#I am dizzy and in pain for nearly my entire shift

[ricky-olson]

going to work during my period while i got endometriosis is the worst i wish corp america was kinder

[cdroloisms]

Do you consider a possibility that c!Punz never betrayed c!Dream in the first place and whole "I'm sorry, Dream -- but you should have paid me more" thing was a facade and undercover for Punz? Like Dream said that Punz should not associated with him, so it was intentional-

staged disc finale theory my beloved !!! :D it’s definitely one of my favorite theories, though i’m still holding out (for now) as for believing super firmly in one direction or another (tho the staged finale is definitely the one i prefer for Many reasons, haha.) c!punz is so so fun no matter if the betrayal was intentional or not, but oh boyyyy if it was something planned ,,, man . 

*c!dream voice, after quackity starts visiting*: the risk i took was calculated, but man am i bad at math. 

anyway c!punz and c!dream interactions make me soft as heck so have this !!

tw: implied torture, abuse, violence, blood, injuries, emotional distress, panicking, dehumanization, unhealthy coping mechanisms, unhealthy mindsets, illness, trauma, flashbacks, starvation mention, suicide mention, death mentions, dark content, dark imagery, prison arc/pandora’s vault themes, c!quackity critical/dark portrayal of c!quackity

Dream comes to in vague moments and flashes. 

There’s a hand brushing over his forehead, too gentle to be Quackity or the Warden, not Techno because Techno is Gone and he has Left and won’t come again, running through the sweat-soaked locks and pulling them back out of his forehead. He’s unbearably hot, shifting around on the ground, only barely registering it moving beneath him. Water, cool and clear, is tipped in between his lips, quenching his thirst and easing the dryness of his mouth. Someone speaks, voice low and rumbling, and even though he’s unable to make out the words, there’s something about the cadence of them and the specific rhythm in which they move and rise and dip that is bone-achingly familiar, enough to lull him into a fitful sleep. Through it all, there is always something, someone, lingering in the edges of his vision, a shadow standing near and watching over him; part of him remembers Quackity, remembers the Warden, and recoils in fright; another part of him remembers Techno, remembers the barest flashes of a life before obsidian and lava and pain and hell, and wants nothing more than to get closer. 

When the fog in his head finally clears away enough to think, the first coherent thought he has is oh fuck, I need to piss. 

Which, out of all possible things to think, is probably up there as one of the worst, and he’s sure that when his head feels a little less like it’s trying to actively kill him (ha, let it- it’s far from the first to try) the panic will settle in as it always does. As it is, he’s exhausted, and hungry, and he really really needs to pee- so he forces his eyes open to move away from where he’s probably still stuck in a puddle of dried blood in the middle of his cell.

The second coherent thought he has is this: this isn’t Pandora. 

The realization has him thoroughly awake, eyes snapping open out of his previous fatigue to take in his surroundings, feet kicking out to the weight on top of them that he hadn’t even noticed was there, panicking against his restraints that end up not being restraints at all, giving way easily under his thrashing and resolving to what appears to be a thick blanket when he has the mind to look. With the covers gone off of whatever he’s lying on (a bed?) he’s suddenly, unbearably cold - the prison has always been hot, the lava baking into him and leaving his skin sticky with sweat, and he thinks that the room he’s in is probably not meant to feel like a fucking freezer, but after months of being one wrong step away from heatstroke, anything cooler than the goddamn Nether feels like literal ice against his skin. The room is wooden and cozy and oddly familiar, an open door leading to what appears to be a bathroom and a closed one going who knows where, window panes built into the opposite wall to let the sunlight in. It’s a nice room, all things considered, and Dream fucking hates it. 

He pulls himself to his feet, cursing at the wobbly edge to his stance when he finally manages to stand, his vision wavering dangerously in time to the spinning of his head. His eyes flick between the two doors - he still needs to go to the bathroom, and using it now will lessen the amount of things to get in the way of his escape in the future - but at the same time, there's no knowing when people will come to (hurt him, beat him, starve him, punish him, leaving him bruised and bleeding and half-dead on the floor just as he deserves) him and he needs all the time he can get to get the hell away. In the end, he slinks into the bathroom, ignoring the thudding in his chest as he does so - at the very least, the cabinets in the thing might provide him with some manner of a weapon. 

He’s only just past the door on the way out - a fucking broomstick in his hand because it’s all he could find - when his ears catch on the sound of metal clicking against each other and his eyes fall on the knob of the other door shaking as someone makes their way in. All at once, panic slams into him - goddammit, he should’ve just run when he had the chance - and he directs quick, desperate glances at the window. Maybe, if he’s fast enough, he can book it out of there and disappear into the trees; it’ll hurt, but it’ll be better than getting caught. Anything would be better than getting caught-

 “Dream?” 

Dream blinks. All at once, the same feeling of getting the air punched out of him returns, but combined with something warm and floaty wrapping around his chest, something almost a little like relief - and hell, if that isn’t something he’s not felt for a while. 

“Punz?” 

Punz is standing in the doorway, hoodie rumpled, expression more than a little frazzled; Dream’s breath hitches at the sight of the sword strapped to his side, but their face holds none of the harsh edges and cold-dark-hard hatred that had characterized the Warden and Quackity’s visits, mouth slightly parted and eyes shining with nothing but what appears to be shock and concern. The sight of them, again, nearly has Dream dizzy, a swell of tangled, unexplainable emotion rising to the back of his throat as he sways on his feet. He hadn’t thought that he would see Punz again, he realizes, had never thought he’d see his stupid gold chain and his stupid outfit he never bothered changing, ever, or that same lopsided smirk and pale blue eyes- the last time he’d seen them, it was in that vault, their mouth twisted up in the act the two of them had decided on and eyes shimmering with unease and regret; as far as goodbyes went, it wasn’t the worst, not when Punz was one of the few to never leave him, not really, not when something ached in their expression other than the hatred that had colored all of the other expressionless faces watching him die. Months later, alone in Pandora, he must’ve grown resigned, or something, the repeated reminders that he would die alone and afraid and it would be nothing more than he deserved settling into his skin and against his bones; Punz’s expression twists, visible even across the room, and- oh. 

They must’ve thought the same thing, too.

“What are you doing out of bed?” Punz asks, finally, and Dream decides not to point out the way his voice cracks harshly in the middle, especially when the other man strides forward and starts to awkwardly herd him back in the direction of the bed - covers still thrown to the floor - in the middle of the room. Dream lets them, not replying because he doesn’t really know where to even begin describing the tangled knot of panic and shock that had strung his muscles tense when he woke up in a room he didn’t recognize, not knowing if he can really describe it all at all, trying his best not to flinch at the hands flitting in the corners of his vision as he falls back into a sitting position onto the bed. His fingers settle into the mattress, pressing into the bedsheets cautiously and marveling when they fall away under the pressure. Punz watches him, expression odd, gathers the blankets from the ground and presses them over and around him in a way that’s entirely awkward but does leave him warmer than he’d been before, before walking back on his heels with an odd expression that makes Dream’s insides twist. 

“You,” Punz says after a long second, voice wavering, “are a fucking idiot,” and it’s all the warning Dream gets before a white-and-black blur is rushing towards him, arms wrapping around his chest and his vision whites out in alarm and panic. When the pain doesn’t come, he comes back to his senses enough to realize that Punz’s arms are still wrapped around him, shoulders shaking as he holds him close but not painfully, careful not to pull too much against the places on his ribs and back that leave him gasping with small shocks of pain, head pressed against the crook of Dream’s neck and hair tickling his face. Dream can feel his heart hammering in his chest, but as the panic dies something warm and long-neglected stirs in the middle of his chest, and he melts forward with a quiet hum. This is- nice. Really, really nice. 

“What were you thinking?” Punz mutters, too quiet to really be directed at him, hands curling tighter into the folds of the hoodie - oh, he’s wearing one of those, not the same stiff, bloodstained material of the prison uniform that had chafed against his skin, another constant source of pain and discomfort of thousands in the hell that had been Pandora’s Vault  - on him, and Dream doesn’t really know what to do except sit there and blink dumbly, listening to the heartbeat of the person leaning against him rumbling against his ears. It’s oddly calming, has the pressure on his chest lightening enough to take a full breath, and then another, the warmth of someone leaning against him almost too much but not enough at the same time - his eyes burn, and he ignores them. 

“I-” he doesn’t really think that Punz was really asking a question, but just ignoring his question seems rude, too, and even despite the fuzzy warmth settling into his skin and into his bones from the pressure of Punz’s arms around his body and their head against his shoulder, he’s still unable to shake the anxiety of leaving a query unanswered, a constant murmur to listen obey do as you’re told or you’re going to regret it put on a damn good show or suffer the consequences remaining no matter how hard he tries to push it away. He wets his lips when his mouth feels too dry to keep speaking, eyes fluttering closed as he leans forward further, “I don’t know what you mean.” 

“You-” Punz cuts themselves off with a wet, incredulous-sounding laugh that has Dream jerking back despite himself, meeting their ice-cold eyes when they pull themselves back to look at him. He doesn’t really recognize the expression he wears, Dream realizes with a jolt, the way his lips are pressed together and the churning in his eyes, and his lungs seize in his chest. 

“Sir-”

If anything, Punz’s expression only seems to harden, and the warmth disappears as Dream looks into their eyes - cold, two polished shards of ice, frosted over pools of water in the middle of the tundra, flinty and sharp and brilliant blue. His hands shake as he pulls them back to his chest, trembling from the chill that’s made its home in his muscles and frozen them in place - sir sorry sir please don’t hurt me im sorry please I didn’t mean to

“Fuck, Dream,” he shakes his head, and only then does Dream see the slight wobble to their bottom lip, the waver to their words like they’re struggling to keep themselves together, “why didn’t you say anything?” 

 What?

You almost died, you know,” he keeps going, not meeting his eyes as they direct their gaze out the window, “Several times, honestly. Fucking hell- when Techno brought you out- I didn’t think you would survive. I didn’t think anyone could survive that.” 

Dream swallows. He doesn’t remember getting out, doesn’t really remember much at all if he’s being honest; there was the black of the cell, the heat of the lava, Techno promising to get him out before disappearing in a flash of purple, Quackity throwing him against the wall (Where the fuck did Techno go? You better have a fuckin’ answer, pal, if you want your death to be anything resemblin’ quick-) then nothing. Everything. His heart hammering in his chest and blood slick against his skin and the press of metal against his windpipe and pain, the only constant within it all, the only thing that made any goddamn sense when the room seemed to flip and turn and twist and his feelings knotted and frayed between anger-betrayal-distress-sadness-fear-grief, when reality swirled into a dizzying blur of colors and feelings and sounds carving themselves into the inside of his skull- then here. Dream flexes his hand experimentally, marveling at the feeling - the pain is almost gone. 

He’d forgotten how it felt, really, to live and not hurt. 

“Dream,” Punz calls again, voice low and worried, and Dream can’t help the way his head snaps up to meet their eyes and can’t help the flinch that twists his neck back when their frown deepens. It’d been a show, at least he tells himself, because Quackity would stop earlier if he screamed more, but- his hands tremble at his sides, twisted into the sheets of the bed, a near-constant litany of reminders and rules beating like they have a heart of their own in the back of his head. It was a show- he feels himself almost buckle, give in under the force of the stare leveled at him, and hates himself for how weak he feels, pinned under the eyes trained on his own. He’s not sure how much of a show it is anymore. 

“Dream,” Punz repeats, words even softer, and the ugly feeling of shame and anger twists inside Dream’s chest again. Punz- ever unflappable, deadly with almost any weapon and never letting anyone see him as anything but deliberately apathetic - is watching him with an expression so uncharacteristically and unbearably gentle that it makes his breath catch in his throat. “You could’ve died,” he says once again, and the look that paints his face is so terribly vulnerable, feelings pouring over like a cup overfilled, bubbling forward and bleeding from every corner, and Dream- can’t. He doesn’t know what to do in the face of such stark emotion, doesn’t know how how to handle the way his eyes burn and his heart throbs like an exposed nerve, the way everything yawns wide in the middle of his chest into void and emptiness and pain so deeply carved in the space within his ribs that he half-thinks he’s been hollowed out entirely.

“But I didn’t.” 

Punz pulls back, but Dream isn’t looking at him, is staring at the scarred surfaces of the backs of his hands and the knobs of his knuckles sticking out against the thinned-out skin and the yellowed nails he’s pushing against the blanket, the fourth and fifth ones of his right hand missing. They shake, no matter how long he looks at them and how hard he tries to make them stay still, and he can feel a voice whispering in the back of his mind, tone too familiar to ignore. Weak. 

“I didn’t die,” he says when Punz doesn’t reply, looking at his scarred hands, weak hands, broken hands. “So it’s okay. We can keep- we can keep going.”

“Dream-” their voice is a blade scraping against an anvil, nails scraping over his ribs, his hands clamping over his ears before he’s realized he’s moved and his brain screaming at him for doing so once he realizes that he has, “-what the fuck are you talking about?” 

Still, he hadn’t survived months of Quackity’s visits by bending over the second he was pushed, so he forces his tongue to move from where it’s fallen to the bottom of his mouth like lead, feels his eyes go steely even from under the way his vision has already begun to wobble. 

“It’s not over yet,” he continues, trying to keep his words even, “‘cause I didn’t die, so we’re not done. I gotta- we have to reevaluate, of course,” he can’t stop, because the second he stops talking is the second he falls apart, so he ignores the way that Punz stiffens and stills and doesn’t let anything stop the flow of words spilling out of his mouth, “because the vault and the prison- um, obviously didn’t go as planned, but it’s fine. Just a minor- um, minor inconvenience. A setback- but it’s not- it’s not unsalvageable- we just have to-”

“Are you kidding me?” Punz cuts him off with a sharp laugh, disbelieving and just on the wrong side of desperate, and the air in Dream’s lungs freezes into a solid block of ice in the middle of his chest, “you- you’ve got to be kidding me.” 

“Punz?”

Dream’s voice comes out small, himself shrinking back into the bed, keenly aware, suddenly, of how there is nowhere he can go to run - Punz doesn’t seem to notice that he’s spoken at all, one of his hands moving up to tug through his hair, which is - now that Dream is looking - fluffier and messier than he remembers, sticking up in all directions like they didn’t bother to smooth it down.

“You think this is fine? You think that because you didn’t fucking die, that this is all okay?” Punz’s voice rises in volume slowly, not loud enough to be a shout but enough to go hard and unyielding like a threat, and with each word every remnant of the vault comes crawling, clawing back up to the front of his head, a pounding reminder to play his role, put on a show, behave behave behave-

“Goddammit, Dream,” Punz startles him out of his own thoughts, looking straight into his eyes with their ice-blue ones, “have you seen yourself?”

 Have you seen yourself? Lying down in your own goddamn filth like a fucking mutt- prime, you disgust me. 

“Your ribs were basically shattered. Your legs had fractures on both sides, and your back was so fucking torn up that it looked like more blood than skin. You’ve been starved- enough for me to see every goddamn bone in your body, it feels like. Your throat was bruised to hell- I wasn’t sure if you were gonna be able to speak again, fuck, and like a day after we got here you got fucking pneumonia.” Punz’s breath hitches, “Your skin was a literal fucking oven- I thought you’d bake yourself from the inside out. You could’ve died- you should’ve died.”

 You should’ve died a hell of a long time ago, pal- should’ve saved us all the fucking trouble and offed yourself like Wilbur fucking Soot.

He flinches, and this, Punz seems to notice, eyes widening a fraction before they pitch their voce lower, clearly taking a few breaths to calm down and reaching forward to take one of Dream’s hands loosely in his own, thumb smoothing over the bumps of his knuckles. 

“You’re not fine,” he says after a long while, shaking his head. “Hell- I’m not fine. But we’re not doing anything like- like the vault or the prison again, dude. I told you they were shit ideas- fuck. We never should’ve done that.”

“It was worth it,” Dream butts in, because he can’t imagine a world where it wasn’t, can’t imagine a world where all of that was for nothing, “it was worth it-” 

“No it fucking wasn’t, are you out of your mind?” Punz replies immediately, voice overlapping over Dream’s own, “have you listened to a single thing I’ve said? You- look at you! How was that worth it?”

Dream shakes his head stubbornly, already feeling the way his jaw is trembling around the words he forces himself to speak. “The server- it was all for the server-”

“Fuck the server!” 

Punz seems startled by their own shout, drawing back at the same time Dream does, breathing ragged. He takes a few seconds to compose himself, bringing his hand to his face as Dream sits stock still, not daring to move, hardly daring to breathe. 

“Fuck the fucking server, okay?” Punz says, finally, voice cracking in the middle, “You lost two damn lives for this server. You got fucking tortured for fucking months for this shitstain of a server. Just- fuck them. I’m not watching you tear yourself to fucking shreds for this- not again. I can’t sit around and watch you fucking die again, Dream, I can’t drag you out bleeding out in my fucking arms again- fuck-” Punz shakes their head, and oh. They’re crying. 

“No more. Fuck the server. I’m done, Dream- we’re done with them.” 

Dream blinks, so thoroughly surprised that he thinks the shock knocked him straight out of the building panic attack, leaving nothing but a slight thrumming of anxiety still simmering beneath his skin. Almost instinctually, in a motion he doesn’t really remember but still has the muscle memory for, he opens his arms- and in a similar, near-unconscious response, Punz tumbles into his arms. 

He blinks, not moving his arms to curl around the other, feeling the weight of another person against his again and the sound of their breathing and relearning them both. This is- new, for both of them. Dream was never emotional, not before the prison, not that he wanted to be after it either- but Quackity always had a particular affinity for tearing him apart, shard by shard. And Punz- he’d never been like this, even back in the day, when things were easier and they didn’t bear the constant burden of netherite against their backs. They’d always been stoic, sharp, sarcastic, cool and dry in a way that chafed against Sapnap’s fire and always led to Dream laughing at them sooner or later. He sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth, feeling the heat behind his eyes finally sear too hot and boil over, tears squeezing through his closed eyes and falling down his face. 

“Okay,” he says, finally, and there’s nothing easy about the acquiescence, not when he had poured blood and sweat and the better half of himself into this place, salted the earth with his tears until no more would come and nothing else would grow. He thinks that he will have more to think and more to say and more to protest come the next days, that the binds between him and his goals have been weaved too deep with the fibers of his soul for him to tear them free without sacrificing what broken pieces of himself he has left, but all he can think right now is how fucking tired he is. He remembers Techno’s voice, going through myth after myth to pass time in the prison, and thinks with something like humor and something like grief - let someone else be Atlas for a day. The sky is too heavy right now. Punz’s arms tighten around his body, enough to remind him that they’re there but not enough to press at his still-healing ribs, and he thinks that they might understand. “Okay.” 

[warmblanketwhump]

safe enough to fall

a little university-themed thing I wrote using @sicktember prompts: comfort item, sneaky temperature check, medicine, unlikely caregiver, and lightly inspired by these prompts

the grip of the winter’s cold was their constant, unrelenting companion - but sometimes, B just wished it would be a little less faithful.

It doesn’t ease in the morning, when B wakes up coughing with a cold nose and stiff limbs. It stays as B shivers through the lukewarm shower and the hurried layering of clothes over damp, goosebumped skin. It sticks to them like cling wrap on the bus, in the lecture hall, the windy walk to their next class, makes them tense their rattling jaw, and leaves them hunched over and huddled up, desperate to conserve any scrap of heat.

This was a fact of their university existence - that after the pleasant crispness of fall, their poor, scholarship-funded body was plunged into four months of frozen hell. They didn’t like to complain - after all, they were getting a free education. But no one told them how brutal their university’s winters would be, nor that dorm heating was little more than a few puffs of warm air every hour, or that regardless of how many layers they pulled on, they’d be chilled to the bone until late March.

Their final class of the week is in a drafty science lab, and they hold back a groan. The cold's not the only source of their dread - it was the thought of spending 90 minutes with their perky, overly friendly lab partner, A.

A, whose parents were well-off, well-known benefactors of their university. A, who lived in a nice house with proper heating and had the money for a warm winter coat. A, who obliviously chattered on about anything and everything. Besides that, they were just so...happy. All the time.

The can afford to be, B thought miserably. There was no way all that sunshine could be real.

B really tried to tamp down their bitterness, but it was hard to listen to someone gush on about their amazing weekend their family spent on some tropical island when B spent the same weekend wrapped up in blankets, trying to stay warm enough to study their nomenclature notes.

Two minutes before class, A bounds into the lab like a freed golden retriever and begins their usual volley of caffeinated questions, which B responds to in short, clipped answers. Suddenly, the questions stop and A’s brows furrow.

“You look cold. Are you okay?”

B shifts on their stool and tucks their fingers into the sleeves of their worn secondhand coat, pulling it tighter with a shudder. “I am cold. It’s winter.” They cough weakly into their elbow - the nagging cough has gripped them for weeks now.

“Are you sick?”

Direct, then. That was new. “No. At least, I don’t think so. I don’t have a fever or anything.” In truth, they had been feeling a little lower than usual the past couple of days, the chill a little deeper, the aches more pronounced, the cough a bit more painful. But in their book, that was hardly enough call themselves sick. B sniffles and A opens their mouth to comment further, but the professor calls the class to attention, and the moment is gone.

90 minutes later, they’ve got their work cut out for them - a ten-page lab report that’s going to count for nearly a quarter of their final grade. And as luck would have it, it was a partner project, which meant B got to spend more time with the equivalent of human rocket fuel.

“So...do you want to just knock this out tonight?” A's eyes dart around nervously.

B frowns - it’s almost the weekend, and they figured A would have plans with friends this evening. But B sure doesn’t have anything going on., so they don’t protest. “No… I s’pose we should get as much done as possible while it’s still fresh. Want to go to the library?”

“Ugh." A cringes. "Do we have to? That place is like a tomb.”

B huffs indignantly. “It's not that bad," they mumble in a weak defense of their favorite study spot. A shoots them a glare, and B rolls their eyes. "Do you have somewhere better? It's Friday, so most places are closing up.”

“Well, my parents decided to go on some last-minute ski trip to the Alps again, so my place is free," A says as they step out into the biting wind. "Plus, I have a ton of food and it's actually warm in there, unlike these buildings.”

The promise of decent heating and food that wasn't from the dining hall was enough for B. "Fine. Your place." The pair trudge through the bitter wind as the sun begins to set, and soon they arrive at A's parents’ home - a beautiful, winding estate just a couple minutes away from campus. B has to bite their lip to keep their jaw off the ground - in the blustering snow, this place looks straight out of a Christmas card. Another reminder of how they don’t fit in this world.

Will you stop? B chastises themselves. A having money isn't a personal attack on you. Just enjoy the free food, finish the assignment and get over it.

Despite the towering exterior, B's house was quite cozy, colored in warm neutrals and filled with soft, comfortable furniture. Just past the mudroom, they spot a big living room filled with with an enormous overstuffed couch, squashy-looking pillows, and soft throw blankets. Everything about this place screams warm. A rubs their arms, suddenly aware of how cold they are. The heat nearly makes them dizzy, and they can feel the temperature difference as it seeps into their cold skin.

"Want some cocoa?" A tosses their bag into the corner and heads for an electric kettle in the kitchen, and B follows. "It always helps me warm up." B nods. A couple minutes later, A pushes over a steaming mug with the top entirely covered in marshmallows.

B wraps their chilled fingers around the mug and takes a sip, and the warm, rich liquid feels like heaven to their cold body. "That's amazing."

A smiles. "It's the good stuff." They sip in a surprising silence for a few moments, before A sighs in resignation. "As much as I wish this was just a social call, this report isn't gonna write itself." They grab a bag of popcorn and nod their head toward the living room, and B follows dutifully. A flicks on the gas fireplace and tosses B a throw blanket, and the pair gets to work.

------------------------------

After a couple hours of studying, three instances of indignantly thrown popcorn, and a dramatic reading of the periodic table, B realized that they may have misjudged A. Deep down, under the bubbly exterior, A was a genuinely kind, sweet person. It wasn't an act - they just were human sunshine. And the longer they spent time with them, the more B realized they didn't mind their company at all.

"Alright." A drops their pencil and rubs their eyes. "If I have to balance one more equation, my brain's gonna explode. Study break time." A flips on the TV and puts the volume on low.

B leans their head back on the couch and pulls their throw blanket to their chin, trying to ward off the shivery feeling in their core. Despite the heat of the fire, the mug of hot chocolate, and the thick blanket, they just can’t seem to get warm.

Their face feels hot, but their blood feels chilled and heavy, the weight of it making them ache deep down in their bones. B wraps their arms around their knees, trying to rub away the throbbing pain and get some warmth into their skin. They glance out the picture window at the now-blowing snow. It's gonna be a miserable walk home.

"B, you're shivering." A's turning to look at them now.

B startles. "It's-It's nothing. Just a chill." The concern in A's voice triggers their flight response. "I....I should probably get back to the dorms. It’s late–" They're cut off with a hacking cough that leaves them breathless and they wince at the ache in their chest.

"B, it's snowing, and you haven't even had dinner-"

"Where's my jacket?" They push themselves up and toss the throw blanket off, instantly regretting it as the air invades their pocket of hard fought warmth. They’re trembling and dizzy and desperately freezing, but they cannot stay here. Then, the world tilts and they fall back on to the couch. For a moment, they're just laying in an icy, spinning world, trying to catch their breath, when warmth suddenly envelops them.

A's tucking the same thick grey blanket around their shivering form. As they pull away, their hand lightly brushes over B's neck, then freezes. B twists away from the gentle touch, but it’s too late. Realization floods over A's face. Caught. "You lied. You are sick."

B groans, even as their fingers weave into the chunky knit and pull the warm layer closer. "A, please. Just let me go home. I'm probably contagious. You don't want me here."

"B, you look like death warmed over. I'm not sending you out in a blizzard when you're feverish like this. I won't do it." There's a spark in their eyes and a set to A's jaw that dares B to challenge them.

B leans back, defeated. Even though they want nothing more than to run out of this room, they're too weak to stand and too cold to move. So here they'll stay.

It's okay. Someone's here. You can give in now.

No. I can't. I can't let them see me like this.

What choice do you have? You already look awful. Let them help you.

A covers them with another blanket and places a gentle hand on their back, rubbing slowly. The firelight flickers, casting light and shadow across their solemn face. “B. Tell me what you're feeling, and I'll get you what you need.”

B swallows down the rising panic, the helpless vulnerability they feel, and takes a shallow, shaky breath. “I…I guess I just feel….not right. I’m always cold...but it's...worse.” They sniffle weakly, trying to still and order their swirling thoughts. “Chills, fever, cough, sore throat, kinda stuffed up. And it just hurts everywhere.”

A nods slowly, then leaves the room. They return in a few minutes with a few small bottles, carefully scanning the labels and holding them up for B to see.

“Can you take this? Any problems with this one?” B had to take a moment and match the brand names with their usual knockoff brands, but soon they had a couple over the counter medicines picked out, along with something for their cough.

A glances at the medicine labels once more. "This one says to take with food. I've got some leftover chicken and dumpling soup I can heat up - does that sound okay?"

B nods almost imperceptibly. "Sounds wonderful." A gets up to heat the soup, and B feels the anxiety rising in their stomach when they're not in the room with them. A returns with a mug and manages to gently spoon a few sips of broth into B's mouth before B starts falling asleep, clutching the grey blanket even tighter to their shoulders.

A smiles sadly. “That blanket's my favorite whenever I'm not feeling good. It's the best thing you could have to fight off what you’ve got. Trust me.”

B curls into the soft fabric. It was as if the warm environment of the apartment and the comfort of the blanket had been a signal that it was safe to leave survival mode, rest for a moment, open the floodgates that had been holding back whatever had been ailing them for weeks.

After B takes their medicine, A’s eyes shift awkwardly around the room. “So….when you’re sick, do you like having someone with you? Or do you want to be by yourself?”

A sudden rush of emotion crashes over B. They’d so rarely had the choice. It takes all they’ve got not to throw themselves around A and beg them not to leave. “Stay, please,” they ask in a small, trembling voice. “If it’s not too much trouble.”

A smiles halfway and gently pats B’s leg. “Seeing as how I live here, I don’t think that’ll be a problem.” They take their spot at the end of the couch and pull B’s legs over their own, flicking the TV to a familiar movie. B tries to keep up with the plot, but they keep falling in and out of a fitful, restless sleep, tossing, turning, unable to get comfortable enough.

When B’s about ready to cry from exhaustion, A’s there, covering them up with another blanket, bringing them a glass of water, gently stroking the damp hair off their forehead before laying a cold cloth over it. They flinch at first, but the cool dampness eases the fire of their fever, even for just a moment. The last thing B remembers before falling unconscious is a gentle hand squeezing theirs.

It could be minutes or hours later when they jolt awake from a fever dream in a cold sweat, choking and coughing. They’ve kicked off their blankets and the cloth is nowhere to be found, but the chills are back in full force. A appears in B’s blurred vision, hand held to B’s forehead. “Poor thing. Your fever’s worse,” they murmur.

B’s still gasping for breath, curled up in the fetal position, body wracked by the shakes as they try force the words through their chattering teeth. “A...It's so cold. I’m so scared.”

If B was more lucid, they’d see something in A’s eyes crack wide open at their weak, fearful cries. A pulls the trusted grey blanket from the floor and wraps it back around B, rubbing their arms to try and make them feel warmer. There's something in the tenderness of the gesture, and B’s panicked gasps turn into soft, quiet sobs. They try and cover their face with one hand, but A’s hand is there, catching their wrist and wiping the tears away with their thumb.

“Hey. You’re gonna be okay. We just gotta get through tonight, alright?” A’s voice matches their usual cheery demeanor, but B can see the fear in their own eyes. They don’t know what they’re doing either.

“Why are you helping me?” B whispers in a tear-roughened voice.

A shrugs. "You're sick. You need help. Is it that so surprising?"

B's eyes flash a delirious spark. "You don't get it. I'm a broke scholarship student. I'm nothing like you. I'm not fun, or bubbly, or rich, or any of those things you are, and I don't fit in here. So why?"

B can't stop the words now, every single insecurity laid bare. "Why do you try to talk to me when I'm nothing but rude to you? Why'd you invite me here? Am I just a project to you? Why are you helping me? I'm not worth it!" The words spill out before B can stop them, and the raw hurt in A's eyes nearly rips B's heart out of their chest.

B claps their hand over their mouth, tears flooding their eyes. Now they've done it. They've laid it all out there. A's gonna kick them to the curb. And B won't blame them one bit.

But instead, A just looks at them, and pulls B into a hug. Their voice wavers only a bit as they whisper in B's ear: "You're not a project. You are completely worth being cared for. And you’re not the only one who knows what it feels like to not fit somewhere. Trust me.”

Alone. In a big, empty house. Studying on a Friday night. No plans of their own.

A, are you lonely, too?

Their words are so simple.

And yet they're everything B didn't know they needed to hear. A's got one arm around their shoulders, and one hand threaded through their sweaty, fever-damp hair, and they're cradling B so tightly it’s like they're the one who needs to be held.

B can't find the words to apologize or comfort them back. They're too tired for that. But they wrap their other arm around A and let their head rest on their shoulder. They stay like that for ages until their head begins to drop, and A shifts so they’re both laying down, B curled against A, A’s arm wrapped around their shoulders as they tuck a blanket around them both.

And finally, finally, B lets go. It's safe to fall, this time around. Because for the first time, there's someone there to catch them.

[engie-ivy]

Everyone seems to think it's just the most hilarious prank Sirius was given a potion to make him think he's in love with Remus. Remus himself, however, doesn't quite like hearing Sirius say everything he's been secretly dreaming of, and not meaning a word of it. However, there might be a bit of truth to Sirius’ words. Or a whole lot of truth.

Truth Be Told

Remus is haggard. After a long day of classes, he has spent the evening tutoring a second-year Hufflepuf, and it would surprise Remus if the boy can even tell the front from the back of his wand. All Remus wants now is to drop down on a couch, and unwind with his friends. As he enters the Gryffindor common room, he spots them sitting at the back and makes his way over.

“Wotcher, Moony,” James greets. “You look bloody knackered!”

“Alright, Moony?” Peter grins. “Long night?”

“Moony!” Sirius says. “I’m so glad you’re back. Even when it’s just an hour, I miss you whenever we’re not together. You light up any room you enter, no matter how tired you look. Just the sight of you makes my heart skip a beat, as you’re still the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen.”

The boys all fall silent and stare. Remus blinks a couple of times. Then James bursts out laughing, quickly joined by Peter. Horror appears on Sirius’ face and he clasps a hand over his mouth.

“Eh,” Remus says hesitantly, as he sits down. “What’s going on?”

James, still laughing, wipes a tear away from his eyes. “D’you remember how Sirius hexed McKinnon last week, making everything she ate taste like earwax for the entire day?”

Remus nods. As funny as the prank may have seemed, dealing with an angry and hungry Marlene McKinnon hadn’t been an experience worth repeating.

“Well, she got back at him just now by spiking his Pumpkin Juice with some sort of potion, but so far, we hadn’t figured out what kind of potion. Until now, that is!”

“A Love Potion?” Remus asks incredulously.

Sirius, face bright red, is pointedly not looking at Remus.

“The potion must have made him so head-over-heels, he’s too overwhelmed by your all-encompassing beauty,” Peter snickers.

Remus is still stunned. “Why a Love Potion to make him fall in love with me, though?”

James shrugs. “Girls have a weird sense of humour, mate.”

Remus shakes his head. “That’s ridiculous!”

James wants to say something, but Sirius cuts him off. “There’s nothing ridiculous about being in love with you!” He exclaims. “You’re the kindest person there is. You have such a good heart, and you’re always there for me, no matter what. You always make everyone feel at ease. You’re clever, hardworking, and strong. I don’t understand how everyone isn’t in love with you! And Merlin, you’re so attractive. The way you bite your lip when you’re trying not to laugh is so bloody sexy.”

Sirius isn’t the only one blushing now, as Remus feels his own cheeks heat up. “Err, thanks,” he mumbles.

James and Peter, however, nearly fall off the couch laughing. “This is gold!” James manages to say in between his laughs.

Remus doesn’t agree. He finds it more embarrassing than funny that apparently, McKinnon thought making him in love with Remus was the best joke she could play on Sirius. And even worse, and Remus will take this secret to his grave, like a bloody twelve-year-old who reads too many romance novels, he occasionally fantasizes about Sirius illuminated by candlelight, holding his hands, waxing poetically about his undying love for Remus. To now hear Sirius say similar words, without meaning any of them, is definitely more painful than funny.

Sirus doesn’t seem amused by it either. “I’m sorry,” he says miserably. “I know I shouldn’t be saying this! I mean, I know I don’t have a chance with you, Moony. You’re such a good person, so much better than me. I truly don’t deserve you.”

“Merlin,” Peter laughs. “Sirius Black thinking he’s not good enough? I wouldn’t have thought it possible! What the hell did McKinnon give him for a Love Potion?”

Remus wonders that as well, as he watches Sirius hide his face in his hands. With the Love Potions Remus knows, the person under the influence at least doesn’t realise how insane they’re acting, but poor Sirius seems perfectly aware.

“Moony,” Sirius says pleadingly. “Normally, I think every minute spent apart from you is a minute wasted, but as I can’t seem to stop embarrassing myself in front of you, would you mind terribly to maybe stay away from me until the potion has worn off?”

“You really do say the most ridiculous things,” Peter agrees.

Sirius glares at him. “You calling me confessing my deepest feelings ridiculous is actually really hurtful, Peter.”

Peter blinks at him.

“Right,” Remus says, getting to his feet. “Yes. That would probably be best. Just... take care, and let me know if you need me.”

“I always need you, Remus,” Sirius says. “And I always will.”

“Err, right. Yes. Okay. Great. Eh, bye then.” Remus hurries away.

As Remus makes his way through the common room, he walks past Marlene, Lily and Mary sitting together at a table.

“Oi, Lupin!” Marlene calls, with a smug smile. “Is Black having a nice evening?”

Remus folds his arms over his chest. “You think you’re bloody funny, don’t you, McKinnon?”

Lily raises her eyebrow. “Come on, Remus. Black had it coming.”

“I suppose he had,” Remus sighs. It’s true. Marlene and Sirius are always pulling pranks on each other and retaliating. “But next time, please leave me out of it!”

“Leave you out of it?” Marlene repeats. “When have I ever gotten you into it?”

“Please, a Love Potion to make him confess to being in love with me?” Remus rolls his eyes. “I can understand how you’d think Sirius Black fancying me is just the biggest joke, but please, don’t.”

The girls fall silent.

Mary is staring at Remus with wide eyes. Lily is nervously tugging at her braid. Marlene is shifting uncomfortably in her seat.

“What?”

Marlene and Lily exchange a look, then look back at Remus. “Eh, Remus,” Marlene says carefully. “The potion I gave Black wasn’t a Love Potion.”

Remus begins to ask “Then why-” But Marlene continues talking. “It was Veritaserum.”

Sirius is lying face-down on his bed, wondering if there’s a spell that can make the ground swallow him up whole. Damn Marlene and her damn Truth Potion! At least his friends, and most importantly Remus, had assumed it was a Love Potion. Luckily, James and Peter had eventually left him alone, thinking that the fun was over anyway after Remus left, so perhaps the universe doesn’t completely hate him.

He has barely finished the thought, or the door to the dorm opens. Sirius glances up, and when he sees Remus walk in, he considers smothering himself in his pillow.

“Moony,” Sirius groans. “Please. I really want to be alone.” For once, he and the Truth Potion are in perfect agreement on what to say.

Remus ignores him and sits down cross-legged at the foot of Sirius’ bed with a huge grin on his face, because, yes, the universe has it out for Sirius. Sirius pushes himself up and wraps his arms around his legs. “While normally I would be thrilled to have you on my bed,” Sirius says, because of-bloody-course he does. “Right now, you shouldn’t-”

“What potion did McKinnon give you?” Remus interrupts.

Sirius opens his mouth to say it’s the Love Potion, but what comes out instead is “Veritaserum,” which, really, he should’ve expected. He wonders if it’s too late to still smother himself in his pillow.

Remus grins brightly at him. He knew, Sirius thinks. The bloody bastard already knew.

“You know,” Sirius says irritably. “I’m so gone for you that you could probably push me out of the window, and I’d still be smitten,” has he mentioned that the universe hates him? “But I must say, Remus, it kind of hurts that you found out my deepest secret and came here to rub it in my face and laugh about it.”

Remus seems a little taken aback by Sirius’ blatant honesty, but he should’ve known that’s what he would get. “What? No,” he says quickly. “I’m not laughing about your feelings! Or well, maybe I am laughing about your feelings, but because I’m happy about your feelings!”

Sirius looks away and mutters “Well, I’m glad you at least enjoy my desperate pining.”

Remus moves forward, and places a hand on Sirius’ cheek to gently turn his head back to him.

“You on my bed, sitting this close, and touching my face like that is Doing Things to me,” Sirius says, and he kind of wishes Remus had pushed him out of the window.

Remus lets out a breathless laugh. “Good, because what I wanted to say is, I’m happy about your feelings, because I most definitely return them. I’m gone for you too.”

Sirius’ eyes widen. “Really?” He breathes.

Remus smiles softly at him. “Really. I’m not taking any Veritaserum, though, so you’re going to have to take my word for it.”

Emboldened by the notion that he can’t possibly embarrass himself more than he already has, Sirius shifts a little closer understand. “You know,” he says, nervously licking his lips. “They say actions speak louder than words.”

Remus immediately understands. The hand on Sirius’ cheek moves to his neck and the next moment, they’re kissing.

Sirius briefly chases Remus’ lips as the other boy pulls away, and sighs while he blinks open his eyes. Kissing Remus is the best feeling in the world, leaving him dizzy, and rather hot and bothered. And of course, in his current state, he immediately informs Remus about this.

A flush appears on Remus’ cheeks and he chuckles. Sirius hides his face in his hands and groans. “And just like that, I turned the best moment of my life into the most embarrassing moment of my life.”

Remus grabs his wrists to pry his hands away from his face. “No, Pads, it’s okay! More than okay. I love kissing you as well.”

Sirius lowers his hands and looks into Remus’ soft, honey-coloured eyes, that look back at him affectionately. “I love you,” he breathes.

Remus lets go of his wrists and his eyes widen in shock.

Sirius winches. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry! I wouldn’t normally go from first kiss to full-blown love confession in like zero seconds, but that damned potion! That potion goes by the rule ‘if you feel a strong emotion, immediately speak it out loud’, and loving you is the strongest emotion I’ve ever felt.”

Remus’ eyes widen even more.

“Oh, Merlin,” Sirius says. “I’m only making it worse, aren’t I? I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to freak you out like this.”

“No, it’s... I mean, I...” Remus scrapes his throat. “I don’t mind. I admit, it’s all going a bit fast, and I wasn’t expecting a love confession so soon, but I think I’m... happy?” Remus lets out a nervous chuckle. “I’m sorry, this is all very new to me.”

“It’s new to me too,” Sirius says softly, and then, just in case he hadn’t freaked Remus out enough, “You’re the first person I’ve ever said those words to.”

Remus nearly topples off the bed.

The universe must be having one hell of a laugh.

“Oh, bollocks!” Sirius says. “I keep saying these wildly inappropriate, way too intense things, for which it’s much too soon! I won’t blame you if you want to get away as fast as possible. As a matter of fact, you probably should stay away from me for now, before I end up telling you I’ve already been envisioning our wedding.” Sirius’ laugh sounds forced, and Remus’ sounds a little too high-pitched, and Sirius can see clear traces of panic in his eyes. Yet, Remus doesn’t move from the bed.

“You know,” Remus says a tad nervous. “Perhaps I could stay, but prevent you from speaking?”

“How are you...?”

Remus smiles shyly. “My idea was to keep your mouth... otherwise occupied?”

Sirius’ eyes widen, and then a bright smile appears on his face. “Remus Lupin, you always have the best ideas!”

Remus wakes up the next morning with Sirius’ body pressed against his back and Sirius’ arms around his waist. “Hmmm,” he hums happily, covering Sirius’ hands with his own. “I love waking up next to you.”

He can feel Sirius smile against his neck. “Me too. Waking up next to you and falling asleep next to you. Even your snoring is music to my ears.”

Remus snorts. “I gather the Veritaserum has worn off, huh?”

[from-a-reckless-writer]

here lads have an angsty supercorp soulmate story

It starts exactly 24 hours after Kara’s departure. 

It’s subtle at first. It actually reminds Lena of the first few days after they met. 

The slow but steady build-up of pain manifesting itself into little things; shaky hands, dizzy spells, chest pains. The pills help, of course. She’s already ingested 5 pills in the span of 3 hours and she’s contemplating taking more. Just to keep the pain—threatening to overtake her—at bay. But what good would she be if Alex finds her passed out on the floor? Veins chock-full of narcotics? 

So, she wills her hands to stop shaking and pushes on. She sends a text to Jess to send a shipment of pills to her home address; tells her to be discreet. 

She can do it. She’s done it before. She can fucking do it again. And she will bring Kara home. 

Because every moment that passes with them apart, means a step closer to Lena’s death. 

You might think she’s exaggerating, but really she isn’t. See, Kara’s her soul mate, not just in the figure of speech wax-poetic sense but literally Kara’s her soul mate. 

But her being a Luthor of course, soul mates wouldn’t come easy. None of it had ever been easy. Why would this one be an exception? It wasn’t unheard of, no, there were a few rare cases of it being recorded. Of course, Lena would be one of those people. Why wouldn’t the universe add shitty soul mate luck into the long list of misfortunes in Lena’s life? What’s one more curse, right? 

See, Kara’s her soul mate but...Lena isn’t Kara’s.

“You look like shit, Luthor. You’re allowed to take a break you know?” 

It’s Alex who breaks her out of her reverie. She prays to God that Alex doesn't notice her shaking hands. She’s well aware she looks like shit. She feels like shit, she doesn’t need Alex of all people to point that one out. But now, Lena notices that the whole place is empty, she didn’t even notice J’onn slip out. She didn’t even notice Alex coming in too, really. 

Brainy had long passed-out in one of the beds in the MedBay in the 2nd level of The Tower, Nia taking up the opposite bed. There was a brief moment when she walked in that made her feel tempted to occupy the third bed and take a break. But then, her chest tightened and a flare of pain lit up her whole insides, it was reason enough to keep her feet moving and back unto the computers trying to pinpoint Kara’s location. 

“I know,” she replies, “But it’s really not necessary, Alex. I’ll rest after.” 

She doesn’t need rest, what she needs is Kara to be here. 

She refuses to look at Alex, fingers flying across the screen. Alex shifts closer to her, lays a hand on her right arm prompting her to stop. Her eyes land on Alex's hand and continue up to Alex’s eyes. 

“We’ll find her, Lena. But you have to rest. I’m serious, Luthor. Come on,” Alex persists, wrapping her hand more firmly and tugging at Lena to follow her. 

She doesn’t say that rest will do her more harm than good. She doesn’t say that if she closes her eyes all she would see is Kara’s body floating all alone in space and the pain would start anew.

First, her chest and then travelling up the rest of her body until all there is is pain. 

She doesn’t say that she needs to work in order to distract her from the pain. 

Instead, she holds her tongue, lets Alex bring her to the 2nd level and tries to have the most fitful sleep of her life. 

***

It gets worse on the 5th day of the second week. It really isn’t a surprise considering this is the longest she’s had to go without Kara around. 

She’s taken mega-doses of painkillers in anticipation for today. Last night was a nightmare, she had to bite down on a hand towel as waves of pain assaulted her, again and again and again.

When morning came, it slowly subsided. Once feeling had returned to her legs she ran into the kitchen and swallowed 3 pills immediately. 

It doesn’t matter if she’s taken 3 or 4 or a whole bottle today, because it will just get worse and worse the longer Kara isn’t by her side. 

And so, she drags herself into The Tower again, because she needs to finally find a way to bring her back. 

She tries to ignore the tightening of her chest even though she’s really having a hard time breathing now. Not to mention the pain behind her eyes that is bit by bit making it difficult for her to coordinate with Brainy’s computations. 

She’s taken to keeping a bottle of pills on her person now. Opting to take them dry as if they were mint candies to keep her tongue moving while programming lines of codes. 

She thinks she’s still being subtle. 

Well, she is.

Until she isn’t. 

She crumples to the floor in front of everyone and a guttural scream of pain breaks free from her lips. 

***

When she wakes it’s to Alex sitting by her bedside. 

She lets out a groan in response to the sore feeling of her entire body. It’s like the time they were forced to do team building exercises all day in Mt. Helena and Lena nearly passed out. 

Alex hands her a bottle of water. She sips greedily before handing it back and wiping her mouth. 

“Hey? How you feeling?”

“Like I wanna die.”

Alex sighs and Lena intentionally avoids her eyes. 

“It’s Kara isn’t it?” Alex says and Lena doesn’t bother with lying anymore.

“It is.”

“How you survived almost two weeks away from her, I wouldn’t know. Two days away from Kelly—” Alex breaks off, inhales deeply and then sighs again, “That’s already torture for me.”

“I’ve had a lot of practice,” She retorts flatly, hands fiddling with the rough edges of the blanket. Alex looks like she wants to say something about that but Lena beats her there. 

“How?” She asks, gesturing to the IV drip. How am I not feeling pain right now? How am I still breathing? How am I still alive?

“The DEO created a special fluid for agents,” Alex reveals, “They distribute it to agents on field assignments. That way, them and their partners don’t die from pain. Good thing, J’onn had a stash hidden here, well, we always thought it would be for me and Kelly. Never expected you, Luthor.”

Lena takes that in for a moment. So, the DEO had a special formula of Dextrose to stave off the pain of soulmate separation and apparently she’s using up all the remaining bags of it. 

And it’s not even supposed to be for her. 

“Don’t worry about it. Brainy can replicate the formula.”

Worry must’ve shown on her face. So, she works on schooling her features again, she knows that Alex is itching to ask her questions but is trying to be polite. 

There’s really no use hiding anything now though. 

“K-Kara’s my soulmate,” she finally says out loud, and she’s always thought that it’s supposed to feel cathartic and freeing but instead it just feels heavy. 

“But I’m not hers,” she quickly finishes, better to rip the band-aid off. She briefly looks at Alex, whose face doesn’t give her anything; mouth a tight line and eyes shining with curiosity. 

She doesn’t know if Alex had ever had a conversation with Kara about soul mates before. Had they talked about it? Had Kara ever mentioned Lena acting too clingy whenever they don’t see each other for a short period of time? Had Kara ever told Alex if she would want a soul mate of her own?

But the look and silence from Alex’s side makes Lena refrain from asking. 

Instead, she starts to tell her how it had hit her the instant Kara walked in her office. How there was a zing! and her brain had immediately screamed HER. That’s the one. She’s the one. 

How when they met eyes and Kara had told her her name it felt like Lena’s soul finally found her home. 

“I asked for her name and I kind of thought she’d wait for me to get out of the office,” Lena trails off and Alex takes it for what it is. 

Their first meeting was all sparks for Lena but then, the conversation kept going and going and Clark had tried interrogating her and Kara didn’t do anything. 

Didn’t approach her afterwards, didn’t show any reaction that might’ve given Lena a clue that she felt the way Lena did. 

A conclusion was easily reached. 

Kara was hers but she wasn’t Kara’s. 

After the initial shock settled in, Lena set to work. Because that was what she did best. Work out a solution to everything and anything that poses a problem. 

How many people have dreamed about meeting their soul mate? How many years had Lena sat there hoping that tomorrow maybe, maybe she’ll finally meet them? She never expected this, never expected her soul to find a home that isn’t hers. 

Staying away from Kara was a non-starter, it’s only been a day since they parted but Lena can already feel the beginnings of pain. Slow but sharp shots of throbbing from behind her eyes then came the shaky hands then the dizziness and then— 

They became friends and Lena made sure Kara didn’t know anything about her growing need to be close to her; didn't let Kara know about the fact that the universe made Lena its most epic punchline yet. 

She agreed to scheduled game nights and movie nights and lunch dates. She never knew the pain of soulmate separation during those early days. Kara was always around; bringing her a salad, covering an L-Corp gala, crashing on Lena’s couch. 

“It was easy, you know? Kara was always there. What are friends for?” Lena mimics Kara and then repeats somberly, “It was easy, Alex.”

Or at least, Lena kept telling herself it was easy. She had it easy. She didn’t have to think about painkiller pills or cutting her business trips short—because the pain becomes unbearable too soon—like so many of her board members do. 

She had it easy with Kara, she can just call and she’ll be there. 

Until, Kara started going MIA. And for three days pain overtook her entire life. The pain made her unable to think clearly, the pills kicking in at the last minute. 

“You haven't been around. Supergirl's been there for me. Person who judges me on the very premise of my last name, but my best friend hasn't,” she accuses because Goddamnit Kara has no idea what kind of shit Lena had to endure with her going away with no warning. 

Logically, Lena knows it’s partly her fault. 

She knows that if she only just told Kara that she needs her to live, Kara would stay. But she doesn’t want anything to change. 

Of course, Kara would stay, it was the kind of thing a person like her would do. 

Kara would take care of her, whatever Lena needed she would give. 

But Lena didn’t want things that way. 

She wants Kara to want her the same way she wants her. 

But no, Lena’s not going to tell her that. She is never going to know. She will find an alternative. So, she injects as much venom as she can into that accusation, “B-but maybe it’s better if I leave.” 

She makes Kara leave. 

She just got her cure back and immediately Lena had pushed her away. The moment Kara stepped out of the door, a dull throb already kicked in her chest; as if telling Lena she was making a big mistake. 

She regretted that night so much, Jess had to drag her drunken body out of her office. 

Then it became normal again and Lena went back to not worrying about body pains again. 

Because a different kind of pain is trying to make itself known. 

A gaping hole in her heart that is entirely unrelated to the biological consequences of being separated from your soul mate. 

She was falling in love. 

She was falling in love and she wasn’t prepared for how it would hurt to have Kara not love her back. She can endure the physical pain, there are pills for that. 

But there wasn’t any type of medication to see your other half everyday and not have them see you as theirs. 

When Lex told her Kara’s secret. Something broke inside of her. Which was saying something, considering she was getting her heart broken every single day that Kara wouldn’t look her way. 

But to know how stupid she’s been? To realize that the flutter of her heart whenever Supergirl was near was her brain telling her it was Kara? 

There was no word for that. 

“I think, I kept rejecting the idea of Supergirl being Kara you know?” Lena huffs out, laughs drily, “Imagine how fucking painful it would be, Alex, if Supergirl was my soul mate. This person who didn’t trust me wholly, who lies behind my back, imagine if she was my soul mate? It would have felt humiliating. My body knew better, though,” she admitted sadly. 

“When Lex told me, all the little painful outbursts every time Supergirl flew away? It made sense. Everything made sense, but at the same time? Everything hurt too.”

She tried hurting her back. Created Hope. Experimented with Q-waves. Foolishly used Myriad. Teamed up with Lex.

But even through all of those? The separation pain never knocked her out. 

Even when they were fighting, Kara was still always around. Even when the world—the fucking multiverse got reset. The pain wasn’t enough to knock her out. Not like today. 

Because Kara was always lingering around convincing her not to join Lex, crossing paths in CatCo, flying into her home even if it was to call her a villain. 

All of those interactions were still sustenance for Lena. 

But this? This separation? This knowledge that Kara was somewhere out there, unreachable. That she could be lightyears away in space and it has been two weeks since Lena had last saw her, it has her every molecule shouting to go find Kara. 

“It’s never been like this before,” Lena confesses, “I thought I could do it without-”

“Help?” Alex supplies and Lena finally turns to her and she feels a hand squeeze her. 

“Yeah.” She mutters back softly. 

“Well, that’s where you’re wrong, Luthor. You’re part of the team now whether you like it or not. We are going to help you, we’re going to find a temporary solution for that pain and then we’ll get back to work and we’ll find Kara.”

[starr-fall-knight-rise]

Humans are Space Orcs, “Group Project.”

Alright everyone, still working on the lecture series, but I also wanted to get some ideas.

What parts of my worldbuilding do you want me to continue with?

What do you want to know more about?”

What story lines do you think I have left unfinished?

And are there any parts of the timeline you want to hear more about? (I was thinking about doing a story on how Adam was even given a ship in the first place) things like that.

I would find your feedback very helpful if you could :) at the very least it will help me get through my writing slump.

Almost six months.

Six months od doctor Krill’s lecture series and they still felt as if they didn’t understand humans anymore than they had when they first started. Despite months and months of research, and papers, none of them had managed to get a grade on an assignment that was higher than a C -- Dr. krill was using what he called the human letter grading system to give them some more experiences that would help them bond with humans, and boy were they bonding with the humans who just couldn’t seem to get it right.

It wasn’t that Dr. krill was an unfair teacher, it was just that most of them always managed to be wrong in some massive and obvious way about humans. For example, when writing a paper about how humans cannot see in the dark and would be likely not to survive on a dark planet, but then potentially forgetting about all the humans who survived being completely blind Everything you could say about humans was generally untrue for another human.

Humans have an extreme sense of survival however they seem prone on tossing  themselves from high places just for the fun of it. 

Humans were both the most survival oriented and the most danger prone species in the entire universe, and that let to some very strange stories that often seemed as if they couldn’t possibly be true, but often turned out to be true anyway.

Either way, the class had been both difficult and exciting, and now they were approaching the end of the semester, and Dr. Krill had promised them something very special to go along with their group project.

They all waited nervously in their predetermined groups watching as Dr. Krill stepped into the room.

He said something to his TA and then turned to his projector to fiddle around for a moment. 

When the lights blinked overhead this time. 

Dr. krill trend to look at the class, “Understanding that we are approaching our last few weeks of class, I have decided to do something a bit special for all of you. To prepare you for the real world of working with humans. I understand that all of you have been working hard despite your abysmal grades, and have decided to do something that human schools do when just such a thing occurs….. Grading on a curve. I certainly didn’t expect any of you to understand humans any better after all of this was over, so this week, I am going to give your real opportunities for some real learning.”

He looked around the room rather smug, “First of all, I want to introduce you to a REAL life earth predator.”

Somehow, in some way, Krill made a sharp whistling noise, and out of the darkness of one of the entrances, their came the soft thudding of footsteps…. Four of them to be precise.

When the furry animal raced into the room the entire class went into a state of panic. Aliens leaped up on their desks and screamed. Vrul inflated and began floating towards the ceiling, all was chaos as the large fuzzy creature raced around the perimeter of the room and then straight towards Dr. krill himself.

More screaming.

“Waffles Sit!” The animal skidded to a stop, and then sat with a soft thump on the floor.

The classroom grew very still as Dr. Krill began to pat the predator’s head.

A pink tongue lolled from it’s mouth past massive white K-9 teeth. Its huge ears swiveled back and forth.

The class slowly began to relax back in their seats as Krill continued to pat the dog, rubbing the fur under its chin so that it raised its head and grumbled deep in it’s throat. Its tail slapped repeatedly against the ground.

“Everyone, I would like to introduce you to one of the staples of a human pack….. A dog.” He continued to pat the animal, as she slid to the ground beside him tail still thumping loudly against the ground, “Waffles was trained by humans for humans, and has the ability to both detect and prevent psychological crisis. As you all know humans are rather prone to mental dysfunction, but this dog is one of the first line defences put in place for a specific human.”

The dog leaned up, and with her long pink tongue, she liked the doctor on the arm.

The class cringed back.

“If you ever want to work with humans, it is likely you will have to work with dogs as well. Any dog that is going to be aboard a human ship will have been vetted for work with other alien races. They will be friendly, and they will calm. Waffles has been around humans her entire life, and around aliens for over two years which is a little less than half of her life.”

He turned to look at the room, “I will give a hundred points of Extra credit to anyone who is brave enough to come down here and pet her.”

There was silence in the room.

No one moved an inch.

Off in the corner a Tesraki shifted nervously in his seat.

He had the lowest grade in the class and he knew it, but a hundred point os extra credit would bring him solidly up a letter grade or two…. but …. It’s teeth were so big, and it probably weighed as much as he did.

It was the look that Dr. Krill gave him that finally urged him onward. Dr. Krill knew, and was, surprisingly, trying to help him.

Knees shaking and hands about to tremble off the end of his wrists, the Tesraki stood, and made his slow way across the room. His ears were plastered flat against his head and his hands only shook worse. The dog grew larger and larger in his vision until she was sitting right before him. Even sitting down she was only a foot and a half shorter than he was, and the panic he was feeling was unbelievable.

He looked into her eyes, and she shifted forward on her paws, snout pushing towards him. He backed away and the entire class gasped. She rocked back on her feet and gently lowered herself to the ground, looking up at him with wide brown eyes.

When he didn’t move she slowly rolled until she had flipped over on her back, looking up at him with her head tilted

A tooth poked out from under her lip, and her tail beat against the ground.

“Look at that!” krill exclaimed, “That’s a submissive pose she would use on a human, she wants you to rub her chest and belly, go on, she’s giving your permission.”

Heart hammering in his ears, he leaned down, and with trembling fingers patted the coarse fur on her belly. She made a grumbling noise and he leaped back, but Dr. Krill encouraged him on saying that it was a good thing, and so he continued. The animal kicked her leg a couple of times and the Tesraki felt his entire body tingle with exhilaration.

He was…. He was petting a dangerous earth animal, just like the humans would!

Eventually he was dismissed back to his seat, and the dog rolled over onto her stomach, resting her head on her paws, which she began to lick absently, large ears still perked.

Dr Krill turned to look at them, “But of course this class it primarily about humans, is it not, and I strongly believe that there is really only one way to teach someone how to interact with humans properly….” he looked around at all of them, “And that, is by experience.”

The class shifted in their seats with exclamations of surprise, and from down one of the hallways they heard a sharp repeated thudding. The beat was so regular and rhythmic it managed to make many of the Vrul students dizzy and confused, nearly lolling out of their seats.

Dr Krill stood firm two hands on hips, two hands crossed over his chest.

And that is when the column of humans marched into the room in perfect time with each other, their botos hitting the floor such that the seats about them seemed to rattle. The vrul could barely keep in their seats and the other students leaned forward in awe.

Most of the humans wore strange clothing in a black and greyblue pattern all over their bodies, while the human at the front wore light grey and a strange adornment atop his head. The front of his chest glittered with small colorful ribbons and little glittering symbols though no one could have been sure what they meant.

The line of humans drew to the front of the room and then stopped.

“LEFT FACE!”

The group turned in unison with the sharp rattling of boots on the floor.”

“ATTENTION!” Their bodies snapped into position, hands raised to their temples as they looked forward perfectly still.” “AT EASE.”

The group of humans, together, fell back into a posture of relative relaxation. Feet spread, hands clasped gently behind their backs, and there they stood as Doctor Krill moved to stand next to them, “Well class, it is my pleasure to introduce you to the Omen’s Alpha team. These marines have trained for years in ground combat for most of their careers. IF there is ever a problem on your planet, this is likely who the humans will send as reinforcements.”

He turned to the last human, the one with the shiny uniform, “And it is my pleasure to introduce our ship’s admiral, who graciously agreed to come and bring his men today. I think you will recognize him from your textbooks.”

When the human removed his hat and turned to face them, there was a shocked muttering. They knew him from their textbooks, as HE was the very template for the classic anatomical diagram that adorned many of the pages in their textbooks.

It was essentially his system that they were examining whenever they discussed the systems of the human body.

“A couple of things I would like you all to note here, and those are the highly social structure in which humans operate. This structure includes a strict hierarchy that humans take pains to make known. The Single Star on the Admiral’s shoulder marks him as the highest ranking human in this room. He outranks me, these other humans and all of you as civilians. In the human world, he is to be listened to, and his orders to be obeyed. In certain cases humans will overlook the intelligence of what someone is saying, if they are of a higher rank in worry of social repercussion.”

He turned to walk towards the marines still standing in their straight line, “They rank in order from this symbol down to this symbol and each of them has an important task to preform. In the early days of our meeting humans, this strict social hierarchy was enough to make some assume that humans were in possession of some sort of hive mind. However, this is clearly not the case. Humans do not have a hive mind, but they do possess a social structure so rigid in some cases that it may seem like it. I would also like to note the diversity in human appearance. The only other species that we have seen with even remotely comparable diversity in facial, tonal, and physical structure are either the Drev, or the Tesraki.”

He turned to look at the groups and his antenna buzzed with amusement, “Now, in your groups, I want you all to pick one of the marines to come join you, and then for the rest of the class, I would like you to come up with a principal about humans to demonstrate at the end of the lecture.” he pointed to one of the first groups, “pick a human.”

There was some slight shuffling and discussion as they tried to determine which human would be best. In the end they went for the smallest human hoping beyond hope that they would be the least aggressive.

It was a real pity that they didn’t understand the rule about short humans, and maverick, in an attempt to get to her group, ignored all the rules of decorum and simply stepped up onto the desks clambering over with great dexterity until she plopped herself down in a seat in the middle of the group turning to look at them, “Yo.” She said, rather un ironically as they stared at each other in shock.

The other humans were quickly divided out and went to sit with their groups mostly enjoying being the center of attention.

There was one less marine than they needed, so the highest ranking human handed his hat to the dog sitting on the floor and walked over to slide into a seat with them, showing his teeth in a gesture that was supposed to be friendly.

All around the room chattering steadily grew as the aliens began asking the humans quick fire questions which some of the marines found hard to keep up with.

When asked a question Ramirez simply shook his head, “You know what you guys probably know way more about humans that me. I’m not a doctor, or anything else. I am a marine, I know how to do like four things effectively, I call them the four Fs, Fight, Fun, Food, and er well you get the picture.”

Maverick was having a very amusing time explaining teeth to the aliens, albeit rather inaccurately considering that teeth weren’t actually bone but a mixture of enamel covered dentine, but Krill let it go on for the factor of amusement.”

The nervous members of the admiral’s group had already been lulled into a sense of ease at the man’s friendly and relaxing demeanor, and he was attempting to do his best at explaining a question given to him by one of the aliens, and was doing a better job than the marines at taking their questions seriously.

“Well you see, when it comes to humans you are always going to be relatively safe. Over the past thousands of years, access to soft cooked foods have caused our jaws to grow relatively small and weak leaving little room for our teeth. So most humans don’t like food that is difficult to eat. We aren’t impressive enough predators that we can just strip flesh from bone. Plus thats a great way to catch diseases, furthermore, our diets and the way we eat really had to change as our vocal cords moved further up in our throats. Sure this gave us the ability to speak and mimic almost any alien language known, but it also made us very prone to choking on our own food.”

He sighed, “I remember this one time when I was five and I choked on a hard candy, scariest moment of my life probably, or at least in the top ten. If you don’t know what choking is, its when something gets stuck in your airway blocking your ability to breath and you die from oxygen loss, I know a horrible way to die.”

The conversations continued all around the room until there was only twenty minutes left in class, and he called a stop so that the groups could demonstrate a human principle that they had learned.

The first group brought Maverick up and one of the other students presented her with a rock No one was really sure why he had the rock, but the fact that it had big eyeballs drawn on it was enough for her to happily accept the gift and declare its name to be “The Boulder.” The class was surprised to find that it took such little effort for a human to pack bond with something, but the fact that she held the rock in two hands and occasionally stroked a finger down it was clear enough evidence that it was true.

The other students demonstrated a human’s depth perception by throwing an object and watching as Ramirez leaped out over the desks, hands stretched out to catch the object mid fly before landing back on the ground. The precision that it required to do that left the class very very impressed.

Someone else had a human try to identify what something was based on it’s smell, and he accurately guessed the difference between Vrull Texraki and Runid just based on their smell. They even brought in one of the other humans to which the test subject exclaimed,  “Don’t tell me it’s Ramirez and his bitch ass. I would know those fumes anywhere.”

One of the humans managed to demonstrate a very impressive climbing ability, and another one of the marines was pleased to demonstrate a human’s advanced vestibular sense by doing a backflip off of one of the desks. He tried to do it twice, but tripped upon anding and ended up on his back much to the amusement of the other humans.

That was also a good demonstration of the human’s empathy reflex as the humans winced and were silent for a moment before they began their ridicule.

If they remembered correctly, humans used teasing and humor as social bonding. They would never have made fun of their friend if he had actually been hurt, but the fact that he wasn’t made it clearly acceptable to joke as it let the other humans know that everything was ok.

The last group caught the admiral off guard by saying the word yawn and causing a chain reaction that made its way all around the room until it terminated with the dog, who also yawned, much to the surprise of the students.

Krill watched all of this with interest, keeping an eye on his more motivated students, and the ones who got along best with the humans. He was still trying to get permission from his superiors, but taking a few house students with them on the omen and back to earth would be a great PR move and also a good way to get some of his more invested students an experience that they could really take with them into their careers.

If one thing WAS  clear by the end of the lecture.

It was that Maverick was not going to give up her pet rock any time soon. 

[not-me-simping-for-blasty]

I Melt With You - Bakugou Katsuki

All Parts:

Part 6: 

Truthfully, it’s been a long day. A really long day.

The weather’s begun to change, and people are coming in left and right riddled with the flu. Your entire day was spent running between rooms, administering medication, taking temperatures and, unfortunately, cleaning up puke. All in all, it was a terrible night, and it was only going to get worse when you still had to go grocery shopping afterwards.

Still, you tried to calm yourself, taking a deep breath as you pushed the door open. Your last patient of the night, was thankfully, not flu-ridden. From your chart she was old, and the only thing you would be doing is taking her vitals before she moves on to radiology.

“Hello!” You greet, trying your best to smile kindly. “I’ll be taking care if you today.”

The old lady greets you, smiling gently as you approach. She’s got one hand wrapped in a bandage, the other cradling it protectively. Her face is a little uneasy, no doubt in obvious pain, but she seems to try and smile through it.

“So, I take it you’re here for your wrist? To get an x-ray?” You say, pulling over the medical cart. She nods and you take the blood pressure cuff, wrapping it gently around her arm. You take her vitals and then step back. “Alright, do you think you could take off the bandages for me? I just need to see.”

“Of course, I understand.” She says, calmly removing the bandages.

When she removes them entirely, her wrist is a sickening shade of blue. It’s swollen and discolored and looks incredibly painful, if the look on her face wasn’t any indication. When you look a little closer there’s strange disfigurement to her palms, like healed over burn scars. You try not to look at them too long, especially when the woman seems to become more uncomfortable the more you study them. You wonder if she’s alright. Your fingers start itching in your gloves.

“Yeah, that does look pretty nasty, I can see why you came in.” You try to smile reassuringly, but something about the woman’s scared demeanor is making you uneasy. “But, that’s pretty much the extent of my duties before I send a radiologist to come get you.”

“Oh. Okay. Thank you.”

You’re about to walk out, about to turn away and finally go home, but then she sucks in a sharp breath. When you look at her, she’s wrapping her wrist up again, and her pain is written clearly across her face. Your fingers itch trails of fire, and you find the decision is made almost immediately. You’re nearing her again, smiling gently, and thanking the hospital for lettings you use your quirk entirely up to your own discretion.

“That must hurt pretty bad, doesn’t it?” You start softly, pulling your gloves off. You move to the sink, washing your hands before you address her again. “I can help- my quirk, it lets me relieve others of their pain. If you would like me to, I would be happy to provide you with at least a little relief.”

“No- I- an old woman like me isn’t worth the fuss. Really! Don’t feel like you have to trouble yourself!”

“It’s okay. I don’t mind.” You smile back at her, pulling up a stool and sitting on it. “This is my job after all, and I’d be happy to help. If you would like me to, all I have to do is touch your hand. It’ll be instantaneous.”

“You’re sure?” She asks, eyes crinkling a little unsurely. She’s trapping her injured wrist to her chest again, hope coloring her voice. “You really wouldn’t mind?”

“Absolutely not. It’d be my pleasure.”

The woman nods, holding her hand forward. You smile reassuringly again, reaching for her. You stop just a few inches away.

“I just wanted to let you know- a lot of previous patients have said that everything goes green when I help them. I’m not saying this to scare you, as I’ve actually been told it’s quite pleasant, but I just wanted to tell you beforehand.”

She nods, and you take her hand, closing your eyes as you focus.

You feel it immediately. An ache in your wrist that throbs with every beat of your heart. It’s familiar, you’ve felt a break like this before, but the feeling that swallow you up next isn’t. It’s a sickness coiling in your stomach, dripping through your veins and running viscous like a slow poison. It’s like you’re being boiled alive- all of your sinew and muscle falling apart and being sewn back together. All in the span of a second. It leaves you dizzy, reeling, sick and nauseous when you release her hand.

“My- that is some quirk.” The woman marvels, flexing the fingers on her injured wrist. She does so without pain, and looks at you, a wide smile across her face. “That is very impressive. And, you were right. Green. It’s all green.”

“I- Yeah.” You try to recover, hiding your breathlessness behind a hand itching at your chin. “Of course. Your very welcome.”

“You must be able to help so many people. You must be a very good nurse with that quirk.”

“I-I’d like to think so.”

“You know,” She says suddenly, and her tone is nearly devoid of all the meekness she had walked in with. She looks brighter, livelier. “My husband and I run a facility to help grow people like you.”

“People like me?”

“Yes, dear. Those with extrordinary potential who might just need a little push.” She smiles gently, grabbing her bag at her feet. Rifling through it with her good hand, she pulls out an index card. “I’m sure your quirk is plently strong all on it’s own, I’ve certainly seen that, but if you ever wanted a little help- well, we’d be more than happy to have you.”

Then she’s pressing a business card into your hand, turning to face the sound of the door as it opens. The radiologist walks in, gesturing for her and she follows behind him gracefully. The woman leaves behind her a trail of perfume, like lavender and lilies in your nose, and then door is then shut. It seems she is leaving you just as quickly as she’d arrived.

The card in your hand feels heavy, weighty as you flip it between your fingers.

Center for Quirk Advancement

You almost couldn’t believe your luck. You had just been talking about ways to strengthen your quirk, and, as it turns out, life really did decide to let you off the hook for once. You think it’s justly deserved- it did seem pretty intent on saddling you with Bakugou, after all. Maybe it’s a strange sort of cosmic reward?

Either way, you slide the card into your bag, smiling to yourself. A part of you still feels uneasy, still sick after what you’d experienced from her, but she seemed nice enough. It made the poisonous feeling almost a little too easy to brush off.

You pack up your things, and you can feel the exhaustion creeping in. By the time you’ve gone grocery shopping and have finally made it back home, your arms loaded up with bags, you feel dead on your feet. The familiar tiredness seeps into your bones, but you blink yourself awake, determined to put the groceries away before you pass out. You brace your head in your hands. If something didn’t wake you up soon, you really would be asleep in front of your fridge.

“Oi- shitty leech!” You hear screaming, knuckles against glass and an irritatingly familiar rasp. “Let me in! Shitty leech!”

Oh- joy. Seems like something did wake you up. What was that you were saying about a cosmic reward again?

When you turn around, Bakugou is standing on your balcony, shifting impatiently on his feet. His expression is skewed up something nasty as he taps on the glass once more. He’s shouting your name, well, nickname, clad in sweats and stomping dramatically just a few feet away- you think he’s almost better left outside. Then you recognize the goosebumps on his arms and the red of his cheeks. It’s cold outside, you know it, and you curse your own heart once more, trudging dutifully over to the door.

“Wow, only a week since I’ve last seen you. And you look awfully uninjured today, don’t you?” You say, yawning as you pull the door open a fraction. Just enough to peek your head out into the cool night air. “No blood or anything. Good on you, Bakugou.”

“Shut the fuck up, leech. I was bein’ nice for once.”

“Yes- because shouting ‘Oi- shitty leech’ at me from my balcony was nice.” You roll your eyes, pulling the door open enough for him to walk through. “But sure, come in, make yourself right at home.”

“Gladly.”

You just shake your head at his curt tone, turning back to the kitchen to resume putting away your things. You’re just barely organizing vegetables away in the fridge, when you hear him stomp up behind you.

“Fuck are you doing?”

“Groceries?”

“No, idiot, I meant why’re you doing it now?”

“Because this when I have time to do it? And I just went shopping?” You ask him, bewildered, and confused. You’re tired and his mind games really aren’t amusing you right now. “I’m sorry, I don’t think I understand the question.”

“Are you-“ Bakugou swears under his breath, turning his nose up at you. “Jesus you really are stupid. You’re so fucking stupid. Why the hell would you go grocery shopping at 1 AM?”

“Because that’s when my shift ends, you asshole. Actually, you know what, no- I absolutely do not have to defend myself to you!” You sneer right back, whirling around to face him. Suddenly you find you’re not very tired anymore. “It’s really none of your business why I do anything, let alone when I do it so if you think that maybe you want to open your mouth again to me- don’t. And I-“

“Not like that. God, you’re fuckin’ clueless. I don’t give a shit what you do, but you do realize you can’t outrun somebody with your arms full of groceries right?”

The stunted look on your face must frustrate him, because then he’s huffing, pinching the bridge of his nose for a moment before dragging his hand down his face.

“You seriously didn’t think about that? You fuckin’ kidding me? Jesus fuck I should’ve know, you’re so stupid.” He breathes out, rolling his eyes. “If I saw you fumbling around like an idiot, on a dark street, in the middle of the night? When you can’t outrun me because you’ve got all those shitty fuckin’ bags? Please, even I’d be attempted to attack you. You’re making it too fuckin’ easy for those weirdos, you moron.”

Is that- is that concern lacing his features? Bakugou’s brow is creased, and if you didn’t know any better you’d almost say he sounded more exasperated than outright angry with you- but you did know better. Of course you did. Believing that Bakugou regarded you with anything but begrudgingly familiarity would be foolish.

“Okay, well than you can take that argument up with my superiors.” You purse your lips, biting back another yawn. “Until then I guess I’ll just keep going out entirely defenseless and vulnerable. Lord knows that’s apparently how you see me.”

“Please, don’t flatter yourself, leech. I see everyone as defenseless and vulnerable. You’re not special.”

“Mhm, I’m sure I’m not.” You mutter, turning back to your fridge, to put more food away. “But, really, if you have such a problem, then you can figure out how to stop all the ‘weirdos’ before they get me. Isn’t that literally your job?”

Bakugou just sighs at your remark, looking very put-on. Then he clenches his fists up, eyes determined focused on the ground. “Just- fuckin’- just tell me when you’re going next time. Stupid idiot woman.”

Truthfully, you want to give him shit. You do, because there were so many nicer ways he could’ve shown concern-but you don’t. One look at his flushed face and insecure body language has you relenting. And being way nicer than he deserves. You are pretty tried after all.

“Yeah. Okay, but you’re carrying all the bags, Bakugou.”

“I’m not.”

“You are. Or I’ll just go without telling you, and then we can catch up when I’m bleeding out in the street.”

“That’s not funny.”

“Oh, it wasn’t a joke. It was an incentive.” You smile cheekily, then you point to the bags left on the counter. “Now be a dear and unbag those for me, would you?”

“Fuck you.”

Bakugou seethes but he moves anyway, unbagging all your groceries with an absolutely unnecessary amount of force. It’s like he’s picking a fight with each plastic bag, and you try to hide your giggles.

It’s a strange little domesticity, but as weird as it is, it’s nice too. You’re still tired but things are moving much faster now, with him handing you items relatively quietly. All things considered, Bakugou did seem to be in a good mood (well, a good mood for him) and, you supposed it was nice to see him uninjured. And would’ve been totally great, totally perfect- if you didn’t turn around to see him plucking a piece of paper out of your purse.

 “Fuck is this shit?”

“Are you- stop. No. Don’t just go digging around in my stuff!” You huff tiredly, grabbing your purse from him with one hand snatching the card out of his grip with the other. “You’re being rude.”

“And you’re being fuckin’ evasive. So spill it, leech, the hell is it?”

“None of your business, that’s what!”

Bakugou just rolls his eyes, plucking the paper from out of your hand with little effort. You’d like to chalk up your loss to being surprised, but no, he really is just that strong.

“Hell is this?” He asks, grumbling as he flips the card over. “Center for Quirk Advancement?”

“Yeah. That’s what it says. Asshole.”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why the hell do you have it?” He stares, squinting at you like you’re an idiot. “Looks fake as shit. Get rid of it.”

You can’t believe him. Seriously. You cannot believe him. There has never been one moment, in your entire life, that you would ever feel comfortable enough to dig through someone’s things- let alone ridicule them on the spot about it. It’s pure, unbridled insanity.

“I’m not- Bakugou, I’m not getting rid of something just because you said so!” You exhale, arms crossing around your stomach as you lean back against the counter. “It’s from that woman I saw today, alright? A patient.”

“Doesn’t smell right.”

“Doesn’t- What are you? A dog?”

“No. Fuck no.” He grumbles in defense, while simultaneously scrunching up his nose and barring his sharp canines. “I’m just saying, it doesn’t fuckin’ feel right.”

“Okay, well you weren’t there, so how would you know?”

“Because this company name is bullshit. It’s stupid as fuck and I’ve never heard of it before.”

“Okay? And? There’s a million stupid companies I’ve never head of before, and I don’t immediately think they’re fake!” You stride over to him, snatching the card back from his fingers. “And you know why? Because that’s paranoia. Blatant paranoia! The world doesn’t revolve around you and your knowledge, you know?”

“God, you’re so fucking dumb.” He laughs under his breath. “It’s killing me, leech. Can you really not see how shady that shit is?”

“No? Because it’s just a business card? A business card that was given to me by a kind old lady- and, why are you- no! Stop! Bakugou!”

He just rolls his eyes once more at your yell, tearing the business card in half easily. Apparently, he’s still not satisfied, because then he’s tearing those halves in half and tearing those fourths into eights, and shredding the paper entirely on your counter.

“Can’t call ‘em now, leech.” He says evenly.

You think you could scream, maybe even murder him right where he stands. Not necessarily in that order.

“Okay. No. No.” You reprimand, nearing him with determined steps. “You are not going to just walk in here and tear up things when you feel like it! That’s incredibly rude, for one, and-“

“What, so you were actually gonna call ‘em?”

“No! But that’s not even the point! The point is, you cannot just walk in here and feel free to do whatever you want! I don’t know how it is everywhere, but here, in my house, there are manners! Manners which I expect you to have, and that means you can’t just treat my things like that! It’s disrespectful and I will kick you out if you try it again. Understand? Play nice, Bakugou.”

He pinches his face into a scowl, squinting at you from just a few feet away. It looks like he’s sucked on a lemon. Then Bakugou’s scoffing, gathering the shreds of paper into his palms.

“Here. Take ‘em then, leech.” He growls, pressing them into your outstretched hand. “Since they mean so fuckin’ much to you.”

“It’s- oh my god. Oh my god, you really don’t understand what the problem here is do you?”

“No. It’s a piece of shitty paper. Who the fuck cares?”

“Me!” You nearly shriek, letting the paper fall through your fingers and back onto the countertop. “I care! It’s my house and all the things in here are my things! So, you either apologize, and I can be way more lenient than you deserve and forgive you, or you can walk yourself out.”

Bakugou leans forward, shoulders broad and intimdating as he stares down at you. You glare right back, unwilling to lose. He was in the wrong here- not you. A few seconds pass and then he’s throwing himself back against the, hands braced behind him.

“God, fuckin’ seriously? You want me to say sorry? For that shit?”

“Hmm, for walking into my house, in the middle of the night just to tear up my things?” You nearly screech at him. “Yeah! Yeah. I do.”

“You’re annoying. This is annoying. But fine. Whatever. I’m sorry. You happy now?”

“No, actually, not even a little bit.”

Then your stomping back to the remainder of your groceries, putting them away sloppily and not really caring much to organize them. You were tired before, exhausted from using your quirk, and now? With Bakugou needling you in your own kitchen? You were beat.

“What’s wrong with your face, leech?”

Spinning on your heels, you clenching your jaw tightly. You’re gonna throw him out. He’s just asking for it at this point.

Bakugou seems to pick up on your vexation, and he, to his credit, relents a little. By looking the slightest bit sheepish, for all of one second, before wiping it away into a scowl.

“I meant- why the hell do you look like that?” He grumbles, “All fuckin’ dead inside. You look terrible.”

“I- god, there are so many problems with that statement. So many. That I will not be getting into because it isn’t even worth the effort and I-“ You rant, red in the face before you take a calming breath.

It takes a second to center yourself, but you do- because cleaning up his blood would just further deplete your tank already running on empty.

“Okay- Bakugou, have had a long day, a long one. So if you have any other little mean comments you’d like to spew, don’t, alright? Because I swear to god I will euthanize you right where you stand if you open up your mouth one more time.”

He just blinks, once, twice, tilts his head to the side. Bakugou squints, rolling his shoulders back before a slow smile creeps across his face.

“Oi- you used your quirk, didn’t you? Shitty leech.” His tone is devoid of any real venom, slight amusement coloring his words. “I didn’t know it made you so fuckin’ cranky.”

“Are you making fun of me? Right now? After what I just said to you?”

Bakugou just shrugs, flicking all the lights off in your kitchen. He doesn’t even wait for the room to fall into darkness before he’s leaving, not even looking back to see if you would follow. Of course, you had to, because your bedroom was past the living room, but you almost wanted to stay rooted where you were. Just to see his frustration when you weren’t listening to him.

“You shouldn’t use your quirk just because someone tells you to.” Bakugou says, dropping himself onto your couch. “Shit’s weak. ‘s how you get burnt out.”

“Oh, whatever. And she didn’t tell me to do it.”

“So, what, you’re telling me you chose to do it? Knowing it’d wipe you the fuck out?”

“Yeah. She needed help.” You say softly, dropping down into the opposite side of the couch. You try not to get too comfortable, but you find yourself sinking into the cushions anyway. “I’m not done till I’m on the floor. Or unconscious. Kind of which ever comes first at this point.”

“Jesus. Somebody oughta put you on a fuckin’ leash. That’s stupid as shit.”

“Oh, like you’re one to talk.” You mock, eyes sliding lazily over to his. “Mr. ‘Let me kill myself without sleep for 3 weeks straight and then show up half dead at Y/n’s hou-“

“Y/n.”

“Yeah?”

“Your name is Y/n.”

“Yes? Did we not already know that?”

“No.”

You blink your eyes open entirely, flopping sideways to face him. Bakugou is smirking openingly, lips pulled back into something disarming and shit-eating.

“You fucker.” You seethe, scrunching your eyebrows together. “You’re telling me, this entire fucking whole time, that you didn’t know my name? My name! That’s my goddamn name, you shit! And you didn’t even think to ask? What the fuck?”

“Watch your mouth.”

“Excuse me?”

“Swearin’ a lot. It’s disrespectful as shit.”

“Me? I’m the one swearing? Fuck you! You swear all the time, and it’s really funny to me that you’re even running your mouth right now considering you didn’t know my name until a minute ago! You’ve slept on my couch! Multiple times! And you didn’t think, not even for a measly little second, to ask my name and- are you laughing right now?”

Bakugou is rested against the arm of your couch, one hand across his stomach and the other covering his chin. There’s no sound, he’s trying to keep quiet, but you can see his eyes. They’re crinkled up. Almost entirely closed into little slits. He’s laughing.

“Do you want to be kicked out? Seriously? Do you want to be kicked out on your ass right now? I’ll do it! I’ll fucking do it, I swear- try me again! Stop laughing, you jerk!”

“I’m not.” Bakugou tries, doing a horrible job of covering up that he is, in fact, laughing. “Ya get so fuckin’ mad, leech. Shit’s hilarious.”

“Wow, really, me? Mad? No- see,why would I be mad about you not knowing my name? After knowing each other for months. Why would I be mad about that?” 

Bakugou eventually does sober, but you still he still looks a little brighter than you’ve ever seen him. It hits you then that the only color you’d ever seen in his cheeks, at least before then, was dripping blood. 

““s fine. Doesn’t matter anyway.” He says, voice deceivingly light. “Your name’s leech. Don’t really give a shit what’s on your birth certificate.” 

You just sit up, grabbing the pillow behind you and launching it at him. Bakugou catches it, because of course he does, and throws it right back. When it hits you it feels like you’ve been socked in the face. Because he is an asshole. An asshole who can’t play nice to save his life. 

“Fuck you. Fuck you, Bakugou.” You say matter-of-factly, swiping the stray hairs from your face. You stand from the couch, glaring down at him. “I really hope you enjoy tossing and turning all night because I am not helping you.” 

“Yes you will.” 

“What? Making orders again? It didn’t work the first time and it’s not going to work now.” 

“Nah. Don’t need to.” He says confidently, grabbing the blanket off the back of your couch. A smirk lies across his face, one you want to slap off. “You’ll help me. Because you’re too fuckin’ nice right?” 

Then he’s flopping back against the pillow, sprawling his legs out and settling the blanket up to his shoulders. Bakugou looks at you expectantly, that same irritating grin still plastered on his mouth, and you want to hit him all over again. 

Because he’s right. You are too nice, and you are too forgiving, and unfortunately the everything and everyone you care about includes him. It’ll always include him, even when he insists on being an exasperating child.

“Fine, go to sleep then.” You’re pulling a glove off, nearing the back of the couch with your own devious grin. “Go to sleep.”

You lean over him, bringing your hand down to flick his forehead. He catches you, of course he does, just like that fucking pillow. Bakugou traps your wrist in his grip, his grin only growing wider. You think it softens a little too- just a bit, but then again, the lighting in your living room wasn’t that great.

“Got you. Leech.” He goads lowly, tapping his thumb against the base of your wrist. “Should’ve been faster. Shit was fucking pathetic.” 

“No, you’re just a freak, with weird reflexes.” You pull back, but he doesn’t seem to be letting go. Whatever it is he’s basking in, he looks a little too prideful for your liking. “Let me go- or I use my quirk on you.” 

Then he’s throwing your wrist back in your face, applying so much force that you almost knock yourself out. You stumble back, grasping on to the back of the couch for stability. When you look down at him again, Bakugou is blushing but you’re not really sure why. You shake it off- it’s his problem not yours.

“Well, there, since you insisted on being a little shit, that’s all the skin-to-skin contact you’re getting from me.” You sniff, flicking off the light behind the couch. “Better pray it’s enough to send your impudent ass to sleep.”

“Stop swearin’.”

“I swear when I’m angry and-”

“I make you angry?”

“Yes!” 

Bakugou just seems to almost- smile? It’s a tiny thing, curled up against the edge of his lip for all of a moment before he’s smoothing it out again. You’re about to turn away, to finally go to sleep, when he speaks again.

“Oi- shitty leach. You’re not gonna call ‘em right?” He slurs, voice raspy. “Right?”

“No? I wasn’t? But now I can’t because somebody tore up the paper.”

“Do it again if I fuckin’ have to.”

“Why’re you so concerned about it anyway?”

“None of your fuckin’ business.”

“Seriously?”

“Yep. Go to fuck to sleep.”

Then he’s out, giving into sleep and snoring into the cushions. His breathing is deep and even, mellow and relaxed, and you realize that’s all you’re getting from him tonight. 

 It’s not until you’re settling in bed, just on the verge of drifting, that you realize it. When Bakugou grabbed your wrist- no fire. Warmth and anger on the likes of which you’d never experienced before, sure, but no searing fire.

You wonder if he somehow forgot to put his angry pants on that day. 

-/-

pls this is not edited i am so sorry ahahah 

taglist:  @fluffyviciousbunny @definitelynottrin @imsuperawkward @i-need-air @ahbeautifulexistence @brennabooz @jazzylove @flattykawadoorusmilkbread @katsuki-bakubabe @sorrythatspussynal @bakugouswh0r3 @cloudsgathering @un-limit-edd @thekatsukisimp @pollayra21 @the2ndl @officialtrashbusiness @waffleareniceandfluffy @monempathieetmoi @koiwoshinai @christianagrace9  @the2ndl @the-shota-king-masayuki @shy-panda02

[stark-tony]

underrated irondad and spiderson fic recs part 1

Men's Synch 3m Platform by loudestfandomsoftheworld

summary: or 5 times Peter Parker goes dumpster diving, and one time he does something else... " “You took my nephew dumpster diving?” Ben asked incredulously.

 His wife stood tall with a toddler strapped to her chest, tugging at one end of a couch with all her might. “I did not,” 

“Twash!” Peter yelled."

pairings: none

tags: fluff

warnings: none

do you even remember what the world looks like? by iron_spider

summary: Tony’s heart has been working on overdrive since this whole thing started. Friday has a countdown clock plastered on the heads up display, but it feels like hieroglyphics to him at this point, like some ancient language he could never master.

Because when Peter Parker is missing, things start losing their meaning real quick.

“Should be around here,” Rhodey says on the com. May is still on the other line, listening in, because once a certain amount of time goes by without word from Peter, things move into Extremely Worried Aunt territory. They’re already in Tony Is Panicking territory, and when both of those territories overlap it’s never a good time for anybody.

Time? What the hell is time? His mind is blanking numbers out entirely. Minutes are seconds are hours are years.

pairings: none

tags: hurt/comfort

warnings: none

Empty Casket by Jen27ny

summary: After the Vulture, Tony should have known better.

He should have listened to Peter.

But he didn’t.

And now, Peter is dead.

pairings: none

tags: angst

warnings: none

Patient #2252 by TheSoulOfAStrawberry

summary:  When a warehouse comes down on Spider-Man’s head and leaves him with a brain injury, Queens social worker Bianca Browne and Dr Grace Li of NY-Presbytarian Hospital find themselves racing the NYPD to uncover Spidey’s identity and get him help before he can be charged with a litany of crimes.

pairings: none

tags: hurt/comfort

warnings: police brutality

That's why they call me mr. fahrenheit by SparrowFlight246

summary: Peter’s on fire.

He wakes up fast, and before he even gets the chance to feel the pain, the aches, the dizziness, he feels the heat. It’s all encompassing, a raging inferno blooming from within him and burning him up from the inside out, and god, it—

—god, it hurts.

-

Peter gets whammied by a 24-hour superbug, and Tony’s left to keep him alive until tomorrow morning.

It sounds a hell of a lot easier than it ends up being.

pairings: none

tags: angst, hurt/comfort

warnings: none

not like megatron by iron_spider

summary: “Hi! This is Peter Parker, I can’t get to the phone right now, so leave a message and I’ll call you back later! Hopefully not too much later, but don’t get your hopes up!”

Tony knows that message by heart. He’s heard it hundreds of times, in a greyer world, and it sends shivers down his spine as he climbs into the car.

He doesn’t think about that place. That half-world. No way, that’s done, that’s over, that’s history.“Hey, kid, don’t you know it’s bad etiquette to go and disappear on your birthday? Not allowed, really, really bad vibes from the universe. What’s going on with your suit? I wasn’t watching. Nope. Just got an alert. What’s going on? Uh, call me back.” He clears his throat and hangs up like a moron, driving out into the street.

pairings: none

tags: hurt/comfort, fluff

warnings: none

Peter Peter Pumpkin Eater by frostysunflowers

summary:  ''Dying.''

''You’re not dying.''

''Totally am.'

'''God, I hope not, otherwise May will skin me alive.''

or

A weekend visit to the cabin doesn't go according to plan.

pairings: none

tags: hurt/comfort, humor

warnings: none

an irondad's misguided approach to homesickness by livingtheobsessedlife

summary: Peter mentions it once. Once. That he’s maybe kinda sorta vaguely somewhat homesick. MIT is no Queens, that’s all really. All in all, Pete’s having a great time at college. Really, truly.

The thing is that Tony’s never really taken the whole ‘only mentioning it once’ thing all that well. Not when it comes to Peter at least.

This time is no exception.

pairings: none

tags: fluff

warnings: none

you held your pride like you should have held me by searchingforstars

summary: “I had to take the risk!” Peter snaps. “I saved your life.”

Tony’s stare hardens. “Yeah, and nearly ended your goddamn own. This isn’t a trade-off. It wasn’t your call to make.”

“You would have done the same thing to protect me,” Peter points out. Tony just seethes at the statement.

“I don’t care about what you think I would have done. You are not me. And I don’t know who you think I am, but I’m perfectly capable of looking after myself."

--

or, as the timer ticked down, Peter knew his only option was to take things into his own hands. He just didn’t expect Tony to be mad at him for saving his life.

pairings: none

tags: angst, hurt/comfort

warnings: none

always on duty by parkrstark

summary:  Peter manages to convince Tony to take him to a gala, but when Tony is hurt, he realizes that it's just as dangerous to be Tony Stark as it is to be Iron Man. 

pairings: none

tags: hurt/comfort, fluff, humor

warnings: none

Out of Left Field by blondsak, seekrest

summary: Even if Tony didn’t end up becoming a big fan of the Mets, Peter knew they’d still have a great time at the game. And the fact that Tony wanted to go with Peter badly enough to make it clear that he should buy a pair of tickets as a birthday gift?

Peter shakes his head fondly.

Maybe for once the month of May was going to work out for him after all.

pairings: spideychelle

tags: fluff, humor

warnings: none

three weeks, two days, seven hours by crowkag

summary: It was a mess. A real mess. Peter had been gone for three weeks, two days, and seven hours, taken right out from under their noses.

And Tony was laying on the floor.

(AKA “you’ll always get there first”, but from Tony’s POV.)

pairings: none

tags: hurt/comfort, fluff

warnings: 

for as long as i live and as long as i love (i will never not think about you) by searchingforstars

summary: When Tony first started to forget things, Peter thought maybe it was just age. People’s memories fade as they get older, right? Minds get weaker. It’s just natural.

But Tony has arguably the sharpest mind of the 21st century. Peter should have realised that it was never going to be just getting weaker. It was never going to be just age.

No - not when the sharpest mind of the 21st century also happened to come into contact with the deadliest amount of gamma radiation known to man five years ago.

--

or, Tony’s sacrifice is still haunting them five years later. Peter has to come to terms with the fact that Tony’s memory is fading.

pairings: none

tags: angst

warnings: none

a dream is a wish by floweryfran

summary: Tony seems to panic for a moment, shifting his weight foot to foot, before spitting out in one mouthful, “I have a business trip in Florida right before your spring break and I talked to May and she says I can bring you to Disney for the week once it’s done ahhh.” He then breathes, grins plastically, and holds his hands out, like, I’m Tony Stark, hold your applause.

Peter runs the words through his head no less than three times to make sure he had understood them properly. “Disney—you and me—spring break?” he repeats.

Tony nods, hair flopping. “I mean, like, don’t feel obligated to say yes, but I thought it would be fun since May says you’ve never gone and she would’ve been working for your whole break anyway, y’know, at least this way we won’t be worrying about you sitting home alone for hours doing G-d only knows what—building accidental robot armies or something, or, worse, becoming a couch potato and forgetting every bit of knowledge I’ve ever carefully placed in that rat trap you call a brain—”

“Tony,” Peter says, waving his hands to shut Tony up. Something warm sits in the core of his chest, hovering. “Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, yeah, for sure, let’s—Disney. Let’s go. Wow.”

pairings: none

tags: fluff

warnings: none

Of birthday cake and millennium falcons by frostysunflowers

summary: "You still haven’t answered my question," MJ says, taking another sip of her juice.

 "Isn’t it obvious?" Tony replies, scratching at one of the scars on his neck with the end of a screwdriver. "It’s Ben’s birthday."

"And Ben’s birthday warrants a…" MJ waves a hand vaguely, "what the hell is that thing anyway?"

or

Tony has no self control when it comes to birthday parties and his grandson.

pairings: spideychelle

tags: fluff

warnings: none

what i have, i give to you by aatticsaltt

summary:  Tony would give everything to Peter Parker, if he asked for it. When May calls telling Tony she thinks Peter isn't feeling well, he drops everything to go check up on his favorite spider kid.

pairings: pepperony

tags: fluff, hurt/comfort

warnings: none

Smile! by aatticsaltt

summary:  Taking Peter to Disney World was one of Tony's better ideas.

pairings: pepperony

tags: fluff

warnings: none

and when it's hard, i'll place your head into my hands by hopeless_hope

summary: “Tony,” Pepper sing-songs to get his attention. “Your mother hen is showing.”

“What?” he snaps indignantly. “I am not a mother hen. This is just... concern. Of the average kind. Perfectly normal.”

“Of course,” Pepper humors him, and he shoots her a dirty look as he types out a quick text to Peter.

or

It's been five days since Tony's heard from Peter, who's away at college, and Tony is not coping well. (Neither is Peter.)

pairings: none

tags: hurt/comfort, fluff

warnings: none

Of Wally-Crawly Harnesses and Over-Enthusiastic Hat-Bestowing Capabilities by TheOceanIsMyInkwell

summary: Tony raises a brow at him in triumph, then sniffs and rubs the side of his nose. “Besides, think of it this way. Now you got a bullet-proof neck.”

“Nobody would even shoot a sad-looking orphan bundled like a spring roll in Red Heart yarn,” Peter points out. “That’s just low.”

“Excuse me, young buck, I resent the implication that I would let Red Heart come within an inch of your skin.”

“You’re insufferable,” Peter says flatly. “I hate you.”

“And just for that, I think this calls for those wool socks I was working on,” Tony says brightly.

“No--no, wait--”

“It’s time to learn that your consequences have actions, Parker--”

“Wait, wait, I love your knitting, I think it’s super healthy and fulfilling and honestly the best thing that’s ever happened to you since you retired!” Peter hollers at the man’s figure as it retreats quickly down the hallway. -- After Peter faints into hibernation because he can't thermoregulate, Tony isn't taking anymore chances. Out come the wool skeins and the knitting needles.

pairings: none

tags: fluff, humor

warnings: none

how do you sandwich!? by killerqueenwrites

summary: “Why are you buttering toast before you toast it?

”“I’m not toasting this.”

“Then what are you doing?” Peter demands.

“I’m making a sandwich.”

pairings: none

tags: fluff, humor

warnings: none

What I Can't Live Without by aatticsaltt

summary: Uneasy lies the head that wears the crown. Heavy lies the heart of the father who has to watch his son bow beneath the weight of the world.

or: When Peter calls Happy needing a ride out of the Netherlands, it's Tony who comes to the rescue.

pairings: none

tags: angst

warnings: none

Tales from Quarantine by just_a_hungry_author

summary: Peter, Morgan, and Tony are all stuck inside during the Coronavirus quarantine. Morgan learns to play Monopoly, Tony struggles to help with 1st grade math, and a prank war ensues.

God, this is the longest two weeks ever.

pairings: none

tags: fluff, humor

warnings: none

if we have each other by ftmpeter

summary: "Do you ever just, like, feel like you’re upside down?"

"You are upside down, Pete."

"Sounds fake."

pairings: none

tags: fluff

warnings: none

What Happens in the Blanket Fort Stays in the Blanket Fort by TheOceanIsMyInkwell

summary: “Well, I was gonna discuss with May some legal particulars about changes to my will that involve you,” Tony drawls, “but looks like I’ll just have to change my plans.”

There’s a beat. And then a yodel: “I’m just a poor boy, I need--”

“If not for this goddamn quarantine, I’d be there in a flash to shut you up myself, Spidey-Tighties.”

“You made these ‘tights’.”

“Funsie-onesie.”

“Mr. Stark.”

“Cooty-footies.”

“Mr. Stark. I’m begging you. What does that even mean.” -- Tony comes over to keep Peter company during the quarantine while the kid waits for May to come home from work at the hospital. Bants are had. Feelings are spilled. And maybe, just maybe, a hug or two is shared.

pairings: none

tags: fluff, humor

warnings: none

On his Shoulders by snarkymuch

summary: “Please, please,” Tony begged, “Keep breathing, kid. Don’t do this to me. You can’t leave me like this.” The morning started like any other for Tony. He kissed Pepper good morning and sipped his coffee. He scanned his emails and chatted with Pepper about the vacation they were always planning but never took. The calm should have been a warning, as the storm always followed.

OR

Peter and Tony get trapped in a building collapse and Peter is gravely injured.

pairings: none

tags: hurt/comfort

warnings: none

coronapocalypse by peterstank

summary:  “This whole quarantine thing shouldn’t even apply to me.”

“Uh, I beg to differ, it’s very serious,” replies Tony’s voice, slightly muffled like he’s got his phone pressed between his shoulder and chin. “We’re all on lockdown, which means no leaving your place unless it’s for emergencies.”

“And what qualifies as an emergency?”

There’s a pause.

“Why do I get the feeling you’re not in your apartment?”

pairings: none

tags: fluff, humor

warnings: none

Little White Lies by snarkymuch

summary:  Peter gets injured and tries to treat it himself, hiding it from Tony, but he can't keep it hidden forever.

pairings: none

tags: hurt/comfort

warnings: none

Peter Parker and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Semester by just_a_hungry_author

summary: "So tell me, Kid." Tony said, patting the space next to him. "What's been going on?"

"Nothing's been going on." Peter denied, but he sat down anyway.

"Pete, don't bottle your emotions up. Only I'm allowed to do that."

When Peter again didn't smile at his joke, Tony continued. "I know you're stressed, Bud. But tell me why so I can help you."

"It's nothing you can help." Peter mumbled.

"Can I at least try?"

"I've just been having a bad week."

OR: Peter’s been having a rough time at college, Tony tries to jump in and help. 3000 words of pure fluff.

pairings: none

tags: fluff

warnings: none

Windy Webs by silentsaebyeok

summary:  And that was it. He was officially an idiot. Peter didn’t mean to be dramatic, but this was one of the most embarrassing things to ever happen to him, even if there was no one around to witness the fall of the century. -- Peter goes web-slinging in dangerous weather and gets seriously injured. It doesn't help that he has to spend the whole summer living with the consequences.

pairings: none

tags: hurt/comfort

warnings: none

Peter gets the chickenpox by snarkymuch

summary:  Peter and Morgan both catch the chickenpox. Morgan's case is mild, but Peter's is severe. Tony takes care of them both.

pairings:  none

tags: hurt/comfort, fluff

warnings: none

[moonlit-jeno]

birthday sex + jeno

It’s 10:06pm when you check your phone for the tenth time in the past minute. Jaemin promised he would bring Jeno to the roof at 9:45. Not only is he late, but he’s also not answer his phone. You frown and eye the cake, wondering if he would mind if you had a bite before he got there.

10:12 is when Jaemin pushes a distressed Jeno onto the roof, hands clasped tightly over your boyfriend’s eyes. Jeno’s yelling something about being kidnapped, about how he can’t believe his best friend would betray him, and Jaemin makes a face that has you biting onto your lip to supress your laughter.

“I’m not fighting you up here, Jaemin! Not on my birthday! Especially not before I have my birthday sex, asshole!” Jeno yells. You snicker and make your way over to the two boys, leaning forward to press your lips against Jeno’s. He freezes, momentarily halting his attacks on Jaemin.

You pull back to be met with the wide eyes of your boyfriend and you smile at his surprised expression. “Happy birthday, babe!”

Jeno tears his gaze away from you to find the blanket you’d laid out, the mini decorations you’d set up. He laughs, seemingly at a loss for words.

“You did this?” He asks, taking both of your hands in his. You nod, smiling brightly. “Fuck, you’re amazing. Come here.” Jeno pulls you into a long kiss before wrapping his arms around you, nuzzling into your neck and squeezing you tight. You open your eyes to mouth a ‘thank you’ at Jaemin and he smiles brightly, throwing a condom in your direction and going back down the stairwell.

“I know, that’s why you’re dating me.” You grin, leaning in for one more kiss because you can’t help yourself. “Come on, let’s eat.”

Loud laughter and soft music mix together to fill the air, carrying out into the night sky. You and Jeno goof around and snuggle on the blanket, feeding each other bites of food and smiling like fools in love. Jeno covers his ears and pretends to scrunch his face in pain when you sing Happy Birthday to him. You pretend to strangle him.

It’s later, after you’ve eaten the majority of the food and slow danced under the night sky, that you lay out on the blankets and look at the stars. Jeno points out a constellation that he thinks looks like a dick. You’re pretty sure at least three of the stars he pointed at were satellites.

You snuggle closer into his side and let your eyes close in content, feeling full with love and cake and happiness. Jeno’s staring at you when you open them and he brings his thumb up to brush over your cheek.

“Thank you for doing this. It means the world to me.” Jeno says, open and honest. “You mean the world to me.”

“Of course, babe. You deserve the world, it’s the least I could do.” You smile, pressing into his touch.

Jeno surprises you by rolling on top of you. “No, you deserve the world. You kind, generous, wonderful human being.”

You whine and manage to roll you both over until you’re straddling his waist, hands on his chest to keep you balanced. “No, it’s your birthday, let me compliment you!”

There’s a pout on your face that goes away once he nods. “Lee Jeno, you actual angel. You’re the nicest, funniest guy I’ve ever met. You’re adorable and hard working and take care of your friends when they forget to take care of themselves. Sometimes you play too many video games and drive up the electrical bill, but you always look so darn cute that I can’t stay mad at you.”

You dip down for another kiss. “Lee Jeno, you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and I swear I fall in love with you more everyday.”

Jeno’s blushing in the moonlight when you finish talking and you smile at the way you’ve reduced him to an embarrassed puddle. He looks up at you with stars in his eyes and slides his hands over your waist to your back, pausing at your cheeks and holding you delicately. “Y/n, I am so in love with you.”

It’s sweet, and it would be perfect when he pulls you down for a kiss, but he moans a little too excitedly and you can feel something hard poking it your core.

“Are you- I just got done giving you such a romantic speech and you’re hard?” You narrow your eyes, looking Jeno up and down.

He smiles innocently at you. “Babe, my dick may be hard but my heart is soft.” You don’t react and he moves your hand to the side, letting you feel his heartbeat under your palm. “See? I-” he times his words with his pulse, a cheesy smile on his face. “Love. You.”

You try to look upset but you can’t stop yourself from smiling. “That is the cheesiest thing you’ve ever said to me. I can’t believe it.”

“Aww come on, say it back.” Jeno laughs, poking at your cheek. You huff dramatically.

“Fine. I-” You lean in for a kiss. “Love.” Kiss. “You.” Kiss. The last kiss is longer than the others, Jeno not letting you pull away. He’s smiling against your lips and it’s addictive, your face nearly split in half from how hard you’re smiling. You finally pull away and rest your forehead against his, trying to catch your breath.

“You know,” Jeno starts, taking both your hands in his, looking at you with a serious expression. “My heart may be soft, but my dick is still hard.”

He cackles when you make a disgusted noise and roll off to the side, an enraged “Lee Jeno!” leaving you. “You ruined the moment!” Jeno’s laughing too hard to respond and you glare at him for a second before softening your expression, pouting at him. “Now come here so I can suck your dick.”

A noise leaves him, the smile dropping off his face at your command. His eyes widen. “Really?” You nod. He’s never moved so fast in his life, scrambling over to your side.

You find that he wasn’t exaggerating about how hard his dick is when you slide his pants down just enough to pull his cock out, stroking him slowly. He hisses and his cock twitches in your hand, his head falling back against the cement.

“Eager?” You tease, moving to rest between his thighs. He watches you with bated breath, tongue coming out to wet his lips, but still having the piece of mind to raise his eyebrows at you.

“You have my dick in your hand and you’re asking if I’m eager?” The sentence starts out in disbelief, turning more choked as you part your lips to let your saliva drip out, slicking the slide of your palm. His hips shift and his eyelids flutter closed.

That won’t do. His entire body jolts when you give him a harsh squeeze, and he opens his eyes to find you pouting at him, mouth hovering above his cock. “I want you to watch me.”

Jeno swallows thickly and nods. “I’m watching.”

“Good.” You smile. Then you sink your mouth down on his cock, taking him in as deep as you can before you choke. Jeno’s chest rumbles with his moan and his hands come down to grip at your hair. His hips buck up and you let them, stroking your hands over his hips bones and up to his chest.

He pants harshly, soft moans leaving him as you suck his cock like you need it to live. And at this point, it’s fair to think that you do. But all you want is to make your baby feel good on his birthday, wanna give him the suck of his life because it’s what he deserves. Your throat will be screaming at you tomorrow but that’s the least of your concerns right now.

No, your main concern isn’t how wrecked you’ll feel tomorrow. It’s how good Jeno sounds as he moans your name like it’s his life line, it’s the pleasure that runs through your body when he tugs a little too hard at your hair. It’s the way his cock stretches your lips so wide that they burn, and the way your throat aches as you take him as deep as possible.

It’s the way you struggle for oxygen when you pull off, gasping for air against his thigh and letting your hand take over for your mouth, jerking him off quickly. Slick sounds fill the air and it has you squirming in need, wanting to take his cock into your pussy instead of back into your mouth. That’ll happen later, though, not now. Jeno’s always been one to come more than once, his sex drive running both of you into the ground.

For now, you’re content to press open-mouthed kisses up the side of his cock, dipping lower to mouth at his balls. He groans when you do, a choked sound that has you looking up at him on a combination of amusement and lust.

“Shit, you’re amazing.” Jeno pants out, sounding every bit as fucked out as he looks. He huffs a laugh. “Can’t believe I’m getting my dick sucked on the roof.”

You giggle too, because you’d known you were on the roof but you hadn’t put too much thought into how desperate it might feel, two civilized adults who were too horny to make it back to their apartment. “You love it though, don’t you?”

“Fuck yeah I do,” Jeno pants out, guiding your head back to his cock. You go easily, moaning at the weight him on your tongue. “Love everything involving you.”

His eyes roll to the back of his head when you give him one last harsh suck, pulling of to mouth at his abs. “Right answer.” You dig your thumb into the slit of his cock and blink up at him through your lashes. “Gonna come for me now?”

“Yes, shit, oh my God.” Jeno whines out, face scrunching up in pleasure as you double your effort to pleasure him. His fingers tighten in your hair, unoccupied hand moving up to tease at his nipples as he shakes apart under your touch. Your movements are quick, sloppy, and you pull out every trick that you know in an effort to get Jeno to come as soon as possible. There are tears running down your cheeks and spit dripping out of the corners of your mouth but you love it, love the wet noises that happen when you take him into the hilt, love the dizziness that fills your head as you choke on his cock. “Oh fuck, I’m gonna- gonna fucking come. Shit yes baby, oh-

Jeno keeps you in place as he fucks into your throat one last time, spilling into your open mouth. You take it all with a hum, swallowing with a dazed smile and taking care to make a big deal out of the way you lick your lips to clean them. He gives you a fucked out smile, stroking your cheeks and smoothing down your hair. You kiss him and he melts into it, hand grabbing at your ass to pull you against him for more.

A confused whine leaves him when you pull away, standing up before he can grab you. You giggle. “Come on, you’re not fucking me on the roof.”

He looks hurt. “I’m not?”

“Nope.” You turn to pack up the cake you’d brought up. “But if you help me carry everything back, I’ll let you fuck me against the window.”

Jeno honest to God whimpers and nearly trips trying to fold the blanket up.

[kyle-valenti]

burnout only feels like burning

2.7k / Summary: kyle valenti doesn't have the same quarantine as his friends; an exploration of kyle's trauma during covid as a doctor. (tw depression & other triggers you’d imagine with this subject)

read & comment/ ao3

A little like the virus itself, Kyle’s relationship with his mask begins with worry, annoyance, and then pain. He’s more than happy to have the proper N-95 mask as they begin to get their first case at Roswell General but then a couple more patients trickle in and within a few days his skin is irritated and itching. Maybe it’s the news, maybe it’s the texts from his friends that he’s increasingly missing, but when the Regiment starts spouting off about how COVID is a joke he thinks it might be affecting his nerves too. By week three his former red mark left by the mask has become a permanent feature to his face and by week five it’s not a mark but a bruise instead. Blisters and cracks in his skin litter his hands from over-washing. His feet become so overused the pads of his feet feel numb and bruised and he wears through an entire pair of shoes.

Positivity has fled from his life by week seven and now he’s inside of a survival mode he’s never experienced. He thought after last year he’d be used to anything the world (or universe, rather, given all these aliens) could throw at him. Now what feels foolish, he had believed that there was nothing that could be worse than the previous pain of losing a patient or finding out his father had experimented on people’s lives. 

When he’s out of ventilators and CPAP machines because Albuquerque needs them more and he has to choose whether or not to save the life of an eighty five year old or a thirty two year old he remembers from high school, he breaks.

 Guilt is one thing, grief is another, but the pure rage he feels knowing that Max Evans is out on the town patrolling as some fucking cop and not someone who could heal most of this hospital makes him want to commit actual murder. Maybe trading the blood of an alien on his hands would feel less heart-wrenching. But no. Max had brought back Rosa and had paid the price. Quelling his anger, he went back to work.

 He slept at the hospital most nights in the height of it. Sure the couch was rough, but it was better than the other on-call doctor beds down the hall. Three twelve hour ER shifts of a usual work week doubled to five days of thirteen hour shifts. Soon there’s a week where he pulls double shifts for an entire week when one of his nurses is urgently hospitalized herself. Hospital directors had left them with no PPE except contaminated masks to reuse. Maria, Isobel, and Rosa are in the forefront of a drive to make and donate masks to his hospital after some social media posts that he doesn’t even see until the cloth masks arrive and his medical assistants give him their handwritten note. It makes him smile, but smiling feels so foreign that he almost wants to break from that.

 Visitors are no longer allowed which means Kyle isn’t allowed to use his bedside manner to comfort the family of patients. He has to facetime mothers, spouses, and children and hold the phone over a patient who can’t breathe without machine assistance and pretend that everything is fine and that there’s still hope despite the hypoxia and lack of rising vitals. Ignore that if the patient goes into cardiac arrest more than once, the kindest thing to do given prognosis is to let the patient pass. Resuscitation and DNR (a patient’s begging request to not be resuscitated) becomes a word he uses in his daily work and not simply for intense surgeries.

 Exhaustion isn’t a deep enough adjective to describe the fugue state he goes into. File to file, room to room, ventilator to next… he isn’t surprised when his body starts to wear down. When he no longer feels hunger and instead feels all too hot and dizzy. Telling himself it’s just because of how much he’s exerting his body while covered in layers and layers of protective clothing doesn’t help the fact that he’s starting to have more trouble breathing as he walks the hallways at a fast pace. When he begins to cough, he does what he promised himself he wouldn’t do and drives out post-shift to the desert cabin of Max Evans.

 Part of him is too desperately tired to knock, but when he arrives on the property with the cop car idle and the house dark and at peace for the night, his fury greets him with the embrace of a long-lost friend. Knuckles pound at the wood and Max answers the door with surprise and a general look of defense, and Kyle tries not to immediately punch him in the face at the fact he looks like he had woken up from a comfortable sleep.

 “Heal me.” Kyle manages to spit out.

 “I—what’s wrong?”

 “Beginning stages of respiratory distress, fever, nausea—what do you fucking think?”

 “Kyle—,” Max starts to say, the hesitation deepening, and that does it.

 “No. I have not asked you for anything in all of this, Evans. Anything!” He shouts, voice hoarse. “Not when people got sick, not when they started dying, not even when we started having to let people die on purpose. And you know what? I wasn’t going to even come and ask you now, but I can’t get sick when I’m the one here fucking saving lives out of the two of us and you’re just cruising the streets handing out goddamn traffic tickets.”

 Max’s face isn’t stony like it usually is when Kyle’s yelling at him; this time it’s crushed and guilty but not nearly enough. “What kind of hours you work this week, Evans? A nice 8 to 4? Did you get facetime with Isobel or your mom, maybe binge through a few books and movies after you’re home? Did you sit down and eat a nice dinner and or go over to drink a few beers with Guerin since you can’t get sick? Even get a nice eight hours of sleep in your own bed in your nice quiet home?”

 No response.

 “I am not asking to sequence your DNA like Liz. All I am asking is for you to let me heal people since you don’t want to.”

 A night breeze is all that makes noise for a moment as Kyle catches his breath and glares at Max, who stands quietly but is staring down at his boots before he finally looks up and nods. Max steps forward then, and Kyle sees that his eyes are actually filled with tears. Temper deflating, but still not subsiding entirely, given that not much else is able to be done; Kyle lets Max place a hand on his shoulder and feels the extremely weird feeling spread throughout his body. Something more electric than anything else, which God knew made a lot more sense concerning his powers and how the body operated with electrical nerve impulses, but that is a train of thought better left for another day. He wants to just walk away, and he almost does, but he still mutters a “thank you” before he does so.

When his nurse dies a few days later and he watches as the staff double bag her body to take to the morgue, he escapes to his office and crashes on his couch with sobs. There’s no one here to support him. He can’t go to his mother’s home and collapse into one of her comforting embraces without risking infecting her. He can’t get wasted at the Wild Pony with Maria when it’s closed. He can’t visit Rosa or Arturo at the Crashdown. Keeping his friends and family safe meant keeping them away from him. Keeping them safe meant he needed to stop pushing his head into his hands to try and control the sound of his crying and get back to work at saving the lives around them.

He gets put on leave by the hospital administrator when he’s almost arrested for decking Wyatt Long in the hospital parking lot as the idiot stood outside with a sign rallying Regiment members to make sure the hospital was told it was killing people on purpose for the election. If Jenna hadn’t been the officer on duty he would have been cuffed and put on record, jeopardizing his license, but there was some self-preserving part of him that desperately wished for his practice to be over anyway. He’s not even sure how Jenna handles it, honestly, all he remembers is her dropping him off at his house from her patrol car like she had been nothing but an uber. No matter how angry and adamant he gets, his boss refuses to bend, saying it’s for his own good given the connections the Long’s have in the town and how Kyle has worked almost 74 of the past 76 days.

Alex is the first to visit him, unannounced. When the doorbell rings Kyle is mindlessly pretending to watch some tv show in his living room that’ll distract him from his consuming thoughts about patients, so he doesn’t get up to answer. He checks his silent phone to see if he was forewarned of a visitor but sees nothing. Unsure if it’s his boss or a patient’s family, he forces himself up onto his sore feet and opens the door after grabbing a regular mask off the coffee table. Black face mask on and standing further out from the door on the porch is Alex, the usual gruff hello turned into something soft. “Hey.”

Kyle heaves a sigh. He had wondered when the pity visits would begin. “Hey. You really shouldn’t be around me, you know.”

“I’m clearly a minimum of eight feet away in an open space while masked.” Alex smarts back. “Either way, I’m worried about you.”

Scoffing, he shakes his head. “Don’t fucking worry about me. Worry about getting sick, because if I have to see another person I care about die, I--,”

“Kyle.” the other says too kindly, the sort of pacifying voice Alex reserved for only the most dire situations. “I have no idea what you’re dealing with in specifics, but my experiences do overlap with yours in some places.”

“And?”

Maybe it came out a little too rude, because Alex raises a brow, but then sighs instead. “And I’m just checking in to make sure you know people care about you.”

“Thanks, Manes.” Kyle huffs in return, managing not to roll his eyes because focusing on being blunt and abrasive was so much easier.

“Just be careful.” Alex interjects before Kyle could close the door and turn back to his show. “Dealing with the trauma of what you’re dealing with gets dark very quickly.”

“Because I punched Wyatt Long?” he spits back sarcastically.

“No, because the suicide rates for healthcare professionals are drastically increasing along with the rates of PTSD diagnoses.” Alex says flatly, ever one to be unfazed by sarcasm. “And I’ve lost more active duty members to suicide than I have combat.”

Kyle pauses, caught. Maybe Alex had known he would be, because there isn’t some way he can give a smile and reassuring wave with him like he could his mother or Liz. While Kyle hadn’t actively thought of a plan, he couldn’t pretend he had noticed signs of depression the second he was alone in his house. 

“The quiet is the worst part, right?” Alex says, all but reading his mind. “Not always because of the flashbacks, although those are horrible, but because if things are quiet then--,”

“--people are dying.” Kyle finishes, his voice raspier by the end of the three words. “Yeah, well, mine still are.”

“They’re going to.” Is what felt like a cold response, but somehow gave Kyle the understanding he’s been craving. “They’re going to die and because of your profession you’re going to be able to save some of them. Which will make you think you’re responsible to save all of them and because you’re a good person you’re going to feel guilty in ways that no one will understand for being human and failing to.”

“Failing is all I do lately.” Kyle replies. “Usually the wins feel higher than the losses as a doctor, but with this-- and no one outside of it cares. They go outside and yell about how this is about a fucking election and when it’s not the patients, it’s the hospital pretending they don’t have enough money to buy us proper protection. Or the government saying this will all go away and that it’s just a light cold.”

Alex gives a small nod. “I know. I also know telling you the same advice that you’d give another doctor of trying not to burn out and instead taking a small rest is useless. So I’m just going to drop off these dvd’s and make you report back to me the difference when you’re done.”

Star Trek and Star Wars. Kyle finds a smile tug on his lips. Alex leaves with one on his as well.

When he gives a response to Alex a few days later on how Star Wars is better not more than a few minutes later Deluca is texting him with recommendations on joining her Buffy the Vampire Slayer rewatch. There’s something sweet about the fact that people have been clearly talking about him, even if definitely borderline creepy with how nosy his circle of friends can be, but he sighs and lets Maria add him to the group chat she has with Rosa and Liz where they review each episode after the fact and even chimes in every now and then. Isobel gets added not long after due to an Instagram story Maria shares and then the group has moved onto Friends after everyone shoots down Liz for suggesting Grey’s Anatomy on behalf of Kyle. Alex is also in there, even if it’s rare he chimes in with an opinion, but once they start Friends his commentary about how much he hates Ross that gets the entire group riled up does tend to make him laugh. Even Kyle agrees with Forest-- whose opinion had been shared by Alex-- that Chandler had all too many queer-coded scenes with Joey.

His mother facetimes him daily, which given how they both don’t exactly go out much starts to become monotonous, until she begins to give in and talk about memories she has of their father. Tidbits she never would have shared with him about their adult life when he was a child or teenager. He in turn facetimes Rosa and shares some of the memories of their father as well, which as much as she tries to pretend she doesn’t want for Arturo’s sake she clearly does with the million questions she asks every single time and the small smile she gives him at the end of their calls.

Liz updates him on her work which is a nice reprieve from everyone’s normalcy and lack of medical jargon sometimes, especially when she gives him inside info on covid vaccine studies not yet published to the general public yet. Everything in him wants this more than anything else in the world right now and he texts her almost every day asking if she’s heard more news even when he knows things take time. She’s a good sport about everything, even when he shares in a very angry rant about Max Evans and how they could have helped so many more people so much more quickly with his DNA-- however selfish that might have been.

When he goes back to work, he feels refreshed, even when it makes things hit like a freight train once more. Lost in a sea of inadequacy, his feelings extend past the pandemic. Even when things return to a level of normalcy and the cases subside he gets alien medical drama thrown in his face once more, and he starts to wonder if he’ll ever recover. If he was wrong to choose this calling. If the fact he can’t help Max or Maria is a sign from above or his father that it’s time to make some career move or change location like his mother and Liz. But, like he tells Michael Guerin. He can’t think he can face his future children and say he walked away from this. Or let people die by quitting, just like Rosa warns. And so he stays and tries to heal both other people and himself.

[bonjour-rainycity]

Double Heart | Chapter Fourteen ~ Haldir

|previous part|

Rating: PG-13

Word count: 1754

Warnings: TW -- mentions of illness

**Read on Ao3 under the user “bonjour_rainycity” if you prefer!**

A/n Can I just say, that I TRULY believe I have some of the best readers in the entire world? Each of you is so kind, so encouraging, and you take time out of your day to read this story!! Thank you, each and every one of you, so, so much! 

Immediately after leaving Cosima’s room, I seek out Baranor. I don’t want to leave her alone and must find a task to calm my mind. Though Cosima sounded sure of her ailment being non-severe, humans are so fragile. What if she were to sway like she did earlier but didn’t have me there to catch her? She could fall to the stone floor and crack her head open.

I freeze. Should I go back?

No. I stop myself. She said she would be fine, I have to respect that. Besides, I sigh, focusing on the bigger picture. I can check on her tomorrow. In the meantime, Baranor might have insight.

It’s still early, only five o’clock or so, and Baranor is exactly where I expect him to be — the healing wards. Like me, his is not prone to taking an extended period without work.

He sees me coming and greets me with a smile, passing along a small jar to another healer clothed in a robe of pale green. “We’re attempting to develop a new salve for burns,” he explains. “What brings you to the healing wards?”

I sigh, suddenly feeling exhausted under the stress of the last twenty minutes. So much could have gone wrong. “Cosima.”

Baranor’s brow furrows in concern and he directs me to what looks to be an extra office loaned to him — it’s already covered in his belongings and notes. He sits in the oversized chair behind the desk, clasping his hands in front of him. “What happened?”

I practically sink into the chair across from him. “We agreed to meet this evening in her room so I could begin to teach her self-defense. She seemed fine when I arrived — her usual personality, bright eyes, didn’t seem tired. One second she was laughing, and the next, gasping in pain. I-I mean, Baranor, you should have seen it.” I gulp at the memory, reliving the moment Cosima’s condition shifted. “All the life left her face and she swayed like she was going to faint. I caught her and sat her on the couch but she pitched forward and nearly vomited. She said she had a headache. When the sickness and pain faded enough for her to open her eyes, she looked absolutely exhausted. She said she wants to rest so I left her room and came straight here.”

Baranor nods, looking calm. “How long did the episode last?”

I concentrate on the memory, though everything in me wants to shy away. “Maybe three minutes?”

Baranor dips his head as if expecting this. “Humans are much more fragile than elves—you know this. If they do not sleep enough or get proper nutrients, they can become susceptible to headaches and mild sicknesses — even stress can have that effect on them. Sometimes headaches can be severe, in which case they are called migraines and usually come with nausea, dizziness, and more intense pain.”

My eyes widen. That’s terrifying. Such normal things that wouldn’t do much to an elf — stress, inadequate sleep, water, food — can incapacitate a human. How much more vulnerable to serious circumstances they must be — injury, for instance.

But Baranor only looks infuriatingly serene. I have to remind myself that he encounters things like this every day, even if he does typically treat ellyn. Mild fluctuations in health do not alarm him because he knows how they are likely to turn out and how to threat a patient if their health declines further.

“I will check on her in the morning after she’s had time to rest, but do not worry, mellon nîn. This is just something that happens to humans from time to time.”

I take a deep breath, leaning against the back of the chair. “Alright. Thank you. I’m sorry to burst in on your work.”

He waves off my apology. But, after a pause, he grimaces.

My stomach sinks. “What?”

He speaks much too slowly for my liking. “I do not want to alarm you, but there’s a chance Elrond might mention something to you or your brothers, and I’d rather you hear it from me so you are not caught off guard.”

I feel my eyes widening and attempt to reign in my expression. “What, Baranor?”

He sighs. “When we first encountered Cosima, she was as good as dead. Her fæ was so far gone, I had to expend serious energy calling her back. I…I had hoped that because she had actually made the choice to wake up that she would acclimate well—make a full recovery. When I dealt with her arm after the attack, I again used the power in my fæ to heal her. I noticed that there is still something…‘off’ in her own fæ.”

I feel my jaw lock. A roaring rushes through my ears. “Off?”

“Yes,” Baranor nods steadily. “Alex’s is the same way. Both the human spirits seem…torn, almost, or wounded. Like I said, ‘off’. I spoke to Elrond and he has agreed to work with them both. He believes their memory loss could related to the injuries in their fæs and, as we heal their memories, their fæs will repair themselves. Our working theory is that the memory loss is so severe it has caused the fæ to forget, almost like the memories were violently cut out of it. I do not know what that means but I think it likely originated when they arrived in this world, possibly before when they somehow transferred from their world to ours — it’s logical to think that had some impact on their fæs.”

I exhale slowly, taking all this information in.

It is alarming, to say the least.

A fæ should not be damaged…it could cause an elf to fade.

But humans are different, I reason. The health of their spirits isn’t tied to their longevity. Well — I have to correct myself. Maybe it is and humans just don’t live long enough to know for sure. I try to turn my focus back to Baranor — these worrisome thoughts are not helpful. “Do you believe this poses a threat to them?”

Baranor grimaces. “I cannot say for sure, but my instinct is that it’s not as long as they receive proper care — almost a physical therapy of sort, but for their fæs. Again, I would not have bothered you with this if I didn’t think Elrond might bring it up.”

I set him with a stern look. “Any information about the health of those in my care is of concern to me. I ask that you keep me updated.”

He bows his head. “Of course.”

I stand, feeling like I need sleep but knowing my mind is racing too much to do so. I say farewell to my friend and catch an attendant on the way to my room, requesting that dinner be sent to my chambers. I don’t feel like eating in the company of the hall. Part of me wonders if I should have the attendant take food to Cosima, just in case she’s decided she’s hungry, but I remind myself that she is perfectly capable of requesting her own dinner. If she wishes to eat, she can arrange it.

That doesn’t stop me from tucking away a banana and some bread just in case she hasn’t eaten by the time I visit her tomorrow. Proper nutrients, enough rest, sufficient hydration, and low stress.

Right as I cut into dinner, Rumil swaggers in with a plate of his own. He snorts, joining me at the small table. “Great minds, huh?” He leans towards me, furrowing his brow and studying me more intently. “Are you alright? You look pale.”

I roll my eyes, trying to cover my anxiety. “I’m always pale.”

Rumil huffs. “Come on, what’s bothering you?”

I sigh. Rumil is probably going to hear it from Elrond or Baranor anyway, so I may as well tell him. I start from the beginning. “I visited Cosima this evening.” Rumil sits back in his chair, a strange look in his eye. Could he already know? How? “I meant to teach her to defend herself, but not long after I arrived, she—she just got sick. Within a moment’s difference, she was nearly collapsed on the floor.” I shake my head against the memories but dutifully recount the full story to my brother, including Baranor’s observations and theory.

By the end, Rumil slumps in his seat, staring over my shoulder with a distant look in his eye. He’s silent for a long time.

“Haldir I…I owe you an apology. Cosima, too, though I don’t think she’d understand why.”

I furrow my eyebrows. What could he be sorry for?

“I’ve been teasing you both lately and have been encouraging your feelings for each other. It was wrong of me — I didn’t consider her mortality and what pursing a relationship with her would mean. I won’t do it anymore, I promise. Can you forgive me?”

I blink. What? “I don’t have feelings for her.”

Rumil sets me with a dubious look. “I’m your brother, you can be honest with me.”

“I don’t have feelings for her,” I repeat, more forcefully this time. Rumil’s being ridiculous. And the youngest of my brothers — his age is showing.

He huffs, looking to the ceiling as if to request strength from the Valar. “Are you really so unaware of yourself? Of her?” At my look of annoyance, he groans, seeming like he wants to push it. I set my shoulders, making it clear that we will be discussing this no further.

Finally, Rumil shakes his head, turning his gaze to his meal. “Fine, I am sorry, I can see I’ve overstepped my bounds. Forget it.”

I return to my food, watching my brother warily. His shoulders sag and he looks almost…scared. His distress is apparent, even if his accusations are baseless. He brings his eyes back to mine and the grief there causes me to freeze. What is going on with my brother?

“But Haldir…Be careful. She will be dead long before this age is done, and that is if she chooses to stay in this world.”

My fork falls to my plate.

A hollow, aching feeling makes my chest feel tight.

I don’t even know what to say to that.

Rumil stands and places a hand on my shoulder, squeezing briefly. Then, he makes for the exit. “I will leave you to your thoughts.”

And then he closes the door behind him and I am indeed alone with these terrifying thoughts.

A/n This one is shorter than the others I’ve posted, but I feel like it’s kinda dense and it was a good place to leave off. Thanks for reading! Likes, comments, and reblogs make my day! Also, if you have any thoughts/theories, I would love to know those! @eru-vande sent me one the other day and it was really fun!

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[writertitan]

Midnight

pairing: eren x reader

themes: modern au, new year’s eve, angsty if you squint

A chorus of cheers erupted almost as soon as you crossed the threshold of Sasha’s home, though from the clinks and clatters of glass and the smell of bourbon, you could tell that the cheers were in celebration of something other than your unnoticed arrival.  

“Welcome!” Sasha greeted you with a warm smile and bright eyes, tugging you further into her equally warm and bright house, where everyone was already a little tipsy, a little rowdy. You didn’t want to look visibly nervous, but there you were, shoulders up to your ears and eyes shifting back and forth, looking for that mess of dark hair, those green eyes that pierced through you and everyone else. You nearly jumped when Sasha’s whisper danced into your ear. “Don’t worry, he’s not here and I don’t think he’ll show up.” 

“I wasn’t looking for him,” you mumbled, a little indignant, and then rolled your eyes when you saw Sasha’s knowing smirk. “I just don’t want things to be awkward, Sasha. It’s been months since we’ve even seen each other, let alone been in the same space all night. I guess I’m just...a little worried. Well, I was. Are you sure he’s not coming?” 

“Doubt it,” she says, that smirk still plastered on her face. “Why? Does that make you saaaad?” 

“Shut up,” you groaned, but you yanked on her ponytail playfully to let her know you weren’t upset as you walked past her, ready to pour some bourbon for yourself to ease your nerves. 

I’ll have to catch up, you thought to yourself with a grin as Connie raised his half-full glass to your full one, a silly laugh escaping him as you clink your glass to his. 

“Happy new year! Almost!” he nearly shouted before downing the last of his drink in a swift gulp. You tried to follow his pace, always competitive with him, but ended up coughing up some bourbon. Connie laughed instantly, and you could faintly hear Jean laughing as well, which made you glare at the two of them through watered-up eyes, stinging from the liquor. 

“Loser, can’t even hold your bourbon in and you just barely showed up!” Jean laughed, wiggling his almost empty cup in your face, as if to show off his own progress. 

Instead of verbally retaliating, you took another sip and spat it out at him, bursting out into laughter this time with the shout of surprise that came out of his mouth. 

“When are you gonna learn to leave me alone, huh?” you said, snickering and secretly giving Connie a high-five. Evidently, you weren’t going to be needing to drink too much to calm your nerves. You downed the rest of your drink anyway, mostly to piss Jean off and show Connie your two-person drinking game was on. With each drained glass, you felt yourself get looser and warmer, felt the world get a little whirlier, and you found yourself even looking forward to the new year, despite having to leave some things -- and some people -- behind. 

No, you promised yourself you wouldn’t think about that, you thought to yourself again, shaking your head as if to shake the thoughts out. Unfortunately, the shaking made things go a little dizzy, and you bumped into a table to steady yourself. 

“Ugh,” you groaned, setting down your glass and rubbing your forehead. All this drinking was going to be a bitch in the morning, and the discomfort of your intoxication was already getting to you. Even steadying yourself on the table the dizziness didn’t let up, the whirling didn’t stop, and the alcohol churned in your body, that familiar nausea finally surfacing. 

“Oh shit, she’s gonna blow.” 

Whoever had said that should have counted their lucky stars you were too drunk to do anything but stumble to Sasha’s bathroom, but you figured it was stupid Connie, eager to win your drinking game yet again. You shut the bathroom door behind you and took a deep breath, kneeling in front of the toilet and leaning onto your side to use the wall as support, your cheek hitting its cool surface. You didn’t actually think you were going to throw up, but you’d been wrong about these things before, and it was better to be safe than sorry. A knock at the door made you snap your head over too quickly, the dizziness almost being the catalyst for that awful nausea to finally bubble over into the toilet, but you kept your composure. You heard your name being called on the other side of the door, and something about the voice seemed familiar…

“Hold on,” you slurred, closing your eyes and taking a deep breath. I won’t puke, I’m not gonna puke, nope, nope, nope…

Your name was called again, this time clearer and more easily heard above the reverberating music and chatter of everyone else still partying. “C’mon, open the door.” You didn’t answer, finally recognizing the voice, your heart stuttering and fighting in your ribcage. No way. “Alright, since you’re not answering, I’m coming in.”

“No!” But it was too late. Your vision swam as Eren’s figure stepped into the cramped bathroom with you, quietly shutting the door behind him before kneeling in front of you. If you didn’t know any better, you could have sworn that his eyes were clouded with concern for you. But you did know better. 

“Jesus, are you okay?” he whispered, careful to keep his voice low. 

“What are you doing here? Sasha said you weren’t coming!” you whined, slumping over the toilet. You flinched when you felt a warm hand on your back, and when he registered the flinch, he promptly pulled his hand away. You didn’t know which action hurt you more. 

“Changed my mind,” Eren answered simply. You could almost hear the casual shrug of his shoulders. 

You said nothing, squeezing your eyes shut and willing this to be a nasty dream. The booze had loosened you up and made you forget about Eren for the night, comforted in the thought of him not showing up. Now it was coaxing out your fears and your innermost conflicts. Drunk you wanted to lash out, to bring up those painful topics, but the tiniest sliver of the sober you was still screaming and fighting for your silence. It worked; Eren waited for you to speak, to say something, anything, but spoke up again when he realized you wouldn’t. 

“I’m probably the last person you want to be around, but just let me stay and make sure you don’t choke on your own puke,” he mumbled. The words made you sit up again and glare at him, though the glassy look in your eyes didn’t do well to intimidate him. In fact, it made him smile at you. “What, you think I don’t remember how you get when you drink too much? I’m surprised you haven’t been barfing your guts out this entire time.” 

“I’m not going to barf,” you growled, trying feebly to kick him away. Was the alcohol fucking you up even more than it already had? You felt more intoxicated now. Your senses were going wild and you felt bleary, heavy, like your center of gravity was changing, like your orbit was off. Instead of being focused at your core, it had seeped out elsewhere, making you lean away from the wall and closer to...

No. Drunk you was going to be the death of sober you. 

“Eren, I’m fine. Go have fun,” you whispered, not daring to look at him. In fact, you hadn’t looked directly at him this whole time. You recoiled from him and slumped against the wall, finally chancing a look his way. 

He was beautiful. Always beautiful, but especially tonight. He hadn’t given a damn about dressing up like everyone else, which was classic Eren, and that’s what made him look perfect. The careless bun at the nape of his neck, the ripped jeans, his favorite tattered sweatshirt with his band’s name stamped on it. Purposefully unkempt, as you’d often told him in the past. The past...where you’d once been together. 

“It’s not much better out there. I saw you run in here when I was walking in and wanted to make sure you were doing better than Connie. He’s outside throwing up over the porch, and don’t even get me started on Sasha,” Eren said, rolling his eyes. His gaze was gentle when he looked back at you. “I’ll have a better time in here with you.” 

Your breath hitched at the words. This wasn’t actually happening. You weren’t going to let yourself believe it. 

“You don’t have to be nice to me. I don’t know why you’re being so nice to me,” you blurted out. Finally, the words that had been dying to come out. Drunk you was absolutely going to be the death of sober you.

This made Eren speechless, for once. His eyes widened for a moment and you could tell the wheels were turning in his head.

“You’re too wasted for me to have an actual conversation with you,” he decided with a sigh, tucking a stray lock of hair behind his ear. Both of you remembered at that moment when it was you fixing his hair, pushing it out of his face. 

“Am not!” you tried to argue, flinging the nostalgia away and replacing it with your haughty attitude. Eren remembered that too well, the attitude always coming out after too many drinks. “If you have something to say to me, I suggest you say it.” 

“I’m sorry.” 

The words hung in the air between you. Two throats choked up, two pairs of eyes locked, and two hearts ached and called out for each other. 

Your bottom lip trembled when the shame overcame you, pushing you back against the wall to put distance between yourself and Eren. All those months of being good, of avoiding him, of blocking him everywhere, of doing everything to keep moving on...it couldn’t crumble like this. 

“Why did you do it?” you asked meekly, praying the tears that burned your eyes would go away. You looked at your lap, feeling dead sober now. 

Eren didn’t know how to answer the question. How could he tell you that he had done it to save you from the heaviness in him after everything that had happened with his family? He was broken and refused to drag you down with him. He wasn’t good enough. He had needed to find the strength to get better without you, because that wasn’t fair to you to have to shoulder the burden. He’d never ask that of you. 

And now you were in front of him, but you were too drunk to comprehend anything he’d try to voice out. 

“I didn’t do it because I stopped...loving you,” was all he could say, “I just thought that hurting you like that was better than hurting you like I would have if I’d been selfish enough to put you through all my heavy shit. And when I realized you had cut me off and that you were avoiding me, I wanted to give you space.” 

You began to speak, reaching out for him, a blaze of fire in your eyes, and Eren knew what was coming. He stopped you by cupping his hand over your mouth, chuckling when you froze in surprise. 

“If I promise I’ll be right there next to you tomorrow morning so we can talk, will you promise to wait to yell at me until then?” he whispered. 

You slumped your shoulders in silent resignation and nodded, the feeling of his touch overwhelming your senses. You had missed him. Even just the playful touch of his hand on your mouth to silence you was enough to make your body heat up. When he took it away, you felt cold. 

“There’s just about two minutes left until midnight…” Eren started, rubbing the back of his neck shyly. His gaze was averted, but you saw the way he kept looking at you out of the corner of his eye as you both got up, him helping you get back on your feet. 

You smiled and tried to fight the blush that crept onto your cheeks as your hand found his, the warmth spreading over you again when he squeezed your fingers. Neither of you let go. 

“You’re not gonna make me start the new year alone, are you?” you teased him, and the familiar glint in those green eyes made your heart swell. 

“You’re not gonna puke on me, right?” he countered, laughing quietly when you hit his chest. He let you lean on him for support after sitting down for so long, but you refused to believe you were still a little tipsy. Walking out of the bathroom, your eyes blinked to adjust from the difference of lighting from the harsh fluorescents of the bathroom to the dim fairy lights adorning the hallway. 

“There’s gonna be fireworks outside at midnight. Wanna watch with me?” you asked, fighting back the shyness that made you fumble your words. Eren nodded almost immediately, an arm locked around your waist as you guided him to Sasha’s bedroom where all the coats were sprawled out on her bed. The lights were off but you didn’t turn them on, in too much of a hurry and too distracted by Eren’s presence behind you. You grabbed which one you thought was yours and started pulling it on, but perked up with Eren when the drunken chorus of your friends’ voices rang out. 

“TEN, NINE, EIGHT, SEVEN…”

You didn’t want to leave Eren behind. You wanted him next to you when the morning rose for the first day of a new year. You wanted to get closer and closer to him as your friends counted down the seconds from the living room. You wanted your lips on his at midnight. 

He wanted the same. 

His breath was warm on your face as you pressed up against him, the familiarity of your stance no longer bruising your heart, but balming it. Your hands were on his shoulders, fingers dancing up to caress his jaw, to subtly pull his face closer to yours. His hands glided down your sides until they found their favorite place at the small of your back. Your noses touched and he nudged yours playfully with his to get a smile out of you, your hearts both beating frantically. Even in the dark, hardly any light coming in, your bodies had found each other naturally, like nothing had changed. 

“TWO, ONE...HAPPY NEW YEAR!!” 

You could hear phone alarms going off, then fireworks, as your lips pressed to Eren’s. It wasn’t the booze making you feel lightheaded anymore. It was the softness of the boy’s lips, and the way he automatically pulled you in closer. The hair that had fallen out of his bun tickled your face and made you smile into the kiss, which made him mirror your actions. The fireworks outside boomed and crackled as Eren deepened your kiss, a hand moving up to cup your cheek gingerly. Your hands moved to push his hair away from his face, an action that was so familiar to the both of you that it left both of you breathless, and only then did you pull away from the kiss. 

“Happy new year,” you whispered in his ear, a dreamy smile playing on your lips as Eren’s continued to find your skin, not even close to being done kissing you. He wanted to memorize every inch of you all over again. The curve of your neck, the softness of your cheek, the tip of your nose. How he’d survived all this time without you was a fluke, a stroke of luck. It was impossible to go another day without at least seeing your face. He’d needed to see you and he was glad he’d come even if just out of hope that you might have been at the party too. 

“Happy new year,” Eren whispered into the crook of your neck, your name mumbled into your skin. When you both eventually pulled away from each other, he took your hand in his to guide you out, mumbling something about not wanting to miss the fireworks. You knew that him proudly holding your hand in front of your friends may have been a contributing factor in rushing you out. 

“Hey,” you said as you made your way to the front door, a devilish grin on your lips. “Did you say that Connie was losing it on the porch?” 

Eren nodded with a roll of his eyes, pulling you into his side. “Yep. Careful, his splash zone’s pretty gnarly.” 

You laughed loudly, almost a cackle, a glint in your eye as you tugged Eren outside with you. Connie was still slumped over the porch railing, looking delirious. 

“Hey, Connie! I won this time! And you say you can always drink me under the table, but I didn’t even throw up!” 

“Shut the hell up or else I’ll puke all over you.” 

“Whatever. Happy new year! Wait, is that Sasha eating snow?”

[love-and-monsters]

Harpy Rescue

M monster X F reader, 7,143 words

You wash up on an island after a shipwreck. The harpy natives take you in and you find companionship with a certain healer who’s been caring for you. 

I stared blankly at the sky above me. I was lying back on a beach. The tide was coming in underneath me. The salt water stung at the raw scrapes on my back.

It was struggle to breathe. My lungs spasmed and heaved with every breath. All my energy went into keeping my lungs heaving.

It was ironic. The only person who survived the shipwreck was the one who would die anyway.

None of my limbs would move. I knew I wasn’t paralyzed, if only because that would have dulled sensation and I could feel every scrape and bruise over the surface of my body. I just couldn’t move under my own power.

 It took all my energy to keep breathing. It hurt just to breathe. My lungs stuttered over the air, threatening to stop altogether every time. Even with all my effort going into it, I still felt faintly dizzy from lack of air.

There were birds, enormous birds, circling overhead. Carrion birds, probably. They could see me lying on the beach and probably assumed they were getting a nice lunch.

The water was getting higher. It was a race, I thought morbidly. Would the water drown me before the birds managed to eat my entrails?

They were coming down more rapidly now. They were huge. Perhaps I would get lucky and they would fight one another for long enough that the waves would come in. I would take drowning over being torn apart hungry birds.

The tide was coming in faster. I could feel it lapping around my ears. A particularly strong wave made me sputter and I spent nearly a minute coughing and gasping. It was harder than ever to breathe. Perhaps drowning wouldn’t be substantially more pleasant than being eaten alive.

One of the birds plunged into a dive, spurring the others to follow. They drifted out of my sight and no matter how far I rolled my eyes back, I couldn’t see them. Great. I just had to wait in anticipation.

There was a crunching behind me, the sound of something approaching. Another wave struck me and I choked, coughing on the water. Black spots popped in front of my eyes and I felt my entire body heave, water trickling from my mouth.

A hand caught my shoulder. With a heave, I was dragged out of the shallow water and up onto the firmer beach. Tilting my head back, I managed to catch sight of my rescuers.

They hadn’t been birds, I realized. They had just looked like birds from a distance. My rescuers were a group of concerned-looking harpies.

If I had any sense of dramatic timing, I likely would have passed out then. It would have made the situation much less awkward, at least. But I remained stubbornly awake, staring up at the small throng of harpies.

Their heads and torsos were humanoid, but they seemed to have a combination between arms and wings. Their arms were feathered and there was a split at the wrists between hands and the final joint of the wing. Their legs were scaled and ended in large, heavy talons. All of them had deeply tanned skin and dark brown hair and feathers.

They spoke to one another for a moment, in a language I couldn’t understand. Then, the one that had dragged me up the beach bent over and hauled me into his arms.

The group headed off the beach and into the tropical jungle beyond. It was getting harder and harder to remain conscious. I faded in and out, struggling to keep my consciousness together. The blackouts grew longer and longer and the tightening pain in my chest was growing sharper. Breathing was almost painfully difficult.

Another bit of irony for me. I had been saved from drowning only for my condition to kill me right away.

The last thing I was aware of was the man carrying me speaking rapidly before I was deposited on solid ground with a jolt.

When I opened my eyes again, there was a ceiling above me. It was thatched, and there were several bundles of herbs hanging from the rafters. The pain of my body had eased, and though my chest burned, it had loosened significantly. After a few breaths, I had gained enough energy to sit up.

“Here.” Someone to my right pushed a bowl into my hands. It was full of a strong-smelling liquid that made my nose run and my sinuses clear almost instantly. “It’ll help with your breathing.”

The person next to me was the same man who had carried me off the beach. I hadn’t gotten the best look at him, but he had the same golden-brown feathers and his long, braided hair was done up in the same style. I dipped my head and took a few swallows from the bowl.

It burned worse than any whiskey I’d ever tried. I sputtered, eyes watering, but the tension in my chest did fade. The bands that had always restricted my breathing loosened ever so slightly and I gulped air gratefully.

The man outstretched his hands and took the bowl back. I sputtered a few more times before my breathing calmed. “What is that?”

“An old remedy for chest trouble. It’s steeped out of different herbs.” As he set the bowl on a nearby table, I realized something.

“You speak English?” I asked.

“Some. My aunt met with travelers many years ago. She taught me. Just in case.” He leaned back in his seat, stretching his legs out in front of him. Something behind him shifted and I noticed his tail, made of the same brown feathers as his wings. “You must have inhaled a lot of salt water. Your breathing was bad.” He tapped his chest demonstratively. “You were wheezing.”

“It does that anyway. But the almost drowning didn’t help.” I pushed yourself up in bed. “Where am I?”

“Healer’s house,” he said. “In Namori Village. You were brought here by the storm, yes?”

“Not on purpose,” I said. “I was sailing to Larmark. They have a good hospital there. I was going for an examination.” I rubbed at my chest. “I don’t suppose you have any ships heading in that direction?”

“We are not a sailing people,” the man said with an apologetic smile. I slouched back into the bed. I wasn’t as upset about it as I should have been. The treatment was supposed to find a way to cure my condition. Without it, I could be beset by a sudden bought of chest tightness that could kill me at any moment. It had nearly done so several times in my childhood. But I had lived my life with it so far. I was just back where I’d started.

“She’s up!” I looked up to see an older woman harpy leaning over me. “Thought I told you to call for me, boy.” The male harpy ducked his head, looking properly ashamed. “Took quite a beating from that storm. Lucky you made it to shore.” She flicked her wings. “We saw the ship go down last night. Didn’t expect anyone would survive. You’re lucky we noticed you.”

“There’s something wrong with her chest,” the male harpy said. “She wheezes.”

“Noticed that.” The woman looked me over. Her eyes were a piercing yellow. “Thought it was from the seawater. It’s usually like that?”

“Yes. Since I was a child. I had some sort of illness that damaged it. I wouldn’t worry about it too much. I’ve never allowed it to bother me.” I’m sure my voice would have been much more reassuring, but my chest contracted in a cough and I heaved a few times.

“Perhaps you should let it bother you more. Give her more of that infusion, Nor. And recheck her ribs, just to be safe.”

“Yes, Aunt Aerath,” Nor said. She turned on her heels and strode off. We were in a back room, I noticed, small and full of warm light. Nor turned back to me. “Sit up. Drink.” I sipped more of the brew he’d given me while he prodded at my ribs. It was a little ticklish and I had to work not to squirm.

“Your ribs are fine,” Nor said eventually. “But your chest is weak.”

“Well, nothing I didn’t already know.” I rolled over, ignoring the sharp pains that came to me. “Can I move around?”

Nor nodded and I got up. He hovered close by as I shuffled around. I’d been stripped down to my shift, which would have been embarrassing if both of them hadn’t been wearing something similar. They both seemed to be wearing something like togas, though Nor’s skirt was long enough to trail on the ground. Both their outfits were a deep navy blue.

There was a partially ajar door and I stepped through it, onto the forest floor outside. The trees were enormous, towering over everything. Up in the branches, harpies darted back and forth, flitting between the branches. I could see nest-like houses nestled in the crooks of the trees.

“We’re on the ground,” I said. Nor nodded.

“Healers live on the ground. In case flightless ones come to us,” he explained.

 “Ah. That’s sensible.” I stared up, looking into the trees with some interest. At least if I was going to be staying there for a while, it was a beautiful, fascinating place.

Nor took me back inside and fed me a chunk of meat along with a few fruits. I needed to heat the meat over the fire for a little longer- apparently harpies liked their meat fairly rare. Aerath returned after that and forced a few more herbal brews down my throat, which she said would help with the pain.

“I expect I’ll be here for a while,” I said as I handed one of her cups back to her. My mouth tasted like I’d licked the underside of a stone. The brews were unpleasant at best, though I could already feel a numbness creeping into my injuries.

“Humans come by only rarely,” Aerath said. “And there isn’t much of a pattern. Our species is not water faring and we can’t fly to the next mainland. Ocean flight is not easy.”

“Which is a taciturn way of saying I am stuck here.”

“No more than us,” Nor said.

“Be kind. She has lost her home,” Aerath said sternly. I shrugged, leaning back in bed.

“It’s not as awful as you may think. I was sailing to a hospital, you see. It was likely I would spend the rest of my life there, which, even with all that care, may not have been very long.” I shrugged. “At least this place is better for the soul.”

Nor turned his head and spoke to his aunt rapidly in his own language. She frowned, but responded in the same way. I ignored the pair of them and moved back to bed. Despite not having been awake for very long, I was already exhausted. My chest stuttered as I tried to lie flat on my back and I paused for a moment, wheezing.

Nor darted over and adjusted my pillow behind me. “Better?”

“Yes, thank you.” Nor nodded, then slipped out of the room. Aerath lingered for a moment, looking at me.

“We’ll be upstairs if you require us. If you can’t walk, knock heavy things over until we come for you.” With that, she exited the room. The door closed behind her and I slumped back into the pillow, eyes closing.

I slept fitfully, especially after the pain medication wore off. By the time Nor brought breakfast, I was already up and walking around. There were several journals with detailed drawings of plants in them. I couldn’t read the writing, but I could see what the plants were and I spent some time matching them to the herbs hanging around the room.

“Quite an interesting journal,” I told Nor as he sat down to eat with me. “Did your aunt write it?”

He shook his head. “She is…” He struggled with the word for a moment. “Practical? A… practice? She remembers by senses, not words. But I need reminders.”

“You’re quite good at drawing,” I said. “I kept similar journals, though they sank with the ship.” He looked at me with clear surprise. “I had little else to do. I could rarely go out, so I spent much time in the gardens, drawing and remarking upon the plants. These remind me of my own journals.”

“When I am collecting herbs, I enjoy drawing them. Seeing nature. It is soothing.” He seemed to grow more excited, then composed himself. “I could show you garden, if you’d like?”

“I would,” I said. He grinned, then hopped to his taloned feet as his aunt entered the room.

I did not end up seeing the garden that day, principally because I spent much of it in bed. Nor stopped by every now and then, sometimes with food, more often with a new bundle of plants to tie up and hang from the ceiling. He seemed to go into a sort of trance when he was sorting the herbs, a sort of peaceful state.

It took a few days before I was approved to walk into town. “Don’t stress yourself too much. You’re still recovering,” Aerath said.

“I’ll keep an eye on her,” Nor said. He fluttered his wings at his aunt, shooing her away. “We’ll be fine.”

Being without wings earned me a great deal of stares. I was viewed with some general suspicion, as far as I could tell. I was allowed to stay because there seemed to be a consensus that throwing me into the wilderness would absolutely kill me, and they had decided not to be that cruel. Not wanting me to die, however, did not necessarily mean that I was accepted by the community. Having Nor with me seemed to help, at least somewhat. He was at least well respected, and being in his presence absorbed you into his aura of decency.

The village seemed to have been built into the enormous trees of the forest. Several houses had been formed out of several trees carefully grown together through cultivation, and the living pavilion, formed out of ten trees carefully coaxed into growing around each other, was the great centerpiece of the town.

Getting to see the town as a group also drew your eye to the cultural similarities between them. A majority of adults had short hair, while children seemed to exclusively have long hair. There didn’t seem to be a clear age delineation between them. Based on appearances, Nor was older than a few of those with short hair, though no one under a certain age had their hair cut.

“Is there a reason for the hair styling?” I asked. “You wear your hair long, but most adults seem to keep theirs short.”

“Oh,” Nor said, with a tiny, dismissive flick of his feathers. “They are… erm. I am not certain of the word. Paired?”

“Married,” I guessed, and Nor’s expression brightened.

“Yes. Married. Part of the ceremony includes cutting hair. Most couples keep their hair short, to show they are with someone. Long hair can be difficult to fly with. To keep your hair short means you have someone who makes it easy to fly.” He frowned for a moment. “It is a pun in my language. It does not work as well in yours.”

“I think I get it,” I said. “But your aunt is unmarried and her hair is short.”

“She is…” There was a long pause. Nor seemed to be struggling to think of the proper words. “Bound to work? Committed to healing? Something along those lines, I believe. She is joined to her job as one is bound to a lover.”

I frowned. “Healers are like nuns, then?”

Nor frowned too. “Like… nones? Healers are not nothing.”

“No, like nuns. It’s spelled differently.” Nor looked entirely blank. I suspected he couldn’t write English. “Nuns are people who take vows not to marry so they can become closer to God, as I understand it. Healers do something similar.”

Nor still seemed confused. “Not all healers. Only Aunt Aerath.” He reached up and touched the long braid that was coiled on the back of his head. “I have… not decided.”

“Well, you’ve got time.” We were quite close to the healing house again, but I paused and leaned against a tree. My chest was squeezing again and I needed a break. “I never planned on marrying, really.”

“Why not?” Nor asked.

“I didn’t expect to live terribly long,” I said frankly. “I have spent much of my life expecting to die from a sudden attack. And then my parents suggested that I go to a hospital for treatment, and it’s rare to marry once you end up in those sort of places.” I smoothed my new robes idly. “I never expected to have a husband  who would be okay with his wife dropping dead at any moment.”

Nor fluttered his wings. “You are not going to die,” he said. 

“It’s all right. I’m content with it. I have been this way all my life. I value every moment now. It’s nothing new to me.” Nor still looked discomfited, so I patted his shoulder reassuringly. “Truly, I’m fine. We should head back now.”

Nor plied me with the strange, spicy concoction for my chest when we returned home. I drank the lot of it, at his insistence. It did seem to help. There was something about the warmth of it that relaxed my lungs and brought air in easier.

As my recovery finalized, I began to look for ways to serve my new community. It was not something terribly easy. I could not fly, or truly do any sort of intense physical activity, which limited my options. Sewing and weaving, actions that had often been suggested to me, held no more interest for me in the village than they had in my own home. Trying to manipulate tiny threads that tangled at the slightest glance was infuriating, and my frustration often ended in chest-heaving coughing fits. I tried to go back to writing my journals, examining nature and writing about it, but there seemed to be little actual use for it.

Eventually, I began tagging along with Nor when he went to collect herbs in the forest. He’d been going out more and more often, looking for new plants and writing furiously in his notebooks. I could read them more easily now, having spent a few weeks immersed in a crash course of his language.

“Just make sure you watch out for snakes,” Nor said as we trekked through the thick foliage.

“Look out for what?” I said. I was at the awkward stage of learning a language where I knew most common words, but words that were used infrequently were still lost.

“Snakes? Er. <Snakes!>” Nor said in English.

“Snakes,” I repeated. “Are there a lot of them?” I looked cautiously at the ground.

“No. Not a lot. But there are some venomous ones that bite if you step on them.” Unsettled, I lifted up the hem of my robe, peering cautiously at the leaf litter. The clothes harpies wore were not well-designed for people without tails or wings. I had needed to do some rudimentary tailoring to fix it into something I could walk around in. Shoes had been another problem entirely, mostly because harpies had tough, scaled feet and wore no shoes. I had eventually just decided to layer several thick fabrics together and essentially tied them to my feet. They were neither comfortable nor easy to wear, but they were practical and had stopped your soles from being shredded.

We made our way slowly through the woods. I ended up holding onto Nor’s arm wing for much of it. Never having worked out for long periods of time had left me fairly uncoordinated and leaning on Nor made it much easier for me to move about.

“Look. Norell,” he said, picking up a bunch of sharp-smelling, pink flowered herbs from the ground. “My namesake.”

“What are they used for?” I asked.

“Chest conditions, actually. They’re a big part of the infusion I’ve been giving you.” Nor had been giving me a regular doses of that infusion. Taking some in the morning seemed to loosen my chest for the rest of the day. “I’ve been trying to make a stronger infusion, so we’ll need a lot of it.”

“Are you predicting a spike in chest conditions?” I asked. Winter was on its way, and apparently, due to their large, powerful lungs, harpies were quite susceptible to issues like pneumonia and bronchitis. But that seemed to be counterbalanced by the fact that winter was mild on the island, more of a tepidly cool wet season than a proper snowy winter.

Nor shifted on the ground. His wings twitched a little. It was hard to tell, thanks to his deeply brown skin, but I thought I could see a hint of red creeping into his cheeks. “It’s for you, actually.”

I lifted my brows. “For me?”

“It’s been helping you recently,” Nor said, a little defensively. “I thought that a stronger infusion would help even more.” He frowned critically at the plants. “I want to get it as concentrated as possible. But there’s not enough in the gardens right now, so I need more.” He straightened up, tucking a bundle of plants away into his bag. “Also, infusions will keep a little better than the herbs themselves, so I can keep them for longer. You’ll need some when the growing season ends.”

“You’ll need some for others as well,” I said. “Keep some in reserve.”

“If you need it, you need it,” Nor said. “I’d rather give herbs to someone who definitely needs them than reserve some in case someone else might need them.”

“Wouldn’t it be better to fully heal someone who can be fully healed than to keep giving supplements to someone who will always be sick?” I said. Nor’s feathers bristled, shifting in agitation.

“All people deserve healing. Whether or not their condition is curable. I want you to be well.” His tone was so severe that I could do nothing but stare at him. After a moment, he seemed to realize what he’d said and he broke eye contact, staring at the ground. “We should, ah. Head back.”

He started trekking through the woods rapidly. Harpies were notably better at balance on uneven terrain, thanks to their long, gripping talons. I struggled to keep up with him.

We were getting quite close to the village when I felt the unfortunately familiar seizing sensation in my chest. I stopped dead, enormously regretting my walking speed that had left me a little breathless. It was growing harder by the moment to inhale.

Nor paused, realized I was no longer with him, and hurried back to my side. “Are you okay?” he asked. One of his hands moved along my back, kneading my tightening muscles. “Breathe. Breathe!” If I had the air for it, I would have informed him I was trying, and was well aware that I needed to be breathing. Unfortunately, all my energy was going into not allowing my body to suffocate me.

Nor abruptly decided that simply telling me to breathe was ineffective and changed tact. “Hold on!” This turned out to be quite literal because he seized me around the waist and hefted me against his chest.

It was impossible for a harpy to fly while carrying something, because their arms and wings were one and the same, but I could have been fooled considering how fast Nor was moving. He plunged through the forest as fast as the wind. I would have been more impressed if I wasn’t struggling to breathe at the moment. As it was, I was aware that we were moving at quite a speed.

Nor was back in the healing house within minutes. I was unceremoniously dumped on the bed and Nor darted off, rummaging through a cabinet with a noise of wood rattling and glass clinking.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” he said. He knelt next to me, turning my head toward him. “You just need to drink this. Okay?”

I tried to inhale enough to speak and it stuck in my chest, sparking a coughing fit. Nor looked panicked and thrust the little bottle he was holding into my mouth. I sputtered, but some of the liquid spilled down my throat. There was a mild tingling and my chest loosened.

With my breathing abruptly eased, I could keep taking small sips from the bottle. The tightness loosened with every swallow. Nor slumped next to the bed, wings sagging with relief. I put down the bottle, still coughing, but breathing easier.

“Are you okay?” Nor asked. I nodded.

“You can move quick,” I said. My voice was raspy and a little strangled. I swallowed, trying to fully clear my throat.

“I was worried,” he said. “You should try carrying a bottle of this with you from now on.” He walked over to the cabinet and fetched a small bottle full of the infusion. “If you’re going to be going out more often, you’ll want something to prevent more attacks.”

I took the bottle. “That’s a good idea.” I set it down onto the table next to the bed. “Are you inviting me on more herb gathering missions, then?”

A slightly shy smile crept up Nor’s face. “If you’d like to come. You’ve been pretty good at spotting plants. And you’ve been pretty good in the gardens lately.”

“I was never really able to do a lot of gardening before,” I said. “So, I tended to overfocus on the little minute details, like soil quality and the amount of water you give the plants.”

“You’ve improved the garden a lot,” Nor said. “Oh, which reminds me. Hold on.”

He stood up and trotted over to the cabinet again. After looking through it for a few moments, he pulled out a small notebook and walked back over. “Here,” he said, presenting it to me. It looked like the notebooks he used for his own notes, a smooth black cover and soft, slightly off-white pages. “I haven’t taken many notes on the gardening aspects of herbs. I just… haven’t been very good at it. But I thought you could start taking notes on how you care for the plants. It might be useful.”

I took the notebook from his hands. Our fingers brushed as I did so. His skin was warm and calloused, the sort of skin that only came around after long, hard work. The notebook was heavy in my hands, strangely dense for such a small item. “Thank you,” I said. “I would love to do that.”

Nor stood, shifting on his talons. “Good. Um. You should probably get some rest. I’ll be back in a bit.” He hurried out of the room. I watched him go until his tail had completely vanished around the doorway.

Working in the garden only brought me closer to Nor. We spent time together every day, either going out to gather herbs or helping him with the garden. He was enthusiastic to learn and good company even when we weren’t talking about plants.

His ease with me spread to the rest of the village. By the time winter was over, I had been completely accepted as a part of the community. To them, I was not as much an outsider human as a strange, wingless harpy. Even Aerath trusted me enough to allow me to learn how to make herbal remedies, while Nor took on more of her duties, like diagnosing illnesses and dressing wounds.

During early spring, when the rains began to ease, a change set in around the village. There was a new current of excitement, the younger adults spending more time showing off and engaging in stunts. Even Nor, who had been fairly even tempered in the time I’d known him, seemed to get caught up in the excitement.

It was during my usual work in the garden that I noticed the changes were not confined to emotional. There was a physical change too. Nor’s tail feathers, usually a deep golden-brown, had taken on a rusty color. The color only brightened over the next week, going from a dull, sort of reddish orange to a bright crimson. The colors showed up on the male population of the rest of the village as well, to varying degrees. Some, especially the younger males, never got past a reddish orange, while others got to the same brilliant crimson hue as Nor’s.

While it garnered some sort of notice and people seemed pleased about it, no one was talking about what it actually meant. It clearly meant something, but I couldn’t quite put my finger on why it was so important.

Eventually, after some time of trying to figure out what it meant on my own, I broke down and decided to ask Nor. “Your tail changed color,” I said as we headed back into the house from the garden.

“You noticed,” Nor said. His tone was utterly unreadable.

“Well, it’s a bit hard to miss. It’s a very bright color.” Nor’s unreadable expression shifted into one of clear embarrassment. “Is it something I shouldn’t mention? It seems to signal something, but I wasn’t sure what it was-”

“No, no. I mean, I guess I should have expected you to ask about it. You’re not a harpy, so you never would have been told.” He set the herbs he’d collected down on the table and turned to me, giving me his full attention. “It’s almost spring, which means that we’re approaching our mating season.”

I felt sort of stupid for not hitting upon that idea earlier. Of course. The red was to attract a mate. Was commenting on it some kind of social faux pas? As I tried to come up with that to say next, Nor continued. “We’ll have a mating ceremony soon, with the other local villages. It’s a big event, so everyone’s getting rather excited about it.”

“A… mating ceremony?” I repeated. How carnal were we talking? Was I going to have to make myself scarce for… how long did the mating ceremony last, anyway?

“It’s not as bad as you’re thinking,” Nor added hurriedly. “It’s more of a competition? Or a show, really. It lasts about a week, and the first six days are more of a festival than anything. Lots of feasting, games, shows. It’s more about getting to know the other villages and the people from them. It’s quite fun. The festival ends with the mating ceremony. It used to be a more literal interpretation of that, a long time ago. But now it’s really more of a show. Men fly around and show off, but it’s less to attract a mate and more to show off to someone you already have an attraction to. Or to get someone to ask you out, sometimes. It’s more for the fun of it and the tradition.”

“It sounds interesting,” I said.

“It should start in a couple of weeks. That’s the peak of the season,” Nor said. “I can show you around a bit, if you’d like.”

“Sure. If you’re not going to be too busy trying to find a soulmate,” I said, nudging him playfully in the side. He shrugged, glancing away.

“I’ve never actually participated all that much in it,” he said. “I’ve been kind of focused on my studies with my aunt. I spent most of my time at the last few festivals working with the other healers.”

“You should get out more, then. I can help your aunt out, if you want. Then you can go off and see the sights.”

“I already told you I’d show you around,” Nor protested. “And it’ll be your first festival.”

“Look, at least get a little time to yourself,” I said. “I can help out, you know.”

“We’ll see,” Nor said, which was as close to agreeing as I thought he was going to get.

The weeks passed slowly, with excitement ramping up as the festival got closer. I could almost feel the tension buzzing in the air, getting ready to overflow. By the time it had arrived, I was almost swept up in the rising excitement.

The fairground for the festival was a large clearing in the center of the island. It had an impressive view of the sky, and the ground was almost entirely covered in tents and attractions. Nor and I were toward the edge of the grounds, in a sort of makeshift medical tent. “We probably won’t be called on for a little bit,” he said once we’d finished setting everything up. “I can show you around.”

“Sure,” I agreed. Nor trotted off, and I followed after, looking around the festival with interest.

Most of it seemed like the sort of festivals I’d seen once or twice when I’d been young. Ever since my chest troubles had set in fully, I’d rarely gone far from my house. It looked mostly like a very fancy market. People showed off their most interesting wares, their most brightly colored or intricately designed trinkets. There were several people slightly younger than Nor picking up things that I assumed were for potential sweethearts. There were also several games, most of them for children, but a few clearly styled for adults. The food was the usual hearty fare that I’d seen at other festivals, enormously delicious and decadent.

“And this all lasts a whole week?” I asked as we made our way back to the healer’s tent. We had gotten sidetracked a few times- there were several musical performances and talent shows, and even a few classes that I’d been interested in taking.

“Well, the first and last days are the biggest ones. But yes, the whole week. For the most part.”

“Then you can take a day or two off and enjoy all this, can’t you?” I said. Nor hesitated for a moment. “I can handle things at the tent. Why don’t you take tomorrow off? It’ll be good for you to get a break.”

Nor hesitated. “I’ll have to ask my aunt.”

“I’ll make sure she says yes,” I said. “You deserve it. Especially after having to take care of me for so long.”

Nor shrugged and mumbled something about it not being a big deal. I laughed clapping him on the shoulder.

“Just take some time off. Okay?”

He agreed, finally, and we returned to the tent. There were a few injuries, of course, mostly young people trying to show off for their potential lovers, but nothing we were overwhelmed with. It took only a bit of persuading for Aerath to give Nor the next day off.

Nor went out only after making sure I kept my infusion on me. “Just be careful,” he said.

“I’m always careful,” I told him. “Now, go. And stop worrying so much.” He made a face, but left for the rest of the fairgrounds, leaving me with Aerath and the other healers.

I only spotted him a few times during the day. He seemed to have attracted a small group of friends by noon. It seemed he could get along well with others, as long as he managed to get out. Well, I reflected, he was a sweetheart. It wasn’t hard to believe that he was able to get along with others.

I’d been breathing relatively easy for so long that I hadn’t really been expecting another attack. So, when the bout of tightness came on with no warning, I was so shocked I couldn’t think of what to do for several panicked moments.

My wheezing attracted Aerath’s attention. She grabbed my shoulder and shoved me down onto a cot. I fumbled for the infusion, and Aerath helped me unstopper it and press it to my lips.

The infusion helped, but my chest still felt tight. I could draw in air, but it wasn’t enough. Black spots started to pop in front of my vision. My chest screamed with pain. I was dying. That thought sat clear and calm in my brain, rising above all the panic like foam over a tide. I’d known it was going to happen. I’d hoped it would take longer. But at least… at least the last few months of my life had been nice. My mind drifted to Nor. Hopefully he wouldn’t blame himself. He didn’t deserve that. He’d been wonderful.

Nor’s face was suddenly over mine. I blinked up at him. Ha. A nice hallucination before everything ended.

“Breathe!” Distantly, I could feel a hand on my chest, another at my mouth. Something sharp and bitter flowed past my lips and I choked, sputtering. My chest loosened abruptly and I sucked in a great breath, coughing and choking.

Nor, who I was gradually realizing was actually there and not just a hallucination, rolled me onto my side. Some of the solution drained from my mouth as I coughed it up. Nor rubbed my back vigorously, prompting another round of coughing.

Gradually, the tightness eased to just a faint raspiness and a raw pain. I sat up as Nor sank into a seat, weak with relief. “I thought you were going to die,” he said faintly.

“I did too.” My voice was gravely and everything felt raw. “The infusion wasn’t working. What did you use?”

“It was experimental,” Nor said a little sheepishly. “I’ve been trying to make it stronger, something that works better.”

“Thank goodness it did,” I said. I got slowly off the cot where I’d collapsed. Nor stood as well, staying close by like he was preparing to catch me.

“Maybe we should fine somewhere to rest,” Nor said. “The attack probably took it out of you.”

Despite your protests, Nor followed you back home and insisted on staying with you. “Just in case,” he kept repeating.

Nor kept near my side for the next few days, even when I tried to gently push him to spend time elsewhere and enjoy the event. The only times he seemed willing to leave was when I was going with him, at which point he took great enthusiasm in showing me around the various games and events that were being held. Being near him allowed even me to make some new friends- those who would have been unsettled by the sight of some strange, wingless creature seemed reassured enough by Nor’s friendly presence to approach.

Despite his insistence on sticking with me, I did convince him to take another day off for the last day of the festival. It was the day of the mating ceremony, and, given that Nor was of proper age, possibly even a little old, to participate in it, I wanted to give him time to do so.

The showing started at noon sharp, when the sun was at its zenith. Most of the people flying were male, though a few women had painted their tails red and were flying as well. A few would take off at a time and move in carefully coordinated dances. Some were conservative and simple, others were aggressive and risk-taking. Eventually, they would land back in the throng of people staring at the sky. Some of them landed and slipped off with a single partner. Others landed and seemed to attract a group, each of the admirers vying for attention.

After about an hour, I meandered off to the bank of a nearby river. Watching harpies fly was interesting, but it did get old after a while and I was getting a crick in my neck from looking up.

I had only been soaking my feet in the river for a few minutes when Nor walked up to me and sat down next to me. “Wondered where you’d gone,” he said. “Doing all right?”

“Fine. You don’t need to be so worried.”

Nor dipped his talons into the water. “Mm. I guess. But I do anyway.”

“I wish you wouldn’t,” I said. “You spent half of the festival trailing after me like I would collapse the instant you took your eyes off me. And now you’re missing out on the flight ceremony.”

It was hard to tell with his deeply tanned skin, but I thought Nor went a little pink. “I wasn’t really planning to fly anyway,” he said.

“No one caught your eye?” I asked. There was a long pause. “Nor?”

“Not as such,” he said. “I mean… Sort of.”

“And you’ve been spending all your time trying to look after me instead of enjoying the festival with her,” I said. “You know, I don’t need you to hover around me. You don’t need to feel guilty if anything happens to me. I’ve known I’m probably not going to live that long.”

Nor’s expression twisted a little bit. “I’ve been trying to fix that. I think I’ve got a concoction right. If you take it daily, it should help you-”

“Okay, okay,” I said. “Hey. You don’t need to spend all your time on me, you know? You can have a life. You’re not responsible for me.”

“It’s not about that,” Nor said. “I wasn’t worried about you. Well, not just that. I…” He stopped for a moment. “I wanted to spend time with you.”

Oh. That created a runny sensation in my chest, like my heart flipped over. “You wanted to-”

“Don’t be that surprised. I haven’t really been subtle about it,” Nor said. “Yes. I like being around you. Why did you think I kept inviting you to do stuff with me and stayed with you instead of going to the festival?”

“I thought you just wanted to make sure I wasn’t going to suffocate in your absence,” I said.

“A little bit. But mostly because I like you,” he said. He peered into my face, a tentative smile on his lips. “You don’t seem upset?”

“I’m not,” I said. “I’m pleased, actually.”

“Really?” Nor’s face was quite close to mine. His lips were parted. I could feel the soft warmth of his breath.

“Really.” Our lips were quite close to touching. Just before making contact, Nor seemed to stall, hesitation overcoming desire. I smiled and leaned in, pressing our lips together in a gentle moment of contact.

Neither of us had much experience kissing, so it was a bit clumsy and we clacked teeth more than once. Still, when we broke apart, I felt breathless in the most positive way I’d ever experienced.

“We should go back,” Nor said, still staring at me. “I… I think I want to participate in the ceremony after all.”

I smiled. “I’ll be watching.”

[jiminniethemarshmallow]

His Bedroom (M)

Pairing: Jimin x Reader

Genre: Smut, ???

Word Count: 4.5k

Warnings: toxic relationship (you’ll see), hair pulling, possessive dirty talk, face sitting, plot twist?, mentions of stalking and kidnapping

(A/N): This is just an idea I thought up while on a run one day. I have no idea why it took me so long to write whatever tf this is and I apologize.

As soon as you step foot into the bedroom you feel hot all over. Jimin is close behind, snatching off his shirt with trembling fingers as you work on ridding yourself of the troublesome gown draped over your frame. Tonight was perfect. He cooked the perfect dinner for you, served it by the poolside and you sat outside stargazing as you ate. The water had been cool when you dipped in your toes, swinging your feet and holding hands as you talked about any and everything. You enjoyed Jimin’s company, it can get pretty lonely in the mansion while he’s away, and normally, seeing him is the highlight of your often uneventful days.

He combs your hair back with delicate fingers, smiling at you before connecting your lips, and you feel goosebumps rise on your skin. The kiss is electric and it leaves you clinging to him in search of more.

“Get on the bed.” He breathes, gently pushing you away so you can follow his order. You love showing off for him, love the way his eyes follow your every movement as you slink onto the mattress, arching your back as deeply as you can to make sure he gets a view of your slick folds. He makes you feel sexy, like you’re the only girl in the world, and you bask in the feeling as you put on a show for him in the middle of his sheets. Watching him as he removes the rest of his own clothing makes your heart race, you know he’d be smirking right now if he saw how you were drooling over every chiseled inch of his body, but he’s too busy studying you, committing every detail of you to memory as if he hadn’t seen it a thousand times already. As if it isn’t the same body he’ll be seeing for the rest of his life.

“Jimin~” You croon once he’s as naked as you, beckoning him over with honey eyes. In three swift steps he’s upon you, staring down at your face, then your chest, then shifting down until he’s looking directly at your heat.

“You’re always so wet for me,” His thumbs skim dangerously close to your lips. “Just for me.” It’s almost like he’s lost in you, speaking to your body and listening to all it has to say to him. He’s fluent in its language, always knowing exactly how to work you up, how to bring you to the edge, how to make you scream, and his skill amazes you every time without fail. You’re practically writing beneath him just from the way he spreads you to look at your treasure, his treasure, and by the time he leans in to blow cool air on you, your eyes are already rolling. He flips you with ease, hands guiding you over his face so he can have his meal, and your body bursts into flames when he makes first contact.

It’s heavenly the way he swirls his tongue like that, licking broad stripes through your folds and suckling your clit sensationally. His eyes are closed as he eats you, humming in tandem with your moans, possibly enjoying it just as much as you are. Eager hands knead at your hips, encouraging you to press down on his mouth to your heart’s content, and it’s because you know he loves to please you so much that you do. He lives for making you feel good and having you praise him, moaning out your compliments while rocking your hips against his lips, building up to an orgasm with his tongue inside you. Your taste, your smell, your voice, everything about you fires him up, makes him want to love you till you drop. He’d let you smother him between your legs if you wanted. You know from experience that he enjoys drowning in you, resurfacing red faced and sweating, gasping for air with a smile on his face.

It doesn’t take long for you to start losing control, bucking your hips wildly onto his tongue to chase the feeling, oblivious to his hand pumping at his shaft in time with your movements. He groans, dripping precum from his tip as you leak down his chin, his eyes finally cracking open to catch the beginning of your high just as you start to stutter above him. Tugging at his hair, you whimper and gasp, fighting with your leg muscles to hold yourself firm above him when trembles threaten to overcome you. If he doesn’t let go of his cock now he’ll end up ruining everything, but he’s so close from watching you that it takes every last reserve of willpower in him to stop his hand.

He sits up and pulls you onto his lap hastily, dragging your face to his in a searing kiss that steals your breath. “Have you been good today, babygirl?” He mumbles against you, whispering kisses down your neck.

“Yes, Jimin.” You respond dazedly, getting lost in the dizzying sensation of him sucking at your pulse point.

“My good girl hasn’t tried to leave home, has she?” He asks, glancing up at you with a quick yet intimidating glare.

“Of course not, I belong here with you.” This brings a smile to his face. And if you weren’t so brainwashed, you probably wouldn’t be glowing at the sight of it. It’s been nearly a month since he locked you in the mansion, forbidding you to leave for any reason. He goes out to work everyday, shops for anything you may need, takes care of any business you might have outside of his walls, and you remain his princess locked in her tower, away from every other human that’s not him.

“That’s right, angel. There’s nothing for you out there, everything you could ever need and want is right here. I am right here. And I can protect you from everything.” He licks around your nipple delicately, groaning when you begin to rock your hips.

Three months into your relationship, things started to become complicated. A friend of yours had confessed his secret love for you and urged you to break up with Jimin. He claimed that your new boyfriend was controlling and overprotective— he was almost on the verge of tears when he expressed to you how he feared for your safety— but you chose not to listen to him. You convinced yourself that he was the crazy one, so it came as a total shock when you discovered one night that you could not leave Jimin’s mansion after your date. You vividly remember the feeling that washed over you when you realized your fate, like ice water being poured down your spine; freezing you instantly. He said that he had to do this to protect you because it was obvious that your friend was trying to manipulate you and steal you away. You cried the first night at your loss of freedom.

Now, you’re crying out at the feeling of Jimin slipping 2 of his chubby fingers into your drenched core. When you take him easily, he flips you onto your stomach and lifts your ass with a growl, kissing and biting each cheek possessively.

“I know you would never leave me, baby. You know why?” You moan as he rubs himself between your ass cheeks, dripping his own arousal onto your skin. “Because no one can love you the way I do. No one can fuck you the way I can.” He emphasizes this as he pushes through your walls steadily, watching you take him with fiery eyes. “You need me, and I need you. There’s no one else in this entire world who can make you feel like this. We were made for each other.” As soon as he starts moving, your limbs go weak. His hips effortlessly hold their steady pace as he aims to dig deep inside you.

You aren’t afraid of Jimin, he’s never given you a reason to be. He is still the perfect boyfriend he was before you got yourself into this... situation— in fact, he’s even better now that he no longer has to worry about anyone interfering with your love. Getting “kidnapped” by him was probably for the best and you have done nothing but benefit from it. After all, it means you have this whole mansion, and Jimin, to yourself. Out of all of the rooms, this bedroom, his bedroom, has to be your favorite. It’s almost like this room changes him once you enter the threshold. Outside this room you are another one of his beloved possessions, something for him to keep in perfect condition and out of sight from greedy thieves. Here, however, it is all about you: your needs, your feelings, your comfort. Your pleasure. And Jimin could spend hours pleasing you just as he is now, angling his hips up to press right into that sweet spot that makes stars sparkle behind your eyelids, still engorged from your previous high. He trapped you in this room in the first week of your confinement but he let you out on good behavior, though these days you choose to stay here just to be worshipped by the man you love. And you do still love him very much.

You bury your face into the fluffy duvet when he starts to fuck you harder, but his hands are quick to grip your hair and pull your face up. The pain shoots delightfully to your core and you clench. “Let me hear those beautiful noises, babygirl. Tell me how much you love it.” He practically purrs above you as sweat beads at his temples.

“I love when you fuck me, Jimin! I don’t want anyone else, baby, only want you,” You hiccup between moans, drooling down your chin probably but you didn’t care.

“You think that Bastard could ever fuck you like this? Hm? Make you cream all over his cock and make a mess on his sheets like this? Tell me, angel.” He’s correct, your fluids cover his shaft and stick to the inside of your thighs and his balls as he continues to slap against you. You must be dripping by now and every thrust from him just adds to your puddle. He’s almost swimming in you.

“N-No, he wouldn’t!” You grit out when he pulls on your scalp harder to lift you until your arms can stretch out beneath you. His free hand tugs at a nipple, his plump lips returning to their place on your marked neck.

“That’s right, and he’ll never get the chance to try. No one will, you’re all mine. Forever.” Jimin says this gently as if it’s the sweetest thing he could have ever said to you. As though the underlying truth of his statement isn’t objectively horrifying. But the only thing you feel when he says this is a burst of fluttering butterflies in your belly and a warmth in your cheeks.

A few weeks prior to your imprisonment, Jimin had become very skeptical of your relationship with your male friend. You told him that he had confessed to you and he didn’t take it so well— as any boyfriend would— and suddenly Jimin began to appear whenever you were anywhere near that friend. Whether it was in public or not, Jimin was there to watch and monitor, never allowing the two of you to talk privately and therefore preventing the man from further warning you of your sketchy boyfriend. You found it cute how protective both of them were over you until that friend convinced your other friends to “help” you leave the relationship (or at least encourage you to), and when Jimin found out, you found yourself trapped in his home.

“All yours.” You repeat in a breath. You know why he did it, they wouldn’t understand, and just when you start thinking about how upsetting it is that your closest friends don’t approve of your relationship, he brings you back to the present with deft fingers on your clit.

“Stay with me.” He whispers at your brief inattention, though you know that statement is loaded. Your arms become shaky as they hold you up. Trying your best to rock back into him, you widen your legs further around his for leverage. It isn’t hard to please your boyfriend because he loves everything you do, but it drives him absolutely nuts when you work with him, when you sync up with his strokes perfectly in the way that shoots lightening bolts through both of your bodies. He especially loves when you beg to ride him to completion until he complies, watching his face the entire time as he falls apart because of you. But that will have to wait until another time because he is already close to his end with how tightly you squeeze him. His fingers slip and slide against you and it makes your toes curl, your head nearly smacking into his when you throw it back to land on his shoulder instead. His breathing picks up with the pace, his warm breaths dancing along the surface of your skin sending shudders of bliss throughout you.

Like a ball of fire, the coil in your abdomen burns and swirls more intensely with every passing second, but it seems that your lover will find his release before you. Jimin grunts deeply behind you as he pushes hair from his eyes. Your sweet moans and pleas for him are everything he’s ever dreamed of— he remembers the first time you blessed him with your heavenly moans, looking up at him with your gorgeous eyes— and it seems like your voice gets more and more lovely each time you’re with him. The way you sound right now is enough to have him twitching against your walls, and both of his hands relocate to your chest to hold you when he succumbs to the pleasure. Losing control of himself a bit, Jimin squeezes the globes in his hands as he thrusts to his heart’s content, chasing his high with a selfishness he promises to make up for when he can think more clearly. But right now all he can do is groan into your ear and pull your body closer to his as he prepares to finish. And every hitch of his breath and unrestrained moan he allows to escape makes you that much tighter, your wetness pouring over him and giving the push he needs to find his bliss.

It’s indescribable; the feeling of him pulsing within you, holding you so close to his heart that you can feel it beating against your back, strong arms locking you in place. Your name slips from him in a relieved whisper after a few seconds of stillness, your hips rocking restlessly against his to ride out the remnants of his orgasm and keep the burn of yours. You close your eyes and think of his face in this moment, you’ve seen it many times when he’s high off your warmth, but you wish to see it again. You wouldn’t care if he left you high and dry just like this if it meant you got to look in his eyes and kiss him right now. But he won’t allow you to turn with his arms so tight, and he refuses to leave you like this when he can tell how close you are with his tip grazing your cervix and cum leaking from your opening. With a quick kiss to your neck, he pushes your front back down to the bed and assumes his position kneeling behind you again.

Jimin pounds into you with the intent to please, not too fast because he knows it feels better when you can feel every inch of him, and he fights off the sensitivity that twists around him as you squeeze his head with the muscles deep inside you. Your hands clasp together as they reach above your head, which is now resting on the sheets with your forehead taking the brunt of your weight, and from another perspective it would look like you were praying. Repeating your mantra of Jimin’s name when one of his feet plants itself onto the mattress beside you for leverage.

“Oh my g-“ Your voice breaks off into a squeak, the pressure in your core building so intensely that you almost feel lightheaded. Looking down at you, Jimin watches you quiver and buck, your back arching into a dangerous curve that only makes him go harder. He’s so sensitive now, but he would gladly take the ticklish torture in return for your orgasm— just as you gladly trade the air in your lungs for his dick in you, gasping out uncontrolled moans as you gallop toward your end. His eyes glaze over, scanning your entire body when your hand slips under you to circle your clit and you begin to tense. Your other hand tears at his sheets in desperation. He looks on with almost crazed eyes.

“That’s it, angel. Can you cum for me again? Be a good girl and cum, baby,” He encourages with a shaky voice, supplementing his softening length with harder strokes. But it’s enough. With only a few more sloppy flicks of your bud, you’re flying off the edge with a scream, pulsing so hard around him that he has to stop moving to avoid pulling out from overstimulation. But he loves the tingles that spread up and down his limbs and spine as you ride out your paradise with twitching fingers, watching your high almost feeling better to him than experiencing his own. “Good girl, I knew you could do it. No one else can make you cum this hard, huh? Only me. You’re mine.” He whispers when you start to come down, slipping out of you when you fall flat onto your stomach in front of him. He follows you down slowly, relaxing his weight on you as he kisses his way up the middle of your sweaty back and neck, his flaccid member pressing into your ass.

This feeling— him resting on top of you, nestling his face against the side of your head and neck— it’s comfortable, and you find yourself sighing into him. It almost felt normal and you liked that, though you’ve already resigned yourself to the knowledge that you’ll likely never see normal again. At least not with him. Still, it’s nice to imagine in these sweet moments. When you’ve both had time to catch your breath, he pulls you up and carries you to the connected bathroom, running a shower and stepping in behind you. His hands are caring and gentle as they wash you, lathering aromatic soap onto your skin and kissing your lips each time his eyes meet yours.

You don’t need him to tell you how much he loves you because his actions have shown it, but he tells you anyway, gaining confidence whenever you say it back. You know he loves you, it’s just that his methods of showing it are a bit drastic. But love makes you do crazy things, that you can understand.

Jimin falls asleep relatively quickly, unaware that your eyes stare off into the darkness of the room, waiting for him to slip into unconsciousness. Once you are certain that he is in a deep sleep, you gently push the sheets from your body and tiptoe into your walk-in closet, shutting the door noiselessly behind you before flicking on the light. In the corner sits a laptop and headphones that Jimin has no knowledge of, housing incriminating evidence that he would probably be dissatisfied to find you operating.

Ignoring the worried emails and messages from your friends, you open your favorite program, smiling at the files of audio and video data that have been collected and compiled from today. You click on the first one, taken at 9:53am, and listen to a conversation Jimin had with one of his coworkers, his voice sending pleasant shivers down your spine.

You are by no means a technological genius, but you have enough skill to accomplish your goals. You had only started to dabble in such technologies six months ago when you first spotted Jimin from afar and decided that he was worth looking into. It wasn’t difficult to find him, a reverse image search of his face had provided you with a name and occupation, and after becoming thoroughly invested in him, you decided that Park Jimin was the man you wanted. Things came easily after that thanks to the tracker you had secretly planted on the case of his phone during your first official meeting, and every “coincidental” run-in you had with him led you straight on the path to a relationship. He was bound to take notice of you eventually, you shared just the right amount of interests and intersecting routines for it to be easy for him to approach and befriend you, and you were just the perfect amount of intentionally oblivious to ignore any warnings your friends gave you once Jimin started hanging around. It is amazing how easily men can be manipulated as long as they think they’re the ones in control.

Of course you had noticed the subtle way Jimin stalked you after you had made your presence known to him, how he would pop up in places he wouldn’t normally be just to conveniently bump into you. Of course you noticed, because you had gone out of your way to be at those locations when you knew it was convenient for him to follow you there. You lived under the pretense of working in a different county to justify why your home was nowhere near where you spent most of your days, and Jimin was none the wiser to your cover story that you had spent countless hours fabricating so that no amount of research he did could uncover all of the lies you told.

The tracking device on his phone was a start, which then upgraded to an audio recorder that you used to listen in on his personal life and gather more information about him. You intended to craft yourself into the most desirable version of you that would make him fall in love with you, but soon discovered that that wasn’t needed. Jimin had fallen fast and hard just as you had, and the slight tinge of crazy that you perceived in him made the two of you attract like magnets. It was you who had set everything in motion and influenced the outcome, but Jimin took care of everything in between, going farther than you had imagined just to have you.

The night he trapped you here, you were blindsided by his actions, but not surprised. Yes, you cried real tears when everything finally sunk in, but they were not of fear or despair like he likely thought. They were of indescribable joy. Everything you had done up to that point was to make him fall so utterly and irrevocably in love with you that he would never want to leave, and now he had locked you up so that you wouldn’t leave, meaning that he feels just as strongly— if not more— toward you as you feel toward him. And that is more than you could ever hope for. You’re sure he can sense your comfort and contentment with this situation, but you also completely understand his hesitation to completely believe you at times because it almost seems too good to be true. But he’s beginning to grasp that you really are wholly his.

But just because you are his, doesn’t mean that he has to be yours. So you installed audio and video surveillance devices in his clothes to monitor his behavior when he is away from you, so miniature and imperceptible that no one has noticed that the second button on all of his shirts contain a shiny black dot in the center that differs from the others. Not that you don’t trust him, it’s just that he is the perfect man and you do not trust the other people that he interacts with on a daily basis.

Which is why you’re reviewing the footage now, your lip tightening when you see the absurdly inappropriate attire one of his subordinates wears as she enters the CEO’s office. You swear her skirt is an inch shorter than it has been in the past, and her bosom seems to poke out noticeably with the serpentine arc of her spine, the top of her shirt unbuttoned just a button too far. Your blood nearly boils over when she looks at Jimin for a second too long while handing off a pile of paperwork before spinning dramatically and making her exit with an extra sway to her hips. Jimin most likely wasn’t looking at any of that, his obsession with you acting as a visor that blinds him to other women, but her efforts to get him to notice are the real problem.

You wonder if she heard about what happened to Jimin’s past assistant and why she quit. More importantly, you wonder if she would also enjoy having a dead rat delivered to her front door with a lovely handwritten note penned with its blood. As you continue watching his day, she enters his office several times, none of her visits appearing to be for any reason you can surmise other than to see your boyfriend and for him to see her. Maybe you’ll do something more creative this time, like hacking her accounts and posting lewd pictures and messages that would get her fired. It won’t be too hard to dig up dirt on her, especially since you have access to all of Jimin’s employee info. That would be quite swift and effective and could possibly even ruin her life. It’s a fun idea that you chew on quietly as you finish reviewing your recordings, closing out of the program and spending a short time answering the messages of the friends you’re still on good terms with.

Next week you’ll be able to invite some of them here, a generous reward for good behavior granted to you by Jimin. He promised that you would eventually gain back your freedom and has slowly been allowing you more access to the outside world, but you aren’t too keen on leaving. You like it here in your safe bubble, where you don’t have to worry about anyone but the man you love, where he can have you and keep you without issue. If you wanted to escape, you could’ve left weeks ago with all of the knowledge and technology you have access to in this single building, but that would go against everything you have worked for up until this point. You wish you could convey that to Jimin somehow as you crawl back in bed beside him, wrapping your arms around him and pressing yourself to his back to ear his soft snores. Normally kidnapping people doesn’t go this smoothly, so you understand his underlying skepticism toward you, but honestly, there is nowhere else that you would rather be than in his home, in his bedroom— no, you live here too. And you’re sure he would say this is your home now, too. Your bedroom.

[obscureoperations]

@ashesmoth

This is just a thought. An elaboration of Martin proposing.

The quiet hum of cicadas lulls Martin into a nearly trance-like state. The sun had nearly set, painting the field in a yellowish amber glow. The temperature had dropped quite considerably during the evenings due to the fact it was nearly fall. You had already complained about being chilly, he offered over his jacket without second thought. Goosebumps began to form over his skin, but the warmth inside was overflowing. In his arms, he held the most precious thing in the world to him-- you were speaking, but the words fell on deaf ears.

The ring rests like a led weight in his pocket..he had been eyeing it in the jeweler's shop for months. A thin band of gold with what happened to be your birthstone right in the middle. It wasn’t much, but it was all that he could afford at the moment. Martin had been taking extra shifts at the grocery store. Every time he clocked in, he tried to stave off the voice that assured him you were going to say no. He begged the shop owner to hold it for him-- he’d have the money in a couple of weeks. 

The afternoon he actually purchased it, Martin felt sick to his stomach. He had no idea what he was  going to say-- how could he possibly put it into words?  It was just one simple question--but he felt as though he had to explain himself entirely. In a little over a year you managed to completely change his world. Suddenly, it all made sense--the years of yearning and isolation. The sleepless nights, the ever present hunger threatening to consume him. The moment he laid eyes on you--he could remember everything grew incredibly silent. 

The sun had set almost completely, every now and then you would stir in his arms. He’d press his lips to the top of your head-- the scent of your shampoo was intoxicating. So warm and familiar-- faintly mixed with the smell of grass. Each morning he awoke with you curled against his chest he had to wonder what he did to deserve you. You were with him through it all-- living with Cuda,his breakdown right before he actually left. In a way, he realised you were the reason he was still alive. He finally understood that his cousin was actually planning to kill him. 

If you had asked him a few years before, Martin would have been perfectly content with letting that happen. He was exhausted, the ever present loneliness seemed to rise with each passing day. The old man would be doing him a favor. But he couldn’t leave just yet. He couldn’t leave you all alone. The way your eyes would light up whenever you saw him-- the joy in your voice whenever the two of you would speak. You were enamoured with him, that much was sure. He only recently accepted the fact that you loved him.

“Martin.. Are you okay?” 

The question itself startled him out of his reprieve, heat began to rise to his face. Had you been speaking the entire time? What were you saying? He always managed to mess things up.

He pulls you close nuzzling at the crook of your neck. “Mhmm. Fine. Y/n, I’m sorry. I sorta drifted off.”

“That's okay… Were you looking at the sunset?”

“I was.”

The sound of your laughter always managed to cause his heart to skip a beat. You tilt your head, lips barely grazing his jaw “Good... Martin. It’s what we came out here to see.”

There were times that Martin felt confident around you, most of them were when he held you safely in his arms. Lips moving over yours in a dizzying rhythm as you practically meld against his chest. You actually wanted him. You wanted him to kiss you. He was finally able to do something right. This evening was no different, he effortlessly shifts you onto your back. His kisses become more frantic. He holds you against him as though you might vanish. He only pulls back when you start to shift, tilting your head away from him. 

His heart drops, but you suddenly cup his face urging him to look at you.  In the faint glow of the nearly departed sun you couldn't describe the expression on his face. His lips were kiss bruised and swollen--there was a nearly dreamy expression in his eyes. That one small little crease between his brow was pronounced, a clear sign that he was distressed. As always you move to kiss him right in the center of his forehead. Martin almost melts against you. You always held him so delicately when he was upset. Palms lightly cupping his cheeks.

But he wasn’t upset, he was filled with more joy than he could possibly handle. That paired with  weighted uncertainty. His stomach was in knots--heartbeat threatening to implode. Why did he still continue to doubt you? From his actions-- all things from the past.. It was clear that you were willing to forgive. You only wanted him by your side, yet he couldn’t bear the idea of being rejected by you.

“Martin.. Talk to me babe.. What's wrong?”

Nothing and everything all at once. The ring rests like a lead weight in his pocket. How was he even supposed to bring it up? He settles for moving his lips to your jaw. “Nothing. y/n. I’m fine. I’m just--- I’m really glad we're here.”

You were laughing again, craning your neck up to kiss him. “Yea? Well so am I!”

Something in the playful lilt in your voice soothes some of his frazzled nerves. “I’m just..really glad..” He continues, as he presses his lips to the base of your neck. You tilt your head to kiss him once again… it had to be something about the taste of your chapstick. Perhaps the warm familiarity of your lips. He couldn't imagine a morning not waking up by your side. He had envisioned it, well before the two of you became close-- when you’d wave him goodbye at your doorstep. He would never be content if he didn’t experience one more morning of you waking up in his arms.

 The quiet warmth. The way you fit into his arms a bit too perfectly, you didn’t mind his early morning laziness. You seemed to be perfectly content laying there with him until the alarm actually went off.

~

With a sigh, Martin reaches into his pocket fishing out the ring with an ever practiced stealth.  Your lips were still pressed against his jaw, you were rambling again. The warmth of your breath curls against his skin, he resists the urge to kiss you silent. He actually had something to say.

“Y/n...I.”

This gains your attention immediately, your head momentarily lifts from his chest.

“I lik--I  love you alot.. You already know that, right?”

“I do.” Your response was instant. Followed by you sinking your teeth into his neck. 

Despite his initial gasp, he manages to momentarily draw you away from him. The sun had completely set. He could no longer see your face--it seemed to quell some of his nerves. If anything, he could imagine he was whispering his intentions into the pillow.

He answers your pained sigh with a brief peck on the lips. “y/n… I’m sorry. Please listen?”

“Okay…” 

Martin sits forward fishing the ring from his pocket, gently reaching for your wrist. He can hear you gasp as he silently slips the ring onto your finger.

“M-my heart. It’s yours forever if you want it.” 

You sit up, frantically brushing the grass from your face.

“Martin.. What is thi-s”

He kisses you sweetly, thumbs lingering at the curve of your jaw. Hearts entwined and buzzing in tune with the various nightlife. The moon was already set high in the sky, you could feel the weight of its unwavering luminescent gaze. 

“I want you with me… for the rest of my life. Do you think that you’d marry me sometime?”

[athenasbloodyspear]

Say Something to Stop Me: Chapter Two

Writing Master List | Say Something to Stop Me Master List

Please note: This fic describes depression, anxiety, panic attacks, past/referenced non con and domestic violence. Please read at your own discretion.

________________________

You wake to a slight pounding in your skull right between your eyes and an extremely dry mouth. You groan and flop onto your back, squinting at the bright light streaming through the window. Rolling to glance at the clock on your nightstand you discover that it is 6:30 in the morning. It makes sense, you estimate you fell asleep somewhere around 7:30 last night.

You suddenly shoot straight up in bed, your heart pounding. Oh my god. Bucky. He carried you here last night. You’re still wearing your jeans and t-shirt from the night before. There’s a glass of water and two small white pills on your nightstand and your shoes are laying right next to the bed. He must have put you to bed. You don’t remember anything after he picked you up.

You flop back against the pillows and stare at the ceiling above your bed, watching the early morning light flicker. A small smile fights its way to your lips. You couldn’t stop the growing grin if you tried. Bucky. James Buchanan Barnes himself carried you to bed last night and for some reason your heart is leaping around in your chest. You can almost feel it bouncing around in your rib cage. What the hell is wrong with you?

You put both hands over your face and let yourself giggle for a moment. You feel like a teenager who just spoke to her crush for the first time. Your fingers are a little tingly and you feel like there are butterflies making a nest in your abdomen. After a few moments of this you suddenly decide you have to get your shit together and go thank him.

Swinging your legs over the edge of the bed and standing up proved to be more painful to your brain than you expected. You had to promptly sit back down on your mattress as your head spun and your vision began to tunnel. You hated hangovers. They made you feel so dizzy and weak. You attempted standing again, slower this time, and took a second to orient yourself to your now vertical stance.

You were… giddy. It felt strange to be fully present in your body and feeling something beyond apathy, but it was also the most relieving feeling. You gave another small smile to yourself. You felt more like yourself than you had in months. Immediately upon realizing that, you heard a voice in your head start whispering things to you.

Don’t spend any time being happy. You’re an embarrassment. If he knew who you really are lately he wouldn’t waste any time on you.

Oof. Just like that all the wind left your sails. You could feel your shoulders curve instinctively. The voice in your head was technically right. Bucky would be so embarrassed and disappointed in you. He’d never look at you the same. None of them would. They respect you for your strength and resilience, and if they knew what happened they wouldn’t see you as strong anymore. You’re not the person who you thought you were. Everything about your personality that you loved had shattered into pieces about seven months ago and you didn’t even know what to do about it.

You squeezed your eyes shut and shook your head. There had been a moment just now. A brief wonderful moment that you saw clarity. That you felt like the person you used to be. It had been months in a row of feeling like your head was stuck under water. The world felt blurry, the sounds around you were muffled. You felt like your lungs weren’t really getting the oxygen you needed. But for a moment this morning, with the sunrise reflecting off the metal beams of the ceiling, your head had crested the surface. You had taken a huge breath of air and felt the sun on your skin for the first time in such a long time.

How did it slip from you so quickly? You were sinking under again, but instead of the drifting feeling you’d had, it suddenly felt like every muscle in your body was kicking toward the surface. You didn’t want to drown anymore. You wanted to feel the sun on your hair and the breeze across the back of your neck. You wanted to run and run and run and actually feel the oxygen in your lungs.

It suddenly felt very dire that you move. That you didn’t stand here with your eyes closed in limbo. You had to move, go somewhere, do something, talk to someone or you’d fall deeper. You shoved your feet into your sneakers and stumbled out the door with no real direction in mind.

I suppose I could just go thank Bucky. That’s a good starting point.

You whip your feet to the right and head farther down the hall toward Bucky’s room. Once you approach his door and knock you have a moment of silence to organize your swirling thoughts.

What are you going to say to him? Thank you I guess. Oh god you were still in your clothes from last night and you’re positive that your breath is probably so rank it would kill flies. You swallow hard and take a reflexive step back from the door. If you’re farther away, he might not be able to smell you. You try to take a surreptitious sniff of your armpit and you actually don’t smell quite as bad as you expected, but you still don’t exactly smell as fresh as a daisy.

Your head is spinning, but he’s not coming to the door. It’s at this moment that you realize that it is in fact only 6:30 in the morning and it’s entirely possible that everyone stayed up much later than 7:00 last night and could still be sleeping. You slap a hand to your forehead. God you’re so spacey lately.

You whip around to head back to your room when Friday speaks into the hallway above you.

“Agent Barnes is not home, Y/N. Agents Barnes, Wilson and Parker left around 6:00 this morning on a short reconnaissance mission. They should be home this evening. Bucky did peek his head in your door this morning before they left. You woke shortly after.”

Ah. Okay then. So the two people you were thinking of trying to talk to this morning are gone. In fact, the person who probably would have been third on the list of doors to knock on is gone too. Shit. You still felt restless, like if you didn’t keep treading water you’d drown. Absentmindedly bouncing on the balls of your feet you chewed on a thumb nail. Friday spoke again.

“Natasha is downstairs in the kitchen making coffee. Just so you know.”

You look up at the ceiling. How did Friday know you needed to talk to someone? Was Tony watching and wanted you to talk to Nat? Did Nat ask Friday to tell you? Did you care?

“Thanks Friday.” You say to the ceiling. You spin and begin your walk to the elevators.

“Anytime.”

~0~

Nat was indeed making coffee in the kitchen. She looked up when you stepped in and smiled.

“Morning Y/N. How’s that head?”

You chuckled at that and shook your head, wincing a little as your brain sloshed around in your head. “It’s… a little painful I won’t lie.”

“Sit. Coffee, water, tylenol and a really messy egg sandwich will help.”

“Thank you, Nat.”

She turned and started the coffee machine before walking to the fridge to grab you a glass of water. You leaned over the counter and placed your forehead in your hands. Suddenly two tiny little pills and a glass of water were pushed into your field of vision. You lifted your head and saw Nat walking over to the stove with some butter, eggs, cheese and bread in hand.

“Thanks.” You swallow both pills and then spend the next few minutes just slowly trying to get as much water down as you can. When your glass is empty you stand up to refill when suddenly an egg sandwich is set down in front of you.

“Sit and eat. I’ll refill for you. Milk in your coffee?”

“Just a splash. Thank you, again.”

Nat smiles. “You’re welcome.” She returns with your coffee and fresh water in hand. As you dig into your sandwich she leans her back against the kitchen island across from you.

“So. It sounds like James had to carry your ass to bed last night. What’s up with that?” Nat tosses casually over her shoulder. There’s something in her voice that you can’t quite pick up on. There’s a subtext you’re missing.

“Um. I was drunk. On accident. I think I was just dehydrated and didn’t eat dinner. I almost fell on my ass so he uh… carried me.” You keep your eyes on your egg sandwich, your cheeks felt like they were on fire with your blush.

“Hm. I don’t remember you being such a lightweight. If I remember correctly, when we were in Vienna you nearly drank Thor under the table.” Nat quips.

You huff a laugh. You nearly had. God you missed that big hulking brute. You really hoped things were okay in Asgard. “Yeah… I just am out of practice I guess.” you say through a mouthful of eggs.

“I suppose that’s not the worst thing to be out of practice with.” Nat says, turning toward you fully this time. She’s looking at you like she asked you a question even though she definitely did not.

“I suppose” you mutter back. You hadn’t felt anxious since walking in the kitchen, but now theres a small seed of panic in your gut. You shift a little in your seat, shoving the last bite of egg sandwich in your mouth. She’s giving you her Black Widow interrogation stare and you don’t like it.

She breaks the silence. “You’re kinda also out of the ‘talking to your family’ practice.” The last bite of egg sandwich gets lodged in your esophagus. You choke and start hacking a cough as you try to force the suddenly very dry bits of bread down your throat. Nat just leans her elbows on the counter and lifts one eyebrow at you. “What’s up with that?”

“Oh. Um.” You’re sputtering as you try to get air back down your throat. “Uh. It’s nothing personal. Just kinda… don’t feel like talking.”

“Hmmm.” Nat hums as she leans back. She slaps her palms against the countertop. “Well, you better muster up the strength because Tony has a therapist scheduled to start coming here every other week. No ifs, ands or buts. You’re going to spend an hour every two weeks with her whether you ‘feel like it’ or not. Got it?” She turns to go.

“Yes ma’am.” You mutter.

“I thought I told you never to call me that again.” Nat tosses over her shoulder as she picks up her coffee and starts to exit the kitchen.

“It’s a reflex, Nat. It’s hard not to when someone talks to me like a commanding officer.”

She pushes her hips against the door to open it and rolls her eyes at you. “Whatever. She’ll be here at three tomorrow. You can meet her in the conference room. If you’d rather not be around with prying eyes it sounds like it’s gonna be sunny tomorrow. Maybe you could sit by the lake.” With that she leaves.

“Okay.” You say out loud to the empty room.

~0~

Even though your moment with Nat was brief this morning, and rather scathing, you still feel better than you did standing in the middle of your room this morning. You’re not quite on dry land, but you feel your nose and mouth are at least above water and you’re breathing more deeply.

You spend sometime in the gym. You go back to boxing and lifting some weights. You figure that part of Tony’s forced therapy is that he cares about you, and also probably that they need you back on the field. It’s rare that they send Peter on recon missions as they don’t like to pull him out of school if they can help it, so Steve and Tony must be a little short handed at the moment. You should probably start getting back into field shape. Although, with how much running you’ve been doing you could probably hold your own out there.

After working out and showering you decide to wander around the outside of the complex. Nat was right, the weather is pretty pleasant right now so you might as well get some fresh air.

You think about your impending date with a therapist tomorrow. You feel a small twinge of shame twist in your chest when you think of it. Steve and Tony are so busy all the time, and yet you let your own stupid emotions and inability to cope make them worried. They had to take care of you, again. It’s exactly the kind of self hatred spiral that you’d been sucked into lately.  

This was all just so unlike you. It was so antithetical to everything that you held as your core personality traits. The reason that Tony and Steve had hand picked you to be the one that got the final dose of super serum they had uncovered is because you were resilient. Time and time again, mission after mission you had kept a cool head. Rolled with the punches. You’d been knocked down, beaten, stabbed and shot and still stood back up and jumped back into the next mission they’d offer. Sometimes even begging to be sent out before you got your medical clearance.

You’d gotten along with the team instantly. Even back when you were just a basic agent running their com links. You’d been trying to coordinate a million different channels and Sam had made some sarcastic comment about how the new kid was causing interference on the channels. You’d been trying to juggle so many things at once that you hadn’t even registered that you had snapped back that if he could just be smart enough to block his head while fighting and keep his com from being bashed around, your job wouldn’t be so hard.

There had been a moment of silence on the other end of the line and then all at once 4 different com links lit up as laughter spilled into your ear piece. You’d heard Nat ribbing Sam for always forgetting to block his ears and Steve cackling that “the kid just really got you.” Tony was chuckling quietly and Sam was saying “Fair. Fair.” You couldn’t keep the smile off your face.

That was who you were. Managing what felt like a thousand com links, and still making jokes. You were cracking up with Sam on the battlefield. Helping Nat try to set Steve up on dates while you were doing recon. Laughing while you and Bucky beat each other up on the sparring mats.

You didn’t know the person you had become this year. Laying on the floor of your living room for hours on end? Not answering the door when Peter came over after school? Not taking a single mission for nearly 9 months? It just started one day and then just snowballed and snowballed. The more you laid around, the more you just hated yourself for not being able to get back up.

I mean c’mon . You’d been shot once busting up an arms deal in Sudan and all you did was laugh before hopping back up and clobbering the guy over the head with a loose cement block. Bucky had panicked and run your way when he saw you get hit, insisting he medivac you out. You had just winced and put a hand over the hole in your shoulder and said “and miss all the action? No chance.”

It baffled you that you couldn’t pull it together now.

Maybe the therapist would be good. As much as you hated to admit it, you clearly needed help.

A rumble in the distance alerted you that the quinjet had arrived home. You wandered across the grass to the landing pad to say hi to your friends. You could thank Bucky for last night and maybe ask Peter to watch a movie tonight. Or you could help him with his homework, not that the kid needed it. Just something. You suddenly really didn’t want to be alone.

As you rounded the corner of the building and caught sight of everyone, you realized that everyone was running around a little too frantically for your comfort level. You heard Sam yell “Someone get him to the med wing.”

“On it!” That was Steve.

Your heart froze in your chest and you paused mid step. You felt very torn between running toward the jet, and running clear in the other direction. You weren’t sure if you could handle whatever it was that was happening. It was then that you saw Bucky walking down the ramp of the jet with a red suited body cradled in his arms.

Your heart restarted with a vengeance and your feet moved on their own. Sprinting toward the jet. A choked “Peter!” ripped from your lungs.

As you stepped up on the landing pad Sam caught you around the waist and pulled you back. “He’s fine Y/N. He’s gonna be fine. Just needs some stitches and a concussion check.”

You were panting hard as you stood up on your tiptoes to peek over Sam’s shoulder in time to see Bucky pass Peter to Steve. You placed both palms on Sam’s chest and pushed with all your strength to get him out of your way. It was unfair, you used all your super strength against him. His breath wooshed from his chest as he skidded a few feet back. You started your dash towards Peter again before two arms, one warm and one cold, wrapped around your waist and dragged you backward.

“Stop. Stop sweetheart. Give him space. He’s just dazed.” Bucky grunted as you slammed into his chest. His lips brushed the shell of your ear as he dragged you backwards away from the retreating form of Steve. Your hands scrambled for purchase over his arms. Pushing with all your strength against the metal and flesh wrapped around your middle. He, unlike Sam, did not budge.

This was your fault. You couldn’t get your shit together and Peter had to go on a mission for you and he got hurt. It was your own damn fault.

“Breathe. Please breathe for me. C’mon baby breathe.” Bucky was lowering you down to your knees now. You were suddenly aware of the concrete of the landing pad beneath your knees. Your breaths were ragged and choked. You felt like you were breathing through a straw. “Whoa whoa whoa sweetheart. You have to breathe for me.”  

Bucky was on his knees now in front of you. He had pushed back a bit so he could look into your face, but his arms were still wrapped tightly around you. You could feel the rise and fall of his chest as he tried to get you to match the pace of his breathing. You couldn’t tear your eyes off the door that Steve had just walked through.

“I can’t” you choked out. “Peter.” It felt like your throat was closing up. Where was the oxygen in the world?

“He’s fine. I promise. He got a little distracted and someone bashed him over the head with a two-by-four. He probably needs like 2 stitches in his eyebrow. He was also a little panicked and dazed, that’s why I was carrying him. It’s fine.” Your eyes flicked to Bucky. He was scanning your face now. He looked absolutely petrified.

“You’re lying. You’re lying to me right now. I have to get to him.” You tried to stand up. To push him away. Bucky and his damn bionic arm didn’t move.  

Bucky wraps his arms tighter around you and pulls you back down. You’re basically smashed against his chest now. He lets out a frantic humorless laugh “I am not lying to you. I’m terrified because you’re hyperventilating and I need you to breathe. Now.”

All at once your muscles go slack and tense at the same time. You stop fighting Bucky as it registers just how low on oxygen you are. Your heart is pounding nearly out of your chest and your throat keeps getting smaller. “I-can’t” you choke. Your chest spasms a bit as your abdominal muscles clench. You feel tears burning behind your eyes. Over Bucky’s shoulder Sam looks on with an equally panicked look on his face. He has one foot pointing away from you like he’s wondering if he should go get someone but doesn’t want to leave in case you need him.

“Yes you can. I know you can. Just match me, okay?” Bucky murmurs in your ear. His flesh hand is running smooth lines down your spine and he’s rocking your body very slowly back and forth. He takes a very deep breath and you splutter and choke as you try to force your lungs to match his pace. “That’s my girl. C’mon keep following my chest.”

Your body collapses fully against Bucky now. You bury your face in the crook of his neck and hiccup as you try to force your lungs into breathing cyclically in time with him.

The burn behind your eyes increases and you feel yourself slipping backwards. You’re falling deeper into the water the way you were this morning. Falling away from the sun and the breeze.

“I’m drowning. I’m drowning, Bucky. Oh god.” You pant.

Bucky whipped back to look you in the eyes “What?” he breathed. He was scanning your whole face and body, like he was looking for the source of water in your lungs. He didn’t know you meant it figuratively.

“I don’t know what’s happening to me Bucky. I’m so scared.” You whispered. You could barely keep your eyes open. Seeing the pain on his face, the look of pure terrified confusion on Sam’s face was so painful.  

Bucky brought his metal hand up to cup your cheek. “It’s okay. It’s okay Doll. I’ve got you. Sam’s here. It’s okay.”

You buried your face into his neck again. You couldn’t look at him. You couldn’t explain. With your head buried, you missed Bucky throw a questioning look over his shoulder at Sam. You missed Sam shrugging his shoulders. Both of your friends, at a loss of how to help you. All they knew to do at the moment was make sure you were breathing.

The tears finally came. Big, hot, wet tears pouring from your eyes. Your body shaking with the force of them finally escaping after months of holding them in. You were incoherent. Babbling now as you just tried to rid your body of this demon of pain that seized every muscle. “Oh my god Bucky. I just… I let him do this to me. I… I’m such an idiot. I just… oh god” you were practically seizing in his arms now, he was holding tight to you like he was trying to keep pieces of you from cracking off.  

“What?” He choked out.

“Him!” You wailed. “I let him hurt me. I let him destroy who I am and I don’t even know why.”

Bucky was running a hand through your hair now. Softly whispering “Shhh it’s okay. It’s okay” into your neck. Sam had moved closer and placed a hand on your shin in quiet support. He had his head bowed and was looking at the concrete. You stayed in your tableau for a long time. Like a renaissance painting frozen in time. Slowly your heart beat went back to a steady rhythm and your breathing evened out.

Eventually, you sniffled and leaned back to look at Bucky. You were sure your hair was a mess, your face was splotchy and you probably had snot and tears running down your whole face. In fact, you probably got snot all over him. You really hoped it didn’t mess up anything in his arm.

Bucky looked at you quietly. He seemed to be waiting for you to speak, offering you a life preserver in a sea of uncertain emotions. Your voice was raspy when you finally spoke “I want to see Peter.”

Bucky just nodded and picked you up to set you on your feet. He backed away with his hands still on your hips, like he was worried you couldn’t stand on your own. “I’m okay.” you mumbled as you tried to smooth out your hair and use the sleeve of your t-shirt to wipe up your face. “I can stand. I’m okay.”

You turned and started walking back into the compound, the two of them flanking you as you began the trek to the med wing.

~0~

Upon arriving in the medical wing you snagged a tissue from a nearby box and tried to wipe up the rest of your face. You glanced at your reflection in one of the nearby glass panels and winced at how puffy and blotchy your face was. You tried to rub your face to even out the tone of your skin, but there was nothing you could do about how puffy your eyes were.

After walking farther down the hall you spotted Peter. Sitting up on a table where Dr. Cho was shining a light in both of his eyes. As you stepped into the room you just heard her say “A slight concussion. You should be cleared for activity in a week or so.” Before turning to put away all of her instruments.

“Hi.” You squeaked out. When Peter turned his eyes in your direction you nearly burst into tears again. He had brightened and smiled at the sound of your voice, but when his eyes hit your face his smile fell.

“Are you okay?” He asked. Sliding off the table to walk over to you. You glanced behind you and saw Bucky and Sam hovering just outside the door of the room. They were very obviously trying to watch you without looking like they were watching you.

“I think that’s my line.” You chuckle as Peter wraps you in a hug. Over your shoulder, Peter shoots a questioning look at Sam and Bucky.

Sam speaks up. “Someone got a little freaked when you got carried off the jet.”

Peter pulls back to look at you again. “Oh god Y/N. I’m okay. I promise. I just got a little overwhelmed when I realized I had let my guard down and panicked, and then I got dazed when I got whacked on my head. I’m okay.” When Peter notices the water fill up in your eyes he pulls you back in. “Oh please don’t cry. I’m fine. Just four stitches is all.”

“Bucky said you were only gonna need two.” You grumbled into his chest. Peter snorted. In the hall Bucky humphed.

“Four is not that far off, okay? I was close.”

Peter was rubbing his hands up and down your arms and laughing softly. “You know I think I’m supposed to be the one comforting you,” you noted, “this is sort of backwards.” Then all three of them were chuckling. You pulled back from Peter to look at him. “I’m sorry for being a baby, you just scared me.”  

“ I scared you?” Peter questioned “I think normally it’s you who shows up here all bloody and unconscious scaring the hell out of me, so I guess it was my turn.”

You chuckled a bit and grinned at Peter. His eyes lit up when he caught the upward tilt of your lips and he hauled you back against his chest. “I missed you, Y/N.” Peter said quietly.

“I’m right here, Peter.”

“Yeah, you are.” Peter sighed. Then he pulled back to look at you again. “Movie night? Maybe in the common room so everyone can watch? We haven’t finished the Fast the Furious movies yet.”

“Oh god I’m not watching if you’re past the third one.” Sam groaned from the hall. “They just went downhill after that.”

“Good news for you then birdman, we’re on Tokyo Drift.” Peter called out as he wrapped his arm around your shoulders to walk you out of the room.

“Who you calling birdman, spider punk?” Sam shot back.

You snorted. All three of them whipped their heads to look at you. “What?” you asked indignantly, “It was funny!”

Bucky reached out and mussed your hair. “There she is.”

You pushed back against his arm. “Oh shut up, Terminator.”

Sam buckled over and held his stomach as he cackled, Peter’s chest shook next to you.

“What’s a terminator?” Bucky asked, making Peter and Sam laugh harder. Peter had to lift his arm off of your shoulder to put his hands on his knees.

You patted Buck on his metal shoulder. “I’ll tell you when you’re even older, you dinosaur.”

Sam and Peter stumbled forward down the hallway together, wheezing through their laughter. Their arms placed on each other's shoulders, quoting the terminator and wiping tears from their eyes.

You and Bucky followed behind them on your way to the common space. When Peter and Sam were far enough out of ear-shot Bucky spoke.

“You okay?”

You glanced over at him. He had his eyes on the two men stumbling down the hall together ahead of you. He was trying for nonchalance, but you could tell he was still on edge.

“Yeah, Buck. I am. I will be.”

He turned to look at you then. His lips curled up into the smallest of smiles, but it was enough to get you to return one. He threw his arm over your shoulder and dragged your head into his shoulder as you kept walking. “Yeah you will.”

And he was right. You would be. Not all at once. Not right away. But you would be. The sounds of your two friends laughing up the hall was proof.