I assume you were the only successful one,” You weren’t fully paying attention to his words, although you were focused on his voice, it was very rough, but it was very calming to you. 

You hadn’t talked in years, the only time you ever used your voice was to scream in pain or fear. There was never a need to talk in the hellish place you were kept and after you were rescued, you just couldn’t think of a reason to answer vocally. 

“I-uh- I went through something like what you’ve been through,” he mumbles quietly and shifts his position so he was sitting directly on the floor in front of your small, still shaken up, frame.

When you still didn’t answer and only gave a blank look, Bucky sighed quietly and took the hem of his shirt in one hand, lifting it up slightly. You immediately raised your eyebrows at his actions and moved your gaze to somewhere else in the room, cheeks heating up in slight embarrassment. 

“These are all from the people who hurt me. They had these weird rods that would emit electricity and shock me until I stopped fighting back or if I didn’t move fast enough. I can’t even count how many times it happened while I was there,” Bucky’s voice was so quiet it was almost impossible to hear.

The confession made you turn your head back towards the man, his shirt was pulled up to reveal his toned stomach that was littered in violent scars. A gasp escaped you and your hands immediately went to rest over your sides, the places that held your own scars from the awful electrocution tactics your captors used. 

“You have them too, don’t you?” He asks, voice a little broken. 

You once again nod silently, biting your lip harshly at the awful memories that now attacked your mind. You hated what had happened to you, the experiments, the training, the punishments... Everything that had happened to you hurt. It hurt you when it happened and it hurt you now in your memories. 

“Were you not allowed to talk when you were there?” he asked, scooting closer to you. 

The action made you flicker anxious, your reflexes always on edge incase you needed to leave. After the flicker had stopped (sometimes it took you awhile to stop) you shook your head and tried to block out the flashbacks of scary men in masks, beating you into unconsciousness after you had cursed out one of the men who had tased you way longer than necessary. The memories were becoming too much for you to handle and you couldn’t control the flow of tears that had started to run down your cheeks. 

Bucky’s face contorted into one of guilt as he saw your broken figure. He knew what it was like to have such memories, but had forgotten what it was like when something so awful was fresh in the mind. “Sweetheart I’m sorry, I didn’t think about how painful it was for you to think about it. How bout we talk about something else okay? You wanna tell me your name? Where you’re from?”

His questions were a little panicked because everyone knew how to deal with an upset girl except for Bucky Barnes. He was the absolute worst at consoling upset people and the fact that you were a small girl who he didn’t even know the name of didn’t seem to help. It wasn’t like you were sobbing though, you had learned very quickly that sobbing was a big Nono in the lab, which made you train yourself to just cry silently with an unmoving face. That would result in less punishment from the guards.

“Do you want me to leave?”

You wanted to say that you didn’t care, he could do whatever he wanted. But your brain was too invaded with the harsh memories that plagued your mind. The fall of tears grew stronger and your emotions took over your control, making you flicker in and out tirelessly. The action didn’t hurt or really effect you in any way but it made it hard to stay in the same place for long. You had no choice but to change your position every few seconds, which definitely freaked Bucky out.

“Should I get Tony? How do you deal with this?” Bucky held wide, anxious eyes as he followed your flickering body that moved a few feet every thirty seconds or so.

You couldn’t speak, just stay silent and try to calm yourself down to help stop yourself. You didn’t know how your powers worked. It just happened sometimes when you were frightened and you hadn’t managed to be able to control it enough to just do it when you wanted to. The teleporting became more random as you lost more and more control, every few moments you would just disappear from existence for a second before appearing a few feet off the floor and stumble back down before popping back up somewhere else.

It was getting to a point where the teleporting was exhausting, and your breathing was becoming laboured. Bucky couldn’t think of anything to do but stare in awe at what was happening. He had seen things. But nothing like this.

“Fuck,” it was the first work he heard you say as you landed roughly by your dresser before slamming into it.

You took the few seconds you had to wheeze in a few breaths, trying to calm down. You felt exposed, and without any sedatives like what your guards would usually give you, it was unknown how long you would go until it stopped. You were ripped from your place against the dresser and appeared on the floor a few feet away. You looked over at Bucky, pleading eyes staring into his.

“It’s okay, I think I know how to help,” he mumbles calmly before you disappear out of sight again, this time for a few seconds.

When you reappeared, you unexpectedly flew into Bucky. He, somehow, caught you without hurting himself or you and held you tightly in his arms. His strong, warm embrace instantly gave you a small sense of containment, something you strongly needed at the moment. Your heavy breathing was the only sound in the room as he wrapped his arms around your arms and waist and his legs around yours.

“Is this helping?” He asks, hot breath fanning against your ear.

“Y-yes” You croak out weakly, grabbing onto his shirt in hopes that it would help you stay in the same spot.

As you and Bucky sit in silence, your flicker slowly came to a stop, only coming back in a short burst every once in a while.

“So teleportation, huh? That’s different,” he jokes, a light chuckle rumbling in his chest.

You nod your head, breath still heavy and eyes closed in exhaustion. Bucky’s metal hand slowly started to rub circles on your lower back, fingers lightly digging into the flesh.

“Do I get to know your name yet? I mean I have just saved you from yourself,” Bucky states, a smile on his lips.

“Y/n....that’s my name,” you mumble out quietly, not having enough energy to open your eyes and meet his gaze.

Bucky’s smile grew at your answer, what a pretty name. As he processed the situation he was in, he thought it was quite strange. Bucky was holding a girl, who he hadn’t known for more than half an hour, gently rocking back and forth to keep her calmed down.

“Wanna sleep in the bed? It’s probably more comfortable than on the floor,” he suggests and begins to move.

Your body begins to flicker again, “no! P-please don’t move. Not yet...”

“Okay, okay. I won’t,” his grip tightened around your slightly shaking frame.

Though you were extremely tired and a little out of it, you understood why this calmed you down. Back at the lab, when you got upset, the people who watched over you would put you in a blank room and turn high pitched sounds and flashing lights on. It would upset you even more and the awful people who controlled you would use it as an experiment to see how long you could last before passing out.

“I’m sorry,” you mumble out quietly and move your hands to Bucky’s back, trying to close the space even more.

“It’s alright, doll. I know what you’re going through. I still have nightmares ‘bout it,” he confessed quietly and lightly nuzzled his nose in your hair, a comforting action for you and him, “try and sleep, alright? I know you haven’t been resting that much with all the noise that happens during the middle of the night,”

Your cheeks flare up in embarrassment at his comment, “m’sorry, don’t know how to control it and when I have bad dreams it just...happens,”

“You teleport in your sleep?” He asks incredulously.

“Well I’m not really asleep after it starts...but yeah I guess,”

The two of you fell into a silence once again and after a few moments, Bucky shifted a bit to get a pillow that had fallen off your bed during your episode and put it down beside your bodies before slowly moving to lay down on it. His legs were still tightly entangled with yours, arms still holding on to you tightly and breath still tickling your ear.

After a few moments he spoke, “is this better?”

You didn’t respond, couldn’t really due to the fact that you had quickly fallen asleep. After the realization had come to Bucky, he smiled proudly to himself for being able to calm down such a troubled mind and soul. When he was sure you had fallen into a deep slumber, he slowly made the move to grab the corner of a blanket that was hanging from your bed and pull it down before placing it over the two of you. Bucky closed his eyes, letting out a heavy sigh of relief before falling into a much needed slumber of his own. 

//Part 2//

[jjmichie]

Stone and Dave drink Eddie’s Wine

Chapter 4 of ‘Some Words When Spoken’ 

Disclaimer:  the following is fiction, not true.  While inspired by real people, it is not a depiction of any actual events.

“Another glass of red, sir?”  

The flight attendant made no attempt to mask the sarcasm in her tone as she said the word “sir,” and also didn’t bother to lower her volume enough to keep surrounding passengers from hearing her sarcasm.  

Stone had already noticed that he was the only one in first class without gray hair, without a suit, and without a Wall Street Journal stretched across his lap, and really didn’t need her to single him out with her attitude.  However, in his current state of mind, the desire to soothe his brain with a glass of wine seemed to win over the desire to start up an argument.    

“Yes, thank you . . . ma’am,” he retorted with a glare, feeling an inexplicable sense of camaraderie with her when she glared back.  

He looked out the window.  The snow that he and Mike had just been trudging through was still visible, like wrinkled wrapping paper over the pine trees, but it was quickly becoming blurred by the layer of hazy atmosphere that grew larger and larger moment by moment between the ground and the lofty heights he was hurtling through.  

Too fast.  They were hurtling too fast.  More than anything he wished the flight would never end.  After talking to Mike he now understood that something needed to be done to change the dynamic that had been developing.   And he knew what he needed to do.  But how?  The thought of it made the knot in his stomach grow larger despite the warming effect of the wine, which Ma’am had at some point silently placed on the tray in front of him.  

He closed his eyes, trying to ignore the turbulence that mercilessly threw the plane about in the winter sky. 

Forget it. 

He took another gulp of wine and pulled down the window shade, hiding the blinding whiteness and the ominous progress of the plane as it slouched towards the west. 

He had right now.  To himself.  If nothing else, at least for the duration of the flight he could flood his mind with whatever over-ripe memories and images of his own making that he wanted, anything but the reality that awaited him. 

*

The bus made an ugly diesel-spitting grunt as it thrust itself onto the freeway and struggled to gain the velocity needed to join the steady flow of traffic.  The sound of angry horns had by now become so routine that the occupants of the bus didn’t even hear them, and they were oddly comforted by the familiar moans of the aging machine, a machine that at some point had become their shell, their shield, their world.   

Inside the bus, underneath a naked light bulb, Stone was alternating between staring at the built-in TV, which was erratically displaying a basketball game, and paging through an issue of Kerrang!, which was splayed across a wooden plank that the bus tried to pass off as a “dining table.”  

Dave was beside him.  He had somehow acquired a billiard ball, most likely swiped from the pool table at their last hotel, and was rolling it across the wooden plank. He repeatedly slapped it against the faux paneling on the wall, then let it roll back into the safety of his hand, keeping a surprisingly catchy rhythm against the unpredictable motion of the bus. 

Stone closed his eyes and leaned his head back, only to have his neck violently jolted by the turbulence of unforgiving shocks.  “Uhhhhh,” he moaned.  “We really need more pillows.”  

Dave looked up and smiled sympathetically at Stone’s discomfort. “I know . . . “ he sighed.  “We’ve been out here way too long.”  

Everyone else on the bus was asleep.  

“Hey, do you want some wine?” Dave suddenly asked, stopping the ball mid-journey.  “I think Eddie still has some left . . .” He got up to explore the cupboard against the opposing wall. “Yes!” Dave triumphantly returned with a bottle of vintage red.  The cork had already been opened, the pristine contents already exposed, waiting to be taken, waiting to be relished. 

“But . . . it’s Eddie’s,” Stone protested, realizing what they were about to do would surely piss off Eddie.  

Dave hesitated, and glanced towards the sleeping area of the bus.  He raised his shoulders innocently before yanking the cork off and handing the bottle to Stone. 

“Sure, make me do it,” Stone smiled devilishly and took the bottle.  Dave watched as Stone wrapped his lips around the opening.  He took a long relaxing drink, savoring it, closing his eyes, letting the velvety warmth of it envelope his tongue.  “Mmmm,” he moaned. “It’s perfect.”  He handed the bottle back to Dave.  

But Dave continued to watch Stone.  Seeing his lips reddened by the wine, his hair being ruthlessly tossed by the night which roared in from an open window, and the strobe-like dance of light across his face as the bus passed by street light after street light after street light, Dave suddenly felt as if he were seeing Stone for the first time.  

“What?”  Stone asked, noticing how Dave was staring at him. 

“I’m just admiring you,” he said after a smile and a pause.  Dave toyed with the bottle, eventually lifting it and letting his tongue circle the lip of it just once before placing his mouth exactly where Stone’s had been. He took a large gulp of the wine, still not taking his eyes off his friend.

Stone squirmed in his seat, feeling slightly violated by Dave’s unrelenting gaze.  But at the same time feeling . . . flattered.  “Wow, my neck really hurts,” he said, abruptly breaking their eye contact.  He rolled his head forward, trying to distract them both, trying to escape the intensity that was suddenly filling the space between them.  But as he did so he realized his neck really did hurt.  The stiffness and discomfort from weeks and weeks of shitty pillows really was awful.  He winced.  

“Here, let me . . . “ Dave immediately rose and slid into the seat beside Stone.  He placed his husky hands over the back of Stone’s neck, squeezing lightly, applying gentle pressure as he rubbed up and down. 

The warmth and strength of Dave’s hands sent an unexpected tingle down Stone’s back, and he immediately felt the tension melting away.  Or maybe it was the wine kicking in . . .  

“Thanks . . . “ Stone whispered, pulling his hair out of the way, to the side, over the front of his shoulder.  “That feels good.”  

Dave was using both hands now, not holding back, kneading every muscle in Stone’s neck, then his shoulders, then his upper back.  Stone folded his arms on the table, and rested his head on them, giving Dave full access to his back.  

“Mmm,” Stone couldn’t help but purr.  “Oh my god, that really helps . . .”  

Dave continued to work on him, moving even lower.  He let both hands slide under Stone’s shirt, pressing his fingers deeply into the stressed and knotted flesh.  He leaned forward, smelling Stone’s hair, placing his mouth close to Stone’s ear, so close that Stone could feel the heat of his breath and the tickle of his hair against his cheek.   “Can I ask you something?”  Dave finally said. 

“Hmm?”   

“Have you ever . . . done it with a guy?” 

Stone felt a jolt from somewhere inside himself, and pulled away from the comfort of the warm hands.  He turned to look at Dave in confusion.  Dave’s eyes widened.  He had misjudged.  He shouldn’t have asked that.  Shit.  He couldn’t read Stone’s expression at all any more.  He looked shaken, unsettled . . . and something else.  He couldn’t quite interpret it.  

“Why?”   Stone finally said.  “Why did you ask me that?”  

Dave raised his shoulders.  A long moment passed.  “I don’t know . . . I’m just . . . making conversation?  Trying to get to know you better . . .”  Dave swallowed hard.  

“There was someone . . . “ Stone finally replied, looking Dave directly in the eye.   

Dave waited, unsure of what to do with that. 

But Stone just turned away.  He looked out the window.  The traffic had dwindled by now and the street lights were far behind them, but he wasn’t seeing the lights or the traffic or even the darkness.  He was somewhere else.  Seeing something else.  Someone else.    

“Who was he?”  Dave asked gently, leaning forward, close to Stone’s ear once again.  Then he corrected himself, realizing the question might be too intrusive.  “I mean . . . who was he to you?  Were you in love with him?”   

“He was everything to me.”  

“Are you still close?  Do you keep in touch with him?”  

“I still talk to him.  He just . . . doesn’t answer.”  

They both were silent.  The hiss of another bus overtaking theirs was the only sound.  Dave opened his mouth to say something but nothing came out.  Shyly, tentatively, Dave returned his hands to their position on Stone’s shoulders.  Stone flinched slightly at his touch, then shivered, despite the hot stuffiness of the bus.  But Dave didn’t let go.  He massaged him as gently as he could, hoping to work it away, work away whatever memory he had accidentally triggered.  

“I’m sorry,” Dave whispered.  He could feel Stone responding, beginning to relax, slowly succumbing.  

Stone finally turned his head towards Dave, and pushed his forehead into Dave’s neck. The warmth of his neck was more soothing than he had expected.  He could hear, or maybe just feel, the rhythm of Dave’s pulse, which was much faster than normal.  He breathed in deeply, letting the scent of Dave’s aftershave fill him.    

Dave responded too, playing off Stone’s movements, just like they always did in rehearsals and on stage.  Listening to each other, reading each other, riffing off each other’s familiar cues.  As Stone pressed against him, Dave pulled him closer, cradling the back of his head, petting his hair.  

“Wait, wait!” Stone suddenly pulled away, his hands on Dave’s shoulders.  Dave was staring at Stone’s lips.  He was trembling.  Stone looked back towards the sleeping quarters of the bus.  “We can’t . . . I mean . . . anyone could walk in.  At any minute.”  

Without hesitating Dave reached up to turn off the naked light bulb and the TV set.  He also shut the window.  “We’ll hear it if anyone gets up.  Now . . .” 

He pulled Stone down onto the booth-style seat near the wooden plank, so that he was on his back, his hands up, near his face, clenched into fists. Dave’s strong hands easily encircled both of Stone’s slender wrists and forced them down against the seat cushion.  

Stone let out a gasp and closed his eyes.  

“I want you,” Dave whispered gruffly.  

Stone nodded, his mouth open, breathing hard.  “I want you too,” he panted.  

Dave leaned down to press his mouth firmly over Stone’s.  He felt the heat of his breath against his lips and took it in, tasting him, smelling him, devouring him.  Stone struggled a little beneath him, perhaps in resistance of his own feelings, perhaps in fear that it would go too far, too fast.  Dave tightened his grip around Stone’s wrists. 

As they kissed, Dave’s hair fell like a curtain over them, creating a world that was theirs alone, a safe warm place where all that mattered was the taste of each other, the warm soft wetness of each other’s tongues pressing firmly together, and the heat of their breath and the pounding of their hearts.  

They almost didn’t hear it.  

The grating screech of a “privacy curtain” being opened from one of the bus’s bunks, and the soft patter of footsteps behind the door which separated the sleeping area from the living area.  

Eddie staggered into the room in his boxers, stumbling with the motion of the bus as he rubbed his eyes and scratched his stomach.   

“Hey . . .” he muttered, opening the refrigerator, barely glancing in their direction.  “Why are you sitting in the dark?”  He grabbed a water out of the fridge then turned and went back to his bunk, without waiting for an answer.  

Stone and Dave had pulled apart just in time.  Stone covered his mouth with one hand and widened his eyes in Dave’s direction.  Dave widened his eyes too and giggled.   

But the moment had passed.  The interruption was an interruption.  The wine-euphoria had given way to sobriety and the odd intensity of the spell they had each experienced a moment earlier had dissipated into a reality of ugly faux panels and moaning pavement under tires and the too-familiar stench of another endless night.  

“He’s right, we probably should get some sleep,” Stone said, although he was fully aware that Eddie hadn’t said anything about needing sleep.  

“I know,” Dave agreed, and repeated the statement he had made earlier, which now seemed like a lifetime ago.  “We’ve been out here way too long.”  

But neither of them moved.  Several minutes passed.   

Dave was the first to finally get up and walk towards the sleeping quarters.  When he arrived at the door he stopped and looked back at Stone.  He tucked his lower lip beneath his upper one, the way he often did, and blinked twice before saying goodnight and disappearing into the black chamber of bunks and bandmates. 

Stone stared at the emptiness where Dave had just been standing.  He slowly let out the breath he had been holding.  He could still taste him.  

“Good bye,” he whispered back, but the words didn’t reach Dave.  Instead they collided against a beige reclining seat in front of him, as overhead lights appeared out of nowhere and Ma’am’s arm reached across him to remove his empty glass of wine.  

“Good evening ladies and gentlemen, we will be arriving at Seattle Tacoma International Airport shortly.   Skies are overcast and the temperature is currently 54 degrees.  Don’t forget to reset your watches to Pacific time, and please return your tray tables and seats to their upright position.  Flight attendants prepare for arrival . . .”

[honeyandfiregame]

ro reactions to mc waking them up bc they had a nightmare? c:

So this is a very old ask. And it’s also only half-finished. I’m sorry if this is disappointing to anyone, but I only have the male ROs written. It got very long, which was making me lose motivation more than anything especially thinking I had 4 more to write. At a later date, I will probably edit this with the female ROs whenever they are written, but for now there’s only this. I’m sorry.

Since this isn’t something that’ll happen in game I’ll answer this, but this is a bit more serious than any old nightmare because I know what nightmares the MC could be having at this point in a relationship.

Here’s some hurt/comfort under the cut.

Zenos: Zenos almost doesn’t want to wake up when he feels himself being shaken. For a split second, he’s back home, his baby sister tugging at his blanket, pushing on him, and trying to shout him awake. He’s just a teenager, so he wants to sleep late of course. Besides, it’s too early; she’s trying to wake him up before-

Zenos gasps, eyes shooting open as his brain catches up with the hands on his hip, shaking him awake. It’s not his sister— that was a long time ago— it’s you.

Turning over, he takes in your tear-streaked face and immediately sits up. His protective instincts kick in right away and he pulls you towards him, wrapping his arms around you.

“Zenos…” Your voice cracks as you whisper his name and his heart does the same. “It was just a dream, but I… It was like I could still feel-“He cuts you off, not even sure if it’s for your benefit or his. “I know.” His voice is thick with sleep and choked by guilt. “I know. I’m here, I’ve got you. I won’t let that happen to you again.”

He presses a kiss to your forehead, cradling the back of your head as he reaches behind himself to prop his pillow up. He situates the two of you so he’s half sitting up and you’re leaning against him, practically in his lap. And you sit like that. You don’t talk much, just clinging to him, and Zenos doesn’t break the quiet either, rubbing your back as he waits for your trembling to subside.

It hurts that you’re so hurt, but most of all, he’s angry. You shouldn’t have to suffer like this. He wants them to pay.

Day: It’s in the middle of the night when Day’s jolted awake by an elbow to his side. The emotions hit him in uniform order in seconds. First is alarm, the instincts buried in him through training over the years telling him to be on alert and see where the blow came from. Next is annoyance when his initial first reaction subsides and he realizes it was just you. Of course, that annoyance immediately melts away as soon as his eyes land on your shivering form.

It wasn’t on purpose, your body jerking violently in the midst of an awful nightmare. Sobs fall from your mouth as you try so hard to press yourself back into the bed. Trying to hide, to get away, like you can escape your mental torture physically.

Day sits up, shaking you none too gently to wake you up. “Hey.“ He catches your hands as your eyes shoot open with a painful gasp. “Hey, hey, hey, it’s alright.”

In your panic, you don’t realize what’s happening and continue to struggle. Day doesn’t have much trouble subduing your squirming, but he’s gentle about it. Raising your hands above your head moves him until his nose is nearly touching yours. He continues to shush you, creating a wall around your head with his arms so you have no choice but to focus on him, eyes of crimson holding yours captive, black locks hanging down to tickle your face. It’s his breathing that soothes you. His deep voice is comforting, but his hot breath against your cheek and the way his chest moves against yours lets you feel him, feel that it’s him and no one else. Despite the soothing, your tears don’t subside.

“D-day…” you sob. “It… It hurts.”

“Yeah.”

“I-I can’t stop thinking about- I didn’t- I didn’t want-“

“Yeah…”

Day sighs, nuzzling against you. “You’re safe now. It’s over.” He doesn’t promise anything, doesn’t try to tell you it was just a dream. He just quietly reassures you that you’re safe now, you’re safe with him, well into the night.

Inias: He’s already up. Sleep never came easy for him so he was soothing his darkened soul under the apathetic moon. A cool night breeze gently ruffles black feathers highlighted by the small flame of a lantern by him, goosebumps he ignores rising the surface of his bare skin. It wasn’t the first time he snuck out of bed to go sit outside, leaving you to sleep in peace. Tonight was a bit different, though.

He’s alerted by the door sliding open behind him. Looking over his shoulder, he sees you standing there, shoulders hunched and eyes downcast. He doesn’t say anything as you walk over, but it’s obvious what he’s thinking. Scooting over, he lets you sit down and rest your head on his shoulder. His wing brushes against your shoulder, a light hug to your exhausted body.

“…It was just a dream.” He wasn’t saying anything so you spoke first. Your voice is hoarse, dissipating into the chilly air like you hadn’t spoken at all.

“Dreams often have root in reality,” he responds quietly. You rub your cheek against his shoulder, the tears you’d swallowed rising back up to the surface. You’re tired.

“How would you know…”

He chuckles a little, a tired sound that stops as quick as it started. “I don’t need to dream to know they can feel as close as reality at times. Who says they aren’t real sometimes? Because…” Without looking, you can feel him giving you a sidelong look, a knowing look. “..It was this time, wasn’t it?”

You flinch. Ouch. He’s right though, too right. Immediately, Inias moves his arm around your shoulders, hugging you closer to him.

“You’re shivering,” he murmurs, resting his cheek on the top of your head.

“It’s cold out,” you reply, half-heartedly brushing off the implication.

“Not that cold.” Still, his arm tightens and his wing folds around you, blocking your body and painting the look of a starless night in your vision with gloomy black feathers.

You hear blatant regret and pain in his voice when he speaks again, the burden of his being weighing on him in the face of your nightmares. “I… I’m sorry. That I can’t save you properly, I’m sorry… But I…”

His nails dig a little into your shoulder. It doesn’t hurt. “I want to be your guardian angel still. I want to love you and make sure nothing back happens again. You’re my sanctuary, I want to be yours. I-”

His voice catches in his throat and he takes a breath, turning his face in towards your hair. “I will protect you.”

Koda: He’s not a heavy sleeper, so it’s no surprise when he stirs in the middle of the night and opens his eyes to a blurry dark ceiling, lazy dream interrupted. It’s what woke him that throws him off.

Sniffling breaks the silence of the night and for a moment, his sleepy brain can’t catch up with what that means. Groggily, he mumbles your name, voice layered with sleep.

Catching no reply, he looks over to you and finds you sitting up, head buried in your hands. Concern grips his heart and he reaches out, lighting touching your arm as he says your name again.

You flinch, like you hadn’t even noticed him waking up, and hastily wipe your face. “Oh, Koda… Go back to sleep. Everything’s fine.”

His brow furrows. That’s definitely not true. He pushes himself into a sitting position. “No, it’s clearly not. What’s wrong?”

You shake your head quickly, tilting your head down so he can’t see your wet cheeks and tired, bloodshot eyes. “It’s nothing. I just had a dream.”

As soon as those words leave your mouth, Koda’s shoulders sag, his expression softening. “Was it… that?” he asks in a small voice, hesitation illustrated in his tone. It’s not like he knows well how to handle this, but he cares for you too deeply to not try.

You nod, sniffling as you suddenly fall against him, leaning fully on him. Rather than be surprised, he’s relaxes, relief taking him as he easily wraps his arms around you. He’s glad that you wouldn’t reject him when he wants to be there for you, even if he doesn’t totally know how to.

A short silence follows after, Koda’s warm hand rubbing your arm as you snuggle into his strong chest. If you want to talk about it, you’re not saying anything, so Koda has a little idea. Rather than sitting in a dark room, crying…

“Do you… wanna go have some tea in the kitchen? So you don’t have to go back to sleep right away?” he asks tentatively. If you want to get your mind off of it, that’s a good place to start. You can sit with him and talk about nothing important, letting hot tea warm your soul from the inside until the tension has eased from your troubled dreams

Much to his relief, he feels you nod after a moment. “Yeah… I do.”

[lubdubsworld]

Give me some Sugar.

Park Jimin x OC

Chapter 1 /   Chapter 2/   Chapter 3 /   Chapter 4 /   Chapter 5 /

  Chapter 6 ~ Part 1/  Chapter 6 ~ Part 2   / Chapter 7/

  Chapter 8 /   Chapter 9 /   Chapter 10

( This is so late and so long and way too angsty , i hate myself but yes, next chapter should end the angst . Don’t forget to comment…. ) 

Chapter 11

“ Your what?” I stared blankly, certain that I had misheard. Or possibly blown an artery in my head which had resulted in an aneurysm that was giving me a stroke.

“My daughter… She’s three , almost four and she lives in my penthouse with my parents.” Jimin had begun packing up his things and he was quickly slipping his phone into his jacket , grabbing his keys. He held his hand out,

“Shall we leave?” 

I couldn’t think of anything to say, following him blindly as he led me to the parking lot. His hand was war around my own and I thought how inconvenient it was that he could make me melt with just the brush of his fingers. 

But his words still hung. 

There were so many questions in my head.

 Are you married? Did you have a wife all along? Are you really cheating on your wife like this? 

But I didn’t voice them. 

He had made it clear , in no uncertain terms that there was nothing between us. That there could never be anything between us. 

 I didn’t need to know anything. And no matter how curious I felt , how terrifying the prospect of being ‘ the other woman’ was, I couldn’t give in. I had to hang on to my distance. It was my only protection from heartbreak. 

 I stayed quiet as he walked up to a nice blue Porsche, opening the door for me.

“I don’t owe you an explanation of course but, I think…it would be better if you don’t meet my daughter.  ” He said calmly, after watching me buckle into my seat. 

I tried not to let the words get to me. They made me realize that a part of me had wanted to see the baby. Wanted to see what he had created… but, he was right. 

“Well, you’re right. You don’t owe me an explanation.” I said quietly and he nodded.  

He probably didn’t actually want me to meet his daughter, i thought trying to ignore the shaft of pain in my heart.

. As i stared out of the window, I tried not to feel hurt because i knew that he was merely being a good parent. There would be no point introducing a young child to someone who wouldn’t stay around for long.He was a good father.

“Hey…” He reached out then , lightly touching my knee and I swallowed down the whimper that kind of bubbled up inside me.  His touches did that and I realized how much I’d missed him. 

“I’m fine.” I said softly and he looked impossibly soft, his eyes warm and concerned.

“I know. I just… You went through something huge and I’m incredibly proud of you. And you did the right thing baby…. You kept your self safe from that bastard and that’s all that matters…”

I nodded.

“Okay…”

“You want to talk about it?” He asked softly.

i paused for a minute trying to get my thoughts in order. Talking to Jimin had always been easy. He was just… so hard not to trust. So hard to keep out, no matter how high I built my walls and as always I felt my reticence vanish, replaced by the urge to just give in and let him know my deepest, darkest secrets.

I wanted to fight the urge to talk, the urge to give away more of myself and receive nothing in return but it was impossible.

It was a battle lost even before it began.

“I thought…” I hesitated, “ I thought I’d feel something… when I did that to him, you know. “ I shook my head. “ i thought something would change when I confronted him, maybe a load would be off or maybe I’d feel better but I just… I feel just …fine. I don’t even regret it or feel bad that I nearly killed another human. I don’t feel happy or ecstatic that I got back for what he did to me… I can’t feel…anything. “ I said bitterly. “ It’s like he killed everything inside me all those years ago…”

Jimin didn’t say anything.

“You must’ve been very young…” He said pulling the car out into the lane.

I nodded, staring out of the window.

“Young. Gullible. Foolish. Whatever you want to call it.” I said with a little shake of my head. “And the worse part is, I could have walked out before it had all gone to hell. But I stayed. I put up with it. I don’t know why but I did.”

“We’ve all been there. We make decisions, convinced, at the time, that we’re doing the right thing….” He said , nodding.

We stopped in front of an unfamiliar building and I watched as he stepped out, moving to talk to the security at the gate.

“It’ll just be you and me, so don’t worry… “ He said softly and I stared, confused.

“So, does she live with your family? ” i wanted to kick myself. I wasn’t supposed to get more involved. But curiosity got the better of me. 

He hesitated before shrugging.

“ She has her own nanny and my parents stay over three days a week when I’m not around. I’ve already told them they should move in for a few months… because of my tour next month.  “

I felt relief flood me nonetheless and I hated it. Hated that the fact,  that there was no wife,  made me so happy. Why was I so stupid? 

“You didn’t have to do this.. I could find somewhere else to stay Jimin , I really do not want to intrude and-”

“I think, we’re both past the stage where we have to apologize… You’re important to me, whether you like it or not .” He wasn’t looking at me and the words were almost absentminded in the way they were said  and I looked away again. 

“I’m surprised you even get to spend time with her , what with your busy schedule. “ I said as he pulled into the huge gates, driving swiftly to the garage.

“I don’t have a  packed a schedule actually. No one knows about my daughter except for my manager and the guys. They put in fake schedules and broadcast appointments when I’m with her. It makes for a lot of … sneaking around but… yeah… she’s worth it.” He smiled faintly.

I stepped out of the car, suddenly getting a sense of deja vu. 

“The apartment we shared earlier… Is that…” I began nervously but he cut me off. 

“I moved out after we … parted ways.” He said softly, pressing on the right floor in the elevator.

I nodded.

“But i still have your clothes here.” He said suddenly and I stared up at him, stunned. His gaze had changed, somehow warmer and more intimate and I swallowed the dryness in my throat.

“I’m… I can go get my clothes tomorrow from my apartment… I need.. I mean … my books are there too and I… “ I stammered , stopping short when he stepped forward hesitantly, reaching out and stroking my hair.

The bell in the elevator rang, signalling that we were there. The moment was gone and he stepped back, hands falling back to his side. 

The elevator door opened and I followed him out, keeping my head bowed as I he led me to the glass doors, leading to a large open plan apartment. It looked like it wasn’t lived in, all that much. 

“It’s a friend’s “ He said casually, noting the way I looked around the place . “ Jin Hee goes to a daycare about half a mile from here. I crash here sometimes when I have a few hours and I want to spend them with her. You can settle in .” He pointed out the guest room and I took my bag, moving slowly to the room. 

It was spacious and I moved to the bathroom first, splashing water on my face. I turned on the water in the bathtub and let it fill, moving to the mirror.

I stared at myself, flinching at how…awful i looked. My hair was all over the place and i looked dead, eyes wide and shadowed, a grayish tinge coating my pallor. 

I sighed a bit, still a bit high strung from the previous day’s events.

I fiddled with the hem of my blouse, scratching at a stray soup stain.

There was also a little bit of blood , from when Ji Hwan had crashed into the table on his way down, the edge slicing his forehead open.

I felt sick.

It seemed a few minutes of contact with Ji Hwan had reversed five years worth of recovery . I felt my fingers tremble as I reached for the tap to shut the water off. I stayed staring at the tub for a while, and slowly the events of the previous day started to sink in.

I climbed in slowly, the war water soothing. I leaned against the ceramic tub, trying to get my heart to calm down. 

I didn’t realize that I hadn’t slept in close to twenty four hours and that my body was still strained from what had happened earlier.

The water was warm, like a nice hug, wrapping around me in soft heat and I found my eyes drifting shut , my body going limp in exhaustion. 

The next thing i knew, I was being shaken violently, my body cold and trembling and my breathing ragged. I tried to take in some air but all I got was water, my lungs filling up with it till I started panicking. 

Strong arms gripped my elbows, hauling me up and away fro the tub and I tumbled over the side, coughing and spluttering. 

“Y/N.. Oh shit… sweetheart 

I  flinched at how loud Jimin was and stared at him in confusion, still disoriented. 

“Are you okay? You nearly…fuck I thought you drowned!!” He sounded terrified as he cradled e close and I realized I was sopping wet, drenching his shirt and slacks. He reached out and grabbed a towel before wrapping it around my shoulder. 

“I’m sorry… I don’t know what happened… I think I fell asleep and…” I started coughing and he shushed me gently .

“It’s okay..it’s alright. Let’s just get you into bed , okay?” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Fifteen minutes later , I was dressed into one of Jimin’s long oversize white cotton shirts , the hem hanging somewhere around my thighs. I lay on the bed, on my side staring at him as he sat on a small armchair close to the bed. 

“You should go sleep too.” I said softly and he shrugged.

“Ill stay till you fall asleep. “ He reached out and tugged on the blanket , tucking it around my shoulder, “ You’re still shaking. should I get you another blanket?” 

I shook my head. 

I was shaking but it had nothing to do with the temperature and everything to do with my nerves , which were pretty much frayed at this point. 

“I hate it when I get flustered.” I admitted weakly. “ I’ve always hated it when I get vulnerable and I guess… I hate thinking about that time in my past.” 

“He’s never coming near you again, Y/N. I can’t say anything else but this I can guarantee, he’s not coming near you.” He said , his voice chillingly quiet. 

I nodded. 

“ I know. “ I said simply. 

“You should get some rest now…” He reached out and touched me lightly and I stared at him. 

“I’m a bit of a mess, aren’t I? I wasn’t always like this…” I said , just as he made to brush my hair. 

“Y/N….”

“When my father left, I just… I was really young. I’d been used to having him in my life and he wasn’t a bad father. He had truly loved me and taken care of me. and well, at that age its kind of like a security blanket you know? That support and that concern… You need it… 

“After he left, Ji Hwan kind of stepped into that role for me. I thought he was just being nice but , yeah. He was just trying to groom me into what he wanted I guess. He used to take e out to on little dates and he used to buy me stuff and Seulgi, she’s his half sister by the way, she used to let me borrow her clothes and stuff. Her father was paying for my mother’s treatment as well so, it felt wrong to not reciprocate in some way, even if that way was probably sick…”

I swallowed.

“How old were you?” He said softly. 

“Fourteen.” I shrugged and he lurched, eyes wide. 

I smiled bitterly.

“I know. Dirty, right? I’ve been dirty for a long time…” I whispered. 

“No.. Don’t say that… Y/N… The guy, he’s the one who…”

“I know.” I said shortly. “ I had a nice therapist after I lost the case. She had been following the trial and she reached out to me herself and offered to treat me for free. It helped a lot. “ 

I took a deep breath. 

“I think the worst thing is … I would have let him do it a lot longer , if it weren’t for the fact that he physically hurt me. He was abusing me sexually, he was..” I had to swallow the bile just to continue, “ pimping me out to his friends… humiliating me in every way…. and i just… I let him do it, simply because he wrapped it and labeled it as ‘ love’. “ I shook my head. 

“And I realized that… I must’ve been really desperate for love… And i alos learned that my heart it’s just… it’s not trustworthy when it comes to stuff like this.. it makes me do stuff that ….end up being a huge mistake. So I .. I don’t like listening to my heart when it tells me that something is love…” 

He stared at me for a few seconds and smiled. 

“You’re wise now. “ He said . 

I nodded.

“I am. I’m going to sleep now.” I said tiredly.

He nodded and leaned down, lightly kissing my cheek. 

“Okay… I’ll see you in the morning, alright? Sleep well.” He turned the light off and settled back in the chair.

“You can go sleep now..” I said ipatiently but he just hummed.

“When you fall asleep. Don’t worry about it, I’m used to this. I always stay up waiting for my daughter to sleep..” He said firmly and I wrinkled my nose.

“That is not a comparison I enjoy…It’s weird. ” 

He laughed.

“You’re both precious to me so its not weird.”  He said with bright eyes and I felt my heart turn over again.

 Back to square one. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“You’re safe, right?” Yerin asked for the seventeenth time, as I walked across the kitchen to hang my apron. It was a little past eight and my phone was dead. I had no way of contacting Jimin and a part of me was sure that he was likely hyperventilating somewhere but there wasn’t much I could do. My sister was back in Seoul and after years of silence , I’d finally told her what had happened all those years ago.

She was upset that I hadn’t told her earlier but how how could I? She had been a eleven year old back then. Although I had kept most of the harsher details out of my narrative, she was still beyond furious.

The restriction order was being processed. Till then, I would have to stay with Jimin , or so Yoongi’s brother insisted. ‘ Better safe than sorry’ he said over and over again.

Jimin hadn’t been there when I woke up  only sending a driver to take me to college in the morning.

I hated the fact that I wasn’t unhappy about it. On the contrary I had slept better than in months and I had sneaked into his bedroom in the morning and buried my face in the pillows, taken in his scent, then gone and rubbed myself over his shirt, the one hanging in the closet. it had still smelled like him and it had taken all of my will power not to slip my hands in between my legs and just….

After work, I used a payphone to call Jimin and he sounded calm.

“I had a couple of guys keep an eye on you. They were there all the time so you don’t have to worry…” He said when I spologized for my phone. I wasn’t sure how I felt about being tailed but decided not to pursue that subject. 

“I could take a cab home… But I don’t really know the correct address…” I said and he humed.

“Just give me five minutes, yeah? I’ll be there.” 

I watched as he rolled up to the curb and grinned at me. I stepped in quickly and smiled back awkwardly. 

“Hey. “ I said shyly. 

“How was your day , baby?” He said reaching out and helping me put on my seat belt. 

“Same old. I’m sorry to make you drive here all the way… If you could tell me the address next time, I..”

“Trust me I would rather be here than anywhere else.” He winked. “ Do you want to get dinner out or should I make you something at home? “ 

“Let me cook tonight…” I said softly. 

He hesitated before glancing at me.

“Are you sure? You don’t have to-”

“I’d love to. “ I said firmly. 

Later , as we sat on the leather couch,  eating fried rice and sipping juice, Jimin turned on a drama and I tried to relax.

“This is ridiculous.” He said suddenly. 

“What? “ I said curiously.

“The main lead… its obvious that he’s only hurting her and she’s only going to be unhappy with him…. he should just let her go… “ He said . 

I shrugged.

“He made a promise. He promised to make her happy and he’s hanging on to that . He’s working hard to make her happy ….”

“But its not working? She’s going through so much shit… “ He protested and I smiled.

“So, you think that makes her unhappy?” I asked shaking my head. He stared at me. 

“Doesn’t it?” He said curiously and I laughed.

“Sometimes happiness can’t be quantified as just, good things happening to you. She’s happy because he’s trying. It’s not the promise of happiness that keeps her there,…. it’s the promise that he will always be there…” I said and Jimin went really quiet. 

“I don’t think that’s real. People want things to be happy. And when they find out you can’t give them that, they leave…” He said abruptly. 

I stared at him. 

“Jimin…”

“And the promise of love? Are you serious? Promises only last as long as the conditions they were made in. Yes, you promised to love me when things were good, doesn’t mean you’re going to keep that promise when things go bad… “ He spat out bitterly and I stayed still as he gripped the plate harder. 

“Even you left me…” He said suddenly and my heart jumped . “ Once you felt it was too hard for you, you left. “ 

He stood up and I could only stare at him. 

“Jimin wait!!” 

But he was already storming out of the kitchen and I just sat there, stunned. 

What had just happened? 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Two hours later, thinking he may have calmed down a bit, I sneaked into the small balcony and found him sitting on a small bench hidden from view. The bench faced a small koi pond and I stared at him in genuine anxiety.

“I’m sorry I snapped at you. It was uncalled for and you didn’t deserve it. .” He said suddenly and I flinched.

“Its alright… Don’t worry about it. ”

“I’m not used to being dumped. I always take strict measures, to make sure I’m the one who walks out first and well, when you left me…. I didn’t take it well. Still can’t get over it . ” He said with a wry smile and I was struck speechless.

I really can’t think of anything to say. My mind was sluggish, afraid to process the phrase and arrive at a conclusion that could potentially change everything.

 I blinked and stared at the pond, already formulating a refusal, if he asked what I thought he was going to ask.

“But I’m glad you did that.  I don’t want to end up hurting you, even if it is unintentional. .” He said with a little laugh that was devoid of mirth.

i stayed quiet. there was nothing much to say really. We were strangers. It was  funny, but we really were. We had spent so many days together and I knew nothing about him.

Yet, he he was the one who knew the most traumatizing things I’d gone through. He’d been there and he knew things about me that my closest friends didn’t. My throat went dry. I wasn’t not sure I like it.

Jimin had caught glimpses of the most vulnerable moments in my life and I felt helpless, at his mercy. At risk.,

Threatened.

I began to tremble a bit and he moved very close, pulling me into his arms before I could realize what he was doing.

“I want to be there for you.” I said softly and he stared wide eyed , while I rubbed circles over his back. 

“This isn’t… You don’t have to do anything…” he said softly

“ I know…. I’m…ill-equipped to help you but I want to try. If you’ll let me..” I replied. 

“I don’t…i don’t.. know..” he said honestly, clinging to me in confusion.

What was he so afraid of ? What did he want from me?

“I missed you…. “ He said, eyes shifting across my face, like he was drinking in my features . I felt my traitorous heart just lurch inside my rib cage and it was like a burn, an impossible itch. The urge to fling my arms around him and tell him that I would do anything for him. But I knew how awful, how terrible a choice that would be.

I had worked so hard to get him out of my system and what was I even thinking?

“Don’t.. Please…” i begged but he was already ducking his head, lips brushing across the corner of mine. The touch of his lips to mine felt like a taser, and my body and heart surrendered without any fight, a white flag up and ready . I sobbed out in disbelief.

“I wanted to apologize for the way i treated you and… well, you deserve better…” He shook his head and then looked back up at me. “ But , I’m a bastard because….” He said, voice breaking a bit as he crowded me into the elevator walls, hands lightly gripping my shoulders .” I can’t stop thinking about you…”

“You’re not playing fair..” I cried out, tears already brimming as I pushed at his chest, weakly.

“Please… Tell me what I can do to make you feel good…Tell me what i can do to convince you to stay….I don’t want to lose you … I … Can’t we just be friends….??” He said desperately and I swallowed.

Suddenly I was just so tired. I had to do this. For him. For me. For my own sanity. 

“I think… I… think I’m in love with you… Will you love me back? ” I asked shakily and he flinched.

“That’s,…. That’s not fair Y/N….” He said , voice rough and low and I stared at him.

I laughed in disbelief.

“Not fair..? What’s not fair is that you think I should settle for just a part of you while you get to have all of me!” I said in protest.

He pulled back then, sighing.

“I’m sorry… You’re right. I shouldn’t… I’m sorry…And you shouldn’t you know… You shouldn’t be falling in love with me at all because .. God, you deserve so much better and … you’re right… What am I even doing… ” He said shaking his head and somehow I was tired.

I was tired of dancing around and tired of these cryptic excuses.

After a few more moments of silence, he cleared his throat.

“Jimin…”

“Let’s just not talk about this okay…Let’s…”

“That’s not how it works” I said angrily . “  Tell me. Help me understand… You keep …acting like you love me but you keep.. pushing me away and you can’t have both Jimin… You can’t just tell me you want me… You can’t kiss me and make me feel like the most special girl in the world and then turn around and say that you could never love me.. it doesn’t work that way….!”

“I can’t just… I wish I could give you what you’re asking…. But I’m not… I’m really  not who you think I am, Y?N. All this glitz and glamour…it’s just a facade… underneath it all I’m just a broken pathetic excuse of a an who doesn’t deserve any woman’s love, let alone someone as beautiful, as kind and as wonderful as you….” He shook his head and I felt a protest build up inside me. 

“Stop that… I don’t see your stupid glitz or your glamour.. I just… I see the kind, generous human being that you are! Don’t you dare call yourself that !” I snapped. 

He stared at me.

“I wish you’d talk to me… “ I said softly and he lurched.

“I’m…”

“Is it because of your daughter… You don’t want to get into a relationship because of your daughter…? Tell me…”

He shook his head.

“i can’t.. If I tell you, you’ll…probably leave for good. I’m not..ready for that…” He said , gaze wavering and I was tired.

I was so sick of this.

“I’m here…. You broke my heart and told me that you couldn’t love me when I’m in love with you but I’m still here….” I said choking on the words. “I’m still here Jimin…If I was going to leave, I would have left a long, long time ago but I’m here and that has got to count for something, right? “

“You’re not… I can’t just…” He shook his head and I felt my hands tremble as I reached for his.

“ Remember yesterday ? ….. I was so scared and confused but… I took your hand when you held it out…and I will always… take your hand … You know that… You know I’m not leaving… Not until you tell me to…. Please…Tell me what’s wrong…” I whispered.

He moved to the corner of the balcony and settled down to the floor, legs stretched out in front of him.

I sat down opposite him and waited.

“Jin Hee… she’s not my daughter exactly. I was married to her mother briefly but … she left me before Jin Hee was born. “ He began softly. 

I stared at him, not sure what to say. He hesitated a little bit more before taking a deep breath.

“We had been trying to have a baby for a really long time. And I … about a week earlier I had found out from my doctor that I wasn’t… I couldn’t have kids.”

His breath hitched and something tugged at my heartstrings. He sounded so helplessly hurt that I couldn’t help but stare at him, concerned.

“I took her out to dinner to tell her that we may have to consider adoption or maybe a surrogate  and she told me she couldn’t stay with me any more.  I was sitting there will all those brochures and she just….she told me in no uncertain terms that …we were over. “

“I’m so sorry…” i said , feeling completely useless. I wanted to make him feel better but I had no idea what to say.

“For a second , I was sure it was some sort of a mistake. i hadn’t considered that not having a baby would be a deal breaker for her. If it had been her … who had.. been with the condition, i wouldn’t have…” He swallowed and something twisted inside my gut like a knife.

My pulse dropped and I felt my heart breaking for him.

“Jimin…”

“I didn’t try to guilt her into anything. It was a civil divorce and I .. well, I almost forgot about it. But then about ten months later , i ran into her in  a grocery store. “ He laughed a little, eyes still shining with hurt.

At that moment, I knew that I was completely and irrevocably in love with him. What other explanation could there be? He was crying and I was dying. It had to be love. 

“ I found out that she had splurged all of the alimony and she was in debt. I went looking for her and she was living in this run down little shack of an apartment, and i saw some pamphlets about an abortion clinic. I asked her about it and she told me she had gotten pregnant with some one night stand…and she was going to get an abortion. ”

He bent his knees , hugging his legs like a little child. 

. I could only stare, tears brimming over my eyes as I tried to imagine how Jimin must’ve felt.

“And.. I’d never felt more worthless in my life.” He said softly. “ I was… I just… I couldn’t give her what a stranger in some seedy club could. And I was the reason this beautiful woman was reduced to this state and I was the reason she… “ He stopped taking a deep breath. He let out a deep shuddering breath and swallowed. 

“ I couldn’t imagine her killing her child because I knew it must have been important to her. She left me over it after all… Well, long story short, I offered to support her for the pregnancy and to adopt the baby if she chose to keep it. I still…cared for her and I didn’t want the baby to … die. Especially because there was no chance I would have one of my own.“ He said softly.

He smiled a little.

“Now you know why I don’t do relationships.”

I stared at him in disbelief.

“You’re… Jimin… just because she left you over this.. doesn’t mean… I’m…”

I would never leave you. Give me a chance and I would never leave you.

“You honestly believe that a girl would be okay, with never having a child of her own…” He shook his head and I suddenly felt ridiculous for thinking that this was simple. 

“Will you be okay never having a baby?” He said sharply.

I didn’t reply. 

“Thought so. Well, if this conversation is over… I’m going to go to bed now. “ 

He was right. I couldn’t just say I was okay with never having a baby. Like every girl in the world I had dreamed of it. 

But i also knew that I would never just leave Jimin over it. 

“Jimin wait…!”He pulled his hand away when I reached for him.

“No! I don’t want your sympathy. I know how this conversation goes. I’ve had it already with my wife and I’m not having it again with you….I barely survived it the first time and …well, if I hear you tell me what she did , I really will die. ”  He said bitterly before walking out of the balcony.

I stayed on the floor, confused and disoriented. 

I had wanted answers. I had got them.

Except I wished I hadn’t. 

[prettieparker86]

Playing with Fire || Part 3

Part 1, Part 2, Part 4, & Part 5

Pairing: Steve Murphy x Reader

Warning: Sexual Themes

Gif Credit: Credit to @wescravn, @jamiesfraser, your gifs are so beautiful! Thank you for letting me use them!

Tag: @emislayyyy74, @hannahmariea, @lainey-lane You’ve all been tagged because you left a comment on this first post and I’m super buzzed lol.

A/N: This chapter is centered around Narcos 2x04. This was probably the hardest chapter I’ve ever written. I don’t write smut. It never sounds right to me when I do, but I really wanted to push myself out of my comfort zone for this chapter, because I felt the story warranted it. And I wanted to challenge myself as a writer. I had to have some seriously liquid courage just to write this and post it. Hopefully it’s not shit, I apologize ahead of time if it totally sucks. Sorry if this sucks.

I also don’t condone cheating, at all. But as my friend so eloquently pointed out, the tension is so high for Steve. He really is at a breaking point and that’s how this unfolds. As a writer I wanted to to challenge myself with this story. To writing things I’m not entirely comfortable with in an honest and thought provoking way. So while I don’t think Steve would normally do this, given the circumstance… 

God I hope I don’t regret posting this in the morning

The last 48hrs were a whirlwind that would inevitably change it all. A catalyst that would take an already fragile situation and blow it to pieces. 

Life has a way of doing that, pushing people to the absolute brink. This was one of those times. When hope felt like it had been ripped away and all that remained was a cloud of uncertainty. 

It’s times like those when our baser instincts push forward. When our minds and hearts are too tired and beaten down from the fight to hold the reigns. 

Self-preservation takes over and our gut instincts find their way to the surface. The choices they make lack logic or reason, and yet, we still have to live with them… For better or worse.

Col. Carrillo had been gunned down in the streets two nights prior. Ambushed alongside so many of his men in a brutal bloodbath. 

You watched the aftermath of the carnage on the television. Bodies scattered along the sidewalk, corpses pinned in cars as the streets ran red with their sacrifice. 

The sight of it had left you nauseous, barely able to watch, unable to look away. You had met Colonel Carrillo during your time in questioning. You know how closely he worked with Steve and Javi. 

And for several long frantic minutes, biting down hard on your bottom lip as you fought to hold back the tears bursting at the brink in your eyes, you were terrified Steve might have been among the casualties.

Until Pena had been kind enough to call and give you the news, reassure you he and Steve were alive. 

He let you know Murphy would be in Bogata for a few days and gave you a number if you needed anything, but it was a message he relayed in an almost unrecognizable voice. 

You wanted to ask if he was ok, but Pena had been uncharacteristically brief and that spoke louder than any words could have. 

It wasn’t until Steve returned a few days later to get his suit for the funeral that you began to see the toll this loss had taken. He looked like shit, beaten down and disillusioned.

 You had cleaned the apartment while he was gone, brewed some fresh coffee while he packed. He seemed grateful, but his eyes only looked empty and defeated.

 Steve went to the funeral alone, there would be no reason for you to go, but you found yourself drawn to the coverage of it on the TV. You hadn’t lost anyone and yet your heart felt heavy, almost as if you had. 

Concerned, you waited up for Steve afterwards, but as evening settled into night, and night grew deeper by the hour, you began to wonder if he was coming home at all. 

He certainly wasn’t obligated to. This was his home, but you were just a guest at best. He didn’t owe you anything more than he was already doing, but still you waited, that look in his eyes this morning, as he stood before you in his navy-blue suit, it haunted you.

The hour growing late, you were just about to give up and turn in for the night when you heard Steve get back.

Coming down the hall, you spot him, pulling a half empty bottle of tequila out of a paper bag before pouring himself a glass. 

You watch him silently from the shadows for a moment. He still looks handsome in his navy-blue suit, but his tie hangs a little loose, top button undone, his hair slightly disheveled like he’s been running his fingers through it too much. 

But it’s his eyes that worry you again, even from this far away. His usually intense gaze looks absolutely exhausted and beaten down in a way you’ve never seen before all this. 

He looks even more defeated than he did in the morning, if that was possible.

Moving toward him, you make your presence know. 

“Hey,” You call out quietly as you reach the table, your hand coming to rest along the rounded edge of it.

Steve looks over at you with a heavy gaze, a brief smile curling at the corner of his mouth like maybe he’s happy to see you’re there, maybe.

“Hey,” Steve answers on a low gritty breath as his gaze drops. 

He hardly looks your way as he moves around the table with his glass, pulling out a chair before he lowers himself into it.

It’s almost as if you’re not even there as he stares out into nothing- lost in his thoughts. 

His shoulders fallen as he sits slumped in the chair as if the weight of the world rests on him.

Your heart pulls for him and the pain he’s in. Without a second thought, you trust your instincts and go to him. 

Unable to just stand there and pretend you don’t see his suffering. You’re not that kind of person.

 Placing a hand gently upon his arm, you stand before Steve, watching him carefully as he drowns in his sorrows.

“You ok?” You ask, even as the words sound ridiculous coming off your breath, because you already know the answer.

 Obviously he’s not, but still Steve tries to pretend as he meets your eyes briefly and nods yes to the question, stoic to the end. 

But as you stand there, unwavering, your thumb gently sweeping against the arm of his suit, Steve begins to falter, beings to break.

Slowly his head starts to shake from side to side, unable to hold it all together any longer as his face crumbles and emotion thick huffs heave off his chest.

For a split second, you’re not sure what to do before you find yourself reaching for him, and to your complete surprise Steve eagerly moves into your embrace, surrendering to the comfort he so badly needs right now. 

A whimper leaves his breath and breaks your heart as you wrap him in your arms and pull him close. 

Your arm encircles his back, the other cradling his head as he burrows against you, quiet sobs shaking through him.

 Trying to comfort Steve, your fingers gently slip through his hair as you envelope him, leaning down you don’t think twice before placing a brief kiss upon his hair. 

This pain feels eerily familiar, you understand it in a sharp and uncomfortable kind of way. Not too long ago this pain had ripped through you too. 

When you lost your boyfriend to the violence of Columbia. You never got to mourn him, not really. You had been so angry with him just before he died. You felt betrayed, lied to, but you had still loved him, and losing him so suddenly, so violently, had shaken you. 

At the time you had held it together the best you could. Alone in a foreign country, relying on others to survive, but his death had ripped a hole in you. 

And feeling Steve’s loss as his arms clutch you desperately, his ragged breath vibrating against your ribs, you feel that pain find you again as tears brim your eyes. This is a pain you understand far too well.

You hold Steve as the sobs quietly rack through his body, shaking his shoulders, making his back tremble beneath your hand. 

Biting back your own tears, your own sense of loss, you hold him as grief drags him under. 

And in that moment, you aren’t a woman under his protection and he isn’t a DEA agent, you’re just two people who have been strangled by the pain of loss. 

Two people who know and understand its grip intimately well.

You hold him until the tears subside. Until his rattled breath slowly begins to even out. 

You don’t know how long you stand there, but as long as you feel Steve’s grip upon you, his fingers digging at your back, you hold him just as tight, needing each other in that moment.

You lose all sense of time, wrapped up in Steve and the comfort you find in each other. 

His breath feels rhythmic, his hold steady on you, but somewhere in this timeless space you become aware of a shift. 

Subtle, barely noticeable as you lie tangled up in each other’s arms finding solace. 

It’s the feel of Steve’s breath deepening against your ribs. 

You can feel the warmth of his breath through the fabric of your tee-shirt as he breathes you in and slowly exhales back out, his face buried snugly against you. You feel Steve’s arms faintly clutch you tighter. 

For a moment, you wonder if your mind is wandering, making things up that don’t exist. 

Until you feel it, his mouth against you, kissing you gently through the fabric of your shirt.

A shiver runs down your spine, your breath quakes unsteadily off your lips as you involuntarily clutch Steve a little tighter. 

Your eyes slip closed as his mouth moves tentatively against you, his breath heavy as you feel his hands slowly move from around your back, tugging up the fabric of your shirt. 

You can’t think as his face touches your bare skin, his nose lazily nuzzling against your ribs, the feel of his hot breath making your stomach clench as gooseflesh breaks out across your skin.

“God, you smell so good.” You hear Steve’s husky breath faintly whisper against your skin before he kisses you again, his mouth warm and inviting, his mustache tickling your skin as you clutch him tighter.

Steve’s mouth dances across your sensitive skin in a way that makes your head spin, your pulse pump.

“Steve,” You whimper out, trying to bring some reason to this madness you’ve somehow found yourself in.

Your eyes open as you feel his face pull back from your body. 

Looking down, all you see is Steve’s intense blue eyes staring back at you. Darker then you’ve ever seen. 

A shuttered breath quivers past your lips against the power of his gaze as his hand reaches up to roughly cup your cheek, pulling you down into a searing kiss. 

A kiss that sends a spark shooting through your body like a firecracker unleashed in your veins.  

And in that moment you know you are absolutely fucked. 

All the quiet simmering tension between you two. All the tiny sparks of chemistry pushed under the rug. It’s all been unchained and there’s no putting this beast back in the box.

Steve is already rising to his feet as you pull him toward you, wanting more. 

Your hands comb through his hair, seduced by the soft texture of it lacing through your fingers as Steve wraps an arm around the small of your back, pulling you desperately close to him. 

You can’t breathe and you’re not sure you want to as your mouths hungrily explore each other. 

Both so starved of real intimate connection for so long you’re practically ravenous. 

Everything buried under and forbidden between you two suddenly springs to life as your mouths collide. 

You find yourself moving blindly, one foot after the other as Steve maneuvers you back down the hall. You don’t need to open your eyes to know where you’re going.

You’re surprised by how badly Steve wants this. You’ve been silently keeping your own attraction at bay, but as he strips your clothes off as fast as he can get his hands on them, you start to wonder if you’re not the only one who’s reached a breaking point. 

You try to keep pace, tugging at his suit jacket, the buttons on his shirt, but Steve’s even quick to help you with that as you reach his bedroom and stumble in. 

The back of your legs collide with the mattress before you take a seat. The hunger in Steve’s kiss awakens something desperate inside you too, something raw and in need of human contact as your mouth trails down his chest. 

Moving greedily along the lines of his body, your senses lost in the smell and taste of him.

Steve’s hands weave through your hair, the sound of his heavy breath and low deep groan drive you on as your fingers work loose his belt buckle. 

You barely get his pants undone, before Steve shoves you back onto the bed. 

You gaze up at him, breath heaving, startled for a moment before you watch as he drops his pants and climbs onto the bed with you, eyes so dark and intense you forget to breathe as they aim right for you. 

Your heart thumps as Steve moves over you.

For a second your mind races, pounds- what are you doing? What the fuck are you doing and who the hell do you think you’re doing it with? 

Guilt starts to pound fiercely in your heart as Steve tugs at the strap of your bra, pulling it off your shoulder as his body lowers down on top of you, but then he’s devouring the skin the strap just covered and your body feels on fire again, your mind losing all train of thought. 

Steve sucks and nips at your flesh, tugging off your bra as your heart races, as intoxicating heat rushes your body and a deep insatiable need starts to build inside you again.

Your back arches against him craving more as your hands explore the mountain terrain of his strong arms. 

Then Steve’s mouth is dragging across you, mustache pricking along your collarbones, sending your nerve endings on fire as his palm cups the fullness of your breast. 

His mouth not far behind, leaving warm wet kisses you melt beneath, before his tongue finds the peak of your breast, swirling, gently nipping, before he draws the bud completely into his mouth. 

You cry out, clenching him between your thighs as your fingers dig into the muscles of his arms.

 It’s been so long since you’ve been touched so intimately, you feel like you’re coming apart at the seams.

“Please,” You beg, not entirely sure what your begging for as Steve continues, moving to your other breast, his arm snaked under your back, curving your body closer to him. 

You need this, you fucking need this, the thought pumps through your brain to the pounding of your heart and the swirl of his tongue. 

The last few months, since you came to this place, have been damn near hell, it’s all been building up and mounting inside you. 

And with Steve’s mouth hot on your body, you realize, this is exactly what you need, to just let go.

You feel his arm slip from behind your back with your pleas, snaking up your thigh, gooseflesh forming in his wake, before sneaking past your panties.

You hear a strangled breath leave him and mingle with the sound of your own as Steve touches you for the first time. His face falling heavily against your breastbone, leaving wet kisses against your skin as his fingers slowly stroke you.

“God, you feel good, baby.” Steve groans, his voice edgy and unhinged as his face nuzzles against your neck, his thumb swirling against your nub as his fingers sink inside you, making your head spin and your breath pitch.

Hearing the husky rich need in his voice, you finally realize- Steve needs this too. Maybe even more than you. 

Living alone in a foreign country, doing a job that just got his counterpart brutally gunned down, a job that could make him pay the same price any day, a job that’s already cost him parts of his soul. 

You’ve seen it since staying with him, the mounting pressure, the cracks as he starts to buckle, you’re the release Steve needs.

“I want you,” You demand, your voice heavy as you bow up against him, meeting the rhythm of his hand beat for beat to make your point. 

Trying to satisfy the need growing more and more demanding inside you as you surrender to the moment completely.

Your nails dig into his arms as Steve’s fingers curl and hits a spot inside you that leaves your whole body shaking, you’re breathe gasping his name- fuck you’re already so close. 

You wonder how he knows just where to touch you, before quickly banishing the thought, already knowing the painful answer.

Your hand slides between your waring bodies trying to touch the length of him when Steve suddenly pulls back, yanking your panties down your legs with him so fast you’re amazed they don’t rip.

Your eyes open just in time to see Steve descend back down on you, blonde hair falling wildly over his forehead, sweat glistening on his brow as he stares back at you with a dark urgency. 

Your wrap him in your arms as his hand finds your face. He meets your eyes only briefly before you feel him push inside you. 

Your eyes fall closed as you cry out against the delicious sensations rushing through you, clutching him tighter. 

You grip fiercely at the muscles on his shoulders as Steve’s forehead falls heavy against yours and his hips rock deeper into you.

Wrapping your legs around him, you angle your body to move with his, greedily wanting all of him. 

If you’re going to losing your soul, you’re going to lose it chasing heaven right through the gates of hell. 

Steve’s mouth finds yours once again, sucking the breath right off your lips, swallowing your cries as your back arches against him, your hips rocking in unison as you meet him thrust for thrust. 

His hand cradles your cheek, kissing you desperately as if the taste of you could save him.

“Steve,” You cry out against him lips as he pushes deeper into you, moving in a way you swear will sends you over the edge any moment.

“Fuck,” Steve grunts against your open mouth, his weight braced against his arm as his hand tangles in your hair, holding you close. 

His other hand squeezes the back of your thigh, gripping it tightly against his hip for leverage as he pounds inside you. 

As you both drive head first into the path of absolutely destruction.

You kiss him harder as he drives you to the edge, ready to teeter over. The only real release you’ve had since you came to this unforgiving place and all the misery it’s brought you. 

You lose yourself completely to Steve wanting to give him that same release. 

Knowing you’ll hate yourself in the morning for this, but here in the moment, nothing feels more right.

You find yourself lying naked in a bed beside Steve, his sheet tangled around you, soft against your bare flesh, the room shrouded in darkness except for the light streaming in from the Livingroom. 

You stare up at the ceiling, the white walls staring back at you as you gnaw on your lower lip, trying not to cry. 

What the hell did you just do? What the fuck were you thinking? Oh, that’s right, you weren’t- you were too busy feeling. 

Feeling on another woman’s husband, the way you still feel the slickness he left inside you against your thighs. 

That truth rattles through the hollows of your heart. And you’re not the only one tortured by it. 

Steve hasn’t moved since he came and climbed off you after coming to his senses, hasn’t made a sound. 

Staring at that same damn ceiling as if it offers you both some unforeseen road to redemption.

You can hear him breathing deeply as your thoughts drift to him and what he must be thinking, what he must be feeling. 

The thought of the guilt alone feels suffocating as that room suddenly feels too damn small. 

You have to get out of there, you think as you finally rise in the bed, clutching the sheet close to your exposed body as your eyes scan the floor for your cloths. 

Pieces lying everywhere as if living proof of your frenzied crime. Your throat tightens with the sight of it as the first tear rolls down your cheek. 

You quickly wipe it away, but more just keep coming. Your heart pounds hard, you have to get out of there, but none of your cloths are as close as Steve’s discarded button down shirt, so you snatch it and pull it on as you quickly climb from his bed.

You wipe quickly at the tears on your cheeks as your eyes catch Steve’s. His face is unreadable, but the sight of your tears gets him moving. 

You look away, but out of your periphery you see him rise out of the bed and snatch his boxers as you quickly button up his shirt and move for his bedroom door.

You almost make it before he catches you, his arm snaking around your waist to stop you as he pulls your back to him. 

Your toes dig into the shag carpet as you feel his face come to rest against the back of your head, his breathe heavy against your scalp as you suck in a shuttered breath, holding back more tears.

You feel his fingers curl into your side as your body trembles against the weight of your uneasy breath, his own rattling against you as his face slowly nuzzles your head. 

Steve doesn’t say it, but you can sense it, he’s trying to make sure you’re alright, as alright as anyone can be given the circumstances.

“This isn’t on you.” He finally whispers, his mustache pricking at your scalp, trying to take the blame.

But that’s not true, you know you’re equally couplable. Summoning your courage, you turn and face him. 

There’s tears in those tortured blue eyes of his as they stare down at you. The guilt is suffocating, strangling your heart like a vice grip, but the look on his face tells you it’s nothing compared to his.

“I’m so sorry, Steve.” You manage to spit out on a quiet raspy breath. Needing to say it. Needing him to hear it.

His hand leaves your back to find your cheek, his thumb dragging across it as he looks at you, his eyes drilling into yours for a long moment in a way you know is dangerous, even now.

“Me too,” Steve’s strangled breath agrees as his hand drops from your face and he steps away.

Without warning, Steve turns from you, grabbing an electric fan off his dresser and throwing it across the room with such force the plastic busts into pieces when it hits the wall.

“Fuck!” He yells violently as your shoulders jerk, startled.

As he turns back you see tears glistening in his eyes before he breaks your gaze, moving to his bed, he takes a heavy seat on the end of it. 

You can’t help but notice how broken Steve looks sitting there in only his boxers, shoulders slumped forward as his face falls into his hands.

What the hell have you both done?

[whumppile]

I was wondering if you could write a fic where peter is sick during a battle with tony, and then he gets really hurt because he's not fighting well?

Yes I can! I’m sorry this took so long and also that its crap but I hope you like it anyway? I also got a requests for overworked Peter getting hurt in battle, so you might like that one when I get it done. Anyway please let me know what you think of this and thank you for sending the prompt!

I’ll also post it on my ff.net and ao3 accounts, it’s called “Learning curve.”

“Peter, your fever is getting higher. I think we shouldinform Mr Stark now.”

The teenager panted as he swung up to a window ledge, andpaused there for a moment as he grumbled to his suit. “No, Karen. I’m fine,shut up.”

“But you aren’t feeling well. Mr Stark will want toknow.”

Peter resisted the urge to roll his eyes, knowing itwould only make his sore head worse. He had been feeling crap all day but hehad things to do. Mr Stark had asked him to come along on a mission with him,and that wasn’t something Peter wanted to miss out on.

Tony had been taking him out on more training missions,so that he could earn the privilege of his suits full capabilities, and so hewas being taught how to properly use them. Tony had wanted to just turn thetraining wheels protocol back on but Peter said he’d miss Karen too much.

She wasn’t being very helpful now though, constantlyasking him if he was all right, and telling him he should just go to bed. Andin reality, he actually wanted to follow her advice, he would love a nap, buthe knew that he should keep going and push through the pain.

So, taking a moment for his vision to stop blurring, hetook off swinging again, to help Mr Stark fight off the gang members they’dtracked to an old warehouse.

There were a lot of them, but Tony was already takingdown their most dangerous members, while Peter used his webs to take theirweapons away and tie them up. Only, it was getting really hard to concentrate,and all his swinging around was making his vision blur and his stomach clench.

Peter quickly slipped to the ground, and held hisstomach, groaning as he tried not to be sick. Karen’s voice came again, hertone calm despite the situation.

“You cannot vomit with the mask on.”

“I know that, I’m not going to.” Peter wasn’t usually sorude to her, but she was being very unhelpful and he barely managed to get outhis groan before he was gagging.

Tony flew down beside him, tossing a tied up bad guy onthe ground as his metal boots clanked against the concrete.

“You good?”

Peter attempted to stand up straight and gave his mentor athumb up as he nodded unable to speak just yet. His senses were usually prettygood, but feeling as crap as he did made it hard to focus, and he didn’t knowthere was anyone behind him until Tony jumped, and lifted one of his arms, handlighting up.

Peter ducked just in time for the light beam to fry theperson behind him, and quickly rolled to the side, jumping to his feet in timeto get punched in the face by some other gangster.

His head snapped to the side as his world went white,sound coming muffled and warped as he stumbled, trying to stay on his feet. Anotherfist came, this time landing at his stomach, and he doubled over, falling tohis knees.

Peter groaned in pain but lifted a hand as he saw a bootcoming towards his face, sending a web to blind the guy before his foot landed.The man yelled profanities as he tried to tear the webs away from his face, andPeter was about to grab his hands and tie them before a kick landed in themiddle of his back, sending him sprawling to the ground.

His stomach lurched uncomfortably as he tried not tothrow up, while he twisted on the ground to face the man that kicked him. Hedesperately tried to throw webs at his attacker, but there were more of themnow, and their boots came down on him hard.

He quickly drew his hand to his chest as some of hisfingers were broken, the other arm cradling his head and protecting it as muchas he could while he curled on the ground, kick after kick striking hisshivering frame.

Karen was listing his injuries as they occurred, andPeter let out a cry of pain as one kick landed in his face, over his cheek.

“Concussion detected. Multiple breaks detected. You havesustained internal injuries. Do you need help, Peter?”

Peter groaned in response, trying to crawl away from theboots attacking him, only to be grabbed and hauled to his feet. He couldn’topen his eyes without the world spinning, so squinted instead and tried to pushthe man away from him, only to be shaken harshly.

The gang member’s voice was low and guttural, and Petershivered, turning his head away as he was growled at.

“I’m gonna skin you alive.”

Peter was stronger than other people, and definitelystronger than the man holding him, but he felt awful, body shaking and bruisedand he felt weaker than he ever had since he was bitten and given his powers.He couldn’t fight these guys off.

He should have taken Karen’s advice and stayed home.

The man’s hands tightened on Peter’s arms, squeezing hardenough to make the teenager whine in pain, as his hands continued to scrabbleat his chest, doing his best to push the man away. That voice came again, lacedwith cruel humour.

“You know, for a superhero, you’re pretty pathetic.”

Peter swallowed his nausea, and prepared for more pain,when a more familiar voice came from behind him.

“Drop the Spider, or I’ll blast a hole right through yourknee caps and take him from you.” Tony wasn’t usually so violent, but the thughad his kid, and that just wouldn’t stand.

Peter whimpered as he was dropped to the ground, barelycatching himself on his feet before crumpling to the concrete as Tony took outthe last of the gang members.

Peter wanted to help, he wanted to get up and keep going,and tell Mr Stark he was fine. But his head hurt so bad, and he was too cold,whole body shivering as he wrapped his arms around himself and limped away fromthe fight.

Every part of him ached, and moving hurt so badly he justwanted to lie down, preferably in a soft bed and not on the damp sidewalk.

He ignored the sounds of the fight, as Tony took care ofthe last of them, and tried to compose himself, pulling off his mask to try andbreathe easier.

When the fight was done, Tony came over and patted a handon the teenager’s shoulder, making him flinch.

“Hey, Spider-kid. You okay? They got a couple good hitsin, huh?”

Peter kept his head low, nodding as he tried not to cryin front of his hero. He already felt pathetic, he didn’t need Tony to think hewas too.

Tony noticed when he refused to look at him, and camearound to stand in front of the teenager, stepping out of his suit, and leavingit on sentry duty as he took Peter’s arm.

“Hey, what’s going on? You haven’t said a word, iseverything okay?”

Peter ducked his head, trying to keep Tony from seeingthe bruises he could feel forming over his face, and the tears in his eyes. Hisvoice was wobbly and small as he spoke.

“I’m fine.”

Tony frowned and pulled the kid back to him, placing ahand under his chin to lift his face.

“Peter, stop. Don’t lie to me. Let me see.”

Peter kept his eyes closed but he could hear the smallsigh as the older man saw the damage. “Dammit.”

There were bruises blooming across the kids face, in theshapes of boots and fists, including a rather heavy one across his cheek bone,making the whole side of his face swell.

Tony’s fingers gently pressed around Peter’s eye,apologizing when he hissed in pain. It looked bad, but the kid always healedfast, so he wasn’t too worried. He let go and patted the kid on the shoulderagain.

“They didn’t get your eye, you’re fine. Let’s get back, Itold your Aunt I’d have you home before eleven and we all know how she-.“

He stopped mid-sentence, when he heard a sniff and then awhimper. He turned back around to see Peter, head low and face crumpling as hestarted to cry.

“Peter?”

The teenager didn’t want to cry but he couldn’t hold itback anymore. He let out a sob as tears fell and rolled down his bruises. “Idon’t feel so good.”

Tony was dumbfounded. He’d seen Peter thrown throughbuildings and smacked around by giant aliens, and he’d always gotten right backup and kept fighting, even when he probably shouldn’t have. But a couple ofnormal guys had been able to rough him up so bad he was crying?

Tony watched, frozen, as Peter wiped at his eyes, sobstearing up his throat as he shivered and tried to keep standing.

He’d never been good at comforting people, not evenPepper, but this kid, god he made it hard to stare and do nothing.

Tony quickly took Peter’s arm and led him over to somesteps and sat him down, away from the crime scene where cops would be arrivingsoon, and spoke quietly.

“Peter, it’s okay, you’ll be all right. Friday, give mehis vitals.”

The calm, kind voice, rattled off a bunch of numbers and wordsthat Peter didn’t really understand but it made Tony frown and place a palm onthe teenager’s forehead.

“That’s way too high, why do you have a fever? God, you’reburning up. How long have you had this?”

Peter just sniffled and leant into Tony’s touch as hebrushed back his hair, that cool hand feeling amazing. This time, it was Karenwho answered.

“He has had a fever since ten this morning, which became progressivelyworse over the course of the day. Would you like me to list his symptoms andinjuries?”

Tony took his hand back, and brushed his callousedfingers over Peter’s cheeks to catch a few stray tears.

“Yes.”

“Peter is suffering from a fever of 104 degrees, a mildconcussion, two broken ribs, three broken fingers, minor internal bleeding,and-“

Her pleasant, caring voice, was cut off abruptly by Peteras he lent forwards and threw up onto the concrete. Tears rolled down his faceas his whole body throbbed, head feeling like a strobe light of pain was goingoff and on and off and on, inside it.

Tony winced in sympathy as Peter let out another sob,spitting out the last of the horrible taste, while Karen finished her sentence.

“-And nausea.”

The older man rubbed a hand over Peter’s back, andbrushed his hair away from his face. “Thank you, Karen. Peter, I’m going to getmy suit back on and I’ll take you to the compound so Bruce can take a look atyou okay?”

Peter usually protested being sent to the compound, he didn’tlike to be fussed over and preferred to wave off injuries with the reassurance thathe healed quick. So, when he only nodded and curled tighter into himself, Tonyknew that he must really feel awful.

Tony’s hand leaves Peter’s back and he sniffedpathetically, instantly missing the comforting touch. Tony wasn’t touchy feelyoften and it had felt nice to be cared for, but he also sounded mad and Peter didn’twant to test his temper.

He could hear the mechanical whir and clank of Tonyputting his suit back on, as he talked to someone on the phone.

“Hey….yeah they’re all taken care of but Peter’s notdoing so good, I need you in the med bay with a bed for him. I’ll have Karensend over his info, see you in a bit.”

As much as he wanted to be in a bed, Peter didn’t actuallywant to move. He never wanted to move again, but Tony came walking over in hissuit, and gently slipped one arm around his back and the other under his legs,picking him up as Peter curled to his chest.

“Hang on, kid.”

It was a thankfully, short flight, and they quicklyarrived at the Avengers compound flying in through an open door to be greetedby Bruce Banner. Tony lay Peter down in the waiting bed, and stepped out of hissuit as Bruce tapped at a screen next to the bed, displaying all of Peter’svitals and information as Karen sent it from the suit.

Numbers and lines appeared across the screen, telling theman that the teenagers heart rate and fever were both too high. He frowned andcame to stand next to the bed, looking down at the kid as he curled into a balland shivered.

He shone a light on the kid’s eyes, as Tony held hishands down to stop him swiping at the pen light. Bruce’s words were clipped andofficiant.

“What happened?”

Tony sounded angry, teeth clenched tight as he spoke,while Peter tried to squirm away from the light burning holes in his eyes.

“Gang members gave him a beating, and apparently he’s hada fever since this morning, which he neglected to tell me.” It was hard to tellif the heat in his tone was for Peter or a result of the criminals beating uphis kid. Peter guessed, but hoped it wasn’t, both.

Bruce placed a hand on that clammy forehead and put thepenlight away, tapping at the screen beside him before smiling down at theteenager.  

“Hey, Pete, you not feeling too good huh?”

The teenager sniffed again and shook his head, wiping hiseyes with his good hand as he held his other to his chest. Bruce noticed andheld out a hand.

“Can I see?”

Peter didn’t like doctors, and he already felt like crap,he didn’t want anyone touching his already sore fingers, but Tony was standing atthe end of the bed, watching them with crossed arms and he knew he was inenough trouble as it was.

He nodded and hesitantly offered the man his shakinghand, broken fingers curled and swollen within his suit. Bruce was gentler thanPeter had expected, and carefully extended and pressed Peter’s fingers, forjust a moment before adjusting his glasses and gesturing to Tony.

“Help me get his suit off.”

Tony came over, face a mask of indifference as he helpedBruce peel the top half of Peter’s suit from his clammy skin. Peter watched hisface, and it hurt to see him look as if he didn’t care, but he knew it was onlybecause he was worried and was trying not to panic. Which, actually was worse.

Once the suit was out of the way, Bruce carefully easedPeter down to lay flat on the bed, before giving him an ice pack to hold in hissore fingers. His face was pinched in concentration, but calm, as he worked, pressingdown on Peter’s stomach, and tracing his ribs, checking every injury withexpert precision, and a patience that Tony lacked as he paced at the end of thebed.

“Tony, sit down. Peter, take a deep breath and tell me ifthis hurts.”

Peter had been feeling like crap all day, and then thefight had made it all worse, but Bruce knew what he was doing and the med baywas quiet and calm, lights dimmed in the way that they always were when Peterwas there. It made him feel a little better, now that he didn’t have to worry,he could just lay still and let someone take care of him.

Once done with his examination, Bruce splinted Peter’sfingers, laid a few ice packs over him, and gave him some water with a fewpills.

“This will help the pain and fever, till you heal, whichmay take a little longer than usual because your immune system is alreadydealing with a lot. I’m going to get a few scans, just so I can make sureeverything’s okay with that cheek, and the concussion, we’ll have to take yoursuit off but it’ll only take about ten minutes.”

Tony helped again, laying a blanket over Peter beforepulling off the rest of the suit and handing the kid some sweat pants.

Bruce pulled a machine or two over, swiveling the bigcontraptions over the bed and laying the teenager down again, adjusting the icepacks over the heaviest bruises, before taking Tony out to watch the scansdevelop on the screens in the other room.

They stood there, watching Peter through the window, asTony crossed his arms and clenched his teeth.

Bruce sighed. “I know you want to yell at him, but now’sprobably not a good time.”

Tony didn’t hesitate, releasing all the words he’d beenholding inside at once.

“He’s had a fever since this morning and he didn’t tellme, and now he’s hurt because he couldn’t fight off a few guys by himself. He can’tjust lie to me like that, I asked him if he was up for a mission and he said hewas! What if something worse had happened to him? What if I hadn’t been there?”

Bruce pushed his glasses up his nose and sighed. “He’sgoing to be fine, Tony.”

The other man rubbed a hand over his face, feeling as ifevery nerve was stretched thin. God this kid would be the death of him.

“What am I supposed to do with him?”

Bruce’s voice was gentle, knowing how hard the wholesituation was for Tony. He hadn’t had the best father figure, and been areckless kid well into his adulthood, and had suddenly become like an adoptivefather to a scrawny, genius kid with superpowers. It wasn’t exactly easy.

“Maybe don’t be so hard on him? You expect a lot fromhim, and he doesn’t want to let you down. He’s not even legally old enough tovote or drink yet, you can’t expect him to make the right decision all thetime. He’s still learning about all this stuff, just be there when he needs youand let him make mistakes. If you get mad every time, he’ll stop telling youabout them, and that’s worse.”

Tony sighed and gave the man a smile. “When did you getso wise?”

Bruce let out a small laugh. “Somewhere around the timeyou became a parent? Never thought I’d see the day, but…here we are.”

Tony looked back through the window, where Peter waslaying as still as he could, but unable to stop the tremors the fever caused.

“Yeah. Here we are.”

Once the scans were done, the two men walked back in, andBruce raised the head of Peter’s bed, allowing him to lie with his chestraised.

“The scans look okay, you do have a minor concussion butI’m not that worried about it. But Peter, your speed healing isn’t working likeit should because your immune system is so busy with this virus, so you’ll stayhere for tonight and we’ll see how you are tomorrow. I don’t really want torelease you until your fevers gone, because we just don’t know what effects itcould have on your powers. And as much as I enjoy your company, I don’t want tosee you in one of my beds, so next time you feel sick you need to tell Tony,okay? You can’t fight like this, you could have been seriously injured.”

Peter’s flushed cheeks grew brighter as he blushed, headlowering as he nodded.

“Yes, Mr Banner.”

The man was surprisingly gentle for someone known for hisrage, and Peter peeked up to Tony, who still looked mad.

“Are you gonna yell at me now? Cause my head alreadyreally hurts and I think I’ve learnt my lesson.”

Tony took a deep breath and released it all in one go,shoulders sagging as if he were very tired. He took a seat on the edge of Peter’sbed.

“No, I’m not going to yell. I really want to, but I won’t.”He snuck a glance at Bruce before carefully choosing his words.

“You made a mistake, and you have learnt from it, so…aslong as you’re okay, everything’s fine.”

Peter frowned, eyes narrowing in his bruised and swollenface. “Really?” He sounded doubtful.

Tony rolled his eyes and pulled Peter’s blankets up,attempting to tuck him in.

“Yes. Just don’t do anything like that ever again. If you’resick, or hurt, or too tired to go on a mission, you tell me. Got it?”

Peter nodded and sank gratefully into the pillows Tonyplaced behind him. He sat down in a chair next to the bed and closed his eyes,planning on sleeping the days stress’s away.

And he knew he shouldn’t but he couldn’t help it.

“Good. Because you’re grounded.”

“What?!”

(Let me know what you think?)