#Made it with the chicken stock I made a few weeks back (it’s been in the freezer done worry) and miso and tahini and sambal oelek

[sirquacklesdefoof]

Hiiiiiiiiiiii I made ramen for my roommate and me today and it’s fucking delicious

[cupidbedsy]

𝘁𝗶𝗿𝗲𝗱 ; 𝘭𝘩43 ୨୧

➪ summary: luke is all but tired when him and jack arrive home from a game, but luckily for him, y/n's there to help

➪ warnings: the one rags v. devils game where everyone decided to fight, tired luke. broken plate, luke thinking reader and jack is mad at him, hate comments, jack thinking he's a shitty big brother

➪ word count: 1.8k

➪ file type: fic - reupload

➪ sunny's notes: literally crying because i decided to edit this, negative feelings, and chicken noodle soup all in a row. i chose violence, be glad i'm not uploading them three days in a row. this was rough. but no i actually like how this fic turned out so yeah

© sunflower-lilac42 ; do not copy, repost, or translate my work and designs on any other website or here

© cupidbedsy ; do not copy, repost, or translate my work and designs on any other website or here

lh43 masterlist || nhl masterlist || taglist || navigation

She had let herself into their apartment halfway through the second period. She had been watching from her dorm and when the first fight broke out, two seconds into the game, she knew the team was in for a wild night. As the game went on and they showed the bench and the players, she knew both her boyfriend and his brother were tired. 

That’s when she made the executive decision to “break in” to their apartment and make them dinner. She was grateful that their fridge was fully stocked and she didn’t have to run back out to the grocery store. She got to work quickly, making something easy but also filling for both of them. While spaghetti and meatballs weren’t any of their favorite meals, not that she was hungry anyway, she knew they would appreciate the effort nonetheless. 

When the game was over she sighed at the final score, after what they had been through tonight, they deserved the win. Worried about Luke and being one of only four defensemen on the ice, she looked to see how much time he was actually on the ice and was appalled when it read 32:49. She knew he had been tired these past few weeks, this team felt like it was on a never-ending cycle of bad luck. 

She was setting the plates down moments before they walked in the door, but when she was in the bathroom, that’s when she heard them. She heard the clatter of keys and shoes and walked out immediately. Luke was attempting to stand upright, slightly leaning on his older brother. Jack looked equally tired, attempting to support both him and Luke. 

She frowned as she made her way over to them, lightly grabbing onto Luke to lessen the weight on Jack’s body. He sighed in relief as he kicked his shoes off and made his way to sit down on the couch. Y/n stayed with Luke in the kitchen, walking him over to one of the chairs. With one hand she reached for his head and took the beanie he had been wearing off, using her other one to run her fingers through his damp curls. 

“Why don’t you go take a shower, both of you,” Jack whined from the couch while Luke just buried his head into her shoulder.

She felt like she could cry from the exhaustion they were displaying. She knew how they got, both of them. She had been dating Luke since their freshman year of high school. She knew the ins and outs of all three Hughes brothers if she was honest, never finding it weird or alarming. His family loved her, that she knew, but when Jack came home drunk one night and threw up on her shoes, she accepted her role in the family.

“Jack you first, come on.”

She continued running a hand through her boyfriend’s curls as she gazed at the older boy on the couch. He finally sat up, giving her an annoyed look, but she only rolled her eyes and pointed to the bathroom. She could keep Luke occupied for another 20 minutes, “Hi baby.”

Luke’s eyes were closed as his head laid on her shoulder, he mumbled something incoherently and he just sighed. She untangled her fingers from his hair and started to pull off his jacket, he whined at the loss of contact but allowed her to continue her actions. She took his jacket to his room and hung it up before walking back into the kitchen and checking on the pasta. 

Luke, despite being tired and his body being worn, he got up and made his way over to her in order to wrap his arms around her waist and dig his head into the crook of her neck, inhaling her fading scent. She smiled slightly, removing her one hand from the side of the pan to place on top of Luke’s, continuing to stir with the other. 

It was silent up until Jack came back, who plopped onto the chair his brother had previously sat in. She looked over at him and smiled, “Do you guys want to eat in the kitchen or in the living room? We could put a movie on?”

The two nodded and made their way over to the living room as she finished plating the food and bringing it over to them, placing the plates into their laps. They each let out simultaneous soft thank yous before eating. They chose a random movie and watched it as y/n cleaned the kitchen and finished doing some laundry that had been pushed to the side.  

She felt bad for both of them, both for different reasons but some the same. Mostly because of how the team was performing this year, the way that they couldn’t keep everyone off injured reserve. Yet, for Luke, it felt different. She felt more or less worried about him than bad for him. He had expectations to live up to, people to live up to, and she knew his mind all too well. She knew what he was thinking, that he wasn’t good enough.

And it wasn’t just him that thought that. They both knew about the tweets that were in response to people's comments under articles, the articles themselves about how Luke wasn’t as good as his brothers, wasn’t as good as he should be, wasn’t as good as people made him out to be. It was what Luke thought about the most.

There was clanging from the living room and then a crash. She immediately made her way out of the bedroom and looked in between Jack, who was still on the couch, the shattered plate on the floor, and Luke, who was standing in the hallway. His face looked conflicted but it morphed into one of fear and sadness. 

“Hey, hey, what happened?”

“I-” Luke couldn’t bring himself to talk, both terrified and still exhausted from the game. 

On the other hand, y/n’s face was calm and Jack’s face was sad with a hint of anger in his eyes. Anger towards John and Kevin for leaving the team with four defensemen, anger towards Travis for making Luke play that long, anger towards himself for not checking in on his brother enough, and anger towards the Rangers. 

“Luke, it’s okay. No one’s mad at you for dropping the plate.” Jack’s voice was soft as he stood up, slightly wobbling from his lack of balance. 

The younger boy only shook his head, reaching a hand out to lean against the wall. Y/n moved forward and wrapped her arms around Luke who then slowly sank to the ground. Her left hand was placed against his head, keeping it against her chest as her right arm wrapped around him. Luke started crying, soft sobs escaping his mouth.

She looked at Jack who took the hint to walk back into his bedroom. As soon as he left, Luke voiced his thoughts, “I’m tired. I’m so tired, y/n.”

The way his voice broke almost made her choke on a sob. She bit her lip to keep her tears at bay, refusing to let Luke know how she was feeling right now. She tangled her fingers in his hair, Luke allowing the movement to calm him down a little. His harsh sobs turned into soft sniffles in a matter of minutes. She was the only one who could soothe him like this besides his mom.

Lifting his head, he dug it back into the crook of her neck. She kissed his head and continued to run her fingers through his curls like she had done earlier, using her other hand to rub circles on his back. Ten minutes had passed and she looked over at the shattered glass a few feet away from her. Her legs had started to cramp from being in the position for so long and the added weight of Luke on them made it a little worse.

“How about you go take a shower while I clean the plate, okay?”

He pulled away from her and nodded his head slightly. She aided him in standing up and watched as he made his way to the bathroom to shower. Once the door closed, she made quick work of cleaning up the mess. After she was done, she went over and knocked on Jack’s bedroom door, “Hey.”

Jack snapped his head up in surprise, “Hi.”

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” 

“Jack, I’ve known you for 7 years. What’s wrong?” She sat on the edge of his bed, her hands underneath her. 

“I feel bad. I mean I was so excited for Luke to come to play with me but for some reason, I feel guilty. I don’t know. It just feels like I should do more for him. I didn’t want to bring up the comments, I see them too, you know.”

Her heart warmed at the words, at Jack being so worried about his little brother. She smiled a little before looking at him, “He loves you, Jack. More than you know. I cannot tell you the number of times he calls me and is like ‘Jack this’ and ‘Jack that’. You and Quinn are his idols, it’s hard to not notice that. He is so appreciative of you. And he knows there is nothing you can do about the comments that people make, it’s not your fault.”

Jack teared up a little but smiled at her, “Thank you.”

“Of course. Now come on, give me a hug.”

Jack leaned over from his spot on the bed and hugged her, “Can I say I love you or is that too weird?” 

“Considering, I am betting on you becoming my sister-in-law, it’s not weird. I love you too, y/n/n.”

She heard a door close from down the hall and she pulled away and waved goodbye to Jack, making her way to her boyfriend’s room. When she walked in, Luke was lying on his bed, cuddling a pillow on his phone. She smiled at him and walked over to sit down, “Hi baby.”

He looked up at her and for the first time that night, he smiled. He reached out for her and she made herself comfortable on the bed, Luke wrapping his arms around her. In that moment, Luke was so grateful for her and all that she had done for him not only tonight but in the past seven years. She had been there for him through everything and that meant the absolute world to him. 

“I love you.”

“I love you too, Luke. And I am so so so so proud of you for tonight.”

His smile was small but genuine, “Now go to bed.” 

She kissed his forehead and the two wasted no time in falling asleep.

𝗡𝗘𝗪 𝗝𝗘𝗥𝗦𝗘𝗬 𝗗𝗘𝗩𝗜𝗟𝗦 𝗧𝗔𝗚𝗟𝗜𝗦𝗧 ୨୧

@blakesbearsblog @toasttt11 @chiblackhawks @prettyjoseph @nicole01-23 @auriesphantom @pucks-goals-penalties @dancerbailey3 @quinnylouhughesx43 @petite-potato4 @thehuggybearslover @absolutelyhugh3s @kei943 @dyslecticdutchman

© cupidbedsy ; do not copy, repost, or translate my work and designs on any other website or here

[belovedivies]

Hello👋 I was wondering how would the skinless chicken-I MEAN Nathanael interact with Raphael's older sibling?😅

cw: minor spoiler dividers-credit: @kodaswrld m.list

nathaniel and you…

⋆ ˚｡⋆are the epitome of a match made in hell! We have a body dissection loving maniac who breaks guns with bare hands and a sociopath whose father you buried for the throne that your brother now occupies. Of course, you guys get along like a house on fire.

⋆ ˚｡⋆surprisingly have the time to hang out. You always find a way to forcefully squeeze yourself into his schedule, like dropping by unannounced during his night shifts so you can whip him away for a few minutes! The nurses and patients mistake you two for a couple all the time, something Nathaniel doesn’t bother to clarify anymore.

⋆ ˚｡⋆share what can almost be considered as a bond despite the chaos going on. Aside from Raphael, he’s the one guy whose company you somewhat enjoy and find amusement in. You’re also the only girl who gets to spray deodorant in this scary man’s face and don’t end up being slammed against the wall. It’s a win-win! ☪︎ ･ﾟ ･Nathaniel... begrudgingly acknowledges the influence you have on Glory Club. How a fragile-looking woman can command fear and respect without trying. He, though, still has a hard time wrapping his head around the mind-boggling jokes you blurt out sometimes versus the cruelty you’re capable of inflicting. One night, after a quick patient checkup, the Apostle found you in the hallway along with two of his men out cold on the floor, their hands and legs bent at all different angles. Then you just ran up to him with a smile, never elaborating on what happened. ☪︎ ･ﾟ ･You... think Nathaniel’s pride now might as well be his downfall. He’s strong, he’s smart, and he has potential. But this is THE Peter we’re talking about. If that boogeyman is lurking around the corner and somehow still as unbeatable as he was 50 years ago, Nathaniel—even in all his evolutionary glory—statistically stands no chance of surviving. And if he is lucky enough to just barely make it out alive, the man’s ego is gonna be damaged for good. ☪︎ ･ﾟ ･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ･⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆･ﾟ ･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ･❂

“It’s so cold out here…” You tugged your legs underneath your chin and let out a loud yawn, wiggling your feet. “I thought the rainy season ended last week?”

Five centimeters away from you on the bench, Nathaniel leisurely sipped on his Americano. “High humidity levels,” he set the cup aside, “so your clothes might get saturated by the moisture in the air.”

“Huh, guess that’s why I’m still shivering in these 70D stockings—“ mid-sentence, your eyes widened when the guy suddenly took off his blouse and draped it over your lap. “Thanks.”

Nathaniel just shrugged and picked up his drink again. Two nurses walked by and cooed at the scene, though you weren’t sure if the attention was on you or him, or the playing-house act he had been tolerating for a while.

You scanned your surroundings: the hospital’s courtyard was mostly empty at this point. A few elderly patients hung out in the right corner of a dimly lit cafeteria, doing their nighttime stretches. When you look up, a billboard on the side of the building greeted your eyes—a picture of an old-looking Peter with his back hunched. The bounty flashed beneath it in place of the contact number for donation: 7,6 Billion Won.

“Kim Soongu…” The words left your lips as an afterthought, but then you caught Nathaniel’s jaws clenching in your peripheral vision with the coffee cup suddenly crushed to a pulp in his palm, a river of brown dripping to the ground.

The awkward silence didn’t even last for three seconds before a hysterical fit of laughter left your throat as you clung to your stomach.

“Holy fuck—“ snickering, you leaned against Nathaniel’s side like you two were having a sleepover. “Look at the way you got your panties in a twist with just the mention of his name. Is he that good?”

Your slightly-closer-than-an-acquaintance furrowed his eyebrows and answered through gritted teeth. “Brat…”

“Annoying too?” you mirrored his cocked brow with amusement, cheek leaning on his shoulder as you watched the guy slip off his beverage-soaked glove, “didn’t the stats say Soongu is just another D-rank killer though?”

“Not it from my observation.” Nathaniel huffed. “He had some untapped potential. Having him on my team would be… beneficial.”

You tilted your head. “For…?”

“Taking down Peter,” he looked a little irritated at your constant questioning, but ultimately decided not to show that frustration. Instead, Nathaniel’s raspy voice took on what seemed to be a teasing note; his lips curled up into an easy-going smile as the man flicked your forehead.

“So much for your plastic surgery idea, princess.”

“Ow—!” You squealed, touching the violated skin; he wasn’t even using force and you could already feel a bump rising. “What do you mean? So it wasn’t him?”

“It’s real skin from what I felt.” Nathaniel ran a hand over his hair. “Tch, whatever. When he shows up tomorrow, I’ll definitely find out.”

Tomorrow. You tucked your legs further under your chin, eyes still trained on him.

“Hyun Il.”

“?”

The Apostle turned his head towards you.

“You’re 100% likely to die.”

“Doubtful, aren’t we?”

You let out a giggle. “You wanna hear me say it?”

Nathaniel’s gaze hardened. “I will win.”

Cute.

A sigh left your lips as you stared up at the dark sky above. It was a relatively starless night, but there were still some lonely orbs twinkling if you squinted hard enough.

Some saw themselves as the sun—the center of this universe with planets orbiting around them. Constantly striving for a new high. Yet there were bound to be limits. A wall in between. Something, someone who might just show up one day and render all of their efforts useless.

How incompetent we were in the grand scheme of things.

☪︎ ･ﾟ ･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ･⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆･ﾟ ･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ･❂

"Planning to dig up his body?"

Raphael's comment earns a small smile from you. Taking your little brother's hand, you stand up from where you have been crouching on the ground for the last few minutes.

"Nathaniel doesn't need to be physically here to haunt me," you hum playfully while his fingers brush off the imaginary dust on your hair. "Jokes aside, he's cremated. I'm surprised to find out that could still work without the furnace blowing up; he's like a walking T vessel."

"Mhm…"

"Found anything at the scene?"

At your inquiry, Raphael's brows drawn together in a way that reminds you of Nathaniel. Then again, frustration doesn't have a second face.

"Tch, nothing at all." His grip around your shoulders tighten. "That bastard vanished without a trace."

All the killers dying… so that really was Peter's doings. You've seen the outcome from miles away, yet who is to say the result doesn't baffle you in the slightly? What Glory Club is dealing with here is no longer a human being.

"Hey, Raphael…" for a second, the face of an unfamiliar teenager pops up in your mind—black hair, red eyes that hold an immaculate sense of authority, "do you think that…"

"Yes?" Your brother tilted his head. There's a lump in your throat that is suddenly too hard to swallow.

"Nevermind," as quick as that eerie hypothesis comes to be, you forcefully swat it away; a sharp edge to your smile, "let's get back, shall we? It's gonna start raining soon."

[mirage-aera]

•°. *࿐ Pool noodles || JH86

ᴺᴼᵂ ᴾᴸᴬᵞᴵᴺᴳ : Latch - Disclosure, Sam Smith

Jack Hughes x Reader

Synopsis: A trip to the local grocery store to stock up on food and other necessities, turns into a play fight with foam sticks.

Word count: 1.002

Masterlist

A little different from my usual fandoms that I write in. But I wanted to dabble a little in here since I wanted to write a little for my favourite hockey boys :)

You and Jack are on a mission. It’s off-season, meaning it’s time to relax and recharge during the long summer and spend some good quality time together. In previous years you would always go to the family’s lake house, to spend some time with family and friends. This year it won’t be any different. Except this time, you’ll be there together with Jack a lot earlier than the others. They’ll be arriving a few weeks later. This means you get Hughes Michigan’s summer home for yourselves. At first, it seems like a great thing. You get to spend time alone with Jack, without any nosy brothers or friends to tease you both. That was until you looked in the fridge, almost completely empty. Clearly whoever’s been here last hasn’t refilled the fridge, or other necessities for that matter. Which leaves that task to the two of you, much to Jack’s dismay.

You find yourself at the local grocery store. Jack’s pushing the cart like the gentleman he is. Except, he’s slouched over as he pushes it. “Are we done yet?” You don’t even know how many times you’ve heard him utter that in the past 15 minutes. You sigh as you look at the grocery list you’ve made on your phone. “Jack. I love you, but please. You’re worse than a cranky hormonal teenager.” You retort. He looks at you, almost as if he’s offended by what you said. “I’m not a cranky hormonal teenager.” He mutters under his breath. You bite back a laugh. “Yeah, sure. Whatever you say hon.” You quip while you put the last of the fruits and vegetables in the shopping cart. He opens his mouth, probably to say something full of sass back. You shush him by placing your finger over his lips. “Come on. We’re done here.” He huffs in response. “Finally.” He mumbles. You give him a pointed look before moving on to the next part of your shopping list. You walk over to the meats and fish. Jack trails behind you, begrudgingly pushing the cart.

You glance over the various fish and meats they have. “What do you want to eat for the time being?” He points to the steak, chicken, and salmon. You nod, pick a few that look good, and toss them into the cart. He groans when he sees it messes up the organized cart. “Baby, please. Everything has a place in the cart. You know this.” He scolds lightly while fixing the mess you made. You grin sheepishly. “Sorry sorry, won’t do it again.” He shakes his head but smiles. You both know this won’t be the last time, not by a long shot.

You cross off meat and fish on the list and make your way to the dairy products. While you grab a carton of milk, Jack grabs some yogurt and puts it neatly in the cart. He takes the carton of milk from you and puts it next to the yogurt. You grab some eggs that lie nearby and move on to get the rest of the list.

You stock up on some toilet paper and other necessities. You also remember to grab some pretzels for him, knowing he likes to snack on them. Jack’s still trailing behind you with the cart that’s gradually getting fuller. As you walk around like a busy bee, you walk past some pool noodles. You look at them for a solid minute. Jack raises an eyebrow. “Do you want them?” He asks curiously. You think about it for a moment. You grab one and look it up and down. You glance over at Jack. Without warning, you smack his arm with it. It doesn’t hurt, it’s made out of foam. He flinches and rubs his arm. “What was that for?” He asks. You shrug and smirk. “Just wanted to test it out.” He scoffs and laughs. “Really? Just wanted to test it out?” He repeats. He grabs one as well and hits you back. He smirks, “it does work well. Don’t you think?” He teases you. You roll your eyes but smile. You swing to hit him again. He blocks it with his own noodle. You’re locked into a stare-down with him. “Noodle fight?” You challenge him. “Noodle fight.” He takes the bait. You look around to make sure no one is paying attention to you both. When you see no one’s looking at you, all hell breaks loose.

You start relentlessly swinging. He blocks most of your ‘attacks’, even if they hit, he doesn’t feel a thing. The aisle gets filled with your combined laughter and the faint sound of foam being smacked around.

He gets a few good hits on you. Your face scrunches up every time he lands one on you. His heart melts at the sight of you. You could be doing the most mundane tasks together, yet you’ll still find a way to bring a smile to his face. You know how to make doing chores fun. Maybe he’s just completely in love with you. Whenever people make fun of him for being completely whipped for you, he would usually give them sass back. But if someone were to do it right now, he would most likely agree with them. Nothing is certain, especially in his life. However, there is one thing for certain. He wants to marry you one day, he simply doesn’t see a future without you and your signature laugh in his life.

You let out a boisterous laugh when you smack him across the face with the piece of foam. He can’t help but let out a laugh himself. Yeah, this is the girl he wants to marry and have a future with. And he doesn’t want it any other way. The velvet box is already sitting underneath all of his old hockey gear. Waiting to be presented to you. All he has to do is plan the perfect proposal for you. He simply can’t wait to make you his, until death do you part.

[ellesthots]

Fateful Beginnings

XXXV. “bittersuite domesticity”

parts: previous / next

plot: you and Bruce bond, a task more pleasant than either of you anticipated.

pairing: battinson!bruce wayne x fem!reader

cw: 18+, substance use, fluffy fluff 😏

words: 8.1k

a/n: i think y’all are gonna like this chapter 😇 yes the title is a play on words... iykyk (🎵)

Suddenly, idling at Rai’s had much higher stakes.

You tried to relax and peruse the back aisles, but more customers arrived. You got in line behind the older lady while Rai attended to his kind community member duty of speaking with her like an old friend. Elderly residents nearby weren’t able to get out much, and he picked up a lot of the slack. Except right now, that duty had you frustrated and overwhelmed in waiting, the grumble in your stomach starting to have a bite. At this point it had to have been fifteen minutes, meaning Bruce would be up in your apartment in fifteen… fuck.

You did a last circle around the store, eyes flitting between snacks, slushies, candies… You kept looking back trying to catch his eye, hoping he might get the hint and step aside for a second to help you. It wasn’t working, and your leg was beginning to sore. Glancing at her cart, they still had a bag or two to fill. Shit.

You grabbed a few extra candies and got in line behind her, resigning to stay put and let fate take over. Upon hearing the rustling of your items, she looked over her shoulder and grinned at you. “Skittles! Oh, I love those little things. Have you tried the sour ones? I keep them stocked for my grandson. Speaking of…” She held up a hand to Rai and wandered back to the candy aisle. Fate!

“Can you check me out really quick?” You showed your few items, and he nodded. “In a hurry, huh?”

“Yeah. Would you be able to grab me some uh,” You peered through the glass and saw the tabbouleh was out, and you chose the item falling into vision next. “Chicken tenders. Can I have half a pound?”

“Sure.” He bagged it, glancing as he closed the bag to see the woman arriving back. He handed it over and winked at you. “You can come back sometime this week and pay.”

”Really? I can—”

“Here you go.” The lady placed a few bags of sour skittles on the counter with a smirk. You nodded to Rai who nodded back, and after a quick thanks, hurried back up to your apartment. He’d be there in seven minutes. He seemed like the person who was usually early.

By the time you made it back to your apartment, it was the time of his arrival. You hoped he was caught up in traffic or something (not likely…) and tossed the food on the counter, the legs of the dining table scraping against the floor in the most grating fashion as you pulled it in front of the couch. Midway through unplugging the television in your room and prepping to carry it out, you heard a knock at the door. You hoisted the TV into your arms and staggered through the door to place it on the table, where it looked unseemly. On your way to let him in, you noticed you didn’t have an outlet nearby. Ugh.

Bruce had given himself a pep-talk on the drive, coaching himself on what to say to you. He knew he wanted to apologize, that much was extremely clear. He went back and forth on telling you the pity thing, because the revelation was genuinely so simple, but endowed crucial context…

It was starting to sprinkle; end of August meant Fall was practically a week away, which was a slippery slope to the highest crime events of the year. Going into 2024, he didn’t think he’d have to worry about an election for at least another year or two, and he wrestled back fears of another Election Night 2022 debacle.

Soon he’d be able to get back out there; usually this time of night he’d be headed down to the basement after a quick meal with Alfred. Drawing up some plans for the evening (that were usually disposed of due to unforeseen circumstances) before suiting up. He expected his body to feel more antsy to get back to it, or feel considerably slower, neither of which he did. His wounds were healing, his left leg still ached but nothing he couldn’t drag his mind away from. Tonight felt quiet. Nights like these invariably left him suspicious.

He waited a few minutes in his car, parking in the same alley he’d dropped you off in. His palms were starting to perspire, knowing he was going to answer to you in whichever way you held him. As much as he desired to spend the whole night stalling, that was his problem. He’d been avoiding you earlier, avoiding being cared about, and avoiding being caring. While he didn’t much care about the implications of isolation and avoidance as far as he was concerned, he didn’t like you being in the blast radius. If the hugs had told him anything, it was that you were already hurting more than enough. He was done putting you in jail for the crime of caring.

You deserved a proper apology, and that was what he’d give you.

Walking toward your apartment while the nightcrawlers were just getting started made him uneasy. Every man he passed on the sidewalk that looked down at his phone had him biting his cheek, gripping the fabric of his jacket pocket, enraged. Which of these pathetic freaks wrote about you?

As he reached your unit, the rage was dimming. When you opened the door, he noticed you looked tired, but not exhausted–that was good. You stepped aside for him to walk in, and he shed his top layers, fighting against his manufacturing to make sure the apology actually got past his lips.

Bruce was in a black outfit, with his usual thick jacket and hoodie pairing. Your body had an immediate response to his presence after the argument, reflexively turning away from him and stiffening. Locking the door behind him felt superfluous in his presence, but you did it anyway.

He removed his jacket and hoodie as he walked the expanse of your floor, draping them over the back of a chair. Your eyes searched his body for evidence of injury or duress, and for about the millionth time since you’d been around him or Alfred, you wished they didn’t read body language like the written word. His tone was soft, apprehensive. “I thought you might want some company.”

Thought I might want some company? You narrowed your eyes and crossed your arms. “So you’re not in crisis?”

“You thought I was in crisis?”

You looked to the ground. “We argued again, so.”

He didn’t appreciate being perceived to the point of recognizing character changes, like how strange it was for him to request a movie night. He rarely asked it of his parents as a kid, their busy schedule leaving the invitation up to them on the rare occasion it ever came. Alfred was always the one to initiate after their deaths, but he’d stopped asking after the twentieth time Bruce had isolated to his bedroom instead.

Thinking back to how busy his mother had been, a thought struck him: were all the ‘vacations’ she went on actually her being admitted to Arkham? Had they hid it that well? Something must have flit across him then, because your eyes were darting across the plane of his face with increasing confusion.

He shook his head while he recovered words. Even thinking about the photos of his mother Riddler had posted didn’t render him as discomposed as this morning, when simply being around you felt like a knife lifting his nailbeds. Alfred had made some unfortunate points that painted you in a much better light. “I’m not in crisis. I wanted to apologize for how I acted earlier. I was avoiding you.”

You didn’t know why you got anxious when he said that, but you did. He put his hands in his pocket and struggled to make more than intermittent eye contact. He heaved a large sigh, which made you especially attuned to what he might say. Swore you could feel the hairs of your inner ear buzzing with anticipation.

“I appreciate you opening up to me.”

Hearing words like apologize and appreciate felt foreign from Bruce. You’d heard variations of them before, yet it remained uncanny. Like his mouth wasn’t used to forming the words. They didn’t seem to roll off his tongue.

“But…?” You braced yourself for him to assert that the two of you couldn’t speak anymore. That a boundary had been crossed. That he appreciated you opening up, but he didn’t want that to happen anymore. That he was glad to have helped you, but he didn’t want to make it a habit.

His brow cocked. “What do you mean?”

Your tone was petulant, brittle. “You appreciate my opening up, but ‘we don’t have to do this anymore’. Or maybe you’d rather ‘I don’t want it’?”

An extended silence, leaving a lot of room for your mind to fill the blank. Some time for your eyes to roam about his outfit, his hair, his face. The wear evident in his shirt, seeing some of his skin peeking through. A hole at the bottom of his left pocket. How he double-knotted his Converse.

When he spoke next, it was through closed eyes. “I’m not good at this. I’m not used to any of it.”

The hugs? The conversation? Being cared about? The whole city cared about him. The whole internet. In some ways, the whole world. “Used to what?”

“The only care people have shown me is through pity.”

You felt one of your defenses shatter, your shoulders becoming a bit lighter. “About your parents?”

He nodded, becoming sheepish. He detested being this open, it drained him, but he wanted to return the favor of your earlier vulnerability. “Yeah. Everyone still looks at me like I’m that kid. No one saw me, they saw what happened to me.” And you saw me hung unsaid, on the edge of his teeth. “You checking on me and opening up felt like pity. Everything does.”

It felt fucking weird to use his words like this. His voice was going dry from talking so much, even though he really hadn’t talked much at all. Maybe it was the things he wasn’t saying. He wanted to look over at you, but the adrenaline coursing through his veins at feeling exposed was excruciating. If he looked at you right now before you spoke, he’d fill in the blanks. The valley between his share and your response felt painfully raw.

You said what you thought, your mind thunking the pieces into place plainly and neatly. “That makes sense. I never thought about that.” It wasn’t the most flowery response, but you noticed his shoulders stop tensing. “I’m sorry if I played into that.” You sighed, feeling like you should’ve put the pieces together sooner yourself, without him having to hand it to you on a platter. Hmm. Why might someone who endured a national tragedy as a child be annoyed with people’s concern?

The sound of a knock at the door startled you. You and Bruce exchanged a look, and you backed off while he walked to the peephole. It was then that you realized you hadn’t checked it before opening it earlier, assuming it was him. You couldn’t forget again.

His hair rustled against his forehead as he turned around. “It’s Gordon. Probably here for your statement.”

“You can hide in my room.”

He walked into it and shut the door seconds before you opened to two officers, only one of whom you’d seen before.

“Is this the residence of Y/N Y/L/N?”

You nodded. “Yeah, that’s me.”

Detective Gordon, as you could see via his badge, stepped in alongside a mustached officer. Martinez was his name tag. “We’re here to collect your statement on the assault that occurred 28th of August, on the corner of Bushnel and Tally. I’d ask if now is a good time, but we’re already late to collect, our apologies.”

You invited them in and tried to play off that they had nowhere to sit. “I’m waiting on some new furniture,”

Det. Gordon shook his head, taking out a notepad. “All good, ma’am. We should be no longer than a few minutes.”

And a long few minutes it had been. They asked only the most basic of questions, such as where he kicked you, any words he said, any threats he made, and if you were aware of any prior history between you and the assailant. Martinez held up a camera, asking if there were any visible injuries. You held out your hands initially, seeing the scabs on top of the knuckles, but you’d forgotten if they’d come more from trying to stop Bruce than the man himself. You stuck to showing them the bruise on your thigh, which you hadn’t had the chance to look at. Deep red, purple and gravelly, looking like you’d been skidding against the sidewalk. You figured falling out of his vehicle didn’t help.

Surprisingly, they knew about that too. You figured a certain vigilante had been the informant.

“Let me summarize to make sure we’re on the same page.” Det. Gordon flipped a few pages back, adjusting his glasses. Martinez was looking at the ground in front of him, his hand situated on his hip. He seemed to only be here for backup, maybe they had to come to these things in pairs. “Wednesday evening, you received a call from…” His voice dulled as he recited the events in perfect detail, each additional sentence drilling into you how intense the past two days had been. After what felt like a lifetime, he finished. “Is that correct?”

You nodded, your throat closing. Bruce had really saved you twice in forty-eight hours. Probably an attempt to cope, you thought about how Walter never had to worry about anything like this.

“I need verbal confirmation, ma’am.”

“Yes, that’s correct.”

Det. Gordon sighed, scribbling something else. “Looks like we’ll need to pay Mr. Wayne a visit.” Martinez perked at the statement, and you suppressed the ghost of a laugh. If only he knew Bruce was in the next room.

Det. Gordon closed his notebook, tucking the pen into the spiral. “Thank you for your time, Ms. Y/L/N. We’ll get back to you sometime in the next week with further details. Sorry that happened to you.”

“Yeah, sorry that happened.” Officer Martinez tipped his hat at you in apology, following behind Det. Gordon, gently shutting the door. Not three seconds later did Bruce step out of your bedroom, face contorted in serious consideration.

“It never takes them that long to get a statement. Something big must have happened.” You could see in his eyes he was thumbing through all sorts of information in the back of his head. You giggled, a sound Bruce didn’t find completely unusual (everyone had different reactions to traumatic events, after all), but the sound itself embedded in his chest. You laughed again, and it pushed deeper. “What?”

“You just look so serious.” Another laugh slipped out, which snowballed into a laughing fit. Bruce wondered if you might start crying again, like you had the last time you laughed in front of him like this, but you didn’t, doubling over in bursts of giggles. His body was a disorienting blend of feelings in response.

When you opened your eyes after gathering yourself, your vision was hazy, your head a bit dizzy. Your chest felt light, and your eyes caught on the tenders sitting to your right on the countertop, your stomach grumbling. You fished one out of the bag, your eyes rolling back at its decadence. God, so fucking good!

Oh, fuck. You’d taken an edible an hour ago. You didn’t think you’d taken that much.

Bruce side-eyed you, having averted his eyes after feeling his stomach jump at the rolling of yours— suspicious of how quickly your face had fallen and how fast you moved from task to task. “Are you o—”

“I took an edible. Right before you called, I forgot.” You cracked a laugh at the absurdity of it all, unable to contain the humor bubbling inside, but quieted yourself by focusing on eating the food. Your stomach was like an empty pit. You finished eating your singular chicken tender without further accidental innuendo, and became worrying, serious. Your shoulders deflated. “I’m sorry. If you don’t want to be around someone high, I know you don’t do substances, it’s probably weird,”

He interrupted with something he hoped might break you out of your slumped state, because he didn’t feel weird. “I actually took some of the edible you gave me back in spring.” As expected, your face lit up… with confusion, and awe.

“You said you never do them.”

“It was an interesting night.” You didn’t need to know that was precisely when he’d decided his persona, developing it while his brain was slow and the world was blurred. You sat in thought for a moment.

“But that doesn’t mean you’re okay with being around someone who is.”

“I’m more concerned if you are comfortable with it.” He’d noticed the TV wasn’t plugged in, but before moseying over to try and find a plug, he wanted your answer.

You shrugged. “I mean, yeah. We’re just watching a movie or whatever.” You messed around in the bag some more, procuring a bag of Skittles. He hadn’t had one of those since he was a kid.

Even lacking sobriety, your perception skills remained intact. You held the bag out to him. “Have some.”

He took the bag and opened it, pouring a few into his palm. You dug around some more, the sound of thin rustling plastic filling the silence, and pulled a pouch of Sour Patch Kids. He didn’t know if he’d ever tried those.

You opened the bag and each ate some handfuls of the respective candies in silence, your face puckering a bit at the sour sting. Bruce noticed a small bottle of rosé in the corner by the bread cabinet, unopened. It was far from the best idea on a night like this, both inebriated, a day after a man had threatened to have you killed, but he gestured to it regardless. “Mind if I have some?”

“Don’t just have some because I’m high, dude.” You popped another candy in your mouth. Bruce shrugged and walked toward it. You shook your head, but with his back turned he couldn’t tell, forcing you to voice your concerns. “Seriously.” Your tone fell from its casual cadence to a darker tone, firmer. “You said you never do it,”

“I’ve had alcohol before, I’ll manage.” As he approached the bottle, he hadn’t quite known what had possessed him, but as his ears attuned to the rustle of the plastic and his eyes acclimated to the physical space, he realized he felt more free. If he drank at home, he’d either have to be alone in his room or in the kitchen with Alfred. He could never at a social event, because he didn’t attend them to be social, he attended them to analyze. Letting anything lower his inhibitions around the likes of Convoy and Gavenstein wasn’t an option. However, now it felt fun. He grabbed the neck of the bottle, and you spoke with a start.

“Wait, your meds. Can you drink on them? Will it make your symptoms worse?”

Bruce recalled a ‘use caution when consuming alcohol’ warning on the outside of the bottle. It didn’t say no… “Should be fine, won’t have too much.”

“Bruce.”

He glanced over his shoulder at you, your face knit with worry; it ruffled him, but he blocked his thoughts before they became too rigid. This isn’t pity, this is concern. Concern was borne of care. You cared. Instead of turning away, he’d care back. He hummed on ideas for a shake. “Would it make you feel better if I called Crane?”

You nodded, bewildered that his tone bore no sarcasm or annoyance. He took out his phone, and you counted the subtle rings barely heard on the other end. Dr. Crane picked up after two. You couldn’t hear his voice, too muffled, but you could hear Bruce’s.

“It’s Bruce, yeah. I had a question about my medication.”

You watched as he pressed the phone to his ear, how he slowly meandered around the kitchen, looking at his shoes as he spoke. Warmth flooded you seeing him seem perfectly fine. This was the first time neither of you had been in crisis since. All you were going to do was watch a movie. No trying to stop him from hurting himself, no worrying about where he was, or what he was doing, none of him saving you.

Bruce hung up, thwarting your daydream. “Should be fine. Are you fine with it?”

You met his steady, bright blue eyes and felt a jolt in your chest, like falling down the stairs in a dream. You looked down at the bag from Rai’s, the red THANK YOU in copied prose crinkling about. “Yeah.” You shoved the feeling away, cracking a joke instead. “If you’re fine with not having million-dollar wine.”

He chuckled, the same way he had when he held you. Mostly internal, through his nose, his chest moving more than anything else. You studied him unwrapping the lid, reaching into his pocket for his keys that, of course, had a pocket knife attached. Watching him uncork it put you in a trance; the subtle ripple of his back with the movement, the pop of the cork coming undone beneath his fingers.

You’d been curiously silent behind him; when he finished opening the bottle he turned around, meeting your half-lidded eyes. Your head was in your hands, framing a sleepy grin. His stomach lurched, fluffs of anxiety toiling within it. The last time he’d felt this way was when Selina had unexpectedly kissed him. Confusing to have it appear now, in such a different context.

He channeled his focus instead on finding a glass. You didn’t have any flutes, but he withheld a joke about it, not wanting to make you uncomfortable or come across pompous. He poured a hefty glass, his wrist tipping further the more he felt your eyes on him.

The high created a delayed reaction, and you realized too late that he’d watched you gawking. Gawking? Was that what you were doing? You grabbed another tender and your juice before turning around to scoot the table closer to the outlet, desperate to shake off whatever stupor you’d been unconsciously put under.

Bruce would’ve jumped in to help, but he thought the distance would be good right now. He didn’t like the way his attention pulled toward you, or the way his hands shivered around the glass. Thankfully, his voice was unaffected. “Anything you had in mind to watch?”

You finally plugged the cord into the wall, and unceremoniously plopped onto the far side of the couch, leaving the whole right side open. “You can pick.” A wash of relief settled over you at having been the first to sit, not wanting to be the one to gauge how close to get if he’d sat first. Bruce wandered over with his very full glass of wine, and sat about a foot away. It still felt too congested.

“I got nothing.” He adjusted into the cushions, taking his first sip of wine. His left side was lit like a live wire.

You turned on the TV and flipped through some channels while he sipped. You had to force your eyes to remain strictly contained to the screen, a task that was monumentally difficult through the peak of your edible. “There’s this one show everyone’s talking about online. We could try watching the first episode, it’s like an hour.”

Bruce nodded, resting his hand with the glass on his right thigh. “Sure.”

You clicked it, thanking the ultra-fast wifi in the building for an immediate loading. You might have died if you had to stare too long at a black screen, the uncomfortable portrait of you sitting together reflecting back.

You both sat like that for the duration of the episode; in silence, with the occasional sip from Bruce. The first half was one of the more awkward things you’d experienced; you were acutely aware of how high you were, and how alone you were with him. You’d nearly taken double the dose earlier, and you probably would’ve freaked the fuck out if you had.

About halfway through the episode, you began to get sucked into the show—in a bad way. The acting was terrible, absolutely piss-poor; this resulted in a few sideways glances to Bruce which he reciprocated, each time his cheeks becoming a little more flushed from the alcohol. As the episode ended, you became one with the couch, the high beginning to taper, and your nerves the same. Bruce was about three-quarters done with his drink, probably the equivalent of one and a half shots if he downed the last bit.

As the first episode’s credits ran, you sat in a dumbfounded hypnosis. This was what everyone had been raving about? Huh? Your high’s slow descent left you less inhibited. “…That was so fucking bad.”

Buce nearly choked on his wine, evidently having taken a sip just as you spoke. You turned toward him. “You don’t agree?!”

He shook his head, licking his lips to catch the drops of wine that’d escaped in his almost-coughing recovery. His voice was more animated than you’d heard it before. “I was hoping you wouldn’t click ‘next episode’.”

A second of silence and you both laughed, his cheeks moving from a light rose to sunburn in tandem. He gave the impression of a lightweight; for once not drinking with Mar, you weren’t the least liquor-experienced. His laugh was cute, more full than you’d anticipated, but you could barely hear it over your own. “I don’t know how people can stand it.”

He stuck his hand out to the TV, his brow furrowed with such pure befuddlement you started laughing again, to which he giggled through his next sentence. “The officer was so obvious. Anyone with half a brain would’ve figured it out… is that the premise of the show? Whodunnit?”

“I thought it was the unassuming friend, I thought that was obvious.”

Bruce’s hand slapped to his thigh, his head cocking toward yours with a gentle eyeroll. “You’re joking.”

“Let’s go to the last episode! I’ll be right.” You grabbed the remote and clicked through the fifteen episodes between, each click evoking a scoff from him.

“The friend would be so cliche.”

So disdainful for someone wrong. “And the suspicious officer wouldn’t be? It’s so on the nose.” You clicked PLAY, now taking a while to load up.

“Which would make someone overlook it, like you’re doing now.”

“Alright detective.”

The episode opened to a black screen fading in, showing someone’s hands, lingering there, the metal handcuffs clinking. You and Bruce sat forward in your seats as it panned up to reveal the friend in custody.

“I TOLD YOU!” You paused the show and tossed the remote aside, gloating.

Bruce smirked, taking another sip of wine. “What if it’s a fake out?”

You’d never pulled out your phone so fast, and shoved it in his face when it confirmed your suspicions. “Hmm!”

“Alright, alright.”

“Hand over the baton, bucko.”

He side-eyed you, his mouth curling into an amused smirk. “‘Bucko’?”

“Can’t believe I outsmarted the ‘world’s greatest detective’.” As soon as the words passed your lips, the reality set in of who you were sitting next to, and anxiety nipped at your skin again. It was easy for you to dismiss his power when you were angry at him, or begrudging about it; when he had all your systems activated, wanting to run, scream, fight. Not when your guard was down, and you were under a green haze. Not when he was sitting comfortably on your couch.

“Suit might be a little short for you.”

His attempt at humor shocked your nerves again, dulling them. “Didn’t know you were capable of making a joke.”

He grinned, cocking an eyebrow as he sipped the rest of the wine. You’d never imagined him this relaxed. His shoulders down not from defeat, but relaxation; his eyes half-lidded not from desperation, or succumbing to whatever darkness lay within him, but wine’s subtle embrace. Even his legs were more splayed out, casting their net wider, his normally chiseled jawline dulled as his head sank into the back cushion.

You liked him like this, and felt braver. You sat back against the couch to match, tilting your head toward him, his already tilted toward you. “So what else does Bruce Wayne do?”

He looked confused.

“Public you. Do you just go to City Hall meetings, occasionally a shopping spree that totally isn’t a photo-op?”

He chuckled under his breath, his words coming out a little slower. Whoa, you really liked making him laugh. You wet your lips, subconsciously shifting nearer. “About to go to campaign events.” He met your eyes again, an act that was rapidly becoming a slippery slope. Every time he did it you felt more and more comfortable there. “What about you?”

“Campaign things? Yeah, I don’t have much else to do. I’ll try to be at every event.”

“You’re genuinely interested in Gotham politics?”

“Would I rather be home? Maybe, but it’s fascinating. The fact it got sprung on so quickly…”

“Been meaning to pay Reál a visit.” He stayed looking at you the entire time, and you drank up every second of it.

“I was thinking that too.” You mimicked his earlier laugh without conscious awareness. “If only we could pair up. Alas…”

He shrugged, the ripples in his shirt moving with his shoulders. “We could.”

You laughed again; whether it was the weed or his more friendly company, you’d figure later. “No way.”

“You could chaperone my visits. Be my transcriber.” He grinned at you, not giving away how much of it was a joke.

You rolled your eyes at him, playfully. “That’d be making me your personal assistant, Bruce.”

He liked when you said his name. “Guess you’re right, Y/N.”

A few seconds of silence rattled around your chest like a ping-pong ball. “If that happened, shit. Whatever credibility I have left would tank.” You looked at the screen, still paused on the friend’s form in the striped outfit.

“Don’t want that.”

You stared at each other, then busted laughing again. It felt different than how Dr. Vry had sneered at you in the meeting, mocking the notion of you having a name to protect; this was harmless, and if you hadn’t already picked up on it, you could tell by his smiling glances between laughs. Mmm, this wasn’t…

Wanting to ask him this since the candidates were first announced but never having the opportunity, you shot your shot after the din lowered. You grasped for anything platonic to settle the rhapsody that threatened to overwhelm you. “Which candidate are you liking?”

Bruce shot you another look, making your stomach flip. He was teasing. “You care about the billionaire’s opinion on city politics?”

“I am rubbing off on you!” You beamed.

He rolled his eyes in that same way, the grin sneaking into your eyes filling his chest like a balloon. He could hardly breathe around it. “I won’t endorse.”

You squinted. “Why not?”

“People could think whoever I endorse paid me off. Could have the opposite effect.”

You nodded, pondering it for a second. You were more relieved than you’d let on. “That’s better than what I thought your reasoning was. Thought I’d have to fight you.”

“And what did you think it was?”

“Some apolitical bullshit.”

He sighed, the whisper of a smile on his cheeks lifting it nearly into a laugh. “For someone who acts like they know me so well,”

“And when did I claim to?” This was the most pleasant ‘argument’ you’d ever had.

“Maybe it’s more your tone.” You could’ve sworn he winked at you.

This conversation had the aura of a flotation device; barely holding you both afloat. “I don’t know how I feel about a man talking about my tone. Especially one as sunshiney as you.”

“Touché.”

Laughter filled the room again. It was becoming easier and easier now, like a contagion. Bruce lightened his inflection, making it almost sing-songy. “What about you? Who do you like?” You held in a laugh that would’ve projected flecks of spit across the room. You felt ridiculous, and weird, alongside such vast enjoyment. You never, ever thought his company could be so agreeable.

“Only barely looked into them, but March seems about as stellar as a politician can be.” You were surprised you could still think so clearly; usually by this point of the edible, you were crashing into your pillow. His presence tonight was captivating, and you held back a flash of panic having thought that.

You hadn’t been looking at him, holding in a laugh having forced you to stare at his frayed black shoes, but you caught him laughing in your periphery, shaking his head. Your suspicious glare prompted him to elaborate. “You missed when he came to a meeting, it was like you were speaking through his body.”

“Now look who claims to know me so well!”

“That’s right, you hate the idea of taxing the rich and using the funds to help the less fortunate.”

You blushed, biting back a wide grin. “You’re so annoying.”

“Mmhmm.”

You gave him a once over while he checked his phone, mulling over how this simultaneously felt incredibly natural and out of character for him. Was this one of the ‘last good days’ people talked about? What Dr. Crane told you to look out for? An unusually elevated and expansive mood, inevitably leading to a crash, or signaling a resignation to the end? You didn’t want to kill the vibe, but felt that same pull to be the responsible one. “Really, are you okay?”

Bruce attuned to the shift in your body language as if it were his own. His knee-jerk response was to deny and reassure you he was fine. Truly, he wanted to tell you to stop asking him, and stop concerning yourself with his wellbeing. The alcohol had infiltrated, his walls dropping with far less resistance than usual, allowing him to start thinking through the tunnels of emotion without much fight. He felt okay right now, unnervingly so, but when he thought back to going home, about stepping out of the confines of these walls, it all felt heavier.

“It’s okay if you’re not. I’m not fine, either.”

He glanced over at you, your eyes blinking more than usual from the marijuana, slightly unfocused, but trying. He looked at his hands in his lap, fiddling with the tip of his pinky.

“And you don’t have to share because you think you owe it to me.”

Any other day he would’ve bristled at such blatant concern, but right now it cocooned him in comfort. Made his cheeks warmer than they already felt. He recalled your head snapping to the conference door when he’d slipped into his Batman modulation, an action that had him staring at you too long, only half-hearing Gordon on the other end. Had his breath catch before leaving.

“I want to. It’s just new to me. Talking, socializing, parading those rooms.” That physical pain returned to him, and he gestured to you. “Someone knowing besides Alfred. And the mental stuff.”

He expected you to be bored, for your eyes to have glazed over, but your attention was eager. You weren’t even wringing your hands together as you usually were. You spoke gently, but in a fashion nowhere similar to coddling. He wanted to lean closer to you.

“How’s that been?”

His chest puffed with a sharp breath, the rosé swirling in his gut. “No more owls, if that’s what you’re asking. The medication’s been fine, makes me feel a bit jittery, not hungry. That’s about it.”

“It’s gotta be hard to adjust to.”

He nodded, opening his mouth to speak. You spoke first.

“You’re also under the influence, I don’t want you to regret sharing anything.” Now you wrung your hands together.

His eyes searched yours, continuously floored at how often you chose the response least expected. No one else would look out for him like this. None of the people at City Hall, at least. No one in any rooms he’d ever been in. The next words out of his mouth spilled from unadulterated confusion, unable to scour his mind for an obvious answer. “How are you able to do that?”

His brows were knit together tight, all semblance of humor gone. Your voice was softer. “Do what?”

“Look past my reputation.”

You didn’t know how much he’d like the answer, but you said it anyway. “I guess I don’t idolize that stuff. Supreme wealth and influence. I actually hate it.”

“What makes you hate it?” He leaned closer to you, feeling the strongest pull to completely unravel you like a spool of thread.

You noted his swerve from questions about his wellbeing, but didn’t tempt it again. You’d given him an out for a reason. You kept to task, shifting your body toward his without thought. “I don’t like hoarding resources when so many people are without.”

“That’s why you’re watching a movie with him.” You were like a hearth, warm, bright, and he wanted to keep adding kindling.

“Touché.” You grinned, hoping he wouldn’t see the color brought to your ears, but resigned to the reality he undoubtedly did. “I do hate that about you.”

“Would it help if I hated it too?”

“But you’re still not doing anything about it.”

Even when you were interrogating him, listing off his inadequacies, it didn’t dampen the hospitality he felt toward you. He didn’t even care it felt disorienting to admit he liked it. Alcohol was a dangerous drug, his eyes in a constant deliberation between focusing on yours or your lips. “What do you think I should do?”

“You really want to hear it?”

He nodded. He could listen to you talk all night.

You released a sigh from the bottom of your lungs. You floored it without thought for how it might come out with your jumbled, free-flowing mind right now. “I think people should be housed. Given food, access to resources. Like actual access, not handing them a paper or telling them a phone line when half of them don’t have phones. There are more empty apartments in the city than people houseless.”

Damn. “Really?” You were so passionate about this… it was enchanting.

“Yes.”

“So, subsidizing those units?” He’d hand you his card right now. He’d do just about anything you asked right now, his focus growing increasingly singular, the room crowding.

You nodded. “Making it free until people get on their feet. Work with the next mayor to draw up a new budget.”

Underneath the bloom of the alcohol, he felt himself beginning to simmer. He sat back a little. “And what if they just want to loiter?”

“What if they deserve to?”

Bruce didn’t have a response, thrown yet another curveball by you.

“Wouldn’t you want to relax and recover if you spent the last few years out on the streets, and you finally had a shower and a warm bed that’s all yours? A kitchen with food? We could partner with local charities and businesses to provide food and stubs.”

We. His mind zoomed on it like a magnifying glass. He shifted his weight, feeling unsettled. This was verging on a massive argument, tempting a trigger on his fight or flight, your conversation yanking him in opposing directions. “What about people with criminal convictions?”

“Your moral compass needs some nuance.”

Bruce bristled, the thought of criminals being handed a check to live comfortably off the government feeling as wrong as kicking a puppy. What did criminals do to deserve comfort, safety? They’d taken his parents from…

Something flashed across Bruce’s face for only a millisecond, his shoulders slumping. His brows knit together, barely, like a half-formed thought. He scanned the ground in front of him before subtly clearing his throat.

They hadn’t taken his parents from him. One person had. One man pulling the trigger. Christ.. He blinked a few times, vowing to dig into it more later. Something about the greater revelation hidden inside made that thought feel like the inaugural brick.

Thankfully, all he had to do to abandon the thought was focus back on you. The alcohol rendered his ruminations less sticky, but you stickier. He was starting to recognize the contours of your face. His initial balk melted into trust. “Nuance. I’m listening.”

His gaze falling on you was beginning to feel like a third place. Maybe a first. “You’re actually listening to me?”

Your pleasant surprise did heavy-lifting on the mood. He razzed. “Guess it’s the alcohol.”

You paused before sinking into his capturing charm, fretting over how out of character this was. Mood lability was one of the terms Dr. Crane had taught you, but before you could get too wrapped up in your thoughts, Bruce pulled you out of the early waves like a trained lifeguard. He positioned his body toward you, leaning even closer, tilting his head to better meet your wandering eyes. The second he tethered you there, he let down the anchor. “I’m safe.” He nodded slowly, just enough for you to register it.

Soft ebbs of his wine-tinged breath caressed your nose. You looked away, but his lullaby ‘hey’ drew your eyes back. He nodded firmer now. “I promise.”

You bit your lip, tears studding the rim of your eyes.

“I’ll keep promising until you believe me.”

Instead of the whimper that wanted to escape, a single tear fell, and his eyes followed it until it dripped off your chin.

“I don’t take your trust lightly.”

He’s so sweet like this. Another tear, overwhelming sensations swinging on monkey bars in your chest cavity. You brushed it off with the back of your palm, shaking out your hands as much as you could in the small space between you. His focused attention felt permeating, like standing too close to the sun. You let out an embarrassed laugh, struggling to play off your emotionality. “I know every time you bring it up I start crying, and I don’t know why, but. I can handle it. I want to be a resource.”

He mused on that a moment, the only evidence of it being the subtle shifts of his eyes focusing on yours. “If I ever feel like that, I’ll call you.” He measured your reaction with a fine-toothed comb, not wanting to ask too much, needing to straddle the line between comforting you and burdening. You nodded and withdrew your phone from your pocket, leaving him swimming in repose.

You handed him your phone on the New Contact page, and you watched as he input his number. Your breathing was deep and shallow altogether, confused, like the tendrils of flame that scorned your stomach lining as your eyes outlined the shadows of his hair across his forehead, like the electricity that zapped your nervous system when he spoke to you like that, the undulating depth of his blue eyes…

You busied yourself flipping through more streaming channels. Another popular show made you click, this time one Mar had personally recommended. He handed the phone back, glancing at the TV. He didn’t want to watch anything right now, he wanted to keep talking to you. But he didn’t really want you to keep feeling upset, either. He nodded for you to press PLAY.

It started how any flashy drama does, with a wild cold open. Your attention followed the commotion, flashing to a scene in a silent office. Pretty soon, the screen fuzzed out to unintelligible static. Tears streamed down your cheeks from the emotion of the scene, and Bruce leaned closer. His voice was hot in your ear, peppering goosebumps across your skin. “Let me.”

He pressed his lips to your cheeks, kissing away your tears. The clip of your heart thundering in your chest had you gasping at the contact, pushing yourself up to your knees to bring your mouth to his. His lips were soft and enveloping, turning your gasps into panting whines. His cologne squeezed your throat, leaving you breathless.

“Y/N…” he moaned your name into your mouth, a sound that went straight between your thighs. Your phone thudded against the ground, freeing up your hands to thread through his hair. The sounds he was making… Your arms collided, both having the same idea at the same time to pull the other’s shirt off.

Just as his shirt pulled over his head, you opened your eyes, jolting up. You felt your phone slide from your thigh to the couch cushion, still open to New Contact: Bruce. He rustled beside you, blinking slowly back into the room. You both looked entirely unmussed, a foot away. Everything still intact. You both had dozed off, apparently.

It was a fucking dream.

Looking at the screen showed you’d both been out for around half an hour, the show playing on. He ran a hand through his hair, stretching his neck from side to side while he yawned. You averted your eyes in case he could beam into your thoughts. “Um, I need to pee.” You gulped and rose unsteadily to your feet, all but racing to your bedroom.

You rested your forehead against the door once it shut, a gasp of breath leaving you. You twitched hard at the ghost of his lips on your neck, shaking your head while you ran to the bathroom, running ice water in the sink. You cooled your hot hands and placed them on the back of your neck and cheeks, letting your eyes shut.

Dreams are strange. Fickle and unintelligible. The coolness was bringing you back down, settling your heart rate before you inevitably passed out. You spent another few minutes there, avoiding your hair as much as possible as you tethered yourself with each press of your fingers to your face. You shook your hands out, jumping in place. Whew. The images and sensations were fading safely into obscurity, the temperature defogging the haze of your high.

Padding back to your bedroom showed the time to be around ten. The nap had only made you more tired. When you walked back out you focused on your kitchen island, ignoring the giant, screaming, flashing lights coming from the couch. You yawned, and he got up in response. “We fell asleep quick. Don’t know what that says about the show.” He said it so casually, but your mind was positively tumbling all over itself. You nodded, your mouth drying.

You weren’t aware that he was internally stewing over how seamlessly he’d followed your lead once you’d passed out, and all of the embarrassment that was following now that he was awake. He didn’t know that you were holding in a scream.

You brightened so he wouldn’t pry, watching him stretch himself more alert. “I know, I guess the week caught up with me!” Forced to look at him, you clamped your teeth against your tongue in preparation. It was needed.

“I’ll walk. Text you when I make it back?” He wanted to get ahead of your anxieties, knowing if the roles were reversed he’d demand it of you. He simpered. How egalitarian.

“Oh uh, yeah! I’ll text you when I get to bed.” Suggestive. “So you can have my number.” The recovery was far from smooth, but you were struggling to capture an impossible feat of looking at him but not perceiving him. He gave a small thumbs-up as he pulled the hoodie over his head and buttoned his jacket. Once his back was turned toward the door it was easier, but not by much.

He opened the door, peeking over his shoulder. “That was fun.”

“It was nice to have company. Even if it was yours.” In anguish, you clawed back to jests in a futile attempt at normalcy.

He laughed under his breath once more. “Even if it was yours.” His barely-there grin was the last thing you saw before the night crashed to an end.

Jesus fucking Christ.

[sunflowersandsapphires]

Congrats Sapph 👏 How about a Sunflower for Matt where Matt surprises Reader with a baked treat (store bought or homemade is up to you) after an awful, terrible, no good, very bad day?

Trudging towards your apartment door, your feet ached terribly. You’d been running around all day, mimicking a chicken with its head cut off no doubt, trying to meet your employer's impossible standards as you approached the end of the quarter. The stress of the month was palpable within your office, keeping you and your coworkers huddled in cubicles--ready to snap at any passing distractions.

You'd forgone many simple comforts in order to meet deadlines this week, which had steadily worsened your mood. Morning coffee with Matt. Slow, ambling walks to work, stopping for a pastry or a bagel from the corner deli. Even the pleasure of taking time to eat your lunch, rather than wolfing it down at your desk while tediously reviewing an Excel spreadsheet.

Your mornings were starting earlier than ever, forcing you to press a hasty kiss to Matt's cheek before you dashed into the dawn-lit city without him. Nights had become equally unsatisfying, tension at work leaving you so strung out you shoveled a slapped-together bowl of leftovers into your mouth before collapsing into bed before Matt even left the office.

Matt, always the loving boyfriend, hadn't complained once--instead leaving supportive messages on your phone and stocking the fridge with take out. Being forced to neglect your criminally compassionate partner was slowly breaking your heart.

A few more days and the madness would be over. The thought made you want to sob; the light at the end of the tunnel still seemed impossibly far away.

Sliding your rusted key into the lock, you unlatched the bolt and shouldered into the apartment. Toeing off your shoes, you inhaled shakily, tears building on your waterline. With dragging footsteps, you rounded the corner into your studio and gaped.

”What..the..fuck?“

The exasperated question meandered through the destroyed space as you stood staring at the mess. Your kitchen was in ruins. Flour and sugar coated your counters, used mixing bowls were strewn across every flat surface, and there was another pile of dishes in your sink. Eyes flitting around the room, you verified that you hadn't somehow broken into a neighbor's place.

As far as you knew, your place had been comfortably disheveled this morning. Chaotic but organized. What on earth had happened when you were at work? Had the pilsbury dough boy been murdered in your home?

Rage tangling with the confusion in your chest, you stalked towards the mess, swiping a finger through the residue on your countertops. Before you could decide whether to laugh or cry at your own misfortune, the door opened, making you jump.

Down the hallway, bearing a bashful smile, was Matt.

”I am so sorry, sweetheart. I lost track of time.” Pacing over to you, Matt extended his arms, letting you fall against him. The paper bag in his left hand crinkled as he tightened the embrace. ”I will clean all of this up, I promise.“

”Um, what..what are you doing here?“ You settled on a less frustrated question, knowing Matt's explanation would probably wash your anger away.

”I was hoping to have a snack ready for you when you got home. You've been having such a tough few weeks, I wanted to do something for you. So I called your mom for that pumpkin cake recipe you like so much.“ One hand kneading your back, Matt unwrapped the parcel with his other hand. ”But your nutmeg was expired and I wanted it to be perfect so I--“

”You're making a pumpkin roll?“ You asked in surprise, your vision blurring with tears as your emotions overwhelmed you.

”I was trying!“ Matt chuckled, planting a kiss on the top of your head. ”I'm so sorry about the mess. I didn't mean to stress you out.“

”You didn't.“ You sniffled, tears falling in earnest now. ”I mean, maybe at first, but I don't care about the dishes now. You're just...“

Reluctantly allowing Matt to step away from you, your eyes fluttered shut as he brushed the damp trails from your cheeks with his fingertips. ”I'm just what?“ Matt smirked, clearly holding back an affectionate laugh.

Diving back into his chest, you nuzzled his shoulder with a sigh. ”Perfect, Matt. You're perfect. I love you.”

“I love you too, sweetheart. Why don't you go turn something on the TV while I finish in the kitchen?”

Nearly groaning at how heavenly Matt's suggestion sounded, you pecked his lips before pulling away. “Sit with me once it's in the oven?”

“Of course, love.” Pressing a final kiss to your forehead, Matt whisked off to finish what he'd started, leaving you to stare after him with a look of gratitude.

[akingdomscrypt]

War is Over (and what have we done?)

Part Five

Paring; Graves x m!reader (slow burn)

WC; ~8.8k

Summary; where was Graves in all those months he was gone? What brought him back?

Warnings; just some general internal turmoil, brief imagery of death, implied human trafficking when including the context of past chapters, a lot of self doubt/feelings of betrayal. Tame compared to my usual stuff tbh

A/n; I hate dialogue. Also the moon phase mentioned in the beginning is what it would have been in-game for that mission too :3

---"And I'll crawl home to him"---

You arrive a few hours later, according to the ticking clock above the bed—knife still embedded into the plastic face and all, he hadn't bothered to remove it, even after all this time—and at that point Phil had started to believe Venn had chickened out. That, or she just didn't bother telling you.. perhaps she had forgotten. All were of an extremely low probability. He should know better by now than to doubt her.

Even now, only a few weeks later. You looked so.. so drastically different. Phil takes stock, compares your current form from when he had last seen you all those weeks ago—had it been weeks? Phil didn't even know what day it was.

Drifting. Up, down, and across every inch of your concealed form. Something foreign pulls at the hardened strings of his heart—strands of silk toughened up by years upon years of repressed emotion and poorly dealt hands—at the sight of you. Standing tall and confident, as if he can't see the strain buried in your shoulders from the effort of holding yourself up, keeping yourself from crumbling to dust right before his eyes. And he swears you've lost weight, a noticeable difference in the amount of muscle mass wrapped around your bones, even under all that clothing.

When his gaze meets yours, taking a peek into the torn and frayed patchwork of your soul, all he can feel is the stinging reminder of you wishing him dead. Telling him you'd hoped he'd died all those months back; suffocated by his own lungs.

And it's like the past decade of getting to know you, watching you open up, never happened. Wound so tightly, that all that progress is dumped right down the drain; he isn't sure if he'd ever be able to tear down those walls again. Not this time. He scrambles brick by brick to reach the top, but you're too fast, replacing those crumbling stacks with bolts and iron at an alarming rate.

He can't see over the wall anymore, it's too high to reach, too steep to climb. And he fears he may never have the honor of reaching that softer center ever again, barred by thick metal and scathing words.  

“You wanted to see me?” Hell… you even sound different. Cool and collected on the surface, but there's an edge there that tells Phil you're not as put together as you are trying to appear to be.

“I did.” But now that you're here, he can't remember the script he'd spent the last week constructing, so delicately, in his mind.

“Well,” you drawl, lifting your arms and gesturing widely. Dropping back down to your sides with a dull smack. “I'm here.”

Are you? Phil doesn't think so. Not really.

Your eyes are the only thing on display, and just a year ago Phil wouldn've prided himself in the fact that he could read you so well. But not anymore. 

He can't see that lighthouse shining through, guiding him through the night. There's nothing there. The lamp has run out of oil, and the keeper died months ago.

You're right here, and yet Phil has never found you to be so out of reach. 

Who would've thought; his savior, and the one who had damned him to the fiery pits of hell, were both the same man. It felt almost poetic.

Phil thinks he had made peace with his death. Sure, this hadn't been what his younger self had imagined when the topic of death was brought up; still bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, believing himself to be near invincible. 

He had never been particularly religious, even after being forced to sit in those church pews and listen to some old man drone on and on about shit his child brain didn't care to make sense of. Bored out of his mind, but only sitting still, behaving, because doing the opposite meant taking over his younger sister's chores for the rest of the day. 

Phil still couldn't help but think that maybe, just maybe, this was some sort of fucked-up retribution or some shit like that. Paying for the sins he'd committed within his lifespan, and so on.

And he wasn't just speaking of the blood that permanently stained his hands, no, he was thinking of you. Always you. 

You and those endless pools of warmth that made up your eyes, always a slight glimmer in them when you looked his way. You and those rough, work-hardened hands, always so soft and gentle when you handled him. Like he was something delicate, something to be cherished and protected. Him the altar and you the devoted worshiper knelt before him, praying for the mercy of a god who never answered your calls. 

And that laugh. Like nothing else he had experienced before, a blessed thing he was granted the honor of witnessing. Of having directed his way. So rare, but so carefully captured and sealed away in Phil's heart when he heard its boisterous sound. 

The main reason Phil had never really connected with the religion he was raised into was, even though they were the same people who preached about community and loving thy neighbor and whatever the hell, they were also the kind to shun and exile those they deemed unworthy. Those who didn't fit into the cookie cutter shapes chosen for them before they'd even taken their first breath. 

He had completely dismissed his family's religion entirely when, after one of the members of his church discovered him getting a bit too cuddly—nothing more than an innocent hug that lasted a few seconds longer than it should—with one of his male classmates, they were outcast from the very same church he'd practically grown up in. And Phil would forever be thankful for having parents who stuck up for him to the very end, he doesn't think he'd ever seen his dad so thoroughly pissed off than when going after a churchgoer who'd slung a few cruel choice words at a younger Phil. 

And Phil can't help but feel he knew this was how it would end when he made the decision; like some cruel method of justice.

So, while he no longer considered himself aligned with any specific religion, Phil still held onto that deep-rooted fear of something. Of damnation and redemption. And in that moment, as his heart began to slow and stutter in his chest, when his head felt too heavy to hold up, and the simple task of breathing caused his chest to burn, he did something he hadn't done since middle school. Something he never thought he'd do again.

He yearned for forgiveness; begged and pleaded until black swallowed up his vision whole.

Phil doesn't remember when the world had gone dark; doesn't think he had even fought against the pull. Willingly, had he responded to the siren's call through the waves crashing in his ear, a sound so alluring he would never even consider resisting, one that held a certain likeness to your voice. 

What he does remember is the sudden gulps of stinging ash in his lungs, shocking his system into alertness, and the touch of oddly cool hands pulling at his shoulders. Hard, sandy earth beneath him, but he can't look up, can't peel his eyelids open and take a glance at his savior when those hands disappear. Only to wrap a pair of arms snug around his waist and continue dragging him over jagged stones and bits of metal.

It's not until Phil abruptly feels a lot cooler than he did moments ago that he's finally able to force his eyes open, a gasping breath kick-starting his heart back into motion. 

And when he looks up, dazed and more than a little out of it, what he sees nearly steals his breath away once again. 

Smoke wafting off your uniform in waves, dancing with the remaining embers still shining bright in a sea of black like stars in a night sky. It should be terrifying, but it's not.

Because Phil cannot see how the material clings unnaturally to your body, his brain is too fogged up still to notice the torn patches in your clothing. Blood stains the dark fabric into a deeper shade, trickling from gouges in your skin and dripping onto his. 

All he sees is that perfect, unmarred face of yours. Mask pulled down and out of the way as you pant for breath; the flesh warmed a more intense reddish tone than usual, but Phil didn't register that, unable to yet comprehend that what was once untouched would soon become scarred and disfigured within the next few hours.

And with the setting sun positioned behind you, glowing almost like an angel's halo to frame your head, he had never been so enraptured by the sight of you as much as he was in that moment.

It's clumsy and uncoordinated, taking a few tries to even get the limb to function, but he manages. Reaching up to gently cup the jaw of his savior, his guardian angel, to feel that familiar warmth against his skin.

Only to have his wrist snatched out of the air by your still gloved hand, the hold a little tighter than normal, held for a second before being dropped carelessly onto his chest. And Phil doesn't have the energy to lift it again. 

“You breathin', sir?” Comes your once angelic voice, now sounding like someone had shoved a saw blade down your throat; scratchy and not at all the soothing rumble he was used to, a strange shiver alighting his nerves at the sound. 

All Phil can muster up is a strained, grunt-like sound in response. But that seems to be more than enough for you as you stand back up from your crouched position, sigh, and look over the ruined training grounds. 

There's a hard set to your jaw, and Phil begins to feel something akin to fear. An emotion he doesn't think he could recall ever feeling around you if he tried. 

“Good enough.” You huff, leaning back down to wrap your strong arms around his waist. Dragging him like a ragdoll to a more secluded, out-of-the-way spot just outside the remains of the designated training area. 

He can't fight it, can bring himself to move or speak or do much of anything, really. Laying limp in your hold and letting himself be hauled away.

Phil considers that whatever method of exfil you had prepared must be this way. He doesn't remember making any plans like that with you and the others. But why else would you take him here?

Those hopes are crushed when you prop him against a fallen log, the remains of Alejandro's base now just barely out of sight, then pull away.

“This should be fine,” you mumble to yourself, cold gaze studying him briefly before darting back to where you two had come from. “Mhm. They shouldn't patrol this far.”

“-nant?-” Crackles through your radio before Phil can muster the energy to ask you what you meant by that. The feed is distorted, the device had probably been damaged sometime during the fight, but it's clearly a panicked voice speaking on the other end. “-Lieu-en-t? Are- y- there? Pha-nt-m?-” 

“2-3,” you respond, voice level. “I'm here. Problem?” 

“-N-o, no problems, sir-” Kip, 2-3, says. A little calmer now that he has heard your voice. Phil watches the scene through blurry eyes. “-We got- he's- Viper is stable-”

“For now.” You mutter bitterly, switching the radio back on to reply with, “Give me a sit-rep, 2-3.” 

“-V-enn’s got ‘em lo-aded up-” a pause. “-a quarter left, sir.” 

A quarter left. Even in Phil’s muddled up state, he knows what that means. It meant three-quarters of the soldiers he had taken with him were dead. Too many to feasibly count. So many bodies left unidentified, in enemy territory. 

“-How-re yo-u and the- c-mander, Lt.?-” Phil would've said something if he could. But his vocal cords are paralyzed and his tongue feels like it's constructed of pure lead. 

“I’m breathing.” You joke, your slight amusement is obvious even in such a bland tone. At least to Phil it is. 

“A-nd,” if Kip notices, he doesn't mention it. “-and the commander?”

You spare one glance down at his slumped, barely breathing form, gaze shut-off and distant, and a cavernous pit of dread opens up in Phil's stomach.

“KIA.” You grunt, eyes narrowing down at Phil. And he may as well be, to have you look at him like that.

Kip doesn't respond and you click your radio off. And it's as easy as that, as if Phil, your co-founder, your friend, you lover, meant nothing to you. 

You turn and leave, and Phil doesn't even possess the ability to call your name.

The next time he wakes, Phil doesn't think he's been colder in his damn life. And he's done his time in deep dive operations in the frigid hellscape that is the wilderness of remote foreign bases just past the Bering Sea.

It's dark, stars and the illumination of the moons’ waxing gibbous all the man has to light his way. 

For a prolonged moment Phil doesn't even consider pushing himself up from his current pathetic, slumped over position against the decaying log. Would it even be worth it? He had nothing but the singed clothes on his back to call his own, not a weapon he can use in sight. Not even a pocket knife up his sleeve or a heart nestled in his ribcage. 

Phil has experienced his own fair share of betrayal within his lifetime; ranging from small, nonsense instances with his little sister, to slightly bigger ones like with the church; then there were the more prominent, glaring ones that stuck out like a sore thumb. From before he started this damn company, freshly enlisted, and only a year later when he met you.

With shitty, high ranked officers who didn't give a single fuck about what happened to him or his squad—not that that had changed much after being taken under the watchful eye of General Shepard. Freezing to death in bumfuck nowhere Russia, or nearly drowning in the middle of the goddamn Atlantic Ocean. 

You had been there for every single one. Such a constant in his life; a steady, unmovable force by Phil's side no matter what happened. Even before he'd fallen for you, before you became more than just a friend. Like two peas in a pod, you two.

There was no you without him, and vise versa, the soldiers you two worked with knew it too. They were always sure to throw in a teasing jab now and again, asking the typical “trouble in paradise?”, when you were spotted away from each other for more than a few hours.

So forgive Phil for being a bit melodramatic, because, out of all the people on this godforsaken planet, he never expected such a thing from you. 

Maybe he should have. He wouldn't be on the verge of catching fucking hypothermia in the middle of nowhere in a foreign country.

Phil tries to think back, to push past the pounding in his skull to recall even a moment that would have given away some sort of clue to your betrayal before it happened. Maybe he could've prevented it if he had just looked closer. 

But no. There's nothing. If anything, Phil recalls you being a bit more.. clingy, before this whole thing started. In your own way, of course; he's pretty sure you would rather be caught dead than let someone catch you hugging him or, heaven forbid, holding his hand. 

Your neediness manifested in standing just close enough to him that any shift in stance or movement caused your shoulders to brush together; getting up in his personal space and staying there. 

Maybe that was it? Maybe you had been so unusually affectionate because you'd planned on betraying him. And Phil was just too blinded by the sudden influx of your undivided attention to see it; he's starting to consider that that may have been your intention all along.

To distract him with your attention, to hide your true intentions under the guise of gentle words and adoring eyes. 

Phil gives it a few more minutes, shivering his ass off against that damn log, before he finally gives in and decides to stand. He wasn't dead—yet—and by staying he was nothing more than a sitting duck in shark infested waters—which was a weird saying, wasn't it; how could the waters be infested when that was a shark's natural habitat? 

Traveling under the blanket of night provided him with the highest chances of survival, even if it meant he was constantly on the verge of freezing to death. Under the dark, star speckled sky, he was, for the most part, safe from the prying eyes of enemy soldiers. It would be much more difficult for them to spot him under the protection of a waxing moon than, say, the full, all-encompassing concentrated power of the fucking sun. 

So he gets his hands under himself, weakened arms trying their damnedest to force him to his feet. Phil takes a moment, leaning against a strong, tall tree that was luckily rooted right beside its fallen brethren. 

The last time he had put anything in his stomach was yesterday (?) morning before they had been so rudely interrupted by the 141 boys knocking on their—or, really, not theirs at all—front door. And after an afternoon like that, all his energy was beyond drained. It's a surprise Phil was still standing—not that he was exactly doing a very good job at that—, though, to be fair, he wasn't new to going lengths of time without proper sustenance. It was a byproduct of the job, of the life he led, after all.

Phil can't do anything to rectify his current hunger right now, so he has no choice other than start getting some miles between himself and the wrecked base next door.

Signing, he looks down, spotting a small dagger lodged into the tree he'd been resting against before. Huh, at least you hadn't left him completely defenseless. 

Knife secured in his boot, Phil begins the long trek to who knows where. It's not like he could just make his way back to company HQ, now could he? Not when it was so damn clear he was an unwanted face there. 

The chipped watch on his wrist reads o-five-hundred, giving him about an hour until sunrise. Phil has already made pretty good progress, if he did say so himself. And the Vaqueros base has long since faded from his view; leaving Phil to now wander aimlessly through the harsh Mexican terrain; traversing over dry, crumbling rocks through a sparse forest, avoiding sudden drop offs and twisted roots on wobbly legs. 

Phil had detoured around the broken city of Las Almas, a certain brand of discomfort crawling up his spine and settling heavy across his shoulders at the mere thought of passing through the ruined city. The barest glimpses of it he'd gotten bore the harsh reality of cobblestone roads still bathed in watery crimson, the familiar color splattered over everything within reach; streaked over stone walls and staining the clothes of bodies still laying cold, face-down in the streets. 

One look at the carnage left behind and he'd nearly doubled over from the sheer force of the sudden churning of his stomach. Expelling the bile building at the back of his throat would only end in the burning of his esophagus from his empty, acid-filled belly. There were likely valuable resources left behind in the town, something to aid him in his solo travels, but he quickly dismissed the idea at the sight.

He'd rather skip this city and continue to walk with nothing to his name but the clothes on his body and the knife in his boot then be forced to face that massacre. 

Phil hopes, come morning, the very same people he'd stabbed in the back take the time to ghost over the town and dispose of the mess he'd left behind. To reap the souls of those innocent civilians and treat their bodies with much kinder hands than his own Shadows had. 

Phil was really getting tired of waking up to people dragging his ass around. 

Well, judging by the way, at least this time around, there were no sharp rocks digging into his spine and the fact that this ride was.. quite bumpy, it appeared Phil was being carried this time. What an improvement. 

And while he should probably be very concerned as to who, or what, exactly, is carrying him from point A—aka, where he'd likely had passed out again—to point B, the man can't bring himself to care. He doesn't have the energy for it.

Instead, he's in a bit of a daze. Wondering how in the everloving fuck this damn country jumped from near freezing in the night, to scorching hot temperatures that could rival the damn devil. All Phil remembers leading up to this is him cursing the damn sun with his whole chest, feeling like his freaking skin was melting off, then somehow finding himself face-down in the goddamn sand—when had he made it into the damn desert??

And now he was here. 

Being carried to God knows where, still sweating profusely under his clothes—how his body still had the capability to sweat when he was already so dehydrated, was beyond him—and too tired to do anything more than lay there. 

Phil must've drifted off again at some point, because when he wakes again he's no longer moving. Instead he's flat out on his back, a hard surface beneath him not unlike the old bunks he'd slept on when he was a newbie, and his entire body feels like one giant ass bruise. An all encompassing ache that traveled from the base of his skull to the tips of his toes—as if, now that he was finally resting, his entire body had collectively agreed to seek revenge on his overused muscles.

Distantly, he can hear the chatter of a man and a woman speaking in hushed voices, muttered Spanish drifting from somewhere to his left. 

Every instinct that had been ingrained into him screams at Phil to launch himself up and either attack or make a run for it. He does neither, too exhausted to even move or open his eyes, much less to try and stand. 

He ends up dancing on the fine line between consciousness and slumber while the two strangers talk, presumably, about him. Lingering in that peculiar space where you're not quite awake, but you're not sleeping either; able to hear and feel, but not aware enough to get up and move. 

Phil chose to use that time to attempt to listen in, see what all, if any, of the words he could catch. He wasn't going to pretend to know more than he did, as Phil really only knew the more simple Spanish phrases from his time in highschool when it was a required course. He picks up the usual filler words, a few pronouns, something that sounds much like ‘the American’, and the suppressed voices briefly increasing in volume, rushed, before quieting. Then silence.  

With nothing to stimulate his brain, Phil once again falls into a fitful rest. 

Power? Is that what this had been about? In all the years Phil has known you, he never would've thought of you as the type. But could that have been what you were after the entire time? And all these years you were just biding your time, waiting for the best time to strike. 

How could he have been so blind, how did he not see this coming? The person closest to him, a man who knew more about Phil than any single other person to exist. He should've seen this miles away before it hit him like a fucking freight train.

This is why you had to turn on others before they had the chance to flip the blade on you first—a lesson Phil had learned oh-so long ago. After all this time, how the hell had he forgotten that?

Which is why, the second Phil has the capacity to, he bolts upright and does his best to regain his bearings. A little dizzy, body shaky, limbs trembling from a lack of nutrients, but no longer in the fetal position at least. As aware as he physically can be. 

Somewhere between blinking away the blur obscuring his vision and forcing himself into a fully seated position, Phil hears the two voices again

Faint at first. Then growing louder. Closer. 

Phil's eyes, still unfocused, dart around his surroundings.

A room. Closed off with only one door, and a window too small for his body. Below him is some sort of flimsy cot placed in the corner furthest from the exit, one that's metal frame squeals with the slightest movements.

Getting distinct now, one woman and one man, just as before. 

Phil's hand shoots down, patting his boot; heart rate skyrocketing when the man realizes the knife is missing. His crutch, the only thing he'd possessed to defend himself beyond his own bare hands. It was gone.

They'd taken it from him. 

Closer, closer, closer still. The door opens, hinges creaking as a tall, heavy set man walks in; black, cropped hair and a well kept mustache are the first things he notes. And Phil can immediately tell that, even if he were standing, there's no way this guy wouldn't tower over him. 

That is a problem. Not because Phil hasn't taken on much large men than himself, but because he usually managed such a feat when fully put together and decidedly not when half-starved, dehydrated, and barely conscious. 

While the man approaches Phil with a certain air of caution, the woman, on the other hand, stays behind. Leaning against the doorframe, watching.

But not afraid, no, there's nothing to hint at fear in her intense gaze. Long, dark hair pulled up and tied in loose updo, arms crossed tight over her chest, and mouth set into a firm line. And still she appears to be more curious, or concerned, than fearful; perhaps a bit heedful, but that's as far as it goes.

The man, surprisingly, seemed much more on guard than his counterpart. To be fair, and give the poor guy some credit, he was the one tasked with coming closer to Phil. And Phil, in all honesty, was not of the.. low-risk variety. 

Not that the two would know that, all identifying parts of his uniform were either torn or stained, but it's always safer to be wary of strangers. And given Phil's appearance—dirtied, bloody, and cowering like a caged animal ready to strike at any given moment—he obviously wasn't just some random guy who they'd stumbled upon.

Come to think of it, Phil wondered what they thought had happened to him, or why he was out there—wherever he was when they found him—in the first place. 

Beyond that, who were these people? Why did they bring him here, why not just leave him, a complete stranger and possible danger, where they'd found him instead of risking their lives carrying Phil to their home? At least they'd been smart enough to check him for weapons, for their sake.

Which begs the question; were these people just plain stupid, or did they trust enough in their own abilities to put him down if need be?

“So,” the man begins, now within a few feet of where Phil sits. Spine straight, chin lifted, and arms crossed much like his partner; posture firm, aiming to appear confident. “You military?”

Oh, what could have possibly given that away?

“Sorta.” Comes Phil's stilted reply. 

To Phil's great unsettlement, the man smiles. Only a tiny thing, a barely twitch at the corner of his mouth before it's gone. 

“Where am I?”

The man hesitates, and the woman chimes in with a few uttered words of Spanish again. 

“Not too far from the border, a few hours most.” when Phil doesn't respond, the man continues. “Name's Eric and this,” he tips his head slightly in the woman's direction. “Is my wife, Sofia. We have.. decided to help you back onto your feet.”

Another murmur, then Eric corrects with an, “if you want.” 

Lovely. Now it didn't sound as much like he was being held hostage.

“Y'all want to.. help me?” Phil asks, skeptical as he flicks his gaze between the two. Trying to decipher any double meaning, any sort of threat veiled under these too-good-to-be-true words. “...And why would you do that?” 

“My wife was a field medic, and me a soldier,” he begins. “We know what a person looks like wounded.. not only physically.” 

Oh, so they wanted to be some sort of great savior or some shit? Give Phil some weird form of therapy? He didn't need that, he didn't need anyone's pity. Especially not these strangers who knew absolutely nothing about him.

Eric must sense something off about him, because he immediately rushes to continue. “Like it or not, we are your best option. You go out there? Try to get home in the state you are in? You will die before the sun sets.” 

Phil wasn't quite sure he'd be opposed to that.. but the man had a point. He couldn't seek his revenge if he were dead, now could he?

“I won't stay long.” Phil asserts, sitting up a bit straighter with a challenging glint in his eye. 

“Of course not,” Eric agrees easily. “Just until you are better. Maybe a few days, yes?”

Phil shouldn't, he should get up, tell these people to go fuck themselves, and get as far away as he possibly can. Even if that means, come morning, he’ll have succumbed to the elements- “Okay.” 

“Okay.” Eric offers a smile and Phil isn't quite in his right mind, but he swears that man, this complete stranger, has some of the kindest eyes he's ever seen.

A few days turns into a month, and a single month becomes four. Phil learns a lot about the couple he's been staying with. 

Learns that Eric was telling the truth and that they both had met in the field; apparently the man had been outright refusing treatment so that his fellow soldiers could get it first, claiming it to be nothing more than a light scrap. According to Sofia—from what little Phil could gather with the language barrier; though narrowed eyes and flailing hands are pretty damn telling no matter the language, Phil supposed—it was most likely a lot worse than Eric let on. 

Only when Eric had conceded and pulled down the collar of his shirt to expose the long, jagged scar that began at just below his collar bones then traveled further, larger than the tugged down fabric could show, did Sophia give a satisfied hum. And Phil could tell from the gentle way she looked at Eric as he spoke, this woman wholeheartedly adored that man—he had to look away after a moment, feeling out of place, like Phil was intruding on something not meant for his eyes.

Phil also learns that the couple is very active in their little community, often volunteering for social events and making whatever donations they could to the local church, and more specifically the program involved directly in helping children in need. 

The two had discovered many years ago, after they left the service, that neither were capable of having children. And while it did put a strain on their relationship for some time, the couple loved each other too much to let that fact tear them apart. Instead, they dedicated their time and whatever leftover funds they had into helping provide for the few orphaned kids in the area. 

They even had some adopted children of their own, ones now grown and dispersed around the country; attending college and creating families of their own.

At some point, Phil had been baffled by how utterly good these people were, he couldn't believe how lucky he had been to be found by such genuinely kind people, ones who knew nothing of him or his crimes. They would hate him, surely, either cast him aside or turn him in to local authorities. Who would then hand him over to federal. 

He was a criminal on the run, something that had taken Phil a while to come to terms with. 

A thing he had realized on the very same porch steps he was setting on right now in month two. Eyes on the horizon as the hot, late spring sun faded in an array of nostalgic warm tones of red and orange, of yellow and pink. Dressed in clothing a few sizes too big; the ones he'd donned when he had arrived far beyond salvageable.

A small, child sized soccer ball rolls to his feet. Bumping against the toe of his boot, quickly followed by little feet stomping over to where Phil sat. Picking it up, Phil cradled the ball in his palm, offering it to the boy running over to him with a soft smile.

One of the orphaned kids; has a sister only a year younger than himself, something Phil knows not because the couple told him, but because he'd started doing some volunteer work himself—with Eric and Sophia’s encouragement. It helped keep his mind wonderfully empty, able to concentrate on the now rather than past or inevitable future. 

It also helped remind Phil why he'd even joined the military in the first place, what his younger self had aspired to be all those years ago. 

Phil had been able to reflect on a lot over these past seven months. Given the opportunity to think on why he did what he did, who he wanted to be. And, most importantly, you. 

After months upon months of denial, cursing your name before he went to bed each night. Reminded of you by the absence of a warm body curled up behind his own; the lack of a soft, rumbling voice murmuring a sleepy goodnight before you'd fall asleep with your face tucked away in the place between Phil's neck and shoulder. The gentle puffs of your breath ghosting over his skin and the secure weight of an arm draped over his waist, luring him to join you in the depths of dream land. 

Always making him feel so warm, so safe, in that perfect in between, just after the sun set and right before it rose again. For a few hours you were his. For a few fleeting hours he had you all to himself; he had someone. 

Someone more than the names of all the men he'd killed, ingrained permanently in his psyche no matter how hard he tried to ignore it; something more than a pen and himself up against stack after stack of paperwork containing nothing but political bullshit Phil couldn't care less about.

For that brief time Phil had belonged. 

But now.. now he had nothing. 

He wasn't a commander here, wasn't a soldier. Phil didn't have the responsibilities he'd had to manage back home at base anymore. He should probably be grateful, it was a stressful life.

But.. but he still wasn't quite.. anybody. He was nothing but the stranger who'd appeared in town out of nowhere. Who was silent and kept to himself, who barely even left the residence he'd been so lucky to be offered a place in. Not unless he was doing some volunteer work here and there.

He had nothing; he was nothing. Phil used to hold the reins of dozens who'd act solely with his interests at heart, and now he didn't even have an army to command. He wasn't anyone anymore. Not here.

At least, if he went back, he'd have something. Something more than this endless repetition of kindness he didn't deserve. You'd hate him, surely, after what he had done. 

To you, to your friends, family, fellow soldiers. Phil was supposed to be a leader, someone who those under his command looked to for guidance. Someone dependable, someone trustworthy.

It was, again, sometime ago on these same steps, where Phil had the grand revelation that maybe, just maybe, you hadn't betrayed him. You were just doing what you thought was best for yourself and the rest of the company. It was in everyone's best interest—except his. 

Phil had pushed you too far, stretched you too thin. Even though he knew how fragile delicate vulnerable-

Even though he knew damn well how you used to be, the cavernous depths of your own mind Phil had single-handedly had to drag you out of kicking and screaming several times over. 

Phil knew all of this, and yet he still did it. Never considered the consequences his actions would have on you—or the others, but you were more important—, never stopped to consider your own feelings on, well, anything. On what your opinions were for improving the company—even though you two had built it up from the ground up, together—, or what applications to accept, or whatever it was that you two had going on that was surely more than friends and co-founders did with each other.

He'd pushed and pushed and pushed- and Phil had broken you. 

Snapped you in two. 

So, at the very least, if he went back, Phil would have someone to hate him. Anything from you was better than being nothing. Even if it were hatred; he just needed to be someone again.

Just needed to belong.

“You can't stay here.”

Phil turns his head slowly, the sun now barely a sliver as darkness overtakes the sky. Stars begin to join the moon in illuminating the town.

“I'm sorry?” He asks, spotting Eric standing on the porch behind him. A somber sort of expression painting his features. 

Eric sighs, rocking on his feet briefly as his hands move to tuck into his pockets, seeking warmth as the lack of sunlight drops the temperature by several dozen degrees. 

“I don't mean- I am not kicking you out,” the man clarifies, looking off into the distance. A bittersweet smile gracing his lips. “But you are not happy here, are you?”

It's a rhetorical question, and Phil, too, turns away, looking back towards the sky, mouth pressed into a thin line. The sun had disappeared completely, and Phil instead looked to the moon.

Now a completely different phase from that fateful day where you'd abandoned left him against that log. So long ago, and yet Phil swore he could still smell the smoke burning his nostrils and scorching his throat. 

He was lucky to have not borne many scars from being trapped in that tank; he didn't want to know how you'd fared.

“You miss them.”

“What?” The words break Phil out of his trance, brows furrowing, but he doesn't turn back around.

“I don't know if it is a family or something else,” Eric continues. “But you miss them. This is not the life for you; you still carry that.. spirit I only remember having during my time in the army.”

“I can't go back.” 

“Because you think they will not take you?” 

“I,” Phil barks a hushed, humorless laugh. More of an exhale of air than everything, bitter and leaving a foul taste on his tongue. “I do not belong with them anymore, sir. They don't want me, I can promise you that.” 

“So grown,” Eric chides, coming to sit on the same step Phil was on. “And yet still so damn naive.” 

It's not cruel, but it does have Phil opening his mouth in protest, only to snap it back shut again with a huff.  

“You don't know what you're talking about.” He grits out, mouth forming a small pout, an ache of something opening up in his ribcage. A void, once full, overflowing, almost, but now so, so empty. Starving.

“Did you even consider, maybe,” Eric continues on with the same patience he'd had all those months ago. “..they miss you, too?”

Phil swears his heart stops just then, slow, stuttering to a halt before ba dum.. ba dum.. it gradually starts back up again. A frog leaped, lodging itself in his throat, suffocating him, echoing the beat of his heart. 

Eventually, he manages to croak out, “They don't.” 

“And how can you be so sure?” 

And Phil doesn't have anything to say to that, so he doesn't. Continuing to gaze up at the moon as if it held all the answers to his problems. Wondering if, maybe, you were looking up at it too.

“I will not pretend to know what you are going through,” Eric hesitates. “What you are running from. But.. but you cannot stay here, it's killing you. Sophia and I can both see it.” 

“With all due respect, sir,” Phil forces out. “you don't understand. He is stubborn, he is childish, and he is- he was. You wouldn't understand.”

“You are talking about this man like he's dead,” observant, are we? “And yet he is not, is he?”

You may as well be. “No.”

“Then maybe it's not too late.. maybe..”

Phil could feel hope sparking in his chest at the man's words, and he immediately crushed it between his fists. 

“It is.” Phil says, swallowing against the lump in his throat. “It is too late.”

A sigh. “But you're right. I can't stay.” 

The distant sound of a coyotes’ howl and the rustling of leaves fills the space between them as the conversation lulls to a stop. It's peaceful out here, much more so than any base Phil's stayed on, and even before that, far quieter than a house full of gentle chatter wafting in from the living room, or the sounds of childish glee from his sister's bedroom when she had a few friends over. Drifting down through thin but sturdy walls; both a perfect ambiance to listen to while he did his homework at the dining table. 

Nothing compared to the heartwarming sound of your laughter. Of your soft, rumbling voice; always so quiet, even when just chatting in his office or while overseeing the Shadows honing their skills in the courtyard. 

Quieter than his family, but louder than the silence between you two when you would give him the cold shoulder; a sea of rage hidden neatly within a show of blank stares and empty words.  

He misses you. 

You didn't do anything wrong. 

Why did he break you? When did he break you?

Was it just the incident all those months ago? When he'd forced you to shoot down people who, just the day before, Phil had told you to treat like family? Like brothers?

Or was it something far before that? Something you had been holding on to all this time; keeping caged within your heart instead of taking it out in him. 

He wishes you had taken it out on him. Maybe then he wouldn't be considered KIA by his own people, men and women and all alike, whom he—and you—had practically raised as his own?

Anyone who tried to proclaim that Phillip Graves didn't care about his soldiers, his Shadows, was just flat out wrong. A piece of his heart, of his soul, had been ripped out of him when one of his squads died in that botched mission Shepard had sent them on. Ambushed by Russian PMCs. Now that had been one very dreaded set of paperwork; writing down the names and cause of deaths for people who he knew, his friends. 

He hadn't even been able to tell their families what had happened to them when they came knocking on his door. No closure for any of those grieving relatives, phone calls day and night. Endless sobs and askings of why, why can't you? And my baby gave their life for your cause, but you can't even do me the honor of explaining why they're buried halfway across the world instead of with their family? 

“Where will you go?” Phil had been so lost in thought, he'd entirely forgotten Eric was still beside him. Five months ago and that would've never even been a possibility.

He was losing his touch. Would he even be useful back home? 

After all these months, surely not.

When the silence drags on a little too long to be comfortable, Phil murmurs a delicate, “I don't know..” then, “maybe I'll go back after all.” 

Phil does, in fact, not go back. 

Instead he finds himself staying at an apartment complex just a few cities away. Like a coward. 

Phil had left that night, before the sun rose again, and without saying goodbye to the couple who'd let him stay with them for a little over four months. He's only left a little note as thanks.

Also, like a coward. 

But Phil decided to embrace this sort of cowardice, at least for now. It's not that he couldn't just go over to the ol’ base, pop in and say hello to the people whose lives he had ruined- of course he could! 

He could do it right now if he wanted. He didn't want to. 

Phil could just pack up his shit—it had been fairly easy to retrieve his emergency fund, held in one of the many banks he had an account or two with; for security, of course—and skip over to that familiar town, take a few turns down some back roads and bam! Back home he would be.

Back home.

…

..would it still be home?

What if his Shadows hated him now? What if you'd turned them against him? Couldn't even stand the sight of him? Would they kill him then and there upon first sight? 

Or would they detain him, torture him maybe?

Either way, Phil couldn't risk it. It's been a few weeks since he left Sophia and Eric's residence, and he's no more motivated to go back to you his old stomping grounds today than he was all those months ago. 

He can't imagine which would be worse; seeing that look of disgust, of simmering hatred in the Shadows’ eyes or your own. 

Phil tries to keep his mind blissfully blank every moment of his waking hours. Preferring more to spend his time sleeping, but when he could not do so anymore, when his legs ached with the need to move and his stomach rioted in the name of it's hunger, he would have to get up. 

Reading, listening to a radio, sometimes even adding the background noise of the old TV in the corner of the living room whenever Phil needed to complete a simple task such as eating or another. 

As of right now, he was doing just that. Only this time.. this time it doesn't work. Swirling around the remaining bits of cereal in the now sweetened milk, gaze drifting up from the little floating pieces to the window before him instead. 

Thinking. Thinking of you. Because there wasn't any time where Phil wasn't thinking of you. Even with all these distracts, meant to keep his mind off his old life, off what he used to have, off you.

It didn't work. Not when it came to you. 

Wondering what you could be up to right now. How you were faring commanding an entire army of your own—or however many were left—, how you were handling all the politics that came with such a job.

When you two shared ownership, Phil was always the one to handle the people, scheduling meetings and dealing with generals and such.

It's been months, surely you were handling this fine on your own. You didn't need him, there was no reason for Phil to go back. Nothing more than his own selfish reasons. 

A little over ten months now, it has been. Phil shouldn't bother you. You were dealing with it perfectly fine, he'd bet. 

There was not a single excuse for him to assume you didn't have everything under control, for him to swoop in like some sort of savior. 

Sure, you'd always been a bit.. off kilter. But who wasn't in this line of work.. right? It was only to he expected after what you had been through, or what little you had told Phil.

He knew you didn't like crowds, didn't even like talking for that matter, hated interacting with the stuck up higher ups most of all, of course. Everyone did. But Phil knew you could also reign yourself in if need be.

Well, that was unless something threw you off center. It would have to be something huge, something life-changing for you to really-

Oh, fuck.

The metallic crash of his spoon bouncing off the ceramic bowl and clattering against the floor doesn't even register in Phil's mind. Not even the sweet milk that goes splattering everywhere pulls him away.

He'd broken you. He'd left you alone. Left you alone with her.

Fuck staying here, lying to himself and avoiding any and all subjects that reminded him of you. Reminded him of what he had lost.

Maybe if the event almost a year ago had never happened, and even if Phil had still been removed from your day to day, it wouldn't have been a possibility.

But you were broken. Shattered. Vulnerable. 

And for someone like you; that was a concoction that spelled nothing but bad decisions.

Phil left a few hours later. A single stuffed backpack and a rental car all he took with him in his haste. 

He hoped he wasn't too late. Hoped he hadn't broken you too much.

Maybe you were able to resist her offer.. maybe there was still a part of you left that knew it would bring nothing but your own destruction.

Maybe.

Standing before you now, with those empty eyes and stiff posture, Phil knew something was off. More than he had assumed before. Sure, he knew you were a bit fucked, had always been a bit fractured, but Phil had cared for you all the same. Knew there was something more to you beyond that rough, off-putting exterior.

But now, the way you covered yourself head to toe, the little twitches and fidgets you tried so hard to conceal—but Phil had been able to identify them then, and he still could now—, now it was obvious. There was no hiding it.

“You're..” Phil begins, hesitant. “Different.” 

You scoff, something in those clouded depths flickering. “You've said that before.”

“No, no, Phantom-” he winces, noting the way the name has your right hand—concealed in a glaringly different glove than the other—twitches, fingers curling slightly in one, quick movement, at the name. Your head ticking a bit to the left. 

“You are.. not yourself.” 

“Is that all you had to say?” You grit out, gaze narrowed, voice more a growl than the gentle rumble Phil was used to. “You called me down ‘ere again to tell me I'm “different”. As if it hasn't been almost an entire fucking year since you last saw me.” 

A step closer, another fidget. “People change, Graves. Just because you can't, too caught up in your own damn ego to care, doesn't mean others don't.” 

Phil can think back on that little insult later, pick another time to lick his wounds. Right now he needed to know. Needed a confirmation.

“Just tell me-” he doesn't care if he sounds like he's begging. He needs to know. “You told her no. Please, for Christ's sake, tell me you said no.”

Phil can hear the way your breathing hitches briefly, see the way you try to shift your posture impossibly straighter. “I don't know who you are referring to.” 

A part of Phil shrivels up and dies in that moment, frozen in time as you basically confirm what he already knew. What he knew and yet so desperately hoped he was wrong about. Hoped and prayed you'd be strong enough.

He was wrong.

“Oh, Phantom,” He breathes, right when his body kicks back into motion again. Unable to hide the pure, unfiltered grief in his croaked out words. “What.. what have you done?” 

Phil never gets to hear your reply, because right then there's a frantic knocking at the door. Panicked or enthused, Phil cannot decipher. 

It catches you both off guard, heads snapping to the person who hurts through the entrance. Not bothering to wait for an okay to come inside.

“Alik? What the fuck are you doing here?” You snap, glaring at the newcomer. 

1-5 comes to a halt right in front of you, breathing heavily from the exerting of running from wherever the hell he'd come from. Phil feels himself stiffening, waiting for something, anything to happen.

“Sorry, sir,” Alik pants. “But this couldn't wait.”

“Spit it out.” Phil cuts in, seeing how you tense and ready to go on one of your rare—or maybe not rare anymore—tangents. 

1-5 barely spares Phil a glance before locking eyes with you once more, unflinching.

“Viper,” he says, chest still heaving. A single word, a single word that bore so much weight within its five letters. “He is awake.”

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[losfacedevil]

Beautiful Things // DRW

a/n~ So this beautiful piece has been in the works for well over a year now and I just couldn’t get it to flow the way I wanted to, until now. Join us on the journey of Danny and Sugar (who has yet to be named) and a moment in time where they realized exactly who they are to each other. Word Count 5.3k

Her body was tense as she leaned up against the kitchen counter, her eyes dancing over the party that was well underway in her yard. She almost wished she hadn’t agreed to it, wanted nothing more than to just sit in her yard with her nose stuck in her latest read feeling the breeze dance across her skin; but she had cracked under the big brown doe eyes and butterfly lashes her best friend had played her with when he asked to use her yard to celebrate Sam’s birthday. 

“It’ll just be us and it’s only gonna be a few hours, please? You have the best grill and fire pit. And you know Sam loves the tire swing.” Danny had pleaded, looking up at her through his thick lashes as his head rested in her lap. A move he knew made her weak in the knees. 

A groan slipped past her lips as she let her head fall against the back of the couch. She hated being the party house but knew full well the boys felt comfortable here. She rested her hand on Danny’s chin, pushing his cheeks together to make his lips pucker. A chuckle bubbled out of his chest as his large hand wrapped around her petite wrist, pulling her hand away from his face. 

“I know how much you want to kiss me, sugar face, but it’s not happening.” He sing songed, watching as she screwed her eyes shut as she lifted her head. 

“Gross. How about this, you can use my yard for a few hours if you stick around after to help me clean up.” Danny nodded enthusiastically, reaching up to tap her on the tip of her nose. 

“You know full well I’ll help clean up, when have we ever left a mess in your yard?” He quipped, letting his hand rest on her cheek. 

“Well there was that one time you got so shit faced you puked all over my deck and left it for me to hose down.” She giggled. Danny pursed his lips, rolling his eyes before shooting her a look. 

“I was inebriated. That doesn’t count!” 

A voice in the distance shook her from her thoughts, eyes focusing back on the crew outside as Danny waved them off, the boys exiting through the side gate to their respective cars. She cocked her head to the side as she watched them leave, her eyes snapping to the clock on her stove. 

7:15pm

She quickly busied herself with washing the dishes in the sink, all of the plates and utensils Jake had used to grill up his famous burgers and chicken left for her to clean. Danny took the deck stairs two at a time, sneaking his way into the kitchen. 

“Behind you.” He mumbled, resting his hands on her hips as he stepped around her; using them to push her gently to the side as he bent down to pull a trash bag out from under her sink. A soft sigh slipped through her nose as she rinsed off the tongs she held under the stream of water. Danny stood, stopping in his tracks as his eyes landed on her side profile. 

“Thank you for today. I’m gonna clean up outside and then I’ll be in to help.” He mumbled, placing his hand on her shoulder with a reassuring squeeze before slipping past her and ducking out the patio door. 

She let her mind wander again, holding her hands under the warm running water to keep her grounded. She looked out the window again, watching as Danny tossed empty beer bottles over the railing into the waiting recycling bin below, the sound of breaking glass filing the otherwise serene silence. 

“You don’t even have to mingle with us if it makes you uncomfortable in the moment, you can stay inside.” 

She had rolled her eyes, shaking her head as she crossed her arms over her chest. Danny was preparing everything Jake would need to take over her grill, mixing their famous marinade for the chicken and stocking the cooler that would inevitably live in her backyard for the next week. 

“So what I’m hearing is I’m not invited and to keep myself hidden.” She shrugged, the joke rolling off of her tongue a little harsher than she had intended it to. 

Danny’s movements stilled as he stood to his full height, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his shorts. His eyes trained on her side profile as she began placing plates and utensils into a basket to set on her patio table. His shoulders slumped, his gaze falling to the floor. 

“That’s not what I meant and you know it.” He folded his toes under his foot, leaning forward as the sickening crack of the joints caused her head to snap in his direction. 

“It was a joke. I’ll probably stay in here and clean up as you guys putter around anyway, I know how you guys get.” She shrugged her shoulders as she scooped up the basket, turning on her heel and walking out through her patio door. 

Danny watched as she set the basket down on the table, moving around the deck as she set out some of the camping chairs she owned; knowing the boys preferred the comfort of the fabric chairs to the metal patio ones. 

Her eyes remained trained on the warm water running over her fingers as she refocused, wiggling her fingers as the water started to run cool. Her gaze found the window once more, eyes dancing across the yard before landing on him. His eyes bore into hers, watching the emotions that played over her face as she was lost in thought. A soft smile spread across her face as she waved at him before turning back to what she was originally doing. 

Danny rocked on his feet, reciprocating her wave as his thoughts wandered. He stepped towards the staircase, peering over to make sure there wasn’t any stray trash left in the yard below. His heart was heavy in his chest, as their conversation earlier played out in his head. She knew better than to ever think she wasn’t allowed to be involved in something at her own house. He reached up and pulled a hand through his now frizzy curls, knew that the small argument they had earlier shouldn’t have been weighing on him like it was. 

He made his way back inside, the trash bag he had filled left at the patio door to be brought down to the bins later on. She still stood at the sink, her hands resting against the counter as she watched the birds flying around the yard. He walked up behind her, placing his hands next to hers as to keep her in place. 

She pulled a deep breath in through her nose, letting her eyes flutter shut as he hooked his chin over her shoulder, hot breath fanning out over her ear. She hoped he didn’t notice the shiver that danced down her spine at the sudden contact. 

“Anything else you need help with, sugar face?” He murmured, spacing his feet out as he leaned his body closer to hers; his chest hovering dangerously close to her back. She shook her head lightly, not fully trusting her speaking voice. 

Sugar face - it was a name he had come out with one night as they sat at a picnic bench in the middle of a carnival passing around a cone of cotton candy. She’d been the brave one to bite into it rather than rip off pieces like the boys, causing bits to stick to her lips eliciting giggles all around. 

“What happened there, sugar face? I think your lips are turning blue! She may need CPR - stat!” 

The name had been one that stuck, the only person allowed to use it being Danny. She knew there was nothing but innocence behind it, he didn’t look at her in that way. But she couldn’t deny the heat that crept up her neck and the butterflies that erupted in her stomach every time the pet name slipped past his lips. 

Her mind wandered as his scent enveloped her, this wasn’t an unusual place to find herself. Danny’s primary love language being physical touch meant there were many hugs, head rubs, cheek caresses and fleeting touches. Though one of his favorites had to be trapping her between himself and wherever she stood, having the upper hand but never acting on his own feelings. She couldn’t deny how he had started making her feel, the urge to press herself fully into his body always present. 

“Hey.” His voice shook her from her thoughts, thumb dancing over the side of her hand as he brought her mind back to Earth. 

“Hmm?” Was all she could muster as she fought herself internally, the urge to turn around and place a chaste kiss to his cheek overwhelming her senses. 

“Is there anything else you need help with?” He cooed, tilting his head softly to the left as he rested against her. A sigh escaped her as she wracked her brain for something he could help her with; knowing as soon as she said everything was all set he’d slip on his shoes and make his way towards the door. She raised her shoulders in a shrug, one side of her mouth turning down in a pout. 

“No, I don’t think so. You guys weren’t rowdy tonight.” She chuckled, her breath catching in her throat as he pushed off of the counter before wrapping his arms securely around her shoulders. 

“Thank you again for letting us take over your yard. I’m gonna jet if you’re all set though. I have a feeling I’ll be getting a ‘meet us here’ text in the next few hours.” 

Danny chuckled as he pulled away from her, making his way into her living room to collect his things. She turned on her heels, arms crossing over her chest as she pulled her bottom lip between her teeth. After a second of thought she pushed off of the counter, scurrying towards the living room just as he stood from the couch. 

“Danny?” His name squeaked out of her, eyes focused on her front door. His gaze landed on her side profile once more as he collected his belonging off of the coffee table. 

“That’s my name, don’t wear it out.” He teased, expecting her usual farewell to bubble from her chest. She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth, picking at the skin on the side of her thumb nail. 

“Are you okay?” Danny muttered, taking a few steps towards her. She shook her head, eyes snapping to him as she pulled a deep breath in through her nose. 

“Can you stay?” The question rushed out of her before she could second guess it. He cocked his head to the side, bending down to place his belongings back onto the coffee table. 

“Can I stay? Of course I can stay. What’s wrong?” She shook her head again, reaching up to thread her fingers through her hair as her eyes fluttered shut. 

“Just for tonight, please? I don’t want to be alone with my thoughts.” She sighed, a soft nervous giggle emanating from her chest as he made his way over to her; hooking his index finger under her chin. 

“Hey.” His voice was soft as he gently tilted her head back, reaching up to brush stray strands of hair away from her face. She let her eyes flutter shut as his fingers continued to dance across her cheek. 

“I’m okay, I promise. They’re just stupid thoughts and I know if I’m alone they’re gonna eat me alive.” She reassured, dropping her gaze to her feet as pressed his hand to her cheek, thumb caressing her cheek bone. 

“What’s going on in there?” His voice was smooth as he tapped her temple, soft encouragement to open up to him. She shook her head, eyes meeting his big brown doe eyes before speaking. 

“It’s just stupid anxious thoughts, it doesn’t even matter. You can go it’s fine.” Her shoulders fell in defeat, couldn’t understand why she felt the way she did. Butterflies erupted in her stomach as her heart cracked; turning on her heel and walking towards her patio door. 

She slipped out into the cool night air, eyes fluttering shut as she wrapped her arms around her middle. He watched from the living room, bottom lip pulled between his teeth as he weighed his options. He knew if he left she’d be calling him at some point, lost in an anxiety attack she needed help to resurface from. Knew that if he stayed she’d want to curl up into his side, hiding her face in the crook of his neck as she willed the thoughts away. He wasn’t sure which the lesser of the two evils would be. 

He took a tentative step towards her, slipping his hands into the back pockets of his jeans as his eyes danced over her figure. Tilting his head backwards, his eyes fluttered shut, pulling a deep breath in through his nose before making his way over to her. She kept her back turned, swaying to whatever tune played in her head.  

“Hey Shug.” His voice was soft, not wanting to startle her as she was fully lost in her own mind. Her body stiffened as she turned her head, pointing her ear slightly in his direction. He took another tentative step towards her, gently resting his hands on her shoulders. She took a deep breath, willing the tears that were prickling the backs of her eyes away as she reveled in the feeling of his hands rubbing soothing circles into her shoulders. 

“I said… it doesn’t matter. You can go. I’m sure the boys are waiting for you.” Danny shook his head lightly and let his hands dance forward, pressing them firmly against her chest and pulled he back into his embrace. She pulled another deep breath in through her nose and let her body relax as he wrapped his arms tightly around her shoulders. 

“I’ll stay for as long as you need. You don’t have to tell me what’s going on in your head. Just knowing you need me is enough.”  Danny mumbled, resting his chin against the crown of her head and she reached up, wrapping her petite hands around his arm. She tried to steady her breathing, knowing that if she opened her mouth before she got it under control she would lose all sense of her cool. 

“I just… you don’t hate me, right?” Danny couldn’t help the smile that spread across his face as he shook his head and tightened his grip on her. This was a song and dance he was all too familiar with. 

“I don’t hate you, how could I hate you? You let me use your yard whenever I want to, how could I hate you?” A loud sigh slipped past her lips and she shook her head, knowing this was the same course of action he always took to help ground her. 

“Right, right, cause I have the cool yard with the best grill and fire pit and the tire swing Sammy loves. Sometimes I think you just use me for my yard.” A chuckle escaped Danny as he unraveled himself from her and began to run his hands over her bare arms, creating warmth he knew she craved in the cool night air.

“Not my fault you inherited the house with the cool yard.” He chuckled and stepped out from behind her. His gaze landed on her side profile and he could see the tears that were cascading down her cheeks. Taking a deep breath, he reached out and wrapped an arm securely around her shoulders, pulling her against his side. Turning on his heel he wrapped his other arm tightly around her and snaked a hand up to cup the back of her head. 

She melted into his embrace and let the tears she had been fighting soak through his shirt, the constant stream not letting up as she lost herself in her thoughts. She found comfort in Danny’s embrace, pulling in a deep breath through her nose and reveled in the scent that was just him. Danny knew the routine and fell into it comfortably, beginning to run his fingers along her scalp and swayed their bodies gently from side to side. 

“Why do we have such big feelings tonight? What’s going on?” Danny knew she probably wouldn’t tell him, more than likely wasn’t even sure herself what had her upset, but he would always make sure to ask. She shrugged her shoulders and pressed up onto her toes, giving her the extra boost to be able to nuzzle her face right into the crook of his neck. 

“If it’s what I said earlier, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you anxious I just wanted to you know you didn’t have to be outside with us if you weren’t up to it. Sammy found you in the end.” She nodded lightly and let her head loll to the side. 

“He always does because he thinks his hugs are magic and will fix all the big feelings.” She giggled and wrapped her arms around Danny’s midsection, pulling her body closer to his. Danny never stopped the soft swaying of their bodies, knowing the continuous motion helped in keeping her grounded. 

“Well if he thinks his hugs are magic then mine must hold the highest power.” Danny chuckled and tightened his grip on her. 

“And why’s that?” She quipped, knowing full well that her tears had finally ceased and her breathing was back to normal and it was all a work of art by Danny and the soft palm he kept pressed against the back of her head. 

“Because all it took was my arms around you and my hand on your head to bring you right back to me.” A smirk tugged at the corner of her lips and she leaned her head back to rest her chin gently against his sternum. Tipping his head downwards his eyes found hers and he smiled softly at her. She let her eyes flutter shut and shrugged her shoulders, scrunching her nose up at him. 

“I don’t know what you’re on about, I was fine before you hugged me.” She kept her voice soft, not wanting her tone to give her away. Danny chuckled and squeezed her tighter as he slowly began to walk backwards towards the patio door. 

“It’s getting chilly, we should go inside before we freeze. Unless we’re setting up a fire.” Danny said. His eyes danced down to the fire pit in the middle of the yard. She rocked her head from side to side, weighing her options and nodded before trying to unravel herself from him. 

“You try and start it and I’ll go get some blankets and maybe a beer or two.” She giggled, pulling her hands forward and rested them on his hips as he pulled his arms off of her and freed her from his embrace. Danny watched the way her hips moved as she slowly made her way inside. A soft sigh escaped him as he turned on his heel and jogged down the stairs to the yard below. 

Danny made quick work of getting the fire started, not letting her see the bottle of lighter fluid he had tucked away next to the fire pit. A soft smile played across her face as she jogged down to where he stood and she threw a blanket over his shoulders. Reaching up he wrapped his fingers tightly around the fabric to keep it in place around his shoulders and away from the fire he poked at in front of him. 

She made her way over to the lawn swing that was set perpendicular to the fire pit and took a seat, wrapping the blanket she held around her shoulders. With a satisfied nod, Danny dropped the poker he was using and made his way over to the swing to take a seat next to her. She reached out and instinctively placed a hand against his knee, giving it a reassuring squeeze before pulling her hands back to her own lap and tipped her head in the direction of the beer cans nestled between them.

“Did you guys have fun?” She giggled, knowing that they had been causing a ruckus in her backyard only a few hours beforehand. Danny couldn’t help the laugh that slipped past his lips and he nodded, pulling his attention off of the fire and turned it to her. 

“Yeah we did. Sam acted surprised even though I’m sure Josh mentioned something about it to him earlier this week without even thinking about what he was saying. But I would have enjoyed it more if you had joined us.” His voice trailed off as he spoke, as if she wasn’t meant to hear the thought escape his mind. She raised a brow and turned her full attention on him. 

“What was it you said? ‘You don’t even have to mingle with us if it makes you uncomfortable in the moment, you can stay inside.’ Or something like that? I figured that was your way of telling me I wasn’t invited because I get anxious around the twins.” She spoke in a soft voice, not wanting her tone to give her away. 

“You know I didn’t mean it like that. You could have joined us, I just… I didn’t want you to feel obligated to because I know Josh and Jake have a tendency to make you nervous.” He shrugged and crossed his arms over his chest, holding the blanket he had draped over him firmly in place. She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth and shrugged her shoulders. 

“I can handle them when you’re around. You…you quiet my loud mind to a point I don’t have to worry about what’s going on I can just focus on the here and now.” She kept her voice light, and a sigh escaped her as she scooted closer to where Danny sat. 

“Next time just join the party. Don’t let stupid things I say stop you, it is your house after all.” He chuckled and reached out, wrapping his arm gently around her shoulders. She couldn’t help the smile that spread across her face as she melted into his side and pressed her cheek firmly against his chest. 

He hoped she couldn’t hear the way his heart had began to hammer in his chest. He couldn’t explain the nervous feeling that sat low in his gut, something he hadn’t felt in her presence before. He pulled a deep breath in through his nose and exhaled slowly as she reached over and slipped her hand gently between his arm and side, dancing her fingers gently over his side. 

“I’m glad you guys had a good time today though, even if I wasn’t invited.” She giggled at the long, drawn out sigh that escaped Danny and tilted her head so she could see the expression on his face. With a gentle squeeze of his hand against her shoulder and a roll of his eyes, he slid down in his seat and made himself more comfortable against the thin cushions. 

She watched as a range of emotions danced subtly across his face and could feel the way his heart began to speed up once more. He was nervous and she needed to know why. Bringing his now open can of beer to his lips, he took a long swig and let the flavor encapsulate his taste buds before swallowing the liquid. She knew the move all too well. There was something on his mind and he wasn’t sure if he should spill it. 

“What are you thinking of, my love?” She cooed, bringing her hand up to rest against his chest. The pounding of his heart against his ribcage and her hand playing a telling symphony of his feelings. 

Danny took a deep breath and turned his attention to the can in his hand, placing it down gently on the small table to his left. Pulling his hand back around, he cupped her cheek with it and earned him the play of a soft smile on her lips. She ate up any drop of affection he sprinkled her way, knowing full well he didn’t feel the same way she did. Or so she thought. 

“Have I ever told you how beautiful you are?” Danny mumbled, rubbing his thumb along the apple of her cheek. Her smile broadened and she nodded, recalling a few times the word had drunkenly slipped past his lips. 

“You have once or twice, but I thought that was for sure the tequila talking.” Danny couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped him and he pulled her tighter against his side. 

“They say drunk minds speak sober thoughts don’t they?” She quipped, resting her chin gently against his chest. Danny shrugged a shoulder and leaned down to press his forehead against hers. She let her eyes flutter shut and her breath caught in her throat, unsure of what his next move would be. 

Pulling a deep breath in through his nose he held still for a moment before leaning forward and closing the short distance between them. He captured her lips with his in a soft and tentative kiss, one he wasn’t sure how she was going to react to. Her breath caught in her throat and she slowly melted into Danny’s side, following his lead as he deepened the kiss. 

She couldn’t help the giggles that slipped past her lips as he pulled back and broke the kiss, pulling a deep breath into his burning lungs. Danny’s eyes remained shut as he caught his breath and leaned back against the cushion of the swing. Her eyes danced slowly down the length of his body and back up, coming to rest on the rosy blush that was kissing his cheeks. 

“Daniel, what was that for?” She asked, her voice light and airy as she tried to find her bearings. Danny swallowed hard and pried open his eyes, allowing them to adjust to the darkness of the night before turning his attention to her. 

“Well… um…I mean… do you not make moves on people you like?” Danny kept his voice soft and barely audible above the crackle of the dying fire. Her jaw dropped slightly and a nervous chuckled slipped past her parted lips. 

“What… me? You… you like me?” She stumbled over her words. The pure shock of his confession was enough to render her almost speechless. Danny’s cheeks began to redden even more and she reached out to cup his cheek against her palm, feeling the warmth of his skin against her cool hand. 

“I uh… I gotta stop listening to Sam. I’m sorry.” An exasperated sigh slipped past Danny’s lips. He tried to pull away from her grasp and his face was quickly sandwiched between her hands. 

“You’re sorry? No I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you feel like… Danny… my love, have you not noticed? I just thought… I thought you didn’t reciprocate the feelings. You make my heart skip a beat and my stomach feel all weird. I don’t just gravitate towards you because you’re my best friend. I like you too you goofball.” She giggled, pressing gently against his cheeks and caused his lips to pucker. Leaning forward she pressed her lips to his in a chaste kiss, one that caused his cheeks to warm even further. 

“What?” Danny’s eyes grew wide and he reached up to cup his hands over hers. She giggled softly and shrugged her shoulders.

“What? Can’t a girl tell someone she’s got a crush on them? Or do I have to make a move too?” Danny’s brows furrowed and he opened and closed his mouth as if to say something but the words were glued to the tip of his tongue. 

“I… you… excuse me?” She couldn’t help the giggles that escaped her as she nuzzled back against his side, letting her hand fall to rest against his chest. Danny sat forward, pushing her body into a more seated position and slipped his hand down to rest against the small of her back. 

“You can’t just drop a bomb on me like that and go right back to cuddling, that’s his how this works. You.. like.. me? Of all people… not Sam, me?” Her brows furrowed together and she leaned forward to press her forehead gently against his. 

“You don’t get to plant a kiss on me and not expect me to tell you how I really feel. But Sam? Why would you think I like Sam? Danny I call you my love, I seek you out when I’m distressed, when I need to vent, need a hug, just want to be loved on. I look to Sammy to hang with sure but it’s nothing like when I hang with you.” Danny pulled a deep breath in through his nose and closed the short distance between them, stealing another kiss from her. 

“I don’t know… it’s almost always Sam, girls flock to him not me.” She rubbed the tip of her nose gently against his and caused a shiver to dance up his spine. 

“I love Sammy but he’s a pain in my ass. Besides, you’re the most beautiful thing that I’ve got. No one makes me feel as special as you do. I just never thought you’d ever feel the same way. I’m not exactly your type.” Danny scrunched up his nose and pulled back slightly, finding her gaze with his. 

“What do you mean you’re not my type? I don’t have a type.” Danny chuckled. Reaching forward he tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear and let his fingers linger a little, sending a shiver up her spine. 

“Well, for starters. I’m not Sammy.” She chuckled and reached up to press her fingers against the underside of his jaw, pushing his fallen jaw back into its proper position. 

“I’m sorry, I had to!” She was quick to counter and lifted her arms to try and cover her face as he leaned forward and began to press playful kisses wherever he could reach. She reached forward and cupped his cheeks in her hands once more, stilling his attack on her. 

“Danny, my love, I think we’ve come full circle - and we’ve lost the heat of the fire.” She nodded her head towards the now smoldering embers of tree limbs in the fire pit. A soft sigh escaped Danny as he turned his attention to the fire pit and he pushed his bottom lip out in a pout. 

“I worked so hard on that fire too!” He chuckled, reaching out his foot to kick against the leg of the pit. She shrugged her shoulders and giggled at his reaction. 

“It’s okay, we should be getting inside anyway, I’m sure it’s late by now.” She mumbled and pushed herself to stand. Reaching out she held her hand in his direction and wiggled her fingers, a silent request to slip his hand into hers. 

“I still have to make up my couch bed too. Last time was so uncomfortable without the addition of the extra comforter.” Danny chuckled and pulled himself up to stand, slipping his hand gently against hers and intertwined their fingers together. She raised a brow at him and turned on her heel to slowly start making their way back inside. 

“Who said you were sleeping on the couch tonight?” She mumbled, waiting for him to catch on as she slowly led the way back into the house. 

“I’m sorry?” His voice was soft as if he didn’t want the thought to be spoken into existence. 

“My beds big enough for two.” She winked and leaned up onto her toes, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek before she slipped her hand out of his and made her way to the bathroom to get changed into comfy clothes. Danny took a deep breath and tipped his head backwards, training his eyes on the ceiling as his mind reeled and he tried to compose himself before following closely on her heels. 

Danny Babes Taglist: @vanfleeter @gracev0609 @readyforthegarden @joshsindigostreak @runwayblues @lipstickitty @the-wicked-gnome @stardustvanfleet @allieisacrybaby @ascendingtostardust @wideminded-dreamer @lipstickitty

[ladyofthe-lake]

"Sick Day" — a Suptober ficlet

Day 21: Cozy Treat

Summary:

Human!Cas forces Dean to take a sick day in the bunker.

Now that Castiel knows how it feels to be human, he insists on caring for Dean with far more attention than is necessary when Dean catches the flu.

He’s certain it came from the haunted preschool he and Sam had investigated a few days back in Nebraska. (All the kids safe. All the adults… mostly safe.) He’d come home grumbling about how those places are little petri dishes for germs, and voila, now he’s on day three of a full-raging flu.

If Cas had his angel mojo back, he’d zap the germs right out of Dean’s body, and that’d be damn nice right about now. But as it is, Cas has been using the Internet to find all the home remedies for illness, and he’s overly concerned about Dean’s wellbeing to the point where it’s just kind of annoying.

Cas forces Dean to stay back when Sam heads out to investigate something a few towns over; he wants to protest because dammit, Sam is the one with the fucking angel healing him inside his body! He’s the one who almost died! But a coughing fit and Castiel’s gentle hand pushing him back down onto his bed ended the argument.

It does feel damn good to be in one place, especially when he’s sick. Last time anyone made him chicken soup and let him lay in bed all day watching TV, he was four, off from school for the day, just a few weeks before everything went to shit.

It’s kind of nice, the way Cas has been putzing around him, heating up soup from a can, making him tea, remembering the times and dosages of the over-the-counter medicine he’d brought home for him. (And Dean had told him that it was not likely, in the course of one illness, that he’d blow through seven boxes of DayQuil, but it was good that Cas stocked them up.)

Now, Cas peers around the bedroom doorway and Dean hits the mute button, looking up from his fortress of tissues. “Dean,” he says carefully, taking a step into the room.

“Hmm?”

“There is a… slight issue.”

Dean jumps up out of bed, giving himself a moment of vertigo, but in his experience, slight issue means serious endangerment to both life and limb. “What happened?”

“Well, in the cookbook that I found…”

Dean curses. “Dammit, those Men of Letters cookbooks are crazy, Cas,” he says. Many of them just indicated, rather than specific amounts of ingredients, to add sprinkles or dashes or season to your heart’s content . Dean knows – he’s read through most of them in his pursuit to break in this new kitchen of theirs, to make the bunker a home.

“I understand that now,” Cas says, hedging as he follows Dean down the hallway, though Dean lurches a bit to the side as his stuffed head continues to fight off dizziness. And despite his clogged nose, he can still smell–

“Did you burn something, Cas?” he demands, turning the corner into the kitchen to see the charred remains of what seem to have been cookies, sitting in a pan on top of the stove.

“Only a bit,” Cas says, and Dean barks a genuine laugh.

“Only a bit?” He taps his finger to one of the cookies. “This is a hockey puck. How long did you cook ‘em?”

“Well, the recipe said ‘high temperatures’ until ‘cooked well’ so… I just turned the oven on as high as it goes.”

Dean balks. “Okay, that’s the issue then.” He picks up the cookie and hits it against the counter. It sounds like a hammer.

“Is there any way to salvage them?” Cas asks, looking guilty and a bit desperate. And Dean knows that Cas likely knows the answer – no, there’s no coming back from this. But he also knows that Cas is probably more upset with his lack of mojo at the moment than anything else. Used to be, he could just make cookies with a flick of the wrist. Now he’s fighting vague old recipes and a 60 year old oven.

“Not really,” Dean says, trying to be gentle, to let him down easy. “Why’d you wanna make cookies anyway, you can get ‘em from the store, you know.”

“Well, I found a list on the Internet for how to take care of someone who's sick. Number one said that you might be comforted by a cozy treat,” Cas admits. “And cookies were on the top of the list. It said that they were the easiest to make.”

Dean doesn’t hide his smile. Maybe it’s the meds, maybe he’s just tired, maybe he’s… happy. Genuinely happy. “It’s okay, Cas. You don’t have to do anything. I’m just glad you’re here takin’ care of me – ‘cozy treat’ or no.”

Cas smiles a bit, and then Dean says, “Well, what’s the next item on the list? After the cozy treats?”

Cas pulls out his phone again to peer at it, and Dean sees a blush spread across his cheeks. “Ah. We can skip this one, it says uh, cuddling can be helpful.”

Dean raises his eyebrows. “Well. Always worth a try, yeah?”

And yep, he’s definitely hopped up on these meds, but he doesn’t really mind.

[somanyratsinthewalls]

Burning Hearts Chapter 12

Pairing: Law x Straw Hat Zoan Type (named) OC 

Summary: *SLOW BURN BUT THE MATCH IS SO LIT* You were teleported across the globe in an instant, away from your crew. Your body was badly broken and beaten, thrust into the harsh landscape of a Northern island. You are discovered by the Heart Pirates and brought back to health. Startled upon waking up in a foreign place with an unfamiliar crew, you are shocked with the news that you’ll be spending two years there. Trafalgar Law, the captain of the Heart Pirates has made a promise to train you, but will it become something more than a mentor relationship?

WC: 2600

Taglist: @cottoncandyloverrrr @zoros-fourth-sword @nothing-but-brass

Burning Hearts Chapter 12: Acts of Service

— — 

Training was on hold again.

The majority of the Heart Pirates had fallen ill with the stomach flu, leaving you, Law, and Bepo the only ones in normal physical condition. Law had attributed your collective good health to your immune systems and the fact that Bepo wasn’t a human. Whatever the reason, you were just happy you weren’t retching over the toilet every 20 minutes. 

You were at the stove most of the morning, simmering chicken and beef stocks to try and replenish the crew’s electrolytes. 

“I don’t know how many more puke buckets I can clean… didn’t you say the captain was working on some sort of medicine for this? I don’t think I’ll ever be able to get this smell out of my fur…” Bepo comes lumbering into the kitchen wearing a comically large pair of yellow rubber gloves. 

“He’s been at it since last night.” You sigh as you stir the large pots on the stovetop. “He’s going to work himself sick and then it’ll just be the two of us.” 

“He better hurry up then, Penguin’s so pale it looks like he’s been lost at sea for weeks, and Uni sweat all the way through his mattress, so that’s ruined, and Ikkaku has been asleep for 20 hour I’m starting to think she might be dead! And-“ 

“I’m sure Law will figure it out, he always does.” You say as you throw your dish towel over your shoulder. 

Moments later, the metal door to the kitchen swings open and Law comes in with a tray of syringes, rubber gloves, and alcohol pads in hand. He looked out of breath and exhausted, but he managed a small, tired smile. 

“I got it. This should fix everyone by tomorrow.”

“Oh thank goodness, Captain! I’m so tired of smelling like barf. Should we administer the medications now?” Bepo asks with a sigh of relief. 

“Yes, come with me.” Law nods towards the door and the two take their leave to give the ailing crew their medicine. 

You smile and sit down at the kitchen table with your cup of tea. You relax into the chair and sip your tea after cracking your sore neck. There was an overwhelming sense of relief that washed over you, now that things can go back to relative normalcy here on the base. Realizing how much work you still had to get done, you finish your tea and head to the sink to clean up the dishes. 

“Hey.” You hear a familiar deep, tired voice from behind you. You jump a bit. 

You turn around as you wipe the last of the pots and pans dry. 

“Hey back. You jabbed everyone already?” You ask. 

“Yeah. Everyone should be fine by tomorrow.”

“Good. You look wiped, you should get some rest.” 

“I just might… and you? You’re not exactly fresh as a-“ Law begins to smirk.

“Don’t! Don’t say it. You’re not funny. And as much as I would love to relax for the rest of the afternoon, the garden is overrun with weeds due to neglecting it for your sickly crew members. I’ll probably be up to my ears in dirt for the rest of the day.” You sigh and take off your apron. 

“And if I helped you?”

“…what?”

“In the garden. Would it take less time if I helped you with the garden?”

“I… I mean yeah, but I doubt you’d enjoy doing the weeding…” You chuckle and go to grab your gardening gloves and a few buckets for the discarded weeds. 

“Well, if we both work a bit more, we can take the rest of the night off. It doesn’t seem fair that only one of us can rest tonight.”

“Yeah but you were up all night making the vaccine and-“

“You were in here with Bepo making food and scrubbing vomit off the floors… and the walls from what I hear…”

You shudder after being reminded of your harrowing past 48 hours. 

“Fine. I’m heading out there now. Grab some gloves and roll up your sleeves.” You smirk as you chuck the spare gloves at Law’s exposed, tattooed chest. 

— — 

Law looked very silly in a pair of green gardening gloves. They stuck out like sore thumbs against his lightweight blue summer jacket. 

“Ok rookie! I’m going to take care of the flowers since they are sensitive and require someone who knows what they’re doing. You sir, will be weeding the vegetable beds!” You push a plastic bucket into Law’s hands and walk towards the rose bushes. You begin preening your prized pink roses when you notice Law still standing yards behind you where you had left him. 

“… Something wrong?” You holler over your shoulder. 

“I… Uh, what do the weeds look like?” Law stares at the bottom of his bucket as he calls back to you awkwardly. 

“Gods… you are the dumbest smart person I’ve ever met…” You rise from your knees in the dirt and approach Law. You pull him by the jacket sleeve over to the carrots and broccoli that were growing in your vegetable beds. 

“Here.. Look.” You crouch down on your knees. “Anything that looks like grass, dandelions, or anything with spiky leaves like this milkweed…” You grab hold of an overgrown leaf that was strangling your poor little cauliflower. “This needs to go.”

You look back up to Law who was still standing next to you. 

“Make sense?”

“I think so.”

You rise to your feet. 

“Great. Hop to it, little bunny!” You smack his shoulder harshly and head back to your rose bush. 

Law sighs and drops to his knees, beginning to dig his gloved hands into the dirt. 

— —  

After a few hours, you finish tending to the rest of the garden and decide to check on Law’s progress with the produce. You approach him from behind and begin to notice the skin on the back of his neck. 

“Hey you, how’s it going- Oh my gods!” You exclaim. 

“What? What is it? Are you hurt?” Law jumps up and turns to face you. 

“Not me! The back of your neck! It’s so red! You’re sun burnt as shit!” You grab his shoulder and turn him around and inspect his neck further. You pull at the collar of his jacket with your two fingers, peering further down his shirt. 

“Shit you even burnt through your jacket. You pasty mother fucker… Go inside. I’ll cut some aloe and bring it to your office. Hurry, get! Before you turn into a crispy slab of bacon.” Law nods wordlessly and heads inside the base. 

You quickly grab your shears from beside your rose bush and haul them over to your giant aloe vera plant that sat happily in a large terracotta pot in the middle of the garden. 

“Sorry my baby, I’m gonna need a few of these… he’s torched pretty bad…” You whispered quietly to your plant as you cut its thick leaves and stick them under your arm. 

— — 

You head through the base with several long aloe leaves tucked in your armpit and a clean white tee shirt from the laundry room. You arrive at Law’s office door and push in without knocking. 

“Alright tomato boy, let’s get you fixed up.” You sigh as you walk in and plop your supplies down on the couch. You sit down next to the leaves and pat the spot next to you. “Come here.”

Law rises from his desk slowly and makes his way over to you. He turns his back to you as he sits down next to you on the leather sofa. 

“This might sting at first, okay?” You squeeze the aloe leaf from tip to tail, releasing its sticky goo out into your palm. 

“hmm.” Law nods. 

You begin applying the gel to his bright red neck.

“Fuck!” Law lurches forward and exclaims. 

“Hey, I said it would sting for a second! Relax… some warlord you are…” You giggle as you rub the gel into his skin. 

“Watch it…” Law warns. 

“What? I’m not the doctor that went out without sunscreen on an 85 degree day… Now I need you to take this off, I have to do the rest of your back or it won’t heal.” You tugged at the shoulders of his jacket. 

Law hesitates. 

You sense his unease. 

“Hey… it’s okay. It’s just me.” You chuckle. “Shit, you’ve already seen me naked anyway, this shouldn’t be a big deal.” You laugh remembering how he set nearly all of your bones back together months ago and sewed up your injuries from the landslide. 

Law sucks in a breath. He slides his jacket off his shoulder revealing his bare back. His skin was a shade of bright red excluding the large black tattoo of his Jolly Roger which you had never seen before. You can’t help but trace it lightly as you apply the sticky gel from your fingertips. 

“I didn’t know you had this one. It suits you.” You lower your voice as Law flinches away from your touch. 

“t-thanks… I didn’t realize I was burning this badly…” 

“It’s okay, happens to the best of us. I guess I should have realized how little time you spend out in the sun…” Law flinches against your fingers again as you rub more aloe into his skin. “You’re… you’re not really used to this, are you?” You inquire. 

“Used to what?” Law asks. 

“People touching you. I can tell. I do the same thing. Different reasons, I guess.” 

Law didn’t reply, only breathed heavily. There was a long silence. You continued slathering aloe gel all over Law’s sunburn, the flesh searing hot under your fingertips. 

“Gods, dude, you have a knot the size of the moon back here. Want me to get it out?” You dig your thumb lightly into the bulging, painful-seeming knot in his mid-back. 

Law scrunched his eyebrows in pain as you gently worked out the kink. “Shit, that fucking hurts.” He grits out. 

“I know, but I promise I can get it out and you’ll feel much better.” You say softly. 

Law grunts. 

“Do you trust me, Law?” You lean over his shoulder to ask more closely. 

Law hesitates. 

“Yes.” 

You smile. 

“Alright, deep breath in-“ You jam your thumbs into the knot and start pressing hard circles into it. 

“Fuck!!!” Law cries out. 

“I know, I know, it’s almost out.” You coo as you add more aloe to smooth the glide of your hands against his skin. Law continues to sigh and tense under your touch as you work to deftly relieve the tension in his back. 

“Ahh, shit.. where did you learn to do this?” Law asks through clenched teeth. 

“Oh this? My friend Usopp, he’s a nervous wreck, carries all his stress in his shoulders. Since our doctor has hooves, he isn’t exactly the best at working out muscle tension. Somebody had to pick up the slack, I guess.” You rub harder into the knot. 

“Nnng, fuck.” Law groans as the knot is so close to giving.

“Just a bit more, you can handle it.” You feel Law suddenly inhale sharply as soon as the words leave your lips. 

“You alright?” You withdraw your hands. Law looks down at his lap. 

“I-… Uh yeah. Keep going. I think it's almost gone.” 

“Right.” You continue your ministrations. “You know if you weren’t always sitting hunched over like a gargoyle, you might not have this problem.” You chide. 

Law couldn’t help but laugh. 

“I guess my posture leaves a little to be desired…” Law smiles. “Hey that’s much better, actually…” 

“Actually? You’re surprised I know what I’m doing?” You lean back and pull your hand to your chest and feign being wildly offended. 

“No it's not that, I mean-“ Law scrambled to try and make a recovery. 

“I’m just teasing.” You grab the folded white shirt and hand it to Law. “This should help the aloe absorb into your skin. You’ll be good as new in a day or two. Frankly, you might even be a little tan for once.” You say jokingly. 

“Whose shirt is this?” Law says as he unfolds and holds up the garment. 

“It was in the laundry room, it had to be one of yours. It isn’t a 6XL so I assumed it isn’t Bepo’s. Now shut up and put it on before anyone else gets stunned by those milky white washboard abs.” You wink. 

Law blushes deeply before he pulls the white tee over his head.

“Sorry I got so burnt, we could have gotten more done if you didn’t have to-“

“Hush now.” You interrupt. “We got far more done than if I had just been out there myself. Thank you for helping. It really made my life a lot easier. I appreciate it a lot. I’m just sorry you got toasted like a marshmallow in the process.” You look at your lap as Law turns to face you on the couch. 

“I can handle it.” 

“I know you can.” You smile again.

A few moments of awkward silence go by without making eye contact. 

“Daisy…”

“Yeah?” You look up. 

“Before.. when I.. um… You know that time from before when… and we… and I-” Law chokes and trips over his words.

“When you kissed me?” You raise an eyebrow. 

“Yeah, that...” 

You smile at him softly. 

“What about it?” You ask. 

“Could I… Could I ask to try again? Properly, this time?” Law is still staring at his lap nervously. 

“What are you asking me, Law?” You cock your head to the side. 

“Can I kiss you?” Law spits out as he finally meets your gaze. 

You barely needed a second thought.

“yes…” You say quietly as you shuffle your body closer to his. 

Law lets out a heavy sigh and cups your cheek with a trembling hand. You eyes close and eventually your parted lips are met with Law’s as he draws you in to a gentle kiss. This time the kiss wasn’t frantic and rushed, it was soft and tentative. After a few moments of the briefest of touches, you begin to move your lips against his slightly chapped ones. It was clear he was following your lead, letting you have control of the situation. You bring your hands up to lace behind his sunburnt neck and pull him deeper into your mouth. He grunts softly at your touch and continues to try and match your movements. 

Law uses his free hand to grab at your waist, index and middle fingers slipping up your shirt unintentionally and gripping at your bare skin. You sigh at his calloused touch. He wasn’t a good kisser, but nothing you couldn’t fix with a bit of practice. You begin to tangle your fingers into the coarse hair at the base of his neck and ready yourself to swing onto his lap when-

*KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK*

Startled, you pull back from each other and look towards the door. 

“Captain? The fire alarm is going off, I think Shachi tried to use the stove again!” 

You hear Bepo’s nervous voice from the other side of the door. 

“God damnit…” Law whispered. 

You couldn’t help but laugh. 

“Well, we should probably save the base from burning down.” 

Law rolls his eyes. 

“What else is new.” He bemoans as he slips his jacket back on.

— — 

*Author's Note* HI Y'ALL HERE WE ARE. They like like each other hehehehehe. Thank you guys so much for reading and interacting with the story, it makes my day every time I get a notification that someone commented on it! Please feel free to let me know if you want to be on the tag list or have an idea for a chapter! Love y'all!

[plague-of-insomnia]

WIP Wednesday: Sebardagni Post-Apocalyptic Domestic Sickfic AU

I know no one cares about this idea aside from me, but this is the first thing I’ve been able to write in months, and I really fucking need the escapism of Sebastian having two men taking care of him even when the world has fallen to pieces.

I have a few scenes for this written I may end up posting on AO3 later, but for now, enjoy this scene.

The concept for this AU is this: the world ended a few years ago, and Bard, Agni, and Sebastian have been surviving together. Sebastian is chronically ill, so he and Agni mind the homestead while Bard goes off on excursions for supplies. It’s not an easy life, but overall, they’re happy.

~#~

Sebastian balanced carefully. The forearm crutches Bard had fashioned for him fit better than anything he’d managed with since the world collapsed and meant he wouldn’t do just that onto the floor—even if his muscles were weak.

He’d finally managed a few hours’ sleep, exhaustion and one of Agni’s herbal treatments helping to ease his breathing long enough to dream.

And what a dream it was. He couldn’t wait to hurry out of the small bedroom they shared in this tiny mountain cabin and tell Agni about it. As bittersweet as it was, it had felt so wonderfully real, he could almost ignore the perpetual tightness in his chest.

“Agni! Agni!” Sebastian cautiously eased the door open.

The cabin was cozy, a main room with a fireplace, kitchen, and sitting area, a bedroom and bath, and a cellar Sebastian couldn’t access—too many stairs— where they stored food for the winter.

The fire illuminated the room as Agni worked. From the way the orange sun had colored the bedroom, Sebastian suspected it was evening, which would mean Agni would likely be busy prepping their dinner.

Things had been harder lately, since Bard had been gone for weeks now—73 days, exactly, not that Sebastian had been counting—but they made do. Agni wasn’t as skilled a huntsman as Bard, but between their garden, preserved stores, chickens and goats, they managed. Agni had to coax Sebastian more often than not to eat as it was, so he barely dented their food stocks.

“I dreamed Bard came home and he found me medicine, and—“ Sebastian’s voice cut out immediately as he realized he heard Agni speaking to someone. And then he saw him. “Bard?”

The man was perched on a stool at the kitchen island, looking ragged and thinner than Sebastian remembered, but very much not a dream or a ghost.

“You’re alive?!” Sebastian’s eyes filled and he pushed himself to move as fast as he possibly could, dropping his arms from his crutches so he could throw them around his lover. “Agni and I were worried you were never coming home.”

Bard’s strong arms supported Sebastian in their embrace so he wouldn’t lose his footing, enjoying this connection. He smelt like tobacco and sweat and days out on the road, but more than anything, like hope.

Sebastian didn’t even care if Bard hadn’t been able to find any medicine for him. He was just so relieved he began to sob as weeks of emotions he’d been damming up broke free.

“Hey, hey, you’ll make your breathing worse. I’m all right. I missed you both and thinking of getting back here to you kept me going. You know I don’t die easy.”

Sebastian’s legs ached, and Bard sensed his growing instability and helped him sit down beside him. A moment later, Agni set a steaming mug in front of him. The frothy liquid was green. Another one of his herbal concoctions?

“It’s matcha. I lucked out.” Bard scratched his cheek. “Got caught in a bad storm a couple towns over and took refuge in a partly burned-out old asian market. I moved some shelves to help create a barcade and found a whole supply of the stuff that had been overlooked by scavengers.”

“The caffeine will help your breathing,” Agni said with a warm smile. “It’s not medicine, but it was a good find.”

Sebastian tried not to frown as he took a sip. It was bitter, but Agni had added some of the honey from the bees he kept to sweeten it. He didn’t want to ruin their happy reunion by suggesting, again, that maybe it was time Agni and Bard moved on and left him behind. He was too frail to travel, and Bard was having to spend more and more time on the road, detouring farther and farther from their home base in order to find any medicine to help ease Sebastian’s symptoms.

Even before the world fell apart, Sebastian had been ill. But after, the stress and lack of medical care meant his condition had deteriorated significantly, and if they hadn’t found this cabin by chance, he knew he probably would have died years ago.

Sometimes, he wondered if that would have been better for both Agni and Bard, even if he kept his mouth shut as he listened to them talking, Bard regaling some of his adventures while Agni finished prepping their food.

They’d have rabbit stew tonight, thanks to Bard’s catch, and Sebastian cherished the warmth of the mug in his hands as he tried to enjoy the limited happiness of this domestic snapshot.

He did like it here, in their little cabin. The woods shielded them from most of the horrors of the dying human world, and the fresh, dry air eased his breathing some. He loved their little home and garden, and enjoyed helping Agni with the animals when he was well enough to venture outside. He thought, despite his illness and the reality of their new world, he might be content, if Bard didn’t constantly have to put his life at risk for Sebastian’s sake.

Sebastian shivered as one of Bard’s coarse hands played with his long hair, curling a strand around a finger.

“I missed you both so fucking much,” he said. Sebastian could see the fear in those blue eyes, that he’d probably worried he might not make it back, or that by the time he did, only Agni would be waiting for his return.

~#~

Reblogs appreciated as always!

Liked this? You can see more of my writing on AO3.

[infini-tree]

and many happy returns

Summary: Maybe there was a reason Harold's birthday never came up, he realized. (PPU-verse)

A/N: woe, personal take on the ppu-verse upon ye! this was originally supposed to be a comic, but quickly hashing out a short excerpt in two days is easier for me at the moment.

i realize there's a lot of one-off lines that imply something in the ppu-verse, but i think how things changed in comparison to the mainverse is pretty self-explanatory? though it might just be self-explanatory because its been in my head for long enough that i'm used to it.

honestly, the challenge with writing these guys is that they have a shades of being an Unreliable Narrator to them. and there's two layers of unreliability, if you squint!

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

George looked up to the Treehouse with nervousness in his gut. From the sounds, it was clear that Harold was already in there. Or a raccoon.

It was three years since he had moved to Jerome Horwitz and was moved up a grade. Three years since he was subsequently brought back to kindergarten. But most importantly, it had been three years since him and Harold met.

It was only a week ago that he overheard Harold's birthday was coming up.

He clasped the box in his hands a little tighter. He remembered seeing Harold linger at the display for it and trying to play it off, so he was sure he'd like it. Maybe.

He owed him a lot, maybe too much. Which was why he scrounged up his allowance for this. His birthdate was a more difficult thing to pick up, since it never came up in all their years of hanging out.

Before he lost his nerve, he threw the box into his backpack and climbed up the ladder.

"Harold! H--"

The next words get lodged up in his throat at the sight of the other boy throwing something at the walls of their treehouse lair. Repeatedly. Before slumping to the floor.

"Harold!" he scrambled up the final leg of the ladder, awkwardly bellyflopping onto the wood floor.

The boy flinched, conveniently obscuring... whatever it was. "Don't."

It seemed that he wasn't satisfied by the results, so he had started to bash the thing against the floor one last time so hard it shook the Treehouse.

After a moment of silence (and making sure the Treehouse didn't topple over), he slowly made his way over to him.

Step, he could see something bounce the light from outside onto the floor. Step, there was a whiff of plastic and the sound of crinkling. Step, he could see bright paper peek out from the spaces between the other boy's fingers.

"’S a gift from dad," Harold spat out in lieu of an explanation or apology or anything else.

George made a face. Yeah, that tracked. Very few things made him that mad.

As mad as he can get, he didn't like blowing up. He liked being sneaky, and being in control as he watched everyone else run around like chickens with no heads. In fact, he was super careful to never destroy any of George's stuff for some reason.

Harold's own stuff was free game, though. The boy stared at a dollar store plastic bat with a dent in it.

"The gift must've really stunk if you're this mad."

That, thankfully made the other boy let out an amused huff. "Yeah. It did."

"Then--" he gave a pointed glance at the box at his feet. "What's in that thing?"

A pause. "Workbooks."

He made a big show of leaning on the other boy's shoulder. On what little of the cover he could see, dead-eyed look of stock photo animals in a classroom looked back at him. "I don't think a bat would've made a dent in them."

Harold quickly slapped him away, more playful than anything.

"I used that before I knew what was in them, dummy." The light atmosphere didn't last for long, though. He gave an angry glare at the gift. “I was hoping I could break it.”

“Why, though?”

Harold’s hands clenched at the bright paper. Glitter smeared into his palms before he finally let go of them. “He does this… thing on my birthday. Mom too. 'S not even for me-- not really. More for what they want me to be.”

It wasn’t much of an explanation. But George thinks he gets it.

Harold's dad was a weird guy. He didn’t live with him and his mom and his baby sister. From what little he’s heard and seen at the Hutchins driveway, he sounded… nice. But he knew that didn’t mean much of anything when his actions didn’t match. His mom had the opposite problem.

And most importantly, neither of his parents were here on his birthday. Sure, it was a weekday, but it was Spring break, for crying out loud!

Silence.

"I didn't even want a dumb gift!" He kicked the wrapped books-- tried to, but it barely grazed it. "Birthdays are dumb, anyway!"

George was not a words guy. That's what Harold was for. But right now, he had to find the right ones. His mouth tried to form the right shape silently. The words were there, all he had to do was--

"You think you still have those sparklers from the New Year's?"

Harold blinked.

"We can try and make those-- those, uh-- bonfires!--" He gave a pointed glance at the offending gift. "It's early for it, but it's pretty warm out. It can work."

It took a moment for him to put two and two together, but when it finally clicked– Harold broke out into a sly grin. He stood up like he ate half a pound of sugar before clapping a hand to his shoulder.

"Man, see that's why you're here-- ideas."

He tried to match his smirk. "I thought I was here for drawing?"

"That, too."

The both of them made their way out of the Treehouse with a skip in their sneaking. The both of them decided to split up and come back to Harold's backyard. Said Harold had taken to getting not only the sparklers, but anything remotely flammable, and George pilfered his kitchen for anything they could roast.

There wasn't any marshmallows, but there was leftover pizza and sliced pineapples in a tubberware which arguably was better. He cut the pizzas up to be kebab stick stabbing size and placed it over the grill.

"We should do this every year." Harold leaned forward from his lawn chair and fed a page into the flames.

"What if the gift next year isn't flammable?"

"I'm sure we could think of something." He let out a sharp laugh. "You know, I think this is the first time I'm actually looking forward to it."

George leaned back into his chair. He couldn't help but feel relieved-- not only because that he felt that he had partially repaid him (though, that was a bonus). Nah, seeing Harold's face light up every time he lit up a page was... fun.

(Not the right word, he thought. But again-- he wasn't here for words.)

The comfortable kinda-silence crackled on. Harold kept feeding the grill more pages as hey fed on their pizza and pineapples until both were gone. Eventually, even the fire died out and the both of them were forced to close the grill and made it seem like nothing happened.

Now, there was nothing except the lingering smell of smoke.

Harold gave a curious glance back at him. "What were you going to say?"

"Huh?"

"When you were climbing up the Treehouse, before you saw..." He vaguely gestured to the workbook-- or the cover that remained. "All that."

He was suddenly extremely aware of the weight in his bag. He looked to the grill. Then to him. And then gave a dismissive wave, trying to play off his shock. "I thought you finally found the raccoon that kept getting into the snack stash."

Harold let out an incredulous laugh. It had none of his usual sharpness, but all the volume he expected.

"You thought I was fighting a raccoon?!"

"I mean it was raccoon sized--" He gave a glance to the covers. "Or, was."

"Besides, we all know you're the one who keeps taking all the Sweet Patches." The words held no accusatory heat, but it did have a whiff of a challenge.

"Says the guy who keeps hogging all the Jelly Burgers!" George threw his bag off to the side and began run at the other boy.

Before he could react, he was quickly tackled to the ground as they began to play-wrestle in the grass. That was quickly called off as Harold had suddenly gotten an idea for a comic while faceplanted on the ground.

He could give the dolphin-shaped mini-soaker another time, play it off as something else.

[bradshawsbaby]

Hi!!! I Hope the beginning of the school year has been treating you well!

If you get a chance can I please request : melting because they just look so cute all bundled up in blankets with Hannix 💗

I am Forever in awe of how you write them together!

Thank you so much! It’s been exhausting, but good! And you’re so sweet! I hope you enjoy! 💕

With how much time the Dagger Squad spent in each other’s company—both on base and off—it was no surprise that if one member got sick, everyone else was sure to follow soon after. This time around, it had been Bob who had come down with the flu first, passing it on to Phoenix, who then passed it on to Bradley, who passed it on to Fanboy, who gave it to Payback, who then passed it along to Coyote.

Jake, meanwhile, had appeared immune, even while nursing Natasha back to health. He teased them all mercilessly about it, bragging that his immune system was more elite than all of theirs put together. The last time he had gotten the flu, he claimed, was when he was in the sixth grade.

Which was why no one was more surprised than Jake himself when he woke up one morning feeling like someone had dropped a ton of bricks onto his skull, his body alternating between aches and chills as his teeth chattered miserably.

He’d been home for three days now, and he was growing frustrated by how long recovery seemed to be taking. He was even more frustrated that his wife had taken to sleeping in their guest bedroom, insisting that he needed their bed to himself to rest and recuperate.

As much as she enjoyed poking fun at his “elite immune system,” Phoenix did feel bad about how miserable her husband was. She’d had the flu just a few weeks earlier, and she knew firsthand how much it could kick your butt. That was why, on her way home from work, she swung by the diner that she and Jake liked to go to on Saturday mornings and picked up a container of homemade chicken noodle soup for him.

It was growing late by the time she finally made it back home, and she was surprised to see that she had no missed calls or texts from Jake wondering where she was or checking to see if she was okay. She was hoping to take that as a good sign. He’d been having such a hard time sleeping these past few days, so maybe he’d finally managed to knock out.

“Bagman, I’m home,” Phoenix called out as she stepped through the front door, dropping her things in the living room before heading to the kitchen to put down the soup.

When there was no response, she frowned slightly and immediately made her way to their bedroom. Pushing open the door, it took her a moment to realize that the giant lump in the middle of the bed was, in fact, the man she had married. Stepping closer, she put a hand over her mouth to keep from laughing out loud.

Jake must have gotten cold while trying to take a nap because he was not only wrapped in their comforter, but also in the throw blanket they kept at the foot of the bed, as well as a spare blanket they kept in a chest in the corner or the room. He had bundled himself up tightly, hardly any part of him visible at all except for his forehead and nose.

Phoenix’s heart melted as she gazed at him. It was so rare that she got to see him like this, looking so innocent and vulnerable and almost fragile. It made her stop and take stock of just how much she loved him.

Kicking off the sneakers that she’d forgotten to leave on the shoe rack near the front door, she slowly climbed onto the bed and wrapped her arms around her swaddled husband, brushing his hair away from his forehead and pressing her wrist to his skin to gauge his temperature.

“Mmm,” Jake moaned softly, shifting slightly so that his cocoon loosened a fraction. Blinking his eyes open, he smiled tiredly at her. “I fall asleep alone and wake up with a gorgeous woman in my bed. Lucky me. Don’t tell me you’re a hallucination.”

Laughing, Phoenix kissed the top of his head and held him closer. “Nope. I’m the real deal,” she teased, loosening his blankets a little more to keep him from overheating. “How are you feeling?”

“Better now that you’re here,” he murmured in a low voice, freeing his arms from the mound of blankets and wrapping them around her waist. “Stay here with me.”

“But I got you some soup,” she grinned, running her fingers through his sweaty hair. “Don’t you want me to go get it for you?”

Jake shook his head stubbornly, clinging to her even tighter. “Just stay.”

“So much for that rock solid immune system, huh?” Phoenix laughed, her amusement growing as her husband groaned against her side.

“I’m never going to live that one down, am I, Minx?” he asked with a sigh.

She grinned, her dark eyes twinkling as she looked down at him. “Not as long as I’m around.”

cozy and content prompts

[angelmush]

it's been a while because our oven was out of commission (mice in it) and i was sick w some catastrophic mystery illness and then i was back home in colorado for a few days for the holidays but i'm back now so here's another little post about meals i'm wanting to make soon!!

i want to oven roast wedges of cabbage and mushrooms and maybe some chicken w lots of spices and olives and garlic and oil and maybe char some lemons until all is golden and crispy and then whip up some fresh creamy feta (i splurged on it lol it's a treat) w lemon and yogurt to lay down as a base for the roasted stuff and top w olive oil and dill and fresh lemon and maybe some kind of tahini drizzle if i'm feeling ambitious. this idea has had me daydreaming for dayssss

i have japanese curry cubes that have been waiting for their moment resting in my pantry, an abundance of potatoes (15 lbs LOL), fragrant jasmine rice, some wild carrot, and some very pretty marble-y slabs of pork i could make tonkatsu with, a meal that reminds me of my friends in colorado who made this once for us to eat for a DND session :'')

my gf has been asking me to make alpermagronen, a swiss childhood staple of mine, since we ate it on the side of a mountain when we went back to switzerland to visit my childhood friends. it's a hearty alpine meal that's sort of mac and cheese-y with tubes of pasta and soft cubes of potato in a luscious creamy gruyere sauce topped with thick batons of bacon, a heap of caramelized onions and homemade applesauce. very swiss, very comforting, very filling and something that makes me deeply nostalgic

and a surprise to no one, another chicken soup!!! it's one of my fave foods but i want to do a different kind with a dash of cream and some kale and lots of lemon this time as opposed to the traditional carrot and celery one i've been making every few weeks. i have homemade chicken stock still in the freezer and a butchered chicken as well, all ready to go

i want to bake the nyt gingerbread blondies !! they sound up my ally :)

[maringlechan]

Journaling~~ 2025

Hello 2025!

Here to put down whats happened over the last few days and journal for Jan 1st bc i really wanna try and do as much journaling/recalling events as much as i possibly can this year.

Let's start from last week around Christmas eve/day on Tuesday/Wednesday. Christmas eve i was out shopping for last minute things but didnt really do much for the day.

Christmas day was spent with morning at my moms house at 10am and we all showed up late TT. A nice chill morning with brekkie and mimosas. Mom and Gabe did a brekkie bar that had eggs, potatoes, cheese, bacon, and their little sausage and cream cheese croissants. We played our usual bingo game and i won the last game! The prize was $100!!! Stayed at their house watching Christmas movies until dinner at Uncle Jon's house at 5pm. Stayed there for a bit too for dinner. Uncle made brisket, sliced potato stacks, and so many dessert cookies that Heather and grandma Cheryl made. Packed leftovers and made it home for a quiet rest of the night.

Stayed home to finish out the week as i waited for Morgan to come home from his parents house. He didnt get back until Saturday the 28th. He left down to visit them the 23rd. Since on the 22nd, he was getting gifts for his sisters. He finally came home on Saturday the 28th and i couldnt wait to see him!

I was hanging out with drew on Sunday, just running around doing stuff since i was bored and wanted to see Morgan that night too. I ended up going to his place and when i was about to leave at like 11:30pm, Seven wouldnt start! I tried letting the battery restart by disconnecting the plug sparks on it (probs not the right words). Couldnt get Seven to start to spent the night and waited til morning.

I felt so bad since morgan wanted to have a bit of time to be writing on his story a bit more. But we still had a nice day and made chilled with youtube, gaming, and cooking as I had Seven worked on. I ended up having to call a tow truck and have him towed to the Firestone that was just down the street. I asked them to do an oil change, since I knew he needed one, and also do a battery check and replace whatever they needed to to get him running.

Seven got fixed and Morgan said he wanted me to stay the night tomorrow night. So, I asked Drew if it was ok for me to stay over and he said yes! I stayed over and we had a charcuterie board with the smoked cheeses and summer sausage my mom gave me for christmas. He showed me some ZB1, his latest fav boy group. We watched some old family guy episodes and then played both of the new board games i got, Tippy the Dragon and Pop the Pirate! They were pretty fun! We went to sleep pretty late and had to get up early since Seven wasnt parked in an ideal spot.

We woke up at 7am and left shortly after to avoid getting a ticket. We wanted to eat at this place in Tukwila called, Jony's. It looks like a small mom and pop shop in the corner of the plaza where the 711 is across from the Taco Bell. They ended up not being open so we opted for Neighborhood Cafe, which was a Filipino Cafe next to the Indian Curry Palace which is where me and Morgan usually get our indian food. The food was a little over sweet and mid for both of our dishes. I got a latte with oatmilk, avocado toast (arugula, tomato, avocado, feta cheese) and banana bread french toast (banana slices on banana bread drizzled with syrup). Drew got the chicken fried steak and an ube biscuit. Drew thought it was all very mid. It was a cute little place though. Might take morgan if he thinks the menu looks good!

After that we went to Target, Barnes & Noble and then the mall. I bought my Lion King windbreaker jacket i was looking for, but still didn't get it in the ideal size of a Large. Got a medium instead since it was out of stock everywhere. Didnt really find much else so we went to Auburn instead. We went to the outlet mall and Drew found 2 sets of the little plague doctor plushies that hes been collecting ever since i gave him the original plague doctor in a boo basket. He was looking for a Knuckles plush too! We found one at Spencers, but the plague doctors were ones he wanted a lot more.

After that it was Muckleshoot Casino! I used my bingo win and pulled out about $80. I was up a few hundred until I lost it all TT. Drew was up for a bit too but it sounds like he broke even by the time that we left for the night. Dropped off Drew and then went to Morgans for the night, it was new years eve!!

We stayed up til shortly after midnight and called it a night. We drank a little bit and smoked a little bit but nothing too crazy. We did fall asleep on the futon though and didn't get to the den to sleep until like 4:30 in the morning TT.

We had a lazy wakeup at about 8ish with some <3333 before making brekkie. We had the new coffee i got that was a Lion King anniversary coffee that was cinnamon and brown sugar flavored. We also made chinese broccoli and ate as Morgan played God of War Ragnarok. We drank coffee in our new christmas tree mugs i bought us.

Morgan then opened up all his presents shortly after and i felt kind of bad that i had gotten him a few things since he looked shocked and said he felt bad that he didnt get anything. I never expected him too though, giving gifts is just another way I like to say, I love you to him. I'm gonna try and not do so much gift giving and try other things that show Morgan i love him a lot besides gifts. He really likes acts of service (like when im doing the dishes for him or offer to help out in the kitchen).

After that the rest of the day was pretty chill with just youtube and a run to the store for Ezelles and dairy queen for a sweet treat. We had the chicken curry i helped make the day before so I wanted something else to eat. I ended up leaving my sweet treat in the freezer and didnt realize until i got home! TT He said he'd come by for a kitty sleepover on Sunday <3

I left Morgans at around 9ish and stopped at Drew's since when we went shopping last, he left his new Sabrina Carpenter album and body wash in the car. We chatted a little bit then I went home.

Here i am now writing this journal entry just to make sure its done for the first day of january!!

Anyways, heres to 2025! <3

[faithhopeloveandtherapy]

I’ve now been away from home with the baby for six days. Living in this rather dubious “holiday house” which is a soulless box painted cream throughout, grey carpet everywhere and a few token bits of furniture.

I’m on expenses for meals, amounts that probably don’t go so far if you’re buying all your meals out (lots of foster carers prefer to stay in a hotel than a house to do adoptions), but at almost £50 a day, I can buy a lot of nice food from the supermarket to cook myself. I have to submit receipts but I can still put a lot of things on there that nobody can argue isn’t a “meal”. Today I stocked up on smoked salmon, coffee pods (for the coffee machine the house claims to have but doesn’t but ooh my real house actually does), a kg of strawberries, king prawns, Diet Coke, big bags of crisps and lots of condiments. I’m mainly eating Bol Pots for meals, which are microwaveable bowls of fresh veg and noodles, which I add prawns or chicken too. I actually love this part of living away from home, eating what I like, when I like, cooking just for myself, and picking up food I wouldn’t usually buy because of the cost.

Had the shitty meeting on Thursday and I am still struggling to bounce back from that. I’m not ok right now and I don’t know if in a few days I will perk up and be ok, or whether this is the start of several weeks of low mood and emotional numbness. Right now I want to poke fostering in the eyes and tell them where to stick it. In the absence of anyone to actually poke in the eyes, I am going running every day to get out of my head… not sure that’s too healthy but for a temporary measure I’ll take it.

The baby has about 60 hours left with us. He will have been in foster care for 910 days. 905 of those with us. Out of 12 babies, he’s been here the longest.

Tomorrow H and d1 and d3 are coming out to join us, to be here for the final days. It’ll be good to be all together. My birthday is imminent. Crappy timing but what can you do. When Sibling and Toddler moved, it was Toddlers birthday the day before placement day. This time it’s my birthday the day before placement day. We have a lunch out booked while the baby is with the adopters. These last few days, I’m taking him to theirs soon after he wakes up, and bringing him home just before bedtime, all bathed and pyjama’d. Today he fell asleep in the car on the way home, which made bedtime quick and easy but I missed my chance to snuggle with him for stories and milk.