#as someone who panic smiles i felt that shit in my bones

[fabledteeth]

ALSOOOOO willa’s actress’ performance when willa and connor are having the “are you just with me for the money?” conversation. oh my GOOOD you know those performances that are so brilliant that they actually break your immersion because you’re in awe of how fucking Perfect it is? maybe that’s just a me thing but yeah. that was really it for me. her eyes darting all around the place as she talked, the pauses, the hesitation, the controlled but somehow still frantic-feeling searching for the exact right answer. MY GOD!!!!!

[romanoffsbish]

My Tummy Hurts

WandaNat x Reader

Warnings: Injured R / Hospital

It was an easy mission, so why were you here? | WC: 2,245

"Hey guys," you greeted your lovers with a smile, or so you thought, but all they got was an odd grimace.

"Detka?" You truly smiled then, but no communal joy followed as you slurred and pointed, "that's me."

"What the fuck happened to Y/N?" Natasha turned to accuse the men stood behind you, still on the quinjet.

——

The men immediately flew into a panic, all saying the same thing—you were fine, albeit worded differently. Natasha was seconds away from wringing their necks but her focus shifted back to you, who was now pouting and gripping at your burning stomach. "Wands?"

Wanda smiled at you, "What's the matter honey?"

"My tummy hurts," you uncharacteristically whined, laughter normally would've bellowed from behind you, Tony never one to miss a chance to tease someone, but then you swayed into Natasha's prepared arms and Wanda was quick to levitate you three to the medbay.

—

"Appendicitis?!" You exasperated for the third time, "are you fucking kidding me?!" Wanda shook her head, eyes empathetic as she reached for your hand, in the meanwhile Natasha chuckled over a spoonful of your lime jello—traitor that she apparently was. "Get out."

This caught the Russian's attention, her eyes widened at the malice in your tone and she was scared shitless to have to leave your side. You didn't mean it, as you wanted them close, but she didn't need to know that.

Natasha plopped the half finished jello down and moved her chair even closer, her hand reached for your free one and her heart settled when you let her grab it. "I—," she started but you just shook your head and smiled softly, "just don't laugh at me again, capeesh?"

"Now," you moved right on, the disdain back in your tone, "I just got back from space after karate chopping a pile of goop," you stole your hands back and gave your lovers a show of what took place before. Natasha trying her damndest to keep her laughter in, "Fucking sick as shit but now I'm taken out by a useless organ?"

"Mhm," Wanda hummed in amusement, "Bruce ran some tests and thinks that the creature you 'karate chopped' released a toxin into your body that caused the upset in your stomach and ruined your day home."

"Home," you repeated, voice soft as you reached for both of their hands again, squeezing to really get across to your lovers the sentiment of how great the drugs were. Not that you weren't a softie, because you were indeed the softest of the three, just never this publicly.

Natasha and Wanda shared a bit of eye contact before the witch was gone, you pouted at her absence but it was short lived when the assassin pecked your lips. "She's going to get the doctor malyshka, get the all clear so we can take you upstairs." You grinned.

"Yeah," she chuckled, "we knew you'd love that."

—

When you came to next, not even remembering falling asleep again, you immediately recognized the room. It was just as you left it all those years back, just with a few new boxes of clutter Wanda held onto and stored in here, and you were also lying in a more sterile bed.

Just as you tried to sit up you felt a hand on your chest keeping you down. "Wait, I'll sit you up Agent Y/L/N."

A frown naturally overtook your face at the unfamiliar sight of a blonde woman in a white coat, but before you  could even consider taking her up on an identity the door flew open and your girlfriends ushered her out.

"Wa—," before you could finish speaking a spoonful of bone broth was shoved into your mouth. Judging by the sunsetting in the sky you knew it was already the following day, which was admittedly slightly alarming. Yet your urge to inquire the time flew out the window as the bite of food kicked the hunger in your body up.

After scarfing down the bowl you begged for more, but not of the soup. “Y/N no, I am not feeding you ice—.”

“I am dying,” you dramatized, “I need a pint to live!”

Wanda was about to admonish you for all the begging and humoring of death, but then she caught sight of your pouting lip and wet eyes, so of course she melted. Natasha rolled her eyes at your antics before she knowingly slipped out of the room to collect the first outlandish request of many, she could only assume.

When she returned the atmosphere was calmer, you were telling Wanda, who was sat at your bedside with a full smile, about the moments leading up to the fight.

“Tony, resident idiot that he is, caused the power in the entire city to go out for the sake of his suit mods, which made our attempts until then to stay hidden wasted.”

“Sounds about par for the course,” Nat teased her way into the conversation and you looked to her with a brighter smile at the sight of the ben and jerry pint.

The women took turns replying to you and spooning the ice cream into your mouth. You talked with a full mouth but Wanda let it go each time, a bit too relieved to still have you here for her to deem it worth scolding.

It wasn’t until the witch could see, in your eyes, just how tired you were that she decided to stop letting it all slide. It was sweet the way you tried to stay awake just to talk to them, but once the woman set the empty container down and wiped your lips clean she was inconspicuously putting you to sleep. Her words of reply faded into hums as she mindlessly traced her fingers over the exposed skin of your arms until your words aimed at Natasha faded out and became a snore.

—

The pair had left you sleeping in your hospice bed about an hour ago, it was hard to convince the Dr on duty to let you leave the ward after surgery but Tony's check book came out and now the woman is settled in a room across the hall for the night. Unnervingly.

The woman watched you sleep for about ten minutes after having administered your medicine and feeding you a pint of ice cream, much to your delight, Wanda's dismay and Natasha's envy. They'd made sure Friday locked you in before they headed down to eat dinner.

The natural redhead huffed, again, as she pushed the mushy green beans around her plate, ignoring the red tinted look of agitation Wanda sent her way. "Bros'."

(knock it off / quit)

"Nyet," the redhead grumbled over a bite of potatoes.

"She needs her rest," Wanda decidedly empathized.

"I missed her," the redhead sighed, "we were going to finish the bannister garden and cuddle under stars."

The witch felt a similar ache, that mission you were on took an entire month, you were fine too, but no longer. Wanda moved her chair closer, leaning her head on the redheads shoulder, dainty fingers wrapped around a muscular bicep, both woman shivered. For a moment the silence was peaceful, but then the witch sighed, "She was going to help me plant in said garden."

Natasha took a big bite of her steak and got lost in thought about how you somehow perfectly fit into their dynamic. You build things and spar with her, then go garden while discussing your latest read with Wanda. Like Nat, you can't cook but like Wanda you can bake.

"Our multifaceted, badass girlfriend," Wanda coo'd seconds later and Natasha snorted, "taken out by an appendix." Wanda shoved her shoulder but chuckled alongside her as they both silently regarded you with a different fondness. Natasha loved your goofy side.

The first time she'd met you was the worst day of her free life, Wanda was off on a dangerous mission and communications had been lost in the worst of it. You were her only hope as you worked tirelessly to get her back online. Her hands were shaking against her will, so she had to guide you, shields top agent, instead.

They called you her shadow, it was rumored around the base that you studied her fighting and mirrored her in not only strength but intellect. Unfortunately for you that meant being woken up only hours after returning from your own tumultuous mission. To meet your idol and crush while drooling into your pillow wasn't exactly pleasant, nor ideal when you're doing it to reconnect her with her girlfriend, it hurt.

Yet you persevered on through the awkward moments of silence and smiled when the comms cracked to life.

"Agent Romanoff, the comms are—."

"Natasha?" Wanda coughed and the redhead laughed emotionally, you were alarmed to see the Black Widow cry but it was endearing above all else. "Detka, I am so happy to hear your voice—fuck, I-I love you Wanda Maximoff, moya krasivaya detka."

Judging by the gasp on the other end you realized you were trapped in an intimate moment with them. It was beautiful and unfairly gut wrenching all at once. Soon enough it was Wanda's turn to cry out, "I love you too Natasha Romanoff; more than anything."

It was sweet, intimate, and then you sneezed. Glaring green eyes found yours and you could only shrug. "You kidnapped me from my bed, brought me to a room layered thickly in dust and didn't consider this."

"Natasha, what's going on?" The redhead smirked at you and whispered, "Wanda, meet Y/N, my stalker."

Your eyes widened at the lightweight true call out but kept your cool all the same. "You kidnapped me."

"You're free to go agent," she softly called out, it was a bit of a shock to see her this way when her reputation held a different tone. Just as you went to walk by she grabbed your arm, grip soft as she squeezed. Your attention shifted up and she smiled. "Thank you."

"Anytime," you shrugged it off nonchalantly but she knew you meant it sincerely. Just as you were almost out the door you turned and teased. "Thank me with an invitation to the wedding. I've experienced a Wanda party in full effect; I'll have the salmon."

Wanda appreciated your softer side the most.

One time, just before they asked you to be theirs, when you thought no one was watching, you had an entire conversation with their cat, Liho. Scratching his chin, feeling the purr of his gratitude on your fingertips as you animatedly discussed your day aloud with him.

"Natty and Wands are so considerate," you sighed dreamily, "and sweet—I woke up to breakfast and lunch made for me as if they weren't really busy."

You paused, hand reaching out to scoop the teetering feline up so he could sleep as you spoke a bit softer, "Then they both gave me a hug in greeting and I nearly couldn't breathe because of just how stunning they both are, no makeup and in their matching pjs."

The way you spoke made Wanda smile, her heart nearly leapt from her chest at your pure adoration.

An adorable groan fell from your lips before you shamelessly concluded, "you're the luckiest kitty on earth, with the unobtainable milfs of my dreams."

Wanda walked away with a pep in her step as she went to seek Natasha out with the good news. When the elevator dinged you released a breath shortly after, hoping now that they'd make a move as you pet their cat that would soon adopt you as his favorite.

Truth be told, everyone in the room favorited you.

—

A smile took over your face as you heard your lovers laughing through the vents of your old room back from when you were single but shared a floor with them. It was endearing, hearing the warmth and deepness of their well established connection still burning bright.

It took you awhile to feel welcome in their dynamic, even with the invitation; what really helped you along the way was the sneaky moments like these. Where they thought they were quietly simping over you but you caught the whispered words and sweetest giggles.

Hearing it then helped you to regard them as safe, because they were talking out their complex feelings. How they felt about the other having these feelings, neither was offended by the other and it shocked you. Their flattery was not lost on you with their willingness to even risk the beautiful thing they already had going.

Then to hear it now, and have it solidified that even in moments of upset they'd find a way back to that same peace within seconds—they're safe, and you are loved.

Something you knew well, and felt as they gave up on sleeping without you that night—against that doctors orders of course; when you swiftly looked up from your book the women were stood at the door with sheepish smiles. None of you spoke, all very much aware of the state of codependence that exists within your dynamic.

Natasha yawned dramatically and Wanda huffed before she snapped her fingers. Soon two cots were beside your bed once the red mist had cleared, all wires adjusted accordingly before they laid down, took your book and covered up, then slid a hand each into yours.

"Goodnight," you yawned, "I love and missed you too."

[tpwkwriter]

pease do where Harry took her v card last night and the morning after like when shes bleeding and harry being really caring and protective

Warnings: mentions of the deed, cursing, fluff<3

—————————The morning after————————

Y/n sat up in the empty bed, the bed where her Innocence had been taken the night prior, her T-shirt and his boxers where the only things clad on her body, her hair felt scruffy, and her bones definitely had an ache.

Flashbacks to evening before y/n wasn’t sure she’s felt so many butterflies and flutters in her stomach in one night.

Her mind kept going back to the way his hands roamed her body, they way his forearms would be either side of her head, he was just so Devine.

“What’s on your pretty mind?” Said a voice throwing her out of thought.

Harry entered the room placing a cup of water on her bedside table and a kiss to the top of her head.

“Y’alrigh?” He asks plopping down next to her.

“Mmm” she smiled, taking a sip of her water

She leaned her head on his bicep which further elevated her comfort, he pressed another kiss in return.

“Want me to run y’bath” he asked

“Yes please, and can y’add some of that lavender stuff, will help with my legs” she bashfully admitted.

“Y’legs?, y’in pain?” He asks, eyebrows furrowing and now moving to look at her.

“Just a Bit achy, just how is is H, don’t panic”

“M’sorry love, was as slow and gentle as I could be” he muttered into her hair

“You were amazing” he added

A red colour stained her cheeks as he continued to utter these words and pressing kisses to her like there’s no tomorrow.

“Want that bath?” He offered again.

“Yes please”

—————————

Y/n slowly made her way towards the bathroom, though standing up was definitely a challenge.

“Shit” she winced standing up from the bed.

“Slowly love” Harry said, gently putting a hand on the low of her back to guide her.

Once y/n got into the tub Harry thought this was an ideal time to properly clean the bed and change the sheets.

He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t overthinking last night, was he too rough? Was she okay? Did he check on her enough?

Y/n sat in the tub and seeing her red raw inner thighs made her let out a small chuckle at the memory of the night before, it somewhat felt surreal that her virginity was taken by someone who she adored so much, Harry shew her so much love and attention that it made her heart race 10x much.

“Y’okay beauty” Harry called from the bedroom, knocking y/n from her reminiscing.

“Yes love, come sit with me” she answered.

Normally y/n was a very private and shy individual, but there was something Harry carried with him that radiates safety and comfort and after the previous night his words made her feel so beautiful.

Without a word he presses a kiss to her forehead and proceeds to sit on the closed toilet Sid which sat next to the tub.

Y/n loved admiring the beauty that was her boyfriend, her eyes drunk him all in and enjoyed it thoroughly.

“Thank you for last night” Harry admits knocking the train out of her mind.

“Harry” she began

“Thank you, you treated me lovely” she stressed wanting it to get through his head.

“S’jus, such a vulnerable moment and you shared y’first with me” he smiles.

“And there’s no one else I would’ve rathered” she said looking directly at him.

“Love”

“S’true” she sighed.

“Y’gonna make blush n shit” he chortled.

“That’s because your just a big sap” y/n teased

A moment of comfortable silence washed over them enjoying the bliss of simply just each others company.

“Love?” Harry asked.

“Hmm”

“Was last night painful?” He asked his green eyes filling with slight concern

“Harry-“ she started.

“Y/n” he answered a slight more serious and deeper tone.

“Baby, only a teeny bit it’s normal, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t bleed slightly in the bathroom after but it’s so normal Harry-“

But he wouldn’t take that.

“What?” He asked eyes pinching closed and tighter as each word rolled off her tongue

“Baby stop beating yourself up-“

“I made you fucking bleed?”

“Harry listen to me”

Clearly lost in his own brain overthinking the worst things ever.

“It’s normal, before you I was a virgin it’s fine, harry it’s not your fault you didn’t cause anything, hell it didn’t even hurt, m’used to periods and much worse love so stop letting your brain win”

Harry looked up at her, her beautiful eyes and face were the death of him.

“Fuck love” he said quick to move off of the toilet lid and kneel beside the tub to level with her face.

“I love you so much Harry, your the best boyfriend, I felt so safe, so loved in your arms last night, as sickly as that sounds” she quietly said while studying his features.

“I love you y/n, I never want to hurt you, cause ya pain ever ever ever” he rambled.

“I know silly, now gimme a kiss you big sap” y/n requested.

A kiss she received.

——————————————————————————

[midnight-fauna]

"i just wanna trust what is mine" (huskerdust)

Pairing: Angel Dust/Husk

Chapter: 1/1

Word count: 5,063

Summary: Five times Angel didn't want to be touched by anyone. And the one time he did.

A/N: Originally posted on my Ao3 under "TheExtrovertOutcast".

Trigger warnings: implied physical/sexual abuse, heavy swearing, canon-typical amounts of innuendos, touch-aversion, brief descriptions of panic attacks

i.

Angel staggered into the Hazbin Hotel, slamming the front doors shut behind him. He was practically limping. Valentino had worked him to the goddamn bone, insisting he tried out new kinks that Angel didn’t even know people could have. Sick bastards. 

He plopped down on one of the barstools in the lobby, groaning indignantly at the added discomfort for his ass. “Whiskers, I’m gon’ need your strongest shit,” he said, mustering up one of his flirty smiles. He sure as hell didn’t need the new “bar-therapist” to comment about his current state. “And if you could top it off with one of them cute li’l umbrellas, that’d be wonderful,” he added, drawing out the last syllable. 

Husk scoffed. “The fuck does this look like?” He gestured pointedly around him. Given both Husk and the bar were fairly recent add-ons to the hotel, there wasn’t a lot other than cheap alcohol and the occasional roach. 

Sighing over-dramatically, Angel got up off the stool, ignoring how his entire fucking body protested. “‘Gotta do everything myself,” he complained. He circled behind the counter and began inspecting what they had. 

“You can’t just-” Husk began.

“Listen, toots, I get you’re the bartender and all that, but that don’t mean you’re the only one who can make a drink worth shit,” Angel interrupted, his multiple hands searching through the rows of bottles. Alastor clearly didn’t give a rat’s ass about stocking the hotel with half-decent booze.

Husk threw his hands up in the air. “Fine. Whatever. It’s not like I get paid to deal with you fuckers anyways,” he muttered. “‘Bar’s all yours.” 

With that, Husk shuffled to move past Angel. Given the cramped space, Husk had to brush up right against him. 

Angel froze. 

He could do touch. Hell, touch was his entire goddamn career. Outside of work, he touched people all the time. He’d flirtily caress practically anyone who crossed his path. He’d cup their cheeks (face or ass, depending on his mood), whisper filthy shit in their ear, trace his fingers over their lips - whatever worked to give him some semblance of control over the situation.

But people touching him? He wasn’t in control. He wasn’t the one initiating. And all too soon in scenarios like that, no matter how innocent the touch, he’d be reminded of all the sick shit Valentino had him do.

It was almost funny, in a fucked up way: a pornstar that hated people touching him. 

Immediately, Angel yanked himself away from Husk, practically bolting to the other side of the bar. Husk shot him a confused look. 

“You’re, uh, right,” Angel coughed out, desperately trying to cram down the panic rising up in his gut. “There isn’t anything in those bottles worth putting in my body. And that’s saying a lot, comin’ from a guy like me.”

The joke didn’t land as smoothly as he hoped it would. Fuckin’ Husk and his judgemental cat eyes. He felt like the man was staring right into his chained soul, seeing every last vulnerable part of him. 

“Tell Alastor to get better stuff,” Angel added in a futile attempt to sound casual. Offering another bullshit grin, he hurried away from the bar, feeling Husk’s eyes on him the entire time. 

ii.

It wasn’t often that Angel met someone he couldn’t seduce or at least get some kind of sexual reaction from. Obviously, there were exceptions - lesbians, asexuals, and, occasionally, a straight man with no taste. But as far as people who were attracted to men? Angel never had a problem riling them up. 

That was why Husk confused him so goddamn much. 

Angel knew the bastard liked dick to some extent; Husk had mentioned a previous gay fling he’d had when he was still alive. And yet, Angel couldn’t get so much as a blush. A stutter. Fuckin’ anything. It bruised his ego more than he’d like to admit. 

“Man, stop staring at me. You’re creeping me the fuck out.” 

Husk’s voice snapped Angel back to reality. The two were on couches across from each other in the hotel lobby. The book Husk had been reading was bookmarked and his full attention was on Angel. 

Showtime. 

“‘Can’t blame a guy for starin’ at what he likes,” Angel purred. Everyone liked flattery, especially in Hell where a solid ninety-nine percent of the population was egotistical shitbags. “Those reading glasses you got on are enough to make anyone fuckin’ drool, toots.” 

Unfortunately, that made Husk promptly take them off, setting the glasses down on the wooden coffee table. “Cut the shit, Angel. You know that stuff doesn’t work on me.” 

“Oh, come on,” Angel whined. He got up off the couch, sauntering over to Husk. He made a show of stretching out his limbs, letting his crop top ride up even higher. Shit like this would make most people hot in all the right places, but Husk didn’t even look fazed. 

He was practically showing off his entire lower torso by the time he swooped down to Husk’s couch, lounging as close as he could to him. “I know folks who would kill to touch me even once,” Angel crooned, “and here I am offerin’ myself up to you and you ain’t gonna do nothin’ about it?” 

Husk snorted in response. “Just because you’re a pornstar doesn’t mean everyone wants to sleep with you.” 

Angel wrinkled his nose at that. Of course everyone wanted to sleep with him. That was his whole fuckin’ appeal. That’s why he was Valentino’s favorite, for fuck’s sake. 

Deciding to amp up his antics, Angel raised his hand up, gently caressing Husk’s cheek. Maybe he liked ‘em sweeter with less dirty talk. It wasn’t Angel’s favorite role to play, but he could pull it off. 

He ran his hand down Husk’s jaw, trailing down his neck, going to his chest-

“Stop.” Husk’s arm shot up, grabbing Angel’s wrist a little too tightly and yanking it away from him. And suddenly, the pressure was all-too-much like Valentino’s chains, his sharp nails, the goddamn bruises-

“Okay!” Angel yelled, much louder than he’d intended to, snatching his wrist back, pulling it close to his chest. “Fuckin’ okay! I get it!” 

It wasn’t Husk’s fault. Deep down, Angel knew that. He was the one who had crossed boundaries, gone too far. But fuck it, it was easier to be pissed at Husk than to take responsibility for himself. 

Angel turned abruptly, speed-walking away from the lounge, away from Husk, away from the situation, away from anything that could bring those memories back. He nearly tripped on Nifty and, despite growing kind of fond of her, he ignored her. 

Charlie rushed into the room. “Angel! I heard yelling-” She stopped, looking at him worriedly. “Angel, are you-”

“Just leave me the hell alone,” Angel snapped, pushing past her. 

He fucking hoped she didn’t see how close he was to crying. 

iii. 

The day had been a shitshow. 

For some goddamn reason, Charlie decided to show up at Valentino’s studio, try to convince him to chill (like that’d ever work), and then accidentally set fire to fuckin’ everything. In response, Valentino had made him do every disgusting act known to man, all without breaks. And to top the shitty night off, Husk had the gall to judge him - call him “fake”, treat Angel like a goddamn kid, and try to fuckin’ act like he was anything better than Angel.

Fuck Husk. Fuck Valentino. Fuck everyone except for the booze in his hand and the loan sharks around him paying for it. 

“Hey, baby, be a doll and bring me another one,” Angel cooed to the shark beside him that looked like he had a spiked dildo for a nose. “Daddy’s out of juice.” 

Angel lounged back as Dildo-Nose got up and headed towards the bar. Even with what felt like gallons of alcohol in his system, Angel was still exhausted - both physically and emotionally. He had genuinely thought things were getting better for him. The hotel had seemed more welcoming than it used to. For a while, he actually felt like he had some semblance of home. Sure, the place was filled with fuckin’ weirdos, but they’d begun to grow on him. Except for Alastor. That motherfucker still creeped Angel out. 

Dildo-Nose’s raspy voice snapped him back to reality. “Here you go, darling. Just for you-” He was about to hand Angel the drink when he was suddenly snatched backward. 

“Nice try, fuckhead.” 

Angel physically gawked at the sight of Husk grabbing Dildo-Nose and flinging him straight into the jukebox. He barely had time to register what the fuck was going on before Husk grabbed him, throwing cards like they were ninja-stars at the remaining loan sharks. 

“Hey, hey, hey, hey!” Angel protested loudly, tripping over himself repeatedly as Husk dragged him out of the nightclub, the two narrowly missing the several bullets being shot their way. 

By the time they made it out onto the sidewalk, Angel had finally begun to process the situation, but he still couldn’t understand why it was happening. “Husk, what the actual fuck are you doing here?” he demanded. 

It was then that his senses caught up to him and he realized Husk was physically restraining him. Despite what his films would have people think, Angel fucking hated being held still. It made him feel helpless in all the wrong ways. It made him feel trapped, weak, easy to use, easy to abuse. 

“Let go of me!” Angel shouted, hating the way his voice cracked when he did. He tried to yank his upper set of arms back. He needed his fucking control back. He was panicking and it was beginning harder and harder to hide it. 

Husk kept his grip firm. It was infuriating that he was stronger than Angel. “No, I’m taking you back to the hotel,” he said. 

Heart racing for all the wrong reasons, Angel continued to struggle against Husk. He tried telling himself that he wasn’t at the studio, that he wasn’t with Valentino, that he knew Husk wouldn’t try shit, but- “Get off!” 

Angel yanked back hard enough and finally - fucking finally - Husk let him go. “That fucker put something in your drink,” Husk hissed. 

“You don’t think I can tell if someone spikes my drink? I do this all the fucking time.” Angel’s heart was threatening to break out of his ribs, pounding so loud he could barely hear Husk. He wanted to run, but he didn’t want to risk Husk grabbing him again. 

Husk stared at him in disbelief. “You just let people drug you all the time?” 

Angel was about two seconds away from a breakdown. “You think I ask for it?! I don’t ask for any of this shit! I didn’t ask to be this way! I didn’t ask for Charlie to save me! I didn’t ask for you to save me. I can handle myself.”

“Really? Because I just saw someone self-destructing,” Husk retorted. “It seems like - I don’t know - you might need a bartender to talk to.” 

Despite all the hiding and masking and acting Angel had done for as long as he could remember, he broke down right in front of the guy who he was seeking approval from most. He admitted fucking everything - the pretending, the escapism, the self-destruction, the hatred, the fear, all of it - laying out his deepest insecurities for Husk to see. 

And, to Angel’s surprise, Husk didn’t judge him. In fact, he admitted to once being an Overlord and the mistakes he made that led him up to then. 

It was almost comforting, knowing that someone else got it and really understood what Angel had been through. What he was still going through. 

It was kind of nice. 

iv.

“Alright! Thank you everyone for coming to today’s group bonding session!” Charlie cheered happily, clapping her hands together. She, Angel, Husk, Vaggie, Nifty, and Sir Pentious were gathered in the hotel lobby. Thankfully, Alastor was nowhere to be found. “For this afternoon’s activity, we’re all going to go around in a circle and everyone will give each person in the group a compliment! A great way to build trust is to feel appreciated by those around you!”

“Compliments?” Sir Pentious asked with a head tilt, drawing out the last consonant in a hiss. “Like telling someone they would make a worthy adversary?” 

Charlie sucked in a breath. “Um, kind of! Sure!” she said, her painfully optimistic personality trying its best to shine through. 

“I get hundreds of compliments a day about my looks, so I expect some original shit from you all,” Angel said with a grin. He was lounging on one of the lobby couches, Husk beside him. Since their fight and eventual make-up a month earlier, they’d begun to get along surprisingly well. They were a hell of a weird pair, but somehow, they made it work. 

“Angel actually brings up a great point!” Charlie shot him a pleased smile. “We should all try to make our compliments sincere and about the person themselves, not just about their appearance! Angel, how about you go first?” 

Angel nearly choked on air, covering it up with a cough. “Uh- I don’t know. Sentimentality ain’t really my thing, sweetheart,” he said, glancing around at the group. Sure, he’d say he was friendly with everyone, but he didn’t know the first thing about “sincere” compliments. “With my line of work, I tend to only praise people’s dick size.” 

“Oooookay!” Charlie exhaled, still beaming from ear to ear, but her eyes revealed she did not know how to respond to that last part. “Well, er, even if they’re not… perfectly sincere compliments, how about you just give it your best shot?” 

“Alright, fine, fine,” Angel said, waving his hand in the air dismissively. “Uh, here goes nothin’, I guess. Nifty,” he began, looking down at the carpet where she was sitting, grimacing at the number of dead roaches in a pile beside her, “you are… without a doubt, the most insane woman I’ve ever had the pleasure of knowin’ and that’s sayin’ something.” 

“Angel-!” Vaggie sounded like he was about to scold him, but was abruptly cut off by the sound of Nifty’s borderline-maniacal giggling. 

Nifty rushed over to Angel, offering him one of the dead roaches like a pleased housecat offering her owner a mangy mouse. “That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me,” she giggled, a familiar crazed look in her single eye. “I’ll name one of the stains on the carpet after you~”

Deciding it was safer to take that shit as a sign of goodwill, Angel nodded, picking up the roach by a leg and setting it to the side. “Wow, uh, thanks, Nifty. That’s… wonderful.” 

She skittered back to her roach pile, humming softly to herself. 

“Vaggie,” Angel paused, for a second, knowing he’d have to choose his words a little more carefully, “you’re scarily good at killin’ people and takin’ charge. The hotel’s, uh, lucky to have you protectin’ it.”

“That was surprisingly decent of you to say,” Vaggie said with raised eyebrows. 

Angel turned away. Hell, this all felt humiliating. He wasn’t one to make people actually like him for anything other than sex. He never even signed up for this goody-two-shoes shtick. Initially, he’d only joined for the hotel so he had a free place to stay as far from Valentino as possible when he wasn’t working. 

He glanced at Charlie, giving her an expression along the lines of, “Do I really have to keep going?” Unfortunately for him, she gave him a nod and a vaguely encouraging thumbs up. 

Deciding to try and get it over as fast as possible, he quickly rattled out, “Charlie, you do great at running this hotel. I used to think you had a zero percent chance of redeemin’ Hell’s worst, but now I think you have a solid eight percent chance, so that’s progress. Sir Pentious, you’re fuckin’ weird as hell, but I’m beginnin’ to like you. And, screw it, if you want to go after Cherri Bomb, I ain’t gonna stop you. She bit her last ex’s head off, so to be honest, I’m more worried for you.” 

Charlie was silent, clearly trying to process all the bullshittery that spewed out of Angel’s mouth. Sir Pentious, however, seemed elated. “Really? So, you think I have a chance with her? This is brilliant news! I will have my dear Egg Bois set up a courtship invitation with her!” His weird-ass snake eyes were practically shimmering with excitement. 

Apparently relieved at Sir Pentious’ positive reaction, Charlie smiled again. “That seemed to go well! Perfect! Now, you just need to give Husk a compliment and we can move on to the next person!” 

Right. Husk. Angel tried to swallow down his nervousness as he turned to Husk. He was cool with everyone else at the hotel. Friendship might be a strong word, but it was something like that. But with Husk? There was something deeper: a mutual understanding, shared trauma, maybe actual trust - if that was still something Angel could actually fucking feel. 

“Come on. Surely, you have one nice thing to say about me,” Husk said with an easy-going smile, light sarcasm lacing his tone. 

Angel scoffed, trying to keep his usual air of nonchalance. “I don’t know. Nothing’s comin’ to mind. I guess you’re a half-decent drinking buddy,” he said, teasing a little. “You, uh, get me… in ways other folks don’t. And because of that, you’re pretty damn patient with me, even when I’m a whiny asshole, which I appreciate. A lot. You’re fun to hang around. I feel comfortable around you, which, shit, I don’t think I’ve ever felt since workin’ for Valentino. You’re a real cool son of a bitch and I’m lucky to have you.” 

He suddenly became very aware that the room had fallen silent. Hell, even Nifty wasn’t doing her creepy ritualistic-sounding humming. He’d been rambling. He’d let too much spill. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“That actually means a lot to me,” Husk said, a little grin on his face. He reached up and placed his hand on Angel’s shoulder. And for a blissful second, it felt fine. It felt okay. Until Angel’s goddam mind became too acutely aware of how close Husk’s fingers were to his neck, how easily he could grab him by the throat just like how Valentino did so often. Angel knew Husk would never do that. Of course, he knew that. But the fear was still there. Consuming him, fucking torturing him every second that Husk’s hand was on his shoulder.

Angel shrugged his shoulder and thankfully, it made Husk’s touch fall away. Trying to recover, Angel cleared his throat loudly. “Right. Okay. Next person.” 

It took until the end of the group activity for Angel’s heart to finally calm down. 

v.

Angel had been at Hazbin Hotel for over five months and it had genuinely begun to feel like home. He couldn’t remember the last time a place felt like that, even back when he was alive.

He was helping restock Husk’s bar with better shit after the two of them had gone out and bought about three dozen bottles of actually decent booze. In all honesty, Angel couldn’t care less about the quality of their alcohol (he’d drank a lot worse, both on Earth and in Hell). Lately, he’d been looking for more and more excuses to spend time with Husk. 

It wasn’t a crush, per se. Angel was a fucking pornstar, for Lucifer’s sake. He didn’t get horny-people shit like that. It was just that he enjoyed Husk’s company. That was all. 

At least, that’s what he kept telling himself. 

Speak of the devil, Husk came around the bar, a box of bottles clanking together in his arms. “Vaggie offered to give us some of her collection that she used to hide from Charlie. I took a look at them and honestly, she has some good shit in here.” 

“Yeah?” Angel smiled in spite of himself. “‘Doesn’t surprise me that she hid it. I don’t think Charlie’s still too thrilled that we got a bar in her redemption joint.” 

Husk shrugged, setting the box down on the bar top. “I don’t know. Maybe she could turn it into a lesson on healthy moderation.” 

Angel snorted. “Sure sounds like somethin’ she’d do.” 

He began sifting through the bottles, taking a few of them out to inspect the labels. After a while, he became very aware of Husk’s eyes on him. The gaze wasn’t judgemental like it once was when they first met. It felt warmer than that. Softer than that. Angel sure as hell wasn’t used to anyone looking at him in that way. 

“These’ll do,” Angel said, feigning a nonchalant demeanor. He turned to begin shelving them away, only for his high-heeled boots to catch on one of Nifty’s roach corpse piles. He nearly went careening to the ground, if not for Husk’s hands grabbing onto his waist, hauling him back up before he could smash both the bottles and possibly his skull onto the hardwood floor. 

“Shit-” Angel scrambled to get back his footing, pausing for a few seconds to regain himself before the continued sensation of Husk’s hands on his waist caught up to him. 

It’s just Husk. It’s just Husk, he tried to tell himself. God-fucking-damnit, he hated the way he couldn’t handle even innocent physical touch, not even from the man he trusted the fuckin’ most. What is wrong with me?

In an attempt to save himself from an oncoming panic attack, Angel yanked himself away from Husk, awkwardly smoothing down his clothes. “You’d think I’d be more careful where I step after livin’ with Nifty for as long as we have now,” he joked, willing himself to calm down.

Husk’s gaze told Angel he wasn’t buying it. “Angel, do you not like being touched? At all?” he asked, his voice gentle, careful. As if he was afraid that Angel might break down if he was too direct or harsh. His tone made Angel want to cry and he didn’t know whether it was out of shame or relief. 

“What? Psssh, nah, what are you talkin’ about?” Angel set the bottles down, giving Husk what he hoped looked like an easy-going grin. “I just don’t want you to get an STD or some shit from me.”

Husk frowned. “You and I both know you can’t get an STD from something like that.” 

“You never know! Hell’s a dirty place! There’s probably diseases all over the place, especially on me.” Angel tried to laugh it off, grimacing when he saw Husk’s expression remain serious. “Look, I swear it’s nothin’. You’re worryin’ too much.” 

“I’ve seen you, both with me and a few of the others,” Husk continued. “It seems like you’re fine when you touch us. But the second any of us touch you, even slightly? You shut down. I can see the panic in your eyes every time.”

Angel swallowed, wrapping his two sets of arms around himself. ���It’s really not a big deal.”

“It clearly is to you,” Husk said, stepping closer, while still maintaining comfortable space between the two of them (a sentiment that Angel’s heart warmed at). “I don’t know nearly anything about what that asshole moth does to you or makes you do, but I’m gonna take a bold guess and say this-” he gestured to Angel’s closed-off posture, “-is because of him. I want to know what you’re uncomfortable with because I never want to make you feel the way that motherfucker makes you feel or the way Alastor makes me feel. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

Going quiet for a long moment, Angel nodded. “Yeah, I hear you.” He glanced around the lobby, making sure no one was listening in on their conversation. “Look, I really enjoy being around you. You make me feel like I can be myself and not- whatever it is that Val wants me to be, y’know? I don’t want you to get the wrong idea and think I don’t trust you or shit. ‘Cause I do. It’s just… something about being touched without warnin’. I don’t know. It makes me feel like I wanna crawl out of my skin.”

Husk nodded. Thank Lucifer, his gaze didn’t seem like he was pitying Angel or seeing him as some fucked-up mess that needed to be coddled like a damn baby. He just seemed understanding. Empathetic. And fuck, if that didn’t make Angel’s guts do a flip. 

“I’ll tell Nifty to keep her roach piles away from the bar,” Husk said, mercifully changing the subject as though sensing how uncomfortable it made Angel to bear his soul (that wasn’t even really his anymore) to him. 

“Thank you,” Angel mumbled quietly, hoping Husk knew he wasn’t talking about the roaches. 

vi. 

They’d done it. They’d actually fucking done it. They’d fended off the Extermination.

The hotel was in shambles, to say the least. Hell, Angel didn’t know if it could be considered a building anymore at that point. Because of the extreme damage, only a few rooms had been left (somewhat) intact. Charlie had promised they’d finish renovations tomorrow with the help of her dad, but she insisted everyone rest after the whole-ass battle they’d had.

Given the very limited selection of rooms that weren’t extreme safety hazards to sleep in (four to be exact - Vaggie had counted), Charlie had everyone pair off. Angel had a feeling it was more to give everyone a sense of companionship given they all had a new sprinkle of PTSD added into their already shitty mental states. Charlie and Vaggie had obviously gotten one of the rooms to themselves. Rosie had insisted on keeping Alastor company. Why the hell someone would want to spend a second with that creep was beyond Angel’s understanding. Nifty and the remaining Egg Bois had grouped up in one of the smaller hotel rooms. And that left the remaining room for Angel and Husk. 

“Seriously? The sharing one bed shtick?” Angel scoffed, plopping down on the mattress. “‘Sounds like something straight out of one of my porn movies.” 

Husk raised an eyebrow. “I can sleep on the floor if the thought makes you uncomfortable. I know, uh, being reminded of your work isn’t exactly your idea of a good time.” 

“No, no, it’s fine,” Angel insisted, clambering into bed, already in his pajamas and having cleaned most of the angel blood out of his hair. “It ain’t like I think you’re gonna pull shit or anything.” 

With a shrug, Husk reluctantly got into bed beside him. The room was already near pitch dark thanks to the electrical system being blasted apart. The only light was from the crimson sky of Hell, serving as a forever reminder of their damnation. 

Silence fell between the two of them for a long while, a comfortable few inches of space between them on the king-sized mattress. Angel was beginning to think Husk had already fallen asleep until he finally spoke. 

“It’s hard to believe he’s gone, you know?” Husk said quietly and Angel immediately knew who he was referring to. An uncomfortable sensation of guilt panged in his stomach. Fuck, he hadn’t even been thinking about Sir Pentious. In all the chaos, he’d nearly forgotten about the insane, but admirable, shit he’d pulled. 

“Yeah,” Angel breathed. “And just as I was beginnin’ to like him too.” 

Husk exhaled out a long, tired sigh. “I wish he’d been the one to magically show up, not Alastor. Fuck, for a second there, I really thought I was free.” 

“I’m sorry” was all Angel could muster. Hell, he was shit with words and even more shit at comforting people. He wished he knew all the right things to say to make Husk feel better, show him that Angel really did care about him. It was probably more than just care. Angel didn’t know what it was that he felt for Husk, but he knew damn well it was strong. Even stronger than his initial admiration and adoration for Valentino back when he’d first met him. 

Without giving himself time to hesitate, he reached forward, enveloping Husk in a hug. At that point, he couldn’t give a rat’s ass about his fears. All he wanted was to comfort Husk. That was the only damn thing driving him. 

“Whoa-” Husk mumbled under his breath, surprise evident in his tone. “Angel, I know you don’t like this sort of thing. You don’t have to-”

“I want to,” Angel interrupted.

Cautiously, Angel felt Husk relax and carefully wrap his arms around Angel, embracing him back. To Angel’s immediate surprise, he didn’t feel the all-too-familiar sensation of panic rising up in him. If anything, he felt the opposite. He felt safe. He felt accepted. Shit, he felt loved. 

Husk was pressed right up against Angel’s whole body. His face was buried in Angel’s shoulder and Angel could feel Husk’s breath gently puffing against the top of his chest fluff. Under any other circumstances, Angel would be yanking away, shoving the person off of him. His heart was beating slower than usual, rather than faster. He didn’t know if it was some sort of freaky cat magic, but he genuinely felt calmer. 

It dawned on him that it was the only time he’d felt someone pressed so completely against him and it didn’t feel sexual at all. 

“I don’t think I can remember the last time I hugged someone,” Husk mumbled against his shoulder.

Angel huffed out a quiet laugh. “Shit, people wrap their arms around me all the damn time. But uh, yeah, this… feels different. ‘Feels better.”

He could’ve sworn he felt Husk smile a little and Hell, it made Angel’s stomach flutter like he was a goddamn teenager. 

They laid there for a long time until Husk’s breath slowed, his weight leaning more into Angel as quiet snores escaped his parted lips. Someone falling asleep on him was definitely new to Angel. Even on set, Valentino didn’t give a shit about aftercare or, honestly, any care at all. 

Despite telling himself over and over again that he’d never trust someone again after Val, Angel found himself drifting off next to Husk, feeling safe and secure in ways he’d been craving for decades. 

[youlikefanficdontyousquidward]

heyyy love. your writings always make me smile when I see them on my dash! so i have an idea for a little something… we all know quaritch hates the na’vi people so much. he probably feels some degree of discomfort and distaste of his body now that he looks like one of them. so a human reader who he befriended is out with him on a mission in the forest, and he makes a self degrading joke about an aspect of his new body while they are out there together. reader scolds quaritch for being negative, and miles tells her to stop bitching at him, so she shuts up and ‘shows’ him how perfect she thinks he is 😏

Eeeee! Yes! While i've been writing for lots of recoms atm I will always fall over myself to write Miles (´▽`ʃ♡ƪ)

Recom!Quaritch x Human!Reader

The face in the mirror disgusted him. A nauseating mix of a face he'd been proud of and the most hated enemy. For every familiar corner there was an equally alien curve. There was just so little of him clinging to these bones.

His ears now tall and ever twitching, despite their clipping. His teeth sharp, making every charming smile a threat. He even had a fucking tail.

There was one shining light in his life. Someone that made it worth rising each morning, that he could think of in the dark of night to stave off the nightmares. Y/n. His human, his anchor. Not that he told them that, no he wouldn't talk about his silly little problems to anyone. He was a man after all and hadn't his old man beat that lesson into him.

Y/n was easy to love. Beyond being a face of humanity that still looked to him with respect and kindness. Y/n was fun, they were smart and they didn't take his shit. No despite his towering physique you'd jut your chin out, giving him the same back or worse.

"Keep up, we ain't out for a leisurely stroll darlin" He called over a shoulder. He smiled softly to himself, watching them struggle over a fallen branch.

"Some of our legs aren't two meters long!" you hollered back from atop the log. You beamed, hands on hips in triumph before slipping on the mossy bark. Your whoop was caught short, Miles' strong arms catching you before you fell. He smirked at your pouting face, gently placing you on the forest trail. Only his thrashing tail giving away the panic he'd felt.

"Sorry I ain't perfect sweet-cheeks, some of us are monsters." He jested, a dry chuckle passing his lips. Miles didn't know why he'd let that slip. He turned before he could catch your reaction, storming ahead. It was so hard to keep a wall around you. Inviting eyes always teasing out sides he didn't know he still had.

"Hey what big ears I have!" He started, an almost hysterical laugh following.

"What a horrid nose. What sharp teeth. All the better to scare you off." He babbled, god why couldn't he shut up. He bit his tongue, the slight taste of copper compelling his lips to cease their flapping. It was just a joke, you'd know that. You heard him laugh he wasn't being serious, Miles kept telling himself.

"Miles?" He heard you call behind him, trying to catch up. He kept moving. No, he was fine. He didn't need anyone, he was being stupid, he wasn't so superficial as to be bothered by his appearance. Hell he'd kept those scars all those years! But this was different wasn't it. He wasn't even human anymore. He was no better than those creatures he fought.

Miles grit his teeth, scrunched his brow to a frown. Anger, he could do anger. Get mad at the foul planet that stole his life, reduced him to this.

"Miles." Your voice was softer now, even through ragged breathes. Light grip on his tail, tugging him to stop, to face you. He stopped but he wouldn't turn. He couldn't. Not now when his eyes stung.

"Miles please." Your hands still held him. His anchor, holding him in place. Dragging him down into the depths of his pain, pulling him through the inky black to the heart of it. Then your touch was gone, spiraling through the currents alone. Pulled and pushed by the tidal whims, lost in the depths alone.

"Miles look at my. I swear I'll climb up there if I have to." His sun spoke, even in the depths the light cut through, brilliant beams illuminating the dark. He crouched to meet your gaze, to bring his face to yours.

In the shadows of his mind he imagined you recoiling. Retreating from his form, his own repulsion mirrored on your face. His eyes met yours, the glassy reflection of his tight features reflecting back. He was tensing his jaw, holding his eyes taught against the tears. Your own flowed freely, lip quivering.

He couldn't take it. The shapes so viscerally wrong, no your face should never pull like this. His fingers buzzed with the need to reach out, to clear away the tears or mold your features into that smile. The one that numbed everything he felt, that washed over him like a balm, soothing every pain.

It was your hands that moved, your fingers that reached his face. You held his cheeks between them, pressing them together. Your brow furrowed, mouth bobbling open and closed before you took a deep breath.

Your eyes met his and he froze. Struck, he'd become stone under Medusa's curse. Your fingers danced across the marble skin, following stripe or glittering freckle.

"No." you reprimanded. "No I won't have you talk like that" your voice wavered. Expression still stern, features pulled, shoulders squared. Authoritative. Miles couldn't help but laugh a little.

"No, I'm serious. Your not to talk about yourself like that. Not even think it." you ordered. Miles let the laugh turn sharp, who were you to stop him. You had no power over this, his pain wouldn't be ordered away by a tiny scientist. Not even if it was you.

"Oh yeah what you gonna do about it." He sneered. He rolled his eyes, looking to the ground. Miles didn't want to do this, he didn't want a cruel word to touch you. Especially not one from his mouth.

"Guess I'll have to show you then." You breathed out. Miles felt his heart stutter, the hot breath closer than before. "Show you how beautiful your are." you finished, lips brushing against his own.

His eyes snapped back, you were so close. Gentle hands followed the peaks and valleys of his face, gentle caressing like he was made of fine china. His ears fluttered and you smiled. Miles felt himself melting into your touch, his eyes drifting shut. Fingers brushed against the sensitive shell of his ears. Your thumb brushing up the length before following back across his cheek bones. The line drawn tenderly under his eyes, cascading down the sides of his nose.

His senses were so heightened, the touch of your hand electric and at once pacifying. He felt a soft velvet against the tip of his nose, the gentlest kiss. Miles half opened his eyes, looking through his lashes at your face. You didn't meet his gaze, still lovingly looking upon a face you adored. He felt his heart sore, lost somewhere in the stars only connected by the thread binding it to you.

The gentle pilgrimage resolved at the corner of his mouth. The final stop on your holy journey. Fingers tracing the outline of his lips, your own parting slightly. Then your eyelids came to rest and you met him.

Kiss like silk moving against him. Miles fired to life at the touch, the spell broken he moved. Hands tangling into your hair, to your cheeks, on their own journey across the curves of your body. His lips parting to let you search more, welcoming you to explore fangs, tongue, whatever you wished.

He drew humanity from you, though your skin, your lips, your soul. In this kiss he was at once recom and Quaritch. The man he was in this body being worshiped, at once a whole made from the two parts. Body and spirit burning with need, drawing out moans he couldn't claim as his or yours.

He followed your lips when you pulled back. Then dragged his forehead across you cheek to its resting place on your shoulder. The moment passed, his mind still reeling from the whiplash. His worst pain to his greatest bliss.

"Maybe I need to insult myself more often." He joked against your throat. You thrust back, face appalled.

"You will not!" You demanded, face scrunching again. He laughed softer, leaning an elbow on his knee, face held up by his hand.

"Promise I won't, if you'll do that again." He drawled, eyeing your lip tugged between your teeth. The hot blush still painting your cheeks.

"Fine it's a deal. Just next time we do it back at base." You affirmed, nodding your head before walking off. Miles rose following after you, wicked smirk pulling his lips over fangs.

"We're gonna do it huh?" He joked, laughing again as you squeaked and hurried ahead.

[shion-yu]

Day 2 - Overworked/Exhaustion

Shu doesn't know when to take a break. Pre-Alex. Whumptober 2023! I’m using the @ailesswhumptober's prompt list. This story is about my OC Shumei - here’s his profile if you’re so inclined: https://toyhou.se/23743470.shumei-tw 

Shu had so much to do. This semester’s interns were in the final stages of compiling their projects and they constantly needed something from him. Yesterday his supervisor had given him yet another draft to review and edit by Friday. He was supposed to host the committee meeting this month and he hadn’t even started drafting the schedule. And this was all on top of his usual responsibilities and projects. To say he was busy was an understatement. He was hectic, an exhausted soul that couldn’t even rest peacefully to recharge because he was constantly waking up with stress dreams each night. 

Mathias warned him that he seemed run down. “You’re going to run yourself sick, Shu. You gotta tell them you have too much on your plate.”

Giving up wasn’t how he got his promotion, he thought to himself. He could do all of it and more, if he just tried a little harder. He could always do more. It didn’t matter that he hadn’t slept for more than four hours a night in weeks. It didn’t matter that he couldn’t remember the last time he’d been outside for longer than the time it took him to walk from his car his house or work and back. His only option was to keep going or he wouldn’t be worth anything at all...

He knew he had a fever. He could feel it in his bones, his skin, his eyes even. Everything tingled painfully, but beyond all else he felt the need to succeed. He couldn’t stop, not when people were counting on him. They believed in him because he could do it and had done it before. Other people had families waiting for them at home, Shu had no one - so it didn’t matter that he was never there.

“Shu?”

Shu looked up from his desk. He had his head buried in his hands trying to center himself so he could finish the presentation he was working on, but all the letters had started merging into one big pile in the corner of the screen for some reason. Miki stood beside his desk, a worried look on the younger woman’s face. She had two cups of coffee in her hands and held one out to Shu. “You looked tired. I got you a latte.”

It took Shu longer than it should have to process what she had said to him. “Oh... Thank you.” He forced a thin smile up at her. “Ah... Wait. What time is it?” He glanced at his watch and his eyes widened in panic. “Shit, I have a meeting in five minutes.” He must have lost track of time. Maybe even fallen asleep with how much time had passed.

Shu stood up quickly and suddenly the world around him blurred. “Shu!” That was the last thing he heard before he lost consciousness and hit the ground. 

He was only out for a minute, but when he opened his eyes it seemed like the whole company was around him. He looked around in panic and instant embarrassment, struggling to sit up immediately. He felt a strong pair of hands on his shoulder. It was Mathias. “Woah, don’t get up yet,” he said firmly. “You hit your head pretty bad.”

“The meeting-”

“-Canceled, obviously,” Mathias said. He was making an executive decision here and he didn’t care who might object. “You did too much. I told you this would happen.” He turned and glared at their asshole supervisor who looked pretty guilty right now. “Someone called 911.”

“Seriously? That’s not necessary. Oh, God,” Shu groaned, slumping miserably. He would have to quit. There was no way he could ever come back here, not after this.

“Too bad, it’s too late now,” Mathias said simply. “Just relax, Shu. I think you’re pretty sick. How long have you been feeling like this?”

Shu didn’t answer, partially because he didn’t know. Maybe a few days. A week. It didn’t really matter, did it? “I’m sorry...”

Mathias shook his head. “Don’t apologize, man, if anything we should be apologizing to you for not noticing.” Another backwards glare. Miki started to shoo everybody away from Shu’s desk in a retroactive attempt to preserve just an ounce of Shu’s dignity. “You have a fever. A really high one. You need to rest and nothing else. We’ll take care of your projects,” he added when Shu opened his mouth to protest again. 

Shu sighed. Mathias was right. There wasn’t anything else he could do in this condition. He couldn’t even concentrate on Mathias in front of him, let alone whatever all his projects were about. “I’m gonna be known as the dude who fainted at work for the rest of my life,”

“Maybe, but life’s not only about work, Shu.” 

It wasn’t? If he couldn’t be useful, he didn’t know what to do with himself. He didn’t know how else to feel validated. His mom had never taken a break and that was why he was where he was today. She’d had it so much harder, he thought, a single mom in a country where she couldn’t even understand the language. She did everything so he could succeed, she didn’t deserve a lazy son like him and-

“Shu, take a breath.” Mathias was talking to him again. Shu swallowed and tried to manage a shaky breath. He felt nauseous and dizzy and slumped against Mathias. “There you go bud, keep breathing. You’re going to be okay. It’s all fine.”

Shu tried to believe him. He tried to tell himself it was going to be fine. But what if he got fired for this? What if he’d lost all hope of respect in this company and he’d never get another promotion? What if-

“Shu!” Mathias was holding his face now. Shu stared at him in confusion and could feel tears running from the corner of his eyes. Great, now he was crying, too. Even more pathetic. “Hey. You. Are. Fine.” Mathias told him firmly. “Look, if you have to think of it this way, you need to get better so you can come back to us with all of your usual energy, okay?”

“Okay,” Shu mumbled. He closed his eyes. God, he was so tired. He just needed one good night of rest and surely... surely it would all be fine after that. He grit his teeth. He really wanted a cigarette right now. Being sick sucked... he had to hurry up and get better so he could work properly again, Mathias was right. It was the only way Shu could convince himself to rest.

[h3rmitsunited]

A Blanket Bed in the Corner

Summary: A short one-shot of what happened between Dirk and Todd when they went back to Hobbs house between Panto and the House Within a House. If you like a little bit of angsty, touch-starved, slightly traumatized yearning, then you’ll like this probably.

Read on Ao3. Words: 2108

I got to thinking about @clockworkcheetah ‘s post about Todd not being super touchy with Dirk in S2, and this sort of just spat out of my brain, so *throws this out on the floor* here.

.

.

They get to Hobbs’ small house late that night. He gives his cat a few scratches, throws a pile of blankets and pillows at the two of them and then wanders off to bed, looking worn out.

Understandable. Getting involved with Dirk’s… stuff does that to you.

So, it’s quiet now.

Todd felt strange leaving Farah behind at the sheriff's station. They’d spent two months straight not being further apart than one of them in a shitty motel bathroom while Farah walks down the hall to grab a vending machine dinner, apart from the last couple days when Todd ran off after a rabbit, or Farah talked to her brother at the boat, or today when she went with Farah and found the weird pink-haired dude that’s locked up at the station now.

He feels her absence like the loss of a limb, having become so innately accustomed to her, the mere presence of her existence a glue on his disintegrating life. It writhes like crawling bugs under his skin, an aching panic that settles into his bones telling him that there is something wrong.

It’s whispering, screaming, clawing at him like, ‘she’s gone, you idiot, Farah's not here and she has to be here and, of course, she's been taken too, and now you're alone, and you're never going to find Dirk or Amanda or anyone, and you're going to die alone, choking on your own lungs because there's nobody here to shove the pills down your throat and, shit, this is what Amanda felt all the time, and fuck, I'm the worst person in the whole world, she deserves to hate me forever-‘

Except Farah is okay. He’d watched her wave him off with a tired smile, an understanding in her eyes, and a not-so-joking joke about how she needed a little girl time.

And Dirk is here.

Dirk is here.

He's here.

Todd looks over at him, biting the insides of his cheeks. He looks exhausted and freaked the hell out, which, once again, understandable, considering he got ‘thrown through a doghouse by a zombie, Todd’, plus almost getting shot with a shot gun and then, the sudden presence of Panto Trost, sword carrying crazy person from Wen-da-fuck-does-this-get-normal; all of this casually adding up to a bunch of shit that Dirk really doesn’t need to deal with barely a day after getting out of Blackwing.

And they hadn’t even talked about that. They… well, they sort of have, but not really. Not in any way that matters, but he doesn’t even know if Dirk would want to talk about it. Todd certainly wouldn’t, but Todd’s also coming off the tail end of about a decade of severe emotional repression and self-hatred that’s left him feeling like he doesn’t deserve to have someone listen to any of his crap because he’s just a worthless shithead who shouldn’t have friends. He’s working on that, though, but habits die hard.

He wants to be there for Dirk though. He said he was his friend, back two months ago before everything went to shit. He hopes that all this didn't change Dirk wanting that from him, unless Blackwing, like, zapped his brain to make him not want to have friends. Dirk barely told him much about what that place was like as a child, but from what he’d said, he wouldn’t put isolation-inducing brain zaps past them.

But maybe this is too much. Maybe Dirk thinks that the fact that Todd and Farah spent two months looking for him was kind of creepy and pathetic and Todd is just way too clingy and needy to keep around and he’s just finding the right way to say fuck off without sounding like too much of an asshole.

Todd realizes vaguely that he could also just be thinking all this because it’s like 2am and he’s exhausted and his body is adjusting to taking cat drugs that make his brain feel a little weird and Dirk being here, and alive, and here, is fucking with his head... like a lot.

He becomes aware that he's been sitting on Hobbs' couch for like fifteen minutes, just staring at the wall, still fully dressed. He's surprised Dirk hadn't said anything, or maybe he had, and Todd wasn't paying attention.

Todd glances over and now, Dirk is lying flat on the pile of blankets and pillows that Hobbs had dragged out. He's on his back, eyes open, looking blankly up at the ceiling. The look on his face, Todd’s not sure what he’d call it, but it’s…

Well, it's a bit concerning.

He’s not going to read into what prompts him to do it, but he's walking across the room before he can register the action in his brain. He sees Dirk's eyes flick towards him, but he doesn't move, only parts his lips slightly to release a heavy breath before darting his eyes back up to the ceiling.

Todd waves a hand at him, leaning over the make-shift bed. Dirk rolls his eyes, landing them back on Todd and frowns, confused.

"Scoot over."

Dirk's look of confusion deepens, and he opens his mouth, hesitating quietly for a moment before snapping it closed again. He presses his lips into a tight line and then moves to the side, watching Todd carefully now.

There’s not really enough room for both of them, not enough room for two normal man friends to lay down normally next to each other. But… well, fuck it. Todd draws in a breath and flops onto the blankets, half of his side hanging off the edge onto the worn carpet, carefully keeping just enough space between their arms so that they aren't touching, but close enough that he can feel the echoes of warmth coming off Dirk's body.

He liked doing this with Farah too. He hopes that she didn’t mind it too much. On the run, it was only the two of them together for two months, neither of them big on touching, especially since Todd got pararibulitis, so they didn’t do more than just lay next to each other (other than that night they got drunk at that restaurant and sloppily made out in the back alley, deliberately not talking about it the next day). Just knowing that she was there, that she was in the same shitty boat that he was, tired and scared and unsure of what was going to smack them in the faces next, not knowing if they’d ever find Dirk or Amanda or any semblance of peace again; it helped.

It made him feel real. Alive. Physically present in the world.

He wonders if Dirk had anything like that, if there was anything he could cling to during his long nights wherever he had been to make him feel like a person again. He doesn't think so, but he’s not really sure he wants the confirmation.

Dirk breathes in sharply through his nose. It's dark, apart from the dim light over the oven in the kitchen. It’s glowing a soft yellow through the narrow archway behind them, trailing over the top of Dirk’s face.

He’d never seen him like this before. Never laid on a bed and looked at him, studied the angle of his nose, the hard line of his jaw, the way his throat worked as he swallowed, the flutter of his eyelashes, the soft parting of his lips.

The urge to touch him surges through his body like a pararibulitis attack. Consuming and electric. Todd bites the insides of his cheeks to try to hold his composure. He’s not sure if he succeeds.

Dirk's lip quivers.

There's a tense, heavy silence that blankets over them, like the world tilting for a second as air is pulled into Dirk’s lungs. He's staring up at the ceiling like it could have the answers to a question Todd knows that he doesn't even know.

"I missed you," Dirk breathes out shakily. It's quiet, barely audible, but in Todd's ears, it's an explosion. It shatters something in his chest, and he doesn't think he'll ever be able to piece it back together again, and, god, he doesn't fucking care.

Todd shifts his arm, just the tiniest bit closer. He can feel the tickle of their arm hairs brushing together, sending bolts of lightning over his nerves, but not, like, bad ones. They're good. They're so good.

Todd wonders if Dirk can feel him staring at him. He doesn't mean to, knows that it's a little weird, a bit creepy, but Dirk is here, he’s here, and Todd is so fucking scared of blinking and finding that spot on the blankets suddenly empty. To find out that Dirk had never even been here in the first place. That finding him had been a dream or a hallucination or something else that would break his heart if it wasn’t just this.

"I missed you, too," Todd whispers back. Dirk flinches like he'd forgotten Todd was even there, his throat bobbing as he swallows hard.

The distance between them feels too far, like a wide, endless canyon, impassable and dangerous.

Dirk turns his head slowly, meeting Todd's eyes. His are bright. The soft light from the kitchen makes them shine like stars, and his hair is wild, errant strands sticking out in all different directions. Dirk had been running his hands through it anxiously since Panto showed up, too much restless energy to stay contained. A dark strand hangs loosely over his forehead.

He could reach out, brush it back into place and let his finger stay pressed lightly against Dirk’s skin, trailing it down the side of Dirk's face, smoothing those rough, worried edges. It feels like too much, too soon, too close.

Dirk’s lips turn down, eyes still carefully studying Todd. It seems like he feels the same way, like his connection to the whatever is tattling on Todd’s thoughts, that roiling tension in Todd's body that is screaming at him to get closer, and his eyes flick back to the couch, his expression closing off. He licks his lips and frowns.

"You should get some sleep. I can't imagine having to be on the run from the FBI has been very restful." He speaks softly. Kind and quiet, but Todd can hear the tone of dismissal in the words.

Todd doesn't want Dirk to pull away, not now. Not when he just got him back. He moves to shift forward, but he feels the light press of fingertips against his forearm. Dirk's eyes are piercing into him, sad and tired.

"Todd," he whispers, his voice crackling like he’s moments away from breaking into tears. His eyes dart to the couch again, panicked. "Please."

Dirk presses his lips into a line and looks back at Todd, his expression pleading with him to understand, like he doesn’t know what he needs himself, like he needs Todd to know for him.

Todd’s not good at this though.

He wants so badly to just push forward, to show Dirk that he’s here for him, that he wants to be here for him. Wants to drag him into a hug and touch him and know that this is real, that Dirk is real. And here. And alive.

But he can see in Dirk’s expression that he’s not ready for that. And as much as Todd wants to push, wants to touch, and hold, and never fucking let go… he doesn’t.

It hurts, aching like a bruise, but Todd swallows it down and nods.

Because it's fine. He's fine, and this is fine, and he’s here for Dirk, whatever he needs, because they’re friends and he wants his friend to feel okay. To feel safe.

Todd briefly nudges Dirk’s arm with his own, catching his eyes and giving Dirk a soft smile.

"Good night, Dirk."

Dirk hesitates before returning Todd’s smile with a sad apologetic one of his own. His fingers brush over the back of Todd’s wrist before dropping back onto the blanket.

Todd pushes himself up, the chill of being separated from Dirk creeping into his skin. He drags one of the blankets he’d been lying on up from the ground, tugging it until Dirk shifts and it comes free and then tosses it carefully out across Dirk’s body, turning quickly back to the couch to lay down. It’s enough, he thinks, that he can see Dirk from here. Can see Dirk watching him still, pulling the blanket around his chest tighter, curling onto his side, still facing Todd on the couch.

Todd sighs, letting his eyes close.

"Good night, Todd."

In the morning, the blanket bed is empty.

[clouds-rambles]

Hi there! Can i request xiao, childe,zhongli where reader gets injured bad one time that they go into like a comatose or something? And at the end they wake up, thank you!! 🤗

Hi bestie! And ask and ye shall sufficiently be fed. I kept rambling on these so I hope you don’t mind <3

Pairings; (Separate) Xiao, Childe, Zhongli x reader

Warning(s); hurt/comfort, cursing, slight wound description

Keep reading under the cut!

Xiao

You didn’t actually plan to take on the Oceanid but you were in the area and you knew a friend needed a cleansing heart or two so why not?

The why not is the fact that the dumb water birds were ripping the shit out of you

Sufficiently happy that the Oceanid has given you a lesson enough, they disappear, leaving you pretty much in a heaped, shivering, bloody pile.

The yaksha hears his name being spoken with such a level of hurt, Xiao is moving before you’re able to mutter his name a second time

Despite his quick speeds and quicker panic, he hears your voice slowly lose breath. And as much as he doesn’t want to he has started preparing himself for the worst.

Maybe it’s his fault for loving a fleeting mortal?

When he reaches you, you’re unconscious. But breathing. Laboured, likely due to some broken ribs, but breathing none the less. A less panicked and worried Xiao would chastise him for holding onto something that could disappear.

Xiao isn’t going to let you die, not on his hands.

He takes your limp body back to the Wangshu Inn and within the hour there’s 3 doctors all bandaging your body and making sure your stable

Comatose isn’t a word that Xiao has much experience with. But to him it manifests into the worst weeks of his life

Where he isn’t sat beside you, he’s pacing in your room. And when he isn’t doing that he’s throwing himself so deep in slaying demons and once the supply of demons ran dry he started clearing out random hilichurl camps

He knows that things are starting to get better when you start muttering random things in your sleep, and reacting to whatever books Xiao reads to you

Nobody at the Inn says anything outwardly about how unusually soft Xiao is, but everyone’s notices. If you were awake Xiao could imagine you teasing him about it and giving him a kiss

Four weeks almost to the day you wake up. Xiao is sat in his normal place beside you, book in his hand reading to you

“I like that book, its my favourite” you tell the yaksha who hasn’t noticed your waking. Your voice struggles to make words, like when you talk first thing in the morning.

Xiao jumps a little at your voice, he was so engrossed in the book and barely noticed your gaze. 

Grinning is an understatement, Xiao smiles so wide and out of character that you almost jest about Xiao being a doppelganger 

But the moment he hugs you, careful of your bindings, the jest fizzles away

“I almost lost you” he tells you his face sufficiently buried in your neck to try and hide the growing tears that he’s been pushing back through the weeks 

“You can’t get rid of me that easily cutie” you reassure the yaksha as you embrace him as tight as your bandaged body can

-

Childe

The two of you love to expend your energy with random friendly fights be it wrestling around the house or finding the highest plains and having a great all out battle. You both find its a great way to release stress too

“I was thinking about eating out for dinner” you tell Childe as you parry his arrow

“That sounds like an idea. Loser pays” Childe responds with a grin

The fight is great, and dare you say it you’re winning

Until, by no joke, the biggest gust of wind pushes you off of the cliff and sends you flying

It would be funny if you couldn’t feel your bones breaking as you fall

Childe dives off the cliff the as soon as he can attempting to catch you

He does. But he’s a little too late to catch you conscious. You feel like a limp bag of potatoes. Your heartbeat being the only thing that’s currently grounding him and keeping him from committing various crimes

He doesn’t have the time to overthink until you’re safe and laying in your shared room

The three days that you’re unconscious Childe spends almost every waking moment sat on a chair beside your bed, laying on the bed beside you and actively avoiding as much work as he physically can. Even to the point a fatui agent comes to the house and lectures him about how he mustn’t keep avoiding his obligations.

He leaves for half a day on the third day and sits beside you the moment he gets back. He’s lazily telling you about his boring half day of work after he finishes he drops his head onto the bead

“I guess I’ll have to buy dinner though” you tell Childe your hand petting his hair 

You’ve never seen Childe sit up so fast and bury his head into your chest where you continue to pet his hair 

“Though you might have to go and get it, my bones hurt” you jest 

“You fell off a fucking cliff [name] I’m sure your bones do more than hurt” he smiles kissing your nose

You smile at the man and embrace him again “I’m sure you caught me though”

“Without hesitation” he grins, Childes worry's and the days before overthinking flutter away for the time being

-

Zhongli

Being the adventurer spirit that you are going to the reaches of Liyue and you’ve made it your personal goal of exploring every crevice of the country

On your way back to the Harbour after a month and a half being away. Though on the final stretch of your journey a mitachurl decided that you were a personal punching bag and threw you across the road

  Though in much pain from the fall you some how managed to make it back home and into the arms of your spouse

“I’ve got a present fo-” you pass out mid sentence, obviously your adrenaline from the mitachurl had finally ran out

Zhongli takes your sudden excess of deadweight and quickly lays you down onto your shared bed and checks you for any wounds

He quickly finds a large bruise from the mitachurl earlier. Zhongli changes you into some comfortable clothing while you’re already half undressed under his concerned gaze

Despite his quick thinking and generally unfazed expression the archon feels a unsettling pit at the bottom of his stomach

Baizhu is inside the house within the half hour and within the hour he has a diagnosis. A coma with no end date. 

Being acquainted with comas but thanks to his previous lifetimes Zhongli has never been so close to someone with such an ailment

Another month and a half Zhongli finds himself away from his spouse. Although trying to keep his schedule as consistent as possible his morning walks are changed to sitting at the bedside and dinner time was often spent sat to the table that was in the bedroom, but now moved closer to your bedside

Although very used to being alone for extended periods of time thanks for your love of exploration, he has never felt so far away from you despite you being so close to him

When you awoke it was actually close to midnight. Your brain takes a few moments to catch up with the world. You take into account that you’re in bed, and notably, your spouse was not

You feel the distinct pain of the hit you had taken, although you note that it doesn’t hurt nearly as much as it did when you came home

You sit on the edge of your bed and stand, a little wobbly at first, and you move about your home looking for your absent spouse

That’s until you find him asleep in the spare bedroom. Why is he there? You don’t remember having an explosive argument or kicking out of bed.

You enter the room and touch your spouses arm and you call his name. He wakes with a start almost surprised

“You’re awake” he informs you which causes you to chuckle at him

“You’re going to have to catch me up my love” you stroke his hair after he sits up in bed and urges you to sit atop his lap

“In the morning my dear, just for a moment let me be in your presence”

“Anything for you my love” you smile at him before pausing “Though I would love something to eat”

[the-bau-quinjet]

One Misunderstanding

Bucky x Reader

Summary: You struggle to fix Bucky's first impression of you. Bucky struggles with his own feelings.

Warnings: angst, Hydra things- like brainwashing and torture, a few curse words, panic attacks, anxiety

Word count: 5609

a/n: this idea came to me very suddenly, but I'm in love with it. Hopefully whatever I just wrote does it justice.

Masterlist

"Everyone, meet Y/N. She's the newest member of our little group, bringing in a whole new level of hacking and tech skills. Y/N, meet the team." Tony introduced you to everyone, eager to share your skills.

You turned to the group, getting ready to introduce yourself further, but instead tripped. You shrieked as you fell down the small set of stairs you were at the top of.

Sam, being the closest, caught you. "Good thing you've got tech skills." He chuckled as you righted yourself, firmly planting your feet on the ground.

"Haha, yeah. I'm not a big fan of violence." You winced as you said it, wishing you could take it back. You didn't want to get into the reasons as to why you don't like violence.

To your surprise, nobody asked why. You would have guessed they would have questions, but maybe they weren't interested in your past. They all had their own issues to deal with afterall.

"Eh, we don't need anymore people for fighting anyway. Welcome to the team." Steve greeted you warmly, as you would have expected from America's golden boy.

You gratefully shook his hand, glad to not have to talk about anything yet. Unfortunately, you tripped again when you tried to move back, falling into the one and only Bucky Barnes.

His hands steadied you, dryly laughing at your clumsiness. "You really are clumsy."

You did you best to not show how embarrassed you were. You couldn't deny the claim. Unless you were fighting, something you vowed to yourself to never do again, you were clumsy.

Being abducted and tortured by Hydra may have made you a competent fighter, but your aptitude for tripping over nothing never left.

"Right, sorry!" You greeted everyone else quickly, eager to get situated in your room. "I'm just going to unpack everything." You waved as you backed out of the room, bumping into the wall as you left.

-

You had just finished putting away your stuff when you heard a knock on your door.

"Come in!" You figured someone would have questions for you.

Unsurprisingly, Natasha was the one to step into your room. Of everyone there, you expected her to have learned about your past. It comes with the territory of being a spy.

"Hi, I was hoping to talk to you." Her tone was friendly, but clearly she was skeptical of you. Again, you weren't surprised.

"I thought you might. I'm assuming you read my file? Honestly, I thought everyone would." You laughed gently, shaking your head at yourself.

"I did. Your file is pretty bare bones though. I did some extra digging... Not everyone else is as nosy as me." She grinned, already pleased with your openness. "So, why'd you pretend to be clumsy?"

"Oh, it wasn't pretend. I've always been clumsy. When everything happened, and I learned how to fight, I thought my newfound agility would help. Turns out, it didn't. The only times I'm even the slightest bit coordinated are when I'm fighting or training, but I wasn't lying about that either. When I escaped, I promised myself I wouldn't hurt anyone else."

"Why join the Avengers at all then?" She looked curious, still unsure if she could trust you.

"I wanted to help people. I just didn't want to use the skills they gave me to do it. So, I learned how to code, figured I could help behind the scenes."

She smiled, letting down her guard. Clearly it would take some time, but you could easily see the two of you being close friends.

"So, nobody knows about what you went through?" She couldn't help but be curious about your past.

"Nope. I don't talk about it much, but it's not a secret. I'll answer anything you want to know." You smiled, eager to try and make a real friend here.

You spent the next few hours answering every question Natasha could think of. You told her about being abducted and experimented on.

That lead to even more questions, basically boiling down to the fact that you're not a super soldier, but you do have enhanced senses- and seemingly enhanced clumsiness for when you're not using them.

You told her about learning how to fight, and the punishments you would endure if you got it wrong. The two of you bonded over the shared experience.

Finally, you told her about how you escaped. When the Winter Soldier escaped, every Hydra effort possible was made to find him. That included you. Resources were spread thin, trying to cover more areas. It was the perfect opportunity for you to get out.

"Really, I owe my freedom to him. Even if he doesn't know anything about me." You felt the tears in your eyes, too many emotions swirling through you to keep it all in anymore. "Since then, I've learned everything I could about technology and coding, which pretty much brings you up to date."

Before she could ask anymore questions, there was another knock on your door. Quickly wiping the tears from your eyes, you called another "come in!"

Steve poked his head in the door, cautiously looking between you and Nat.

"I've been sent to stop the interrogation." He grinned, stepping farther into the room.

Nat rose from her spot on the bed, kissing him on the cheek while rolling her eyes. "It wasn't an interrogation. We were bonding."

"Yeah, over what?" He chuckled, trying to figure out what the two of you had in common.

Maybe it was the look in your eyes, or maybe Nat just likes knowing more than everyone, but she smiled conspiratorially at you before responding. "Girl stuff, babe. Just girl stuff."

You smiled as the couple left the room, grateful for not having to explain everything again.

-

Over the next few weeks, the team constantly teased you for your clumsiness. Well, not the whole team. Nat knew the truth, so she never said anything. Peter never teased you either, although that is likely due to the teasing he endures as well.

Weirdly enough, you bonded with the kid over it, eventually telling him about your past as well.

Normally you could shake it off. They clearly didn't mean anything by it. Except Bucky.

Whenever he said anything, he stared you down. His eyes felt like they were piercing your soul. You're not sure exactly why, but he didn't seem to like you much.

Which wouldn't be an issue if you didn't have an embarrassing crush on the man.

Really your infatuation started when you first escaped Hydra. His own escape lead to your freedom, so you admired him. When you found out he was working with the Avengers to help people, you admired him even more.

Watching him on missions is really what caused the infatuation to blossom into a full blown crush.

You, however, would adamantly deny that if anyone ever asked. Which is what just happened.

"What?!" You nearly tripped, again, with how quickly you turned to look at Wanda and Nat.

"You heard me." Nat stared at you, a neutral expression on her face. "When are you going to do something about your crush on Barnes."

"I, I don't- I don't have a crush on Bucky." You stuttered, a lackluster job at denying the truth.

"Please, Y/N. It's so obvious!" Wanda joined in.

The three of you hung out a lot around the compound. It was nice to have a support system to lean on when things got hard.

"Well, even if I did, which I'm not saying I do! He doesn't like me. I don't know what I did, but his eyes feel like daggers whenever we're in the same room." You started out strong, but quickly morphed into a sad resignation. It genuinely upset you that Bucky didn't like you.

"I think I might know what that's about..." Wanda bit her lip, immediately feeling guilty at having said anything.

"What!?" You eagerly turned to her, needing answers. You shuffled your way across the room, never fully rising from your seat on the ground.

"I don't know if I should tell you! I'm not even supposed to know, but sometimes his thoughts are really loud!" Her guilt multiplied.

"You have to tell me now! Then I can fix it!" You were practically begging at her feet from your position on the floor.

She looked at Nat, who just shrugged in return. "Not my place, although I would love to hear it."

"Ugh, fine. But you can't tell anyone I told you!" Wanda glared at the two of you, unable to say no to your pouting face. "The first day we all met you, do you remember what you said?"

Your face scrunched as you tried to remember. "I'm not a big fan of violence?"

She nodded, looking at you as if she just told you everything.

"So?" You asked incredulously, unable to follow her train of thought.

She rolled her eyes, having to spell it out for you. "He kind of took that personally..."

Immediately, you sunk completely to the floor. "Oh, god. Fuck! That's not what I meant at all! I just meant I don't personally like using violence! Shit, shit, shit." You continued to mutter to yourself as Nat and Wanda shared a look.

"Why don't you like using violence?" Wanda asked, intrigued by your reaction.

You thought back to your conversation with Nat the first day you got here. You told her it wasn't a secret, it just wasn't something you brought up.

"Can you just look in my head? I don't really wanna explain it, but I want you to know." You asked, glad to share you past with another friend.

Wanda nodded, seemingly doing nothing until realization dawned on her.

"Oh shit." She whispered, not even realizing she said it out loud.

"Yeah." You huffed out a dry laugh.

"Y/N... I'm so sorry." You smiled at her, having worked through most of the trauma already. "You totally have a crush on Barnes though."

That earned a real laugh. "Hey, that's not what you were in there for!"

"It's not my fault! You were thinking it really loudly!"

The three of you laughed together until you sunk back into a pit of despair.

"What do I do? How do I fix this?" You whined, laying back on the ground like a child.

"I think you just need to talk to him. Explain what you meant." Wanda shrugged, unsure of any other advice to offer you.

"She's right. Just talk to him." Nat nodded along as you whined on the floor.

-

After a few days, you finally worked up enough courage to try and talk to Bucky. He had just finished training, so you knew exactly where he'd be: in the kitchen.

Walking in, you were glad to see him pulling ingredients from the fridge.

"Hey Bucky, can I, um, talk to you for a minute?" You stuttered through the words, nervous about what he would say.

He barely looked at you, nodding his head for you to continue.

"I just, I wanted to apologize." You trailed off when his head snapped up.

"For what?" Well shit. How are you supposed to explain this one without ratting out Wanda.

"Oh, well, um... I just thought maybe I said- I did something that upset you. Uh, you just don't seem to like me very much, which is totally cool, you don't have to like me if you don't want to. I just didn't want it to be my fault... Fuck." That went horribly. Taking a deep breath, you started over. "I didn't mean it."

Bucky is looking at you like you have three heads. "Didn't mean what?"

"That I don't like violence."

"So you do... like violence." He'd somehow grown more confused.

"Well, no." You paused, unsure of how to explain yourself.

"Then you did mean it." His soul piercing stare is back.

"I-"

"It's fine, save it. Some people get to choose not to be violent." And with that, he left the kitchen, abandoning his post workout smoothie.

You stared at the doorway, in shock over how poorly that went. You stood there , unaware of the 25 minutes that had passed, trying to figure out how it could've gone better when Steve found you.

"Y/N? What are you doing?"

You didn't hear him, too lost in the memories. Memories of Hydra, forcing you to do things you never wanted to. This happened from time to time if something triggered you into remembering, otherwise you had a handle on your emotions.

"Y/N?" Steve said your name again, concern evident in his voice. He gently laid a hand on your shoulder, trying to get your attention.

Everything happened so fast after that. The feeling of someone's hand on your shoulder caused you to panic. With all the memories of Hydra in your head, your training kicked in instinctually.

You grabbed Steve's arm, pulling him closer to you for better leverage. Before he could question your moves, you flipped him, pinning him to the ground.

The second you made eye contact, you realized what just happened. Horror and regret flashed in your eyes.

In an effort to get off him, you threw yourself backward, knocking into a cart full of pots and pans. The clanging of metal hitting the ground echoed through the small room.

Steve sat up slowly, trying to register the turn of events. You sat in a ball on the floor, tears pooling in your eyes, mumbling apologies over and over again.

Sam, having heard the commotion from the pots and pans, ran into the kitchen ready to fight.

"What- What happened?" He asked in confusion, lowering his arms from their defensive position.

"I don't know." Steve looked at you, still trying to figure it out.

"Y/N?" Sam's voice was gentle, but it still startled you.

You jumped from the ground, rushing to help Steve get up. "I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to. I never wanted to hurt anyone again." Your breathing was picking up, short bursts of air leaving your lungs. Your hands were shaking as you pulled him from the ground.

Your panic increased as you took in their concerned expressions.

"Hey, look at me." Steve's Captain voice, came out, urging you to make eye contact. You followed orders, breathing rapidly, your whole body shaking.

"I'm going to touch you now, is that okay?" His words were gentle, but commanding, causing you to nod in response.

He pulled you into a tight hug, rubbing soothing circles on your back.

You wanted to explain, to tell them what happened, but all that came out was a pitiful "Bucky".

"Do you want me to get Bucky?" Sam asked, trying to understand you.

The idea of Bucky coming back caused your panic to increase. You shook your head rapidly, "No! No no no no no." You kept repeating the word, shaking in Steve's arms.

"Okay! Okay, no Bucky." Sam reassured you, voice calm and soothing.

You’re not sure how long you stood like that. Sam moved around the kitchen, cleaning up the pots and pans you had knocked over.

When your breathing steadied, Steve asked, "Do you want to talk about what happened?"

You nodded, leading the two men to the couch in the adjacent common area. You sat for a minute, unsure of where to start.

"Why don't you just lead us through it all?" Steve suggested, still rubbing your back.

You nodded, grateful for the starting point. "I went to the kitchen to apologize to Bucky."

"What for?" Sam interrupted, already confused.

"Sam! Just let her talk." Steve muttered, slightly annoyed.

"Sorry!" He glared back at Steve before turning to you, "Sorry, please continue."

You couldn't help but laugh at their banter.

"Right, I wanted to apologize for what I said the first day I met you all. I realized how it sounded, so I wanted to try and fix it." You paused, waiting for the recognition to hit them.

It didn't take long. The two men nodded, silently urging you to continue.

"Honestly, Wanda told me that was why he always seems mad at me. You have to know, I never meant for it to come across that way! It's more of a personal, 'I don't want to be violent' than shunning others for doing what's necessary." You took a deep breath, not eager to relive the conversation.

"Anyway, I told him I didn't mean it. I just couldn't explain it right, and he got upset, which makes sense!" You turned to look between them, not wanting them to think you were insulting Bucky in any way. "I don't hold what he did against him. It wasn't his choice, and I completely understand that. I just couldn't put that into words when I was talking to him, and I made everything worse."

Tears popped into your eyes again, upset at what he must be going through. You weren't with Hydra for but a tenth of the time he was, and you didn't endure the same level of brainwashing.

"He said something about some people not being able to choose not to be violent, and then he left. I don't know how long I was standing in the kitchen replaying the conversation, but it brought up bad memories for me." You sighed again, working up the nerve to tell them everything.

"Wanda and Nat already know, but I guess it's your guys's turn. This was so much easier to just have Wanda read my mind." You laughed at your own joke, the two men sharing a concerned look.

"I was taken... by Hydra. They experimented on me, gave me enhanced senses, trained me to fight, and punished me when I did something wrong." Again, tears sprung into your eyes, occasionally falling down your cheeks.

"Why wasn't this in your file?" Steve questioned, more to himself than you.

"I haven't got a clue. I guess nobody knew about me? But, I escaped. They didn't brainwash me like they did Bucky, because I don't have the serum. Or, at least, I think that's why." You shook your head, refocusing on the important parts.

"When every available Hydra agent was tasked with searching for the Winter Soldier, I took it as on opportunity. Their resources were spread thin. I was able to getaway."

You went onto explain your reasoning for joining the Avengers as a tech specialist, trying to convey the same earnestness you did with Nat.

"You can ask Nat or Wanda too. Nat found out day one, Wanda a few days ago." You wiped your tears, hoping they believed you. "Actually, Peter knows too."

"I was stuck in all those memories when you came into the kitchen. I didn't even register that you were in the room, so when you touched me I freaked out. I never meant to hurt you!"

You looked at Steve fearful that he would be upset.

"Y/N, I believe you." You cried tears of relief at his statement, genuinely exhausted from the day. "It's not your fault, and you didn't hurt me. Just caught me off guard. You're surprisingly agile when you want to be." He tried to lighten the mood, glad to hear you laugh.

"Well, I train in the middle of the night sometimes. I- I want to be able to get out if I'm ever forced back there." Your voice was quiet, admitting a secret you hadn't even told Nat.

"We won't let that happen." The sternness of Sam's voice surprised you.

"Thank you." You wiped your tears a final time, looking between the two men. "Now, what do I do about Bucky?" You refocused your energy on fixing your relationship with the super soldier.

"He never would have said what he said if he had known." Steve started the conversation, defending his friend.

"I know. I don't hold it against him, I just wish I could explain. I get so nervous when he looks at me like that." You rambled, too tired to filter your thoughts.

"Like what?" Sam asked, eager for more information to tease Bucky with.

"Huh? Oh, I don't know. Like he can see into my soul." You deadpanned, earning a laugh from both men. "I just want him to like me." You nearly whined, upset by your poor relationship.

"Like you, huh?" Steve grinned. Nat and Wanda chose that exact moment to walk into the room, eagerly joining the conversation.

"Barnes? Did you tell him how you feel?" Wanda squealed with excitement.

You buried your head in your hands, avoiding the knowing looks the four of them were surely sharing. "Not exactly." You gestured to your head, hoping Wanda would figure it out and share with Nat.

"Ooh... It didn't go well, basically Barnes got upset, Y/N flipped Steve and had a panic attack, then told these two everything." Wanda explained to Nat quickly, trying not to make you relive it.

"We need a plan." Nat declared.

"No, I just need to learn how to have a conversation with the man." You rolled your eyes at yourself. "I'll try talking to him again." You went to leave the room, turning around to glare at them. "And none of you can say a word of this to Bucky."

-

Despite you request, Steve still tried to talk to Bucky.

"What's up with you?" Steve questioned, trying to subtly pry into Bucky's thoughts.

"Nothing. Why?" Bucky answered in a questioning tone, trying to figure out Steve's motives.

"I heard you talked to Y/N is all. How'd it go?" He gave up on the subtle approach pretty quickly, knowing Bucky wouldn't answer a question that wasn't asked.

"How did you even hear that, punk?" Bucky deflected.

"Not the point. Answer the question."

"Not great. I messed it up." Bucky sighed, annoyed at himself for barging out of the room. "She said wanted to apologize, that she didn't mean what she said." He ran his hands through his hair, struggling to explain where it all went wrong.

"Would've been fine if I could follow what she was saying. She was rambling about me not liking her, which you and I both know isn't true. Ugh, i've never been mad at her. I'm mad at myself! At Hydra for making me a monster! How could she ever like me if she doesn't like violence? My entire past is violent." He huffed, having worked himself up again.

"You're not a monster, Buck." Steve started gently.

"I know you think that." Steve gave him a pointed glare. "I know, okay? But what does she think?"

"Maybe you should try talking to her. You might be surprised by what you learn." Steve clapped him on the shoulder, trying to reassure him, before leaving the room.

-

Everytime you tried to talk to Bucky, something got in the way. The first time, he was called in for an emergency mission before you even got the word hello out.

The second time, Tony walked into the common area, completely oblivious to the tension, and put on a movie.

The third time, Steve and Nat interrupted you. You were just about to apologize again after an awkward greeting when the elevator doors opened. The sounds of the cheerful laughter and stolen kisses didn't really set the mood for confessing your past with Hydra.

The fourth, and final time, was the most embarrassing.

You walked into the room on a mission. You were going to talk to him, no matter who decided to walk in.

"Bucky, I really need to-" and you tripped on a toy Morgan left out, causing you to tumble to the ground. That would have been embarrassing enough, but there's more.

In your effort to get up, you tripped again, hitting your head on the coffee table, causing you to bleed profusely.

"Shit." You cursed yourself, holding your hand up to your bleeding forehead.

"Are you okay?" Bucky rushed to you from the other side of the table, concerned with the amount of blood spewing from your head.

"Yeah, I'll be fine." Unfortunately, you chose that moment to jokingly reference your past.

Some of the people who tortured you had a sick sense of humor. Whenever they would hit you hard enough to make you bleed, they said something about only having one head. A play on words because of the greek serpent with multiple heads.

"Head wounds bleed a lot, I'm lucky I only have one." You froze instantly, unsure if he would have had a similar experience. Slowly, you looked up in an effort to make eye contact.

Bucky was also frozen in place. Clearly he understood the reference.

"Wh- where did you hear that?" Bucky struggled with his sentence, trying not to flashback to his time at Hydra.

"Oh my god. I'm so so sorry." You instantly started apologizing, trying to backtrack. "I really need to learn when to stop fucking talking." You said more to yourself than him.

"Where did you hear it?" He asked again, putting more power behind his words.

"Um, well, i've been trying to tell you for weeks now, but um, I also kind of, have, um, well, you see-"

"Just spit it out." There was the slightly miffed Bucky you were used to.

"I was taken. By Hydra. 9 years ago. Um, they forced me to learn how to fight. Tortured me if I did anything wrong. Forced me to do things..." You trailed off, realizing you didn't need to give him many details. He has first hand experience.

"Y/N, I-" You cut him off before he could say anything else.

"That's why I don't like using violence. I only know how to do that stuff because they made me learn it. I didn't want to use the skills they gave me." You took a deep, grounding breath.

"I don't blame you for anything you were forced to do. It wasn't your choice. You're not a violent person, and your past actions don't define who you are. You're here to help people. That's what you chose. That's who you are."

You made eye contact before you continued. "I've actually wanted to thank you for the longest time."

"For what?" He was incredulous, wildly caught off guard by everything you've said.

"The only reason I had an opportunity to escape was because 2 years ago, you escaped. If Hydra's resources hadn't been spread so thin trying to find you, I probably would've never got out. So thank you. For being strong enough to fight back."

You smiled at him, still unsure of how he was feeling.

"I... I'm so sorry." To say you were stunned was an understatement. What the hell could he have to be sorry about? Sure he was a little rude, but from your point of view he was completely justified in hating you.

"Bucky, you have no reason to be sorry. You didn't know, and I couldn't get out of my head enough to tell you. You just make me nervous." You clapped a hand over your mouth, shocked at having said what you just said.

You could see his face fall ever so slightly, causing you to jump back into your explanation.

"Not because I'm scared of you or anything! Hell, I could probably take you in a fight." You winked, trying to lighten the mood. It seemed to work, judging by the slight smirk on his face.

"I just, I've looked up to you for so long. Your determination to do good after everything you've been through is really inspiring. It's actually why I wanted to join the Avengers in the first place. I never would have-" You would have kept rambling if he hadn't stopped you.

"Y/N, I am sorry, and I do have reason to be. There's no excuse for what I said to you in the kitchen that day. Even if I didn't know, I threw everything you've been through back in your face. If someone had done that to me, I probably would have had a panic attack." He tried joking, but by the way you froze he could tell he struck a nerve.

"You had a panic attack? I'm so sorry! God, I just left you all alone and-"

It was your turn to cut him off. "Actually, I was kind of frozen in place until Steve touched me and I maybe threw him to the ground... Then I had a panic attack..." You smiled, trying to convey the joke. "So, I wasn't alone. Sam was actually also there. If anything, it made me better friends with both of them because I told them everything. So I have you to thank for that to." You playfully nudged his side.

He ran his hands through his hair, then down his face, clearly trying to deal with his own guilt.

"Hey, don't beat yourself up about it. You didn't know. It happened. We're good now, so we can move on." You smiled, trying to cheer him up.

"How are you so relaxed about all of this? You were tortured for years... I..." He was genuinely curious, trying to find a way to cope with his own pain.

"Well, even before that I always thought therapy could be helpful for me, so I really jumped in full force when I was free. Plus, if you can't joke about something, you haven't really moved on. Some days are harder than others, but I just try to appreciate the people I have now and the good experiences I've been lead to." You kept the tone light, trying not to get too emotional.

He just stared at you for a few minutes, making you questions everything.

"I mean, it's totally different for you though! I was only there for 7 years, you were forced into all that for like 10 times as long. I didn't mean to belittle-"

"I think you inspire me just as much as you say I've inspired you." He cut you off again, a small smile growing on your lips.

"Well, in the spirit of our newfound friendship, can I be totally honest?" You bit your lip, nervous about telling him the truth.

He looked nervous as well, but nodded anyway.

"I kind of, maybe, sort of have a crush on you." You watched his expression carefully, although there was really no need. His face easily gave away his surprise.

"You..." He stuttered, moving his fingers between the two of you. "Me? But, I was so mean!"

"What can I say, I saw through the facade... Well, really Wanda accidentally read your mind and told me why you were so upset around me when her and Nat teamed up to get me to tell you how I feel." You rambled again, realization dawning that you accidentally outed Wanda.

"But you can't tell her I told you that! She didn't mean to! She just said you think really loud sometimes and it's hard not to hear it! She did it to me too actually, I mean I told her she could look in my head so I wouldn't have to explain everything again, I know so lazy, and that's how she confirmed my crush on you." You said it all with wide eyes at a rapid speed, unable to control yourself around Bucky.

You slapped your hands over your mouth, forcing yourself to stop talking. Bucky looked on in amusement, slowly reaching to pull your hands away from your face.

"I won't tell her, if you get dinner with me tonight." He smiled cheekily, relishing in your blush.

"That's a deal I'm willing to make." You reached your arms around his neck, kissing his cheek before running to get ready.

***

Bonus:

Sam whined playfully as he looked at the high scores. "Whose username is 'God is a spoon' and how did they get so good at this game?"

He looked around the room, eying any suspicious candidates. Everyone denied it, throwing out accusations left and right.

It was another of Tony's team bonding nights and he chose VR games on the oculus. Obviously, Beat Saber was a top contender amongst the group.

You walked in with Bucky, unaware of the conversation going on, but immediately joining it.

"Peter! I bet it was him!" You playfully nudged the younger Avenger, having formed a close friendship in the early days. "What am I betting on?" Everyone laughed, happy to see you in a good mood after being so stressed for so long.

"Whose username is 'God is a spoon'." Sam chuckled after filling you in. You and Bucky settled on the couch, cuddling next to each other.

"Oh, that's me. Why?" You looked around curiously, trying to figure out what they wanted. "Is it a weird username? It was actually one of the catchphrase things in Just Dance on the switch, I didn't just think of it." You tried to justify yourself, causing more laughter.

"You?! How did you get all the highscores on this game? I thought you were the clumsy one."

You made an exaggerated face to show how offended you were, playfully swatting at Sam.

"I'll have you know, 7 years of Hydra 'training' and experimentation has its perks." You joked with the room. "One of them being I can beat your ass at pretty much any video game."

"Oh, you're so on." Sam smiled, glad he could joke around with you about it.

Meanwhile, Tony looked incredulously around the room, being the only one in the room who hadn't heard about your history, he was rightfully confused.

"I'm sorry, 7 years of WHAT?"

[thedelusionreaderbitch]

Kaz Brekker x fem! Reader - If You Dare

A/n: I should hopefully have some more stuff out soon so... yay! And this request was great, I had so much fun writing this!

Warnings: Possessive/jealous Kaz, language, mentions of murder, I think that's it? You have been warned!

Request: I'd love to request a Kaz Brekker x reader! Maybe one where Kaz and the reader like each other, but haven't said anything yet. One day, Y/N’s brother visits the crow club, (nobody knew she had a brother) and her brother kisses her on the cheek and greets her and everything. Just some jealous/possessive Kaz not knowing the context of the cheek kiss, maybe some fluff too where Y/N and Kaz admit their feelings in the end :)) Tysm for reading❤️❤️

I do not own Six of Crows or the grishaverse!

Everyone knew that Y/n was Brekker's girl.

It was funny because any possible 'suitors' for Y/n magically disappeared but no one said anything. Of course, they didn't, if they wanted to keep their lives then they wouldn't dare.

That was fine, everyone just kept to themselves and prayed to the saints that they weren't a possible threat to Dirtyhands. What frustrated the Crows is that neither Y/n nor Kaz would admit their feelings towards each other.

The Crows (for once) were all down in the crow club not planing one of their evil heists that usually mess up the world, today they were just relaxing.

Well, maybe not Kaz. Kaz never really fully relaxed, at least not with so many people around.

He saw Y/n laugh with Inej and Nina and he couldn't help the way his eyes travelled down her body or the way that he wanted to keep hearing that laugh on repeat for the rest of his life.

He also couldn't help the fact that he wanted to be the one to make her laugh like that.

Kaz sighed internally, even he knew, the bastard of the fucking barrel is head over heels for Y/n L/n. The girl who would make him dance in the rain with her, the girl who he would gladly kiss if it wasn't for his touch aversion.

She perched her head up a bit and scanned the crowd seemingly looking for something.

Or someone.

Kaz felt something boiling bubble up in his gut but he couldn't quite put his finger on it. Why would Y/n be looking for someone? It better not be for a date...

Okay, maybe he did know what he was feeling at the moment because he felt it almost every day when another person was around Y/n that wasn't him.

And fuck, he knew it was because he was no good. She deserved so much more than someone who couldn't even brush his hand up against someone without getting near to a panic attack. But he couldn't, he really couldn't get out of the mood he was in now till the situation was over. Trust him he tried.

A man who was fairly good-looking comes up behind Y/n and tackle's her into a hug. He nearly goes up to stand but she starts laughing and embracing the boy like they haven't seen each other in years.

He grips onto his cane harder than he ever has in his life. Don't make a scene, don't make a scene. Please, don't make a scene.

Y/n giggles and kiss's the boy on his cheek and all his self will goes out and dies in the harbour.

He shoots up out of his seat and walks faster to Y/n and the terrible man than he should with his bad leg and slams his cane in between the two. He glares his worst glare basically seeing red when he looks at the man and all of him wants to bash his head in as an example to everyone. His mind doesn't even think it's a bad plan but he knows Y/n would not like whoever this was to die like that so he would have to somehow come up with another plan.

"If you dare look at her again you won't ever see again," Kaz says lowly and icily calm contrasting to what he's really feeling inside. Red hot rage burst's inside him becoming an ugly green that grows and infects him.

"Kaz!" Y/n semi-yells trying not to make a scene, but he was sure eyes were already on him. He was Dirtyhands after all.

He turns to her sharply knowing his expression isn't one that even a spider would want to see but it sits on his face all the same.

"What." He growls out trying so hard to not snap at the angel before him.

Without thinking his gloved hand goes to lightly touch her neck and he doesn't feel nausea and sickness. He only feels the warmth of the girl that he loves even with the gloves on. Fuck he loves her, and he had to admit it to himself right now?

She visibly shivers at his touch like she enjoyed it but her face quickly turns back to the angry one that she was wearing before.

"He's my brother!"

Now that he thinks about it he did look similar to Y/n, and the context of everything looked more sibling-like more than anything. How the hell did he not see it? He groaned on the inside, he was never doing anything without thinking it through first again. He guessed that plan was shit though because he could barely think around Y/n.

Speaking of Y/n...

The young woman growl and he feels his eyebrows raise. Oh shit. She balls her hands into fits and stomps off. He tries not to run after her but because of his leg, he can't go nearly as fast as she can and he quickly falls behind.

"Y/n!"

He gets to her room and she slams the door in his face.

Great.

He picks the lock of the door for a few minutes as he curses himself for letting her use one of the harder locks to get into. But after just under a minute he hears the familiar click and he slides open the door.

Luckily the girl is in her room and he's happy that she didn't run off right away. Though her arms are crossed around her chest and even someone standing two buildings away could tell this girl was pissed beyond hell.

"What the fuck were you thinking?" She says lowly trying not to yell at him.

He wasn't thinking, all he could see were his arms around her and her lips on his cheek. Kaz was surprised he managed a sentence when he decided to make a 'scene.'

"I haven't seen him in years! Kaz, years! All I wanted was a happy reunion but you had to screw that up too!" She throws her hands in the air in exasperation.

Kaz knew that she wasn't planning on staying in Ketterdam at first and he didn't even know why she did stay, but his friends (or the closest people he could call friends) told him it was because of him. Brushing off that topic before was easy, but now look where it got them.

"I wasn't thinking." He finally finds the right words and breaks the silence that was washing over them both.

Don't screw this up Brekker.

"I didn't think he was your brother."

"So what? I was just another investment you had to protect because you thought I was stupid." It wasn't a question, it was a statement. He swallowed trying to find the right words. But he couldn't, there were just no words how he could describe how he feels for her.

So show her dumbass.

Slowly taking off his gloves he place's a hand on her cheek. It's feather-light and barely there, but he doesn't feel the cold or the waves and he doesn't feel like he's drowning. Her skin feels warm and it makes him feel alive, he hasn't felt like that in what seems like forever.

"Oh." Is the only thing that comes out of her mouth and she smiles a bit?

He rolls his eyes at her and takes his hand away. "Ya, oh." He rasps.

Y/n reaches out and carefully takes his left hand in hers and slowly but surely they intertwine their hands together.

Her smile slowly fades away as she looks at their hands.

"What are we?" The question hangs in the air creating more space in between them than ever before. Kaz close's his eyes for a second and lets that hungry feeling wash over him. The feeling of jealousy and the feeling of possessiveness when he thought she was with another man.

But then he lets the little moments warp him in their warm embrace. The moments when she offhandedly mentioned that what her favourite flower was, so then those flowers would just appear in her room. Or when she saved him and he couldn't think of any moment where she looked more beautiful, more saint-like, more like herself than ever. He sucks in those moments never letting them go.

"You are mine." His other hand goes to her neck again. "And I am yours." He lets his eyes rake her body committing every single little detail to memory and he sees her blush faintly a bit as he drinks her in.

They stand there in silence just enjoying each other's presence till Y/n looks up at him an oh shit look in her eyes.

"How the hell are we going to explain this to my brother!?"

Words 1480

-thedelusionreaderbitch

Shadow and bone taglist: @kaqua @rika90 @thefandomplace @musical-theatre-obsessed-dumbass @gallysonegoodlung

[helliontherapscallion]

What is Real? (Adrenaline Junkie Part 4)

Part 1     Part 2     Part 3     Part 5     Part 6     Part 7     Part 8     Part 9     Part 10     Part 11     Part 12     Part 13     Part 14     Part 15     Part 16     Part 17

Spotify Playlist (collaborative)

Warnings: PTSD, memory loss, swearing, angst, panic attack

Word count: 3,509

You opened your eyes to the dim sunlight pouring through your curtains. You tried to move your arms to push yourself up, but strangely your right arm felt incredibly stiff. Furrowing your brows in confusion, you looked down at it. Nothing was off about it, so why was it so stiff? It made no sense. 

With great difficulty, you slowly maneuvered your legs over the side of your bed. Everything felt incredibly stiff, especially your right wing, and your head felt like it was filled to the brim with cotton. Groaning, you heaved yourself off the bed into a standing position. You wobbled slightly on your feet, but you steadied yourself with your nightstand. What was with you today?

Hobbling out of your room with a steadying hand on the wall. You let your wings thump and drag across the ground behind you. You didn’t have the energy to hold them up and your right one felt very off. You should ask Philza to brew you a potion of healing and maybe ask him why you woke up like this. Were you in for a really bad molt?

Stumbling your way down the hallway and dragging your feet, you almost fell over a couple of times. The stairs were going to be a massive pain if you could barely walk down the hall. Your body lurched forward as your foot caught the edge of a rug. You yelped as the ground quickly met your face, your arms not cooperating when you tried to move them to catch yourself. 

Feeling a stabbing pain in your nose, you laid there for a little bit hearing the door next to you swing open. Without looking at him, your scratchy, muffled voice called out.

“Wilby, thank god you’re here. Can you help me up? My legs aren’t working today for whatever reason. I think I’m gonna molt soon.”

He gently pulled you up and wrapped his arms around you in a hug, smooshing your face into his shoulder. You pulled away slightly to look up at him. He was smiling widely at you and his face looked blotchy. Wilbur never cried in front of anyone, so naturally you were incredibly worried for your older brother.

“Wil, are you crying?”

He just pulled you into another tight hug. Hissing in discomfort, you felt him push on your sore muscles.

“Wil, as much as I love you, can you please let me go? Everything feels really sore.”

He pulled away again, giving you a little confused smile. “I’m so sorry, do you want me to take you downstairs? We can get Dad to make you a potion.”

You returned his smile. “I’d appreciate that. But can you carry me? I don’t wanna move anymore.”

“Of course.”

Chuckling, he turned around and crouched gesturing for you to get on his back. A few unsteady moments later, you were successfully on Wilbur’s back and started your much quicker journey downstairs. You rested your cheek on his back and hummed in content. You found comfort in hearing his heartbeat, even if it was beating faster than usual. 

Quickly reaching the couch, he gingerly put you down on it and made sure you didn’t lay on top of your wings. They sprawled behind you over the back of the couch. 

“Stay right here, I’m going to get Dad.”

He walked outside with large strides, leaving you by yourself in the living room. You closed your eyes and pondered why today was so strange. First, you couldn’t move this morning. Second, Wilbur, your collected older brother, was crying. Third, Philza was up and outside. Usually he’s basically unresponsive in the mornings. He would never be up and about this early. 

Opening your eyes when you heard hurried footsteps rushing toward you. Why’d you get déjà vu? Why did you feel so… so scared? Your panicked eyes landed on your dad running towards you with all your brothers following suit. You relaxed seeing your family. But why did they look at you with relief and tears in their eyes? Even Technoblade looked relieved. 

Philza landed on his knees next to the couch before placing a gentle hand on your cheek. His worried blue eyes scanned you and he stared at you with a gentle smile.

“...Hey hun, how are ya feelin’?”

“I’ve had better days. I just feel really stiff, I think I’m going to have a bad molt this year.”

Your brothers looked at each other with confusion. Tucking a stray lock of hair behind your ear, Philza crinkled his brows. “Hun, do you not remember what happened? You-”

Tommy interrupted, “You died. SOMETHING KILLED YOU AND YOU RESPAWNED. HOW DO YOU NOT REMEMBER THAT?”

Flinching back, you deadpanned. “Gremlin, I think I’d remember if I lost one of my lives. My entire body feels like shit, but I sure as hell didn’t die. That’s just absurd.”

Philza gently grabbed your wrist and pulled down your sleeve. Instead of the usual three red hearts that were etched into your skin, only two stared back at you. You stuttered as your brain processed what you saw. You... died? How? Why couldn’t you remember your own death? 

Your thoughts were interrupted as Philza spoke up. “You died, (y/n).”

“I… How?”

Philza pursed his lips together. “You were killed by The Warden. You were out mining.”

You looked at your hands. “Who’s The Warden?”

“It’s a mob that usually spawns in subterranean caves. We’re not exactly sure how you died, but… but you died down there, (y/n). You lost a life.”

You took in a shuddering breath. How could you be so damn careless? Were you falling back into your dangerous stunts phase? Did you get yourself killed? Why couldn’t you remember anything?

“Hun, do you want me to get you a potion for the stiffness?”

“...Yes please.” 

“Tommy, can you please go get them a potion of healing? WIlbur, can you get a glass of water for them?”

Without a word, Tommy and WIlbur ran out of the room, leaving you with Philza and Techno. The piglin hybrid wouldn’t even look at you. Philza ran a comforting hand through your hair as he waited for your brothers to return. 

When they came back, Wilbur helped prop you up so you could drink the potion and water. They soothed your scratchy throat and you felt your body fill up with warmth. It was always nice to drink a healing potion when you were hurt. Most of the stiffness and soreness that was previously rooted deep in your muscles was alleviated and you felt some of your nerves melt away. Now only your right wing was sore. You stretched, feeling a tugging sensation on the skin of your back around the base of your right wing. 

“That’s better. I think I’m going to go shower, I feel absolutely disgusting.”

Not giving your worried family any room to argue with you, you swung your legs over the side of the couch and shakily stood up. Philza tried to help steady you, but you wove him off. If you were weak enough to die, you thought, you needed to prove yourself to your family that you were strong. You needed to do things yourself. 

As you were shakily making your way up the stairs, Philza was following you, probably making sure you don’t kill yourself again. He was fussing over your wellbeing, you did just die and you were acting surprisingly calm about it.

“At least let me help you preen your wing.”

“Dad, I can preen my own wings. I’m 17.”

“I know hun. I just want to help you.”

“Dad. I can do it myself, I’ve been doing it alone since I was 10, and I don’t plan on stopping any time soon.”

Without giving him any more room to try to convince you, you closed the bathroom door in his face. You understood and appreciated that he was worried about you, but you needed to do things on your own if you were going to prove your strength to your family. You were angry that he thought you couldn’t do a simple thing by yourself. You could still hear him breathing from the other side of the door.

Peeling off your jacket, you ran your fingers along your left wing. The feathers were more out of place than usual, you must’ve gotten pretty fucked up by The Warden if they were this messy. After about 10 minutes of frustrated preening, you twisted your torso around slightly to reach for your other wing, but you couldn’t see anything. Why couldn’t you see anything? Your wings were large enough for you to completely wrap your body in them twice and then some, so it didn’t make sense to you. 

Turning around to face the wall across the bathroom mirror, you spread out your wings and craned your head around to look at your right wing. Your eyes were met with a featherless nub that matched your skin tone. An ugly, discolored scar covered the entirety of the right side of your back. Without warning, memories flashed in front of your eyes at rapid fire.

A monsterous being towered over you, standing completely still. You held your breath as it just stood there. It walked away so you started to walk away. Everything lit up as you started to run from the thing chasing you. Blood pounded in your ears as panic engulfed your entire being as you tried to fly away, but you were caught. It effortlessly swung you around as it screamed. You felt your wing rip from your body and you flew across the cave. You couldn’t breathe. What did you do to deserve this?

“../n).”

You reached around to feel your wing, but you only grabbed the bone sticking out of your body. You felt anguish as you realized that you just lost a limb. You watched it drag your wing into the depths of the cave, leaving you completely and utterly alone as you slowly died.

“...(y/n)..”

You were crying in pain as you felt everything that happened crash down on you all at once. You laid there for what felt like hours as you sobbed and dry heaved. You prayed to whatever god was above that you would be put out of your misery soon. You felt as your body slowly got colder and colder. You were drifting in and out of consciousness. You couldn’t breathe. Please, for the love of god, make it stop, make it stop, make it stop, make it stop, make it stop, make it sto-

“(Y/N).”

You saw a hazy figure in front of you. You felt someone’s hands gripping your shoulders in a firm grasp, you thrashed about trying to get out of it’s grip. You saw the monster that took your wing from you. The thing that killed you. You threw your arms about blindly in a desperate attempt to land a hit to try and get it to let you go. The only reason it let you go in the cave was when your wing was torn off, was it going to take your arms too?

You felt a smack as your hand collided with what you guessed was its grotesque face. It yelped and jumped back, releasing its grip on you. Its yelp strangely sounded like your dad’s voice. Your mind was probably playing tricks on you, your dad wasn’t here. You needed to get out. You scrambled up to your feet and bolted. You weren’t going to get killed again, especially by that thing. 

“(Y/N)!”

How did it know your name? More importantly, how was it talking to you? You were probably still in the cave bleeding out as your delirious mind turned stone into the comforting walls of your home. You were probably imagining hearing your dad’s voice in a last chance to comfort yourself as you neared your impending doom. 

Running down the hall, you made your way to the stairs. You couldn’t jump over the banister, you would probably break your legs again without both of your wings. Your vision was tunneling as you only focused on how to get out and away from the monster. When you were halfway down the stairs, you saw Tommy sprinting up to you looking panicked. No one deserves to die in the way you did, especially not him. 

“Oh my god, Tommy we need to get you out of here, it’s coming for us.”

He grabbed your shoulders and bent over to look you in the eye, “(y/n), whatever you’re seeing is not real, you-”

“We need to go now!”

He was cut off as you grabbed his hand and drug him down the stairs. You could hear the thing coming closer. It started to come towards you and Tommy. You yanked him along with you as you reached the living room and sprinted towards the front door. You could taste the freedom. It tasted sweet. 

Right as you grasped the door handle, you felt Tommy wrap his arms around your waist and pull you back. What the fuck, did he want to die?

“Tommy, if you don’t let me go now, it’s gonna get us. Please, you don’t wanna die the way I did.”

He said nothing as he turned you around and blocked the doorway with his body. The monster turned the corner and entered your sights. You’d be damned if you let Tommy die. You were determined to protect him even if you ended up dying a second time. 

You puffed up your wing and shifted your body into a stance that you hoped was threatening. Pushing Tommy behind you and shielding him with your wing, you harshly glared at it.

“You fucking bastard, ya here for seconds? Was my wing not enough for you? Well, I’ve got bad news for ya, I won’t let you kill me again. I won’t let you near my brother.”

“(Y/n), it’s me,” it croaked out in your dad’s voice and started to slowly walk towards you, holding its arms up. Why wasn’t it shambling like it did in the cave? You felt more fear well up in your gut as you stepped back.

“You’ve got a lotta audacity to use my father’s voice against me. I’ll rip you to shreds if you step any closer to us. DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME? I’LL FUCKING KILL YOU.”

It stepped back, it’s mouth impossibly frowning more as more drool pooled from its mouth. Tommy wrapped his arms around yours as he bound you to his chest. Thrashing, you desperately tried to get out of his hold.

“TOMMY WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING? DO YOU WANT TO DIE? THAT THING IS RUTHLESS, IT WILL TEAR YOU APART LIMB BY LIMB JUST LIKE IT DID TO ME. DO YOU WANT THAT?”

He once again said nothing. You felt your hair on the top of your head start to dampen. You heard more footsteps running to you. Techno and Wilbur appeared behind the monster. They looked absolutely terrified. Were you going to watch your older brothers die?

Your chest heaved as you looked at them with wide eyes. “Tech, Wil please, for the love of god run while you still can. It’s in front of you.”

They glanced at each other before Wilbur grabbed the monster’s arm. You screamed in horror as it looked at him. To your confusion, Wilbur wasn’t grabbed. He just gently led the monster away into the kitchen.

“I SWEAR TO GOD IF YOU TOUCH A SINGLE HAIR ON HIS HEAD, YOU’LL MEET A FATE WORSE THAN MINE. I WILL MAKE SURE YOU SUFFER MORE THAN I DID, YOU GODDAMNED FREAK.”

Your hoarse screaming was interrupted as Tommy squeezed you against his chest tighter. Techno slowly approached you, making sure that you saw his every move, and bent over to look you in the eye. Tommy’s arms tightened around you, scared that you were going to lash out at Technoblade.

“(Y/n), The Warden isn’t here. You’re home, you’re not in the cave. You’re safe.”

You studied his face. Was he even real? Was any of this real? He looked real. Then again, everything around you looked real.

“I… Tech, are-are you real? Is any of this real?”

Techno pulled you out of Tommy’s arms and pulled you into his own tight embrace. He pressed a hand on the back of your head and pushed your face into his shoulder, rocking you back and forth. Your forehead tickled where you felt the end of his braid brush against your skin. You started to sob into his chest.

“Tech, I was so scared. I… I thought I was gonna die again. Please don’t let me die.”

“The Warden isn’t here, (y/n). I’m real. The house is real. You are home. No one else is here besides Dad, Wilbur, Tommy, me, and you. You’re safe. We won’t let you die again.”

He repeated the same things over like a mantra. With each reassurance, you felt yourself calm down. Techno’s soothing, monotone voice gave you something that wasn’t too overstimulating to center your focus on. You cried until you didn’t have any tears left to cry. Even after you were done crying, Techno continued to rock you back and forth, caressing your hair on the crown of your head like he did when you were kids. 

The voices in his head have been screaming at him nonstop since he saw that they had lost a life earlier in the day. They were telling him that he was stupid for letting you go mining alone. That he was a failure for letting you die alone. He couldn’t hear his own thoughts. He could only attempt to comfort you while trying to ignore the voices.

Tommy stood stiff at the door watching you two. For the first time in his life, he didn’t know what to do. His older sibling was always calm and collected. He’s never seen you react like that. He’s never seen you so terrified. You were always the one to comfort him, never the other way around. You were there to give him hugs when he scraped his knee as a child. You were there when he’d have nightmares. You always made sure that he was alright. He was truly stumped.

Meanwhile in the dining room, Philza sat at the head of the table staring blankly at his folded hands placed in his lap. Wilbur had pulled up a chair to sit next to him, rubbing his back in small circles. The two didn’t speak to each other. Instead, they were listening to your heartbreaking sobs as Techno’s deep voice rumbled lowly underneath your sobbing. 

Wilbur didn’t know how to comfort his dad. Hell, he didn’t know how to comfort himself. His little sibling just died, forgot about it, and remembered it in the span of six short hours. Your death must’ve been traumatizing if you were reliving it. He didn’t know how to comfort you, he always was the one, besides Philza, to comfort you when you were upset as a kid. He felt completely lost.

Philza remembered how he felt his heart drop when he heard you start to scream from the other side of the bathroom door. The instinct to comfort his child overpowered his rational thought as he opened the door. He found you curled in on yourself on the ground with your only wing tightly wrapped around you mid panic attack. He asked you multiple times if it was alright to touch you, but you never responded. You just kept your eyes screwed shut. He was crouched in front of you trying to get you out of your trance before he decided to put his hands on your shoulders. That made you finally open your eyes. He tried to give you a smile, but you started to flail your arms. He dodged the best he could, but your movements were too erratic and you ended up smacking him across the face.

He felt so scared for you when you ran away from him in a panic. He thought you were going to hurt yourself when you reached the stairs. He felt like someone tore his heart out and stomped on it when he realized that you were afraid of him. You saw him as your murderer. When you started to threaten him, he saw just how terrified you were of dying again. How terrified you were of him killing you. You didn’t react when tears started to slip down his cheeks. He didn’t care that you were threatening him, he cared that his own child was terrified of him.

At the moment, you were slowly fading out of consciousness in your brother's hold. You felt completely drained physically, emotionally, and mentally. You barely registered Techno picking you up and carrying you up the stairs to your room, laying you on your bed. He even covered your wing with your blanket.

Taglist (comment if you want to be added to the series taglist): @acecarddraws   @goldenstarofthunderclan  @ravennightingaleandavatempus @dirtydiavolo  @immadatmostthings  @hee-hee-haw  @jackalopedoodles  @m1lkmandan  @vanhakirja  @im-a-depressed-gay  @coolleviauchihadreamerlove  @questioning-sanity @bongwaterflavoredgatorade  @kakamiissad  @lifestylesleep  @speedymaximoff  @sun-shark-tooth  @camisascam  @yeiras-world  @jayistrash  

[lovely-jily]

almost caught

something for @jilytoberfest! prompt: "if we get caught-" "i'll make it worth your while, i promise."

i wrote this quickly and didn't revise it a ton, but im just excited to contribute for jilytober!!! hope you lovely's like:)

"Okay, James. I'm going to be completely frank here- and I wholeheartedly mean every word when I say this- this is perhaps the stupidest idea you've ever had- and you've had loads of stupid idea's."

"Oh, come on. Try to have some faith in me," James whispered back, opening one of the drawers of the desk. They were in the Ravenclaw Prefect's office. James had suspected that the Prefects were somehow involved with their Quidditch team cheating by using weighted and magic-infused balls. The only evidence he had to back his theory up was a "gut feeling" and the fact that the bludgers seemed to target the other team more often, which Lily chalked up to confirmation bias. While she disagreed with cheating, she figured a better idea was to talk to their Prefects, not snoop through their office.

"Famous last words," Lily rolled her eyes, "I can't believe that I let you drag me into this. If we get caught-"

"I'll make it worth your while, I promise," The boy reassured her as he looked up at Lily, messy dark curls hanging in front of his eyes. He had finished looking in the first drawer and moved to the one below it, quickly searching. Lily wasn't sure what he meant by that, "Besides, we won't get caught. Now, are you going to start searching, or are you going to make me do all the work like usual?"

"Like usual? Excuse me?" Lily said. She was standing in front of him, hands firmly planted on her hips disapprovingly before turning to the cabinets. Besides breaking his collarbone last night in a quidditch game (Which Madam Pomfrey fixed just fine, and if he followed her instructions, he'd be totally healed in days), the year was going swimmingly for James and Lily. She enjoyed working with him as Heads and was seeing real change in him. He was no longer a bully, and in fact, he always shut that sort of thing down.

"I don't even know what I'm looking for."

James just chuckled as he closed the second drawer, kneeling to search the third drawer, "Probably anything quidditch related."

"You've got the wrong person for this," Lily sighed. That was probably true. She knew nothing of sports- both muggle and wizard alike. She turned to the cabinets on the far wall, which was full of books, mostly student records, and smelled musty.

"You know, this would be so much easier if you just agreed to use the cloak with me," James commented as he stood up and brushed off his pants. Lily had grown to like him over the past few months and didn't mind working with him as co-Heads. He was kind, responsible, and enthusiastic enough that almost everyone adored him- even Lily. She was even starting to get butterflies around him, something she never thought could happen.

"I'm never going under that damn cloak with you," Lily said as she took out a book of student records. She dusted it off and then put it back where she found it.

"Never is a strong word," James said as he walked over to the wardrobe. He opened it up and stepped inside, pressing against the back of it to see if any secret openings were on the back wall.

"I know," Lily said, following him and standing behind him, "That's why I said it."

That's when they heard the door handle jiggle, indicating that someone was trying to come in.

Lily, panicking, looked up at James. He quickly grabbed her by her waist and lifted her into the broom closet, quietly slamming the door. One hand was on her waist, the other over her mouth to try and keep her quiet. He gently took it off and put it behind her head. One hand was still on her waist as he tangled his other in her hair.

Fucking hell, he was hot.

Lily's hands were holding tightly at the bottom hem of her skirt. She knew that if she didn't plant them there, they'd undoubtedly find themselves tangled in James's dark locks.

"Maybe you were right about that cloak," Lily whispered as they were both breathing heavily and pressed up against each other. She wondered if he could feel how hard her heart was beating. She wasn't sure if that was from fear of getting caught or being so close to James.

James just brought his finger back to her lips and shushed her softly. His breath was softly blowing on her bangs, which caused them to tickle her forehead. All Lily could do was look up at him, remembering what was going on outside the cabinet, hearing the door open. He then anxiously looked out through the crack of the wooden doors, trying to watch whoever she heard come in. Lily tried to ignore the way he was clenching his jaw. She noticed that was a sort of nervous tick of his, something that he did when anxious. One hand was still on her waist, the other resting on her hair on the nape of her neck.

Why was she caring more about James's hands on her than she did at the idea of getting caught?

"Weird, I swore I heard voices," Sabrina Wood, the sixth year Prefect, said.

"So did I," Robert Thomas responded.

James, seeming to spot something above Lily's head, quickly reached his hand up. However, he never got to inspect what he wanted to. Lily heard the sound of his collarbone crack, implying that it was rebroken. While Madam Pomfrey had patched him up just fine, she said he needed to refrain from sudden movements of reaching above his head. Lily now realized this was why.

James leaned forward and grimaced in pain. Still on Lily's neck, his hand grabbed a fistful of her hair and pulled at it slightly.

"Fuck," He groaned quietly in Lily's ear, and she felt his hot breath against her ear and neck. Her eyes widened at how attractive that word was coming from his lips, silently cursing herself at the sinful thoughts that flashed in her mind.

The sound of footsteps walking around the office brought Lily back to the current reality. She looked above her see his arm clenched in a fist. He was in a lot of pain.

Wordlessly, she pulled out her wand and pointed it at his broken collarbone. She had practised nonverbal spells a number of times, although never this one. She wasn't sure if she'd ever done this one on a human before.

The footsteps were walking towards the wardrobe and she looked at James. He had relaxed his grip on Lily's hair (much to her disappointment) and moved it to her waist. He nodded slightly, giving her permission to try.

She wordlessly performed the healing charm. James gripped at her shirt in response to the painful snap of bone back in place, just as they heard Robert say something about how they needed to get back to their rounds. They heard the two leave and the door close, listening to the charm the Prefects performed to lock the door. Once they determined they were alone, James let out another groan as he brought his hand down from above Lily's head.

"Good girl," He exhaled as he melted into her, and Lily's eyes widened again. That should not make her feel the way it did, but regardless her toes crinkled and she tightened her grip on her wand.

"You alright?" She asked sheepishly, trying to relax. She was feeling bashful and disappointed that they now had to exit the wardrobe.

James, slightly sweaty from the pain, nodded and raised his other arm to what he wanted to look at earlier. He pressed against the wall, and a hidden drawer slightly popped out. He reached his hand in and pulled out a piece of parchment from inside it.

"Lumos," he said, still breathing heavily. The room lit up, and Lily looked at James, light reflecting on his glasses. He was looking so damn good, skin sticky and lips soft. She fought against the image of something else that could make James groan, sweat, and breathe heavily.

They both looked at the parchment, and written in neat handwriting was "For those who forget, use wingardium leviosa to control replaced quaffles."

James looked up at Lily, a victorious smirk on his face, which Lily couldn't help but smile at.

"God damn it," Lily said, annoyed that he was but also influenced by his contagious smile, "You actually were right."

"We did it, Evans," James said excitedly, putting his hands on her face and shaking it with enthusiasm.

Lily laughed, blushing at his hand placement, "For Ravenclaws, they really are thick. That was way too easy to find."

James shrugged and dropped his hands, "I don't really care too much. We'll take this right to McGonagall. She'll sort this whole thing out."

Lily nodded as he opened the wardrobe door, feeling the cooler air hit their skin. She blinked at the sudden brightness as he helped her out.

"I can't believe you could do that spell so well, and wordlessly too! You never fail to astonish me with your brilliance," James ruffled her hair with his empty hand and pocketed the parchment with his other.

Lily, blushing harder, smiled at him, "Says the idiot who rebroke his collarbone."

"True," James just laughed, putting his hand on Lily's back to push her forward. He then put both hands on her shoulder and shook them back and forth as he guided her out of the door of the office and down the corridor, "What would I do without you, Evans? My saviour."

Lily just laughed as she shrugged off his hands, playfully pushing him. She looked up at him, his hands clasped behind his back and glasses peering down at her.

"Probably walk around with a broken collarbone."

"Of course," He looked forward, "I've got a question for you, Miss Evans."

Lily's stomach lurched at that statement, and she bit her lip in anticipation, "Yes?"

He stepped in front of her, stopping her. His hands were still behind his back, and he looked down at her. They were nearly as close as they were in the wardrobe.

"Did you think about kissing me in that wardrobe?"

Shit. Fuck. How did he know??

Her stomach dropped, and while she was taken back from the question, but decided she wasn't too mad about it. So they were doing this now?

Lily, full of panic and anxiety, was determined to remain as calm and collected on the outside as she could. She smirked and tilted her head flirtatiously.

"Maybe. What's it to you?"

James smirked back and stepped back to Lily's side as they started to walk again, "Why didn't you?"

"For starters," Lily said, deciding to remain confident, started to lie, "You had a broken bone and seemed to be in a decent amount of pain."

James scoffed sarcastically, "I don't know what you're talking about. Didn't hurt at all."

"Ah, of course, it didn't," Lily looked at her feet as they walked as she remembered the way that he grabbed at her hair and his tone when he whispered "Fuck" in her ear. She got chills again.

They were heading to McGonagall's office. She wasn't sure how James would explain how he obtained the evidence to McGonagall, but she wasn't thinking about that too much at that point. They were talking about kissing, something much more compelling and appealing to Lily.

"Regardless, and back to the more important thing at hand," He smirked at her as he leaned to whisper in her ear, sending chills up Lily's spine, "Perhaps we can get stuck in another wardrobe soon- and don't hold back next time. I still have to make it up to you for nearly getting caught."

[orionwhispers]

Bravado // Tommy Shelby Imagine

(A/N - its been a long ass time and i wanted to ease myself back into writing but this ended up being long and also super super angsty. sorry that this illness imagine came during covid idk whats going on with my imagination lol. love you guys SO much thank you for always being there. reblogs, comments and likes mean everything to me.)

trigger warnings - LOTS of angst. fluff. implied smut. my hc that tommy has a fear of illness, bad descriptions of hospitals. 

He knew something wasn’t right the minute his car pulled into the driveway and you weren’t waiting for him under the great concrete arch, with that smile on your face that made his knees buckle and heart race like he was a love struck teenager.

You were always there as soon as he came home. Barefoot in a broderie dress in the summer with tousled hair and baby pink toenails. Wrapped in a hand knit blanket with fire flushed cheeks and woollen socks in the winter - even running across the gravel and into his arms in the middle of a storm, the ice cold rain whipping across both of your faces as you kissed under the light of the moon.

No matter how shit his day or week or month was, no matter what stained his hands or darkened his heart, no matter what lay heavy and hard deep in his gut, seeing you made everything vanish in the night air like wisps of smoke. You made everything worth it.

He refused to give into fear, he wasn’t that kind of man, so he swallowed all of the nagging thoughts and apprehensions as he came up to the dark foggy windows and the iron cast door. It felt strange turning his key in the lock without the weight of you in his arms or the sticky peach kisses you left down his jaw and neck, the smell of the vanilla in your hair and lavender on your skin.

The second thing that sent a jolt of white hot electricity down his spine was Mary, watching him anxiously and wringing her hands in the hallway. Usually, she was calm and collected, taking his jacket and leather travel bag with her signature placid smile and gentle fingers. Usually she would return to the kitchen and finish up whatever she was making - a hearty roast lamb with rosemary and garlic and glazed potatoes or a pheasant pie with honeyed carrots, always followed by a three layer chocolate ganache cake that was so thick and rich you practically had to saw through the sponge. She would always have dinner piping hot and dripping with gravy by the time the two of you returned downstairs, no matter how many hours it took for you to get... reacquainted.

Now she looked sheepish and pale, her skin almost translucent under the syrupy yellow lights. There was something about the way she stood, as still as a wraith, that made his blood run cold.

“Mary. Where is she?”

“Mr Shelby, I - ” Her voice was strained and hesitant, like a slowly fraying rope.

“Where is my wife?”

She moved forward, creases forming around her eyes. “We tried ringing you in Liverpool but the hotel said that you had already left, so we...”

“You rang me? Why? What’s happened?” He couldn’t hold back the desperation in his voice, and it lingered and festered around them both like a poisonous gas.

“Mrs Shelby came down with something a few days ago, we thought that it was just a common cold but unfortunately she seems to be getting worse.”

He tore upstairs before he could even think, his shoes leaving perfect muddy footprints on the cream carpet. He almost slipped at the top, and he lurched forward, his hands reaching out and holding onto the portrait hanging above the stairs for stability.

It was the oil of the two of you. A soft, personal picture that revealed more than he ever possibly could. The love in your gazes, the hint of a soft, drunk smile on the dangerous gangsters face as you leaned into him, melting into him like butter, him holding onto you as though he couldn’t bear to let you go. It was his favourite photo, one that always washed a sense of calmness over him, a reminder of the woman that he loved and the way he felt around you. But now he felt as if was riding out a terrible storm.

He lived his life with no fear, he was capable and practical and used to the sound of bullets and the copper sweet smell of blood. There was really only one thing, one terrible thing that he couldn’t control, and that was what drove him crazy.

Sickness.

It gnawed at his insides like a rabid dog, clawed under his skin and settled behind his ribs. Losing someone he loved was like ripping out a piece of his heart straight from his chest, and he knew better than anyone what it was like to lose somebody to a violent, quick death - the pull of a trigger or the smack of a fist. At least in those moments he could lock them away in his mind, he could leap in front of a bullet or crack the neck of any man who dared to get too close to you, but there was almost nothing he could do to stop sickness, and the devastation it caused.

When you first met him it had been a surprise, almost amusing, that this powerful God of a man had these small little quirks. His house was always sparkling clean and smelling of Lysol, his fruit bowls were filled with citrus fruits and round, plump blueberries. He always made sure you were wrapped up warm in the winter, always placing his coat around your shoulders and bringing an extra pair of gloves in case you forgot yours. It was adorable, the way he took care of you,

It wasn’t till a little bit later when you learnt of those he had lost. His mother and his childhood sweetheart taken away from him much too soon. It broke your heart when he told you late one night of the sallow tint of their skin and the way he could almost see them vanishing from earth, the way that illness had moulded and changed those he loved the most.

You understood.

Your best friends older sister had died of tuberculosis when you were young. The elderly woman across the street from your first flat had passed away from a bout of horrendous smallpox. Your brother lost his first child to pneumonia. Times were changing but the fear of disease was ever present. Medicine was improving and so was knowledge, but still there remained a huge, dark cloud of what could happen, one that always hung around your husbands head.

——————————————-

All Tommy could think was the worst as he ran through the landing. His heart was in his ears and his bones felt loose, like the sweet liquorice the two of you would share at the pictures. He came to a stop by the bedroom door, tentatively pressing his palm onto the wood and ever so slightly pushing it open, listening to the gentle creak it made.

The room was warm. The lace curtains were pulled shut, and your favourite lavender candles were flickering on your vanity, casting syrupy shadows against the wall. He exhaled loudly as he saw you, bundled up under a mountain of satin sheets and hand crocheted blankets, your hair splayed across the pillows.

He moved to your bedside, pretending not to notice the large, untouched jug of water and the tissue box next to you, hoping and silently praying that you weren’t sick - just asleep and waiting for him, ready to wrap your arms around his neck.

You were silent, your lips parting every so often as you breathed, your chest rising and falling. He reached out gently, as though he was picking up shards of glass, and brushed his fingers against your cheek. Your forehead was beading with sweat, your cheeks flushed, and yet your skin was ice cold to the touch. He recoiled quickly, his heart dropping like a weight into his gut, and he inhaled a shaky, deep breath.

He saw something curled up beside your hands, a fluffy white cloud with sparkling emerald green eyes trained on him. Despite everything, he smiled. He thought of your birthday - of strawberry cheesecake and champagne, and surprising you with a ribbon wrapped little kitten as you woke up. He thought of that day often. How you smiled and leapt onto him with tears in your eyes, his whole world blissfully quiet as he spent the day in bed with you and your new best friend.

He would have preferred a big dog, one with sharp teeth and a menacing gaze to ward of visitors whilst he was away. But you were drawn to the tiny, malnourished runt of the litter who was scared of his own shadow. A kitten no bigger than the size of his clenched fist. A little white hairball who only ate and drank from fine pink saucers. A cat that had a very frustrating habit of crawling in the bedroom right as Tommy’s hand was up your skirt and his lips on the sweet spot of your neck, the tiny thing mewling and crying until you picked him up and nuzzled him into your chest.

He was a horse lover through and through, and never saw himself having time for any other pets. But in the summer when you saw the litter from one of John’s barn cats and fell in love with the sweet baby who mewled and cried and crawled right into your lap - he knew that he would give you anything and everything you wanted.

Including a cat who refused to accept that Tommy was the man of the house.

“Hello, boy.” He said, leaning over to scratch Comet under the chin, using a voice he only reserved for the two of you. “Have you been looking after my girl whilst I’ve been gone?”The cat meowed loudly in reply, pressing his head into Tommy’s palm but not moving from his spot beside you.

Tommy suddenly felt you shift under him and his heart lurched into his throat. He turned to face you, cupping the side of your clammy face as your eyelids fluttered open, blinking under the candlelight. A rush of red hot heat built up in his belly as you registered him, that angelic smile growing on your face, your tired eyes glimmering with recognition of the man you loved.

“Tommy?”

“Hi, Princess.”

You smiled sadly. “You’ve been gone for weeks - I missed you.”

He felt his brows crease as he rubbed along your jawline softly, trying to stop you from falling back asleep. He felt panic in his throat as sour as vomit, and he tried to bite back the nagging feeling that something was very wrong.

“No, sweetheart, I’m early. It’s only Thursday. I left on Monday.”

“Oh.” You said softly, your voice as gentle as the breeze rustling through the trees outside. “Well let me welcome you back properly - let me make you a lemon drizzle or a...” You lifted your head from the pillow and shuffled under your blanket, but he pressed his hands against your shoulder and held you down.

“No. You’re staying right here.”

“But - ”

“No.”

“Hmm. Don’t leave me, Tommy.”

“Never.” He said, his tone firm and cast like stone. He stroked your hair softly as your breathing slowed, but it didn’t nothing to quell the hard thump of his heart in his chest.

——————————-

Tommy left the room as quietly as he could after you had fallen asleep in his arms. He hadn’t wanted to move, not when you were pressed against his chest, looking ethereal but vacant, sweat beading under your brow and your face lacking colour. He wanted to stay with you, curled up by his side, his fingers laced through yours, the sound of your heart thumping in his ears.

But he was a man of action, and seeing you there - your lips cracked and dry, shudders passing through your body and goosebumps raised over your skin - he couldn’t fight the fiery urge to do everything in his power to make you feel alright again.

He found Mary waiting outside the door, chewing on the skin of her lips and swaying on the balls of her feet in anticipation. He grabbed her by the arm, harder than he meant to and something he would apologise for later, and pulled her downstairs, determined to let you rest whilst he got some answers. As soon as they reached the drawing room he spun her around, clenching his jaw and pointing a finger at the anxious maid.

“Where the fuck is the doctor? Why isn’t he here?”

“Mr Shelby.” She said, stepping forward calmly. “We phoned Doctor Moore and he came on Tuesday to see her.”

“Tuesday?” He seethed. “My wife has been ill since Tuesday and no one called me?”

Mary raised her hands in defeat, making it clear that the decision wasn’t hers to make. “He said it was nothing of concern . He gave her some antibiotics and told her to rest. She asked us herself not to call you, she knows how you.. worry.”

He ignored her sugar coated attempt to quell his anger, but if anything it made his vision darken. “When it’s my wife, It is always my concern.”

“Mr Shelby, we were just doing what we were told. As soon as we noticed she wasn’t getting better we phoned the surgery again, but Doctor Thomas was out for the day and said he didn’t think it was necessary to come round again, so we -”

“I don’t give a fuck. My wife is the number one priority. Ring every doctor in England if you have to, get somebody out here now to see my wife.”

He stormed away, anger pulsating through his veins, but he stopped suddenly, and threw out over his shoulder:

“And call Doctor Moore’s ’office. Tell him to expect a visit from the blinders soon.”

———————————————————

Once, when you were first dating, you found Tommy at the door to your flat at midnight, with scraped knuckles and blood dripping from his nose. You let him in, cleaned him up and sat with him in the bath until his skin was clear and his breathing was even. He knew that night, as you were pressed against his chest and his lips were pressed to your scalp that he was truly, madly and completely in love with you.

He remembered waking up the next morning, love drunk and blissful, and finding the bed beside him empty. He found you in the kitchen, wincing slightly and pressing a hot water bottle to your belly as you buttered a few pieces of toast. He rushed to your side with eyes as wide as saucers, concern lacing the features that were usually ice cold and hard as stone. You were completely baffled as he held you at arms length, his bright cerulean eyes trailing up and down your body for any signs of injury he might have missed. You were bewildered at the sight of the powerful man practically on his knees as he made sure you were alright, and you bit back a giggle as his warm palms spread over your abdomen.

“What is it? Whats wrong?”

“Tommy. Sweetheart.” You said softly, bringing his gaze level to yours. “It’s just - you know - that time of the month.”

He brushed off your embarrassment and ran his fingers through your hair, pressing a uncharacteristically gentle kiss to your forehead, sending a swarm of butterflies around the pain in your stomach.

“Do you need anything?” He asked, half ready to run down to the corner shop and buy any amount of painkillers or chocolate bars or your favourite lavender tea that you might need; not caring who saw the seemingly terrifying gang leader in the street with an armful of strawberry laces and salt water fudges.

You smiled like the summer sun and he melted, pulling you close as you whispered in the shell of his ear that you only needed him, and that was all you ever needed.

That was the first time you fully saw the extent of Tommy’s fear, but it definitely wasn’t the last. He knew he wanted you forever and always, and it took only six months of neck kisses and pillow talk, red hot jealousy and possessive hands across your skin and dancing in the rain and falling asleep under the pale yellow moon for him to put a ring on your finger. You were both consumed by your love, as though it was the only thing that mattered, it was insatiable and powerful - the wonderful mix of the devil and his sweet little angel.

And with that, came the good and the bad.

Like when you got food poisoning after Arthur cooked you a Sunday lunch to cheer you up whilst Tommy was gone. He came home to you retching over the toilet bowl with Mary holding back your hair, and swore that he would kill his brother with his own hands. Or when you slipped on ice and broke your arm while out with friends in London, and Tommy went ballistic and tried to ban you from ever leaving the house. It was just in his nature, how he always made sure you walked on the side furthest from the road, kept an arm slung around you whenever you were together, kept his eyes alert and vigilant no matter where you were - always looking out for his girl.

But he had never been like this.

———————————————————-

You were falling in and out of sleep. Waking up drowsy and heavy headed, squinting under bright lights, an ache in your skull and a burning in your throat. Every so often you felt a pinch in your upper arm, a squeeze on your palm, a kiss on your forehead - but you always drifted back into unconsciousness.

You weren’t sure how much time had passed when you woke up. The room was dark and you could hear the wind howling and whipping rain across the windows. You felt all too hot and all too cold at the same time, and the bed was damp with sweat. You struggled and tried to sit up, your head swaying and feeling as heavy as one of Tommy’s marble statues; as if you had been carved up and moulded. You could hear voices out in the hall, and unsteadily got to your feet, moving towards the noises.

“Pneumonia?” You heard through the thick wooden door, instantly recognising your husbands voice. “That’s impossible.”

“Sir...”

“Fucking. Impossible.” You knew his teeth were clenched.

The other man cleared his throat.“I know that it’s hard to hear, Mr Shelby, but your wife is very sick.”

“Just...” You felt your heart flutter and clench in your chest as the sound of his broken words, could practically feel his desperation and you wanted nothing more than to hold him. “Just tell me how to make her better.”

The second man spoke again, his voice softening and lowering, something you knew Tommy would hate. “Mr Shelby, the first round of antibiotics didn’t work and that means that it’s time for something stronger. Usually I would suggest the Birmingham hospital but I don’t think it’s equipped for...” He paused, trying to think over his words carefully. He wanted to convey the severity of the situation but also didn’t want to risk getting a bullet in his head from your very protective husband. “...This kind of reaction. I recommend we send her down to London for extra testing.”

“London? That’ll take two fucking hours. How the fuck can you recommend letting my wife travel that far? Are you out of your fucking mind?”

“I’m my opinion this is the wisest choice to make, but unfortunately that could mean your wife might get worse before she gets better.”

“Worse than she already is? That’s not an option.”

The man you assumed was the doctor was insistent, trying his best to portray the severity of the situation but failing as your hardheaded husband had already come to a decision.

“I’ll look after her here. She’s safest with me.”

Once Tommy had spoken that was the final result, and the doctor slinked away into the darkness and shook his head. You remained peering from behind the door, your tongue between your teeth and your heart hammering.

Tommy took one look at you and frowned, scooping you in his arms like a baby despite your protests. He ignored you, acting playfully and cheerful but you could feel his heated skin and the see flare of his nostrils. You wanted to help him but didn’t know how, and let him tuck you under the covers once again. He kissed your crown and stroked your hair and you wanted to speak but no words would leave your mouth.

“You stay there this time. You know I have no problem with tying you to the bed.”

You rolled your eyes as he left, and his clenched fists and tightened shoulders told you all you needed to know.

————————————————-

Comet watched from his spot beside you as Tommy wrestled with the fire. He had noticed you shivering despite your high temperature, and bundled you up in blankets whilst sparking matches beside the fireplace. There were raindrops across his shoulders, evidence that he had been outside and to the log store right at the end of the property - a job that had always been for the Groundskeeper. Your precious cat nudged the tips of your fingers as you sighed and watched your husband throw kindling onto the coal, a deep unease settling over your gut.

“Tommy, my love, I’m fine.” It wasn’t exactly true but you felt he needed to hear it. But you could practically see your words wash over him and evaporate like ocean spray.

He was shaking a metal tin in his palm as he worked, and you groaned and let your head hit the pillow as he pulled out two round chalky tablets. You winced as he placed them beside your glass, your mouth already tasting like the sour talc medicine you had come to loathe. He raised his eyebrows and shot you a look that told you he wasn’t far off plugging your nose with his fingers to force you to swallow, and you childishly stuck up two fingers as you took them.

Your stomach rumbled with nausea and you bit back the bile in your throat as you settled into the pillows. You watched your husband as he pulled off his crisp white shirt, revealing his taut tan stomach and the deep ink tattoos that you loved to trace with your fingertips and your lips. There was something about him standing there, with those damn cerulean eyes and hidden muscles, that boyish hair and slender fingers that you wanted desperately around your throat, that made a million tiny fireworks spark inside of you.

But instead you pushed him away from you despite your body wanting nothing but him wrapped all around you. “Don’t get too close. I might have something contagious. I can’t have you getting sick.”

He ignored you, smiling inwardly at the way you always put others before yourself. It was one of the million reasons he had fallen for you. You were sweating out a high fever and shivering in pain, and yet you always thought of him first. He pressed his lips to your temple and pulled you closer, knowing that skin to skin was a way to bring down a fever - even if it meant he had to restrain himself from tugging off your pretty little white nightgown and whatever frilly things you had on underneath.

“I’m not going anywhere. Fuck it if I catch anything.”

“That’s easy for you to say. I’m the one who will have to dote on you hand and foot, you big baby.” You teased, pressing yourself into him playfully, finally giving in.

He held you like a child, trying to hard to soften despite the way you felt underneath him. Everything on him was running a mile a minute, and he couldn’t help but want to try everything and everything to make you feel better. His hand was pressed against your temple to always try and measure your fever, his other palm across your chest to try and count your heart rate.

He could hear Mary treading across the landing carpet but he ignored his anxious maid, instead letting himself be completely consumed by the only thing that mattered - you.

This was something he had to do by himself. He was the only one who could care for you he reminded himself. And he let the words tumble over and over in his skull until they were all he could hear.

—————————————————————-

You had been asleep for a long time.

Every hour, after pacing the length of the hall and sanitising his hands and wiping the beads of sweat above your brow and above your breasts he woke you up and held a cool glass to your lips. You mumbled and moaned and pushed him away but he kept his fingers across your wrist - harsher than he ever had before - and kept you as close to him as possible.

He couldn’t remember the last time he had cooked. Perhaps it was last valentines when the two of you had camped out under the stars, drinking icy white wine and sharing stolen, day drunk kisses. That night he had roasted a chicken over the fire and it had burnt to a crisp as the two of you rolled around the grass, his head buried in your neck as you giggled at the poultry going up in flames.

He was trying now though, easy, plain substantial meals that wouldn’t upset your stomach. Boiled egg and dippy soldiers. Crackers with smooth cheese. Bubbly water and ginger biscuits. Each time he went upstairs you pushed him away, your whole body shuddering and almost retching, and he felt like smashing the plates against the wall at his defeat.

It had been almost thirty six hours since he had come home and it had been almost as long since you had eaten something, and his heart thundered and shattered in his chest when he found you gasping and wheezing over the toilet bowl when you had taken a bite of toast to calm him. He rarely left you alone, only for a few minutes to put the still full dishes in the sink, to ring Lizzie and tell her that he wouldn’t be coming for reasons that he refused to disclose, to smoke a cigarette under the grey stone archway, his shaking hands and bitten fingernails barely visible through the sleepy rolling fog.

He had grabbed handfuls of papers and the brass ink pen you had got him for your anniversary and broke his own rule - bringing work into your bedroom. It had always been a sacred space. For candlelight and soft laughter, aching hands and heart shaped bruises, a sanctuary for him to breathe and to love and to be loved fully in return. But he was afraid if he didn’t have a distraction, he might just completely lose it, and he had to be there for you.

So he sat squinting in his glasses, the room almost completely dark save for a few candles because of the migraines that had started to spread throughout your skull, and let himself be drawn into the mess of squiggly lines and numbers that suddenly didn’t add up, with you still centre stage in his peripheral.

After about forty minutes of rereading the same sentence a dozen times to try and make some sense of it, he heard your voice, like a small crack spreading across a sheet of ice, coming from the bed.

“Tom?” You sounded so weak, he practically flipped your cream vanity as he got to his feet and darted towards you. “I don’t feel well.”

He lifted you as you reached your arms up at him like a child. He almost gasped at the sweat pouring from your body but didn’t want to scare you, and instead held your shaking, shivering body against his own. How could you be so hot, yet so cold at the same time? Your skin was prickled with goosebumps yet you were burning with a fever, and for the first time in a long time, he had no fucking idea what to do.

He left you propped up against the headboard and he entered the bathroom. He ran over to the claw foot tub you loved, twisting the faucet and trying to find the perfect medium between boiling hot and freezing cold. He didn’t want to overwhelm you, just try and soothe your raging fever, and he ignored the shelves of expensive bath oils and scented soaps that you coveted, instead opting for a handful of something meant to ease tension - praying to whoever was listening that it would help you somehow.

There was a brutal, awful moment as he lifted you from the bed, limp as a rag doll, where he imagined what would happen if your heart were to stop. He couldn’t comprehend what it would be like to miss the weight of you in his arms, the smell of your skin, the feeling of your lips against him, the shovels stopping and fading into nothing. It hit him square in the chest, as merciless as a bullet, and he had to lean against the doorframe to stop the two of you from plummeting to the ground.

He undressed himself first. Tugging his white shirt off, sliding off his slacks and his underwear, keeping you as close to his chest as he could. Then he pulled your nightgown up and over your head. He gathered your hair and secured it up with a claw clip so that it was away from your face, the heat radiating off your neck as fierce as the fire now burnt down to ash in the bedroom.

He lowered the two of you into the bath, sinking down beneath the eucalyptus smelling lukewarm water, letting it wash over you both. Your teeth were chattering and you were barely awake. He gathered handfuls of water, letting it drip over your shoulders and pulse points, grabbing a washcloth and running it over your raised skin, hating how you barely registered his touch. As he scrubbed over your collarbones and up to your face he saw your lips had turned to an awful, silvery blue, as vibrant as a fresh bruise. He hissed and tugged on the plug, now determined to get you wrapped up in a fresh towel and tucked back into bed.

You were soft and placid and he helped you out, lacking the usual fire that he adored. Your eyes were glassy and missing their vibrance, like the vanishing spark of a lighter - and he felt miles and miles of invisible distance between the two of you. You were unsteady on your feet and he used his body to prop you up as he warmed your arms with a fluffy white towel. You suddenly stopped, lifting your hand to your mouth as you started to cough - a horrible, dry, gasping cough.

He noticed it almost immediately. His eyes darting to the splatter of red against the white, a smudge of crimson that was as loud and commanding as a siren, a warning signal that something was definitely not right. A bead of scarlet that would linger long behind his closed eyelids.

He managed to get you back into bed, remaining calm as he stroked your hair and kissed your temple. He tucked you under the duvet and waited for your breathing to even before he ran downstairs, his heart thumping in his ears as he practically ripped the phone off of the wall.

“Pol? Fuck. I think - I think I need help.”

—————————————————————-

The room smelt like bleach and metal. Unfamiliar and clinical. There was something hard on your chest and covering your mouth, it tasted like wet pennies and was as heavy as a hand over your throat, but for the first time in days you could finally breathe. You tried to sit up, but there was a needle in your chest, a gown you didn’t recognise cut straight down the middle to accommodate it. You struggled and lifted the thin bedsheet above your shivering torso, trying to look around the cold room.

“Careful!”

It was Polly, dressed immaculately despite her surroundings. She reached out and placed a manicured hand across yours, and you smiled at the woman who had always been a calming influence when you had joined the circus of a family. There was concern in her eyes, rimmed with black eyeliner and lifted lashes but still swimming deep around her pupils. That made you frown, and you moved as much as you could to face her.

“What happened?”

She ran her tongue over her teeth, choosing her words. “You gave us quite a fright, love.”

“I did?” Your memories of the past few days were much like a fever dream, blurry and distorted snapshots were all you could really remember.

“Your pneumonia got worse. A lot worse.” She paused, looking over to the door and you followed her gaze. “They found fluid in your lungs.”

“So...” You started, gesturing to the needle in your abdomen and the breathing apparatus around your head.

She nodded. “Yes. You were in surgery. It was touch and go for a little bit.”

“Really?” You were bewildered. You couldn’t remember anything, let alone having major surgery. You looked her straight in the eye, asking her the questions that had been on the tip of your tongue since you had woken up. “Where is he? Where’s Tommy?”

“He’s outside.” She clicked her tongue, reaching deep into her purse and pulling out some hand cream, gently rubbing your dry hands like she was your mother. You leant into her touch despite all of your questions.

“What? Why?”

“I think he blames himself. God knows what goes on in that mans head. All I really know is he was bloody terrified.” She paused, looking over in the distance. “I’ve never seen him so scared, not even on his wedding day.” She smiled sadly, trying to lighten the mood, but it soon faded. “He didn’t leave your side the whole time you were asleep.”

Your heart thumped in your chest, a soft aching that you knew all too well. “I want to see him.”

“I know you do. But right now...” She stopped right as a handful of nurses entered, clad in long blue dresses with white aprons, hair tied back and smelling of strong soap and disinfectant. You lost Polly in the bustle as one spoke softly to you before tugging on the needle right beside your ribs, your eyes just catching hers as she left, a promise to see you soon on her lips.

It wasn’t her you saw next, but Tommy.

The nurses had cleaned you up with wet flannels and bowls of warm soapy water. Your hair had been braided and your face washed, and walked you arm in arm over to the bathroom so you could relieve yourself. A skittish doctor followed after, his eyes darting across you and his touch gentle as he changed your dressings and took your blood - obviously under strict instructions from your husband, and despite everything, you smiled.

You were sat listening to the clock tick. A romance novel you had been given was dangling dangerously close to the end of the bed, but you were too tired to focus on it. You heard the door squeal softly, and the sound of familiar footsteps across the tiling, each small thud sending shockwaves across your spine.

“Tommy.”

He looked tired. Exhausted rather, as though he had been awake all the hours that you had been asleep. His eyes were bloodshot and his skin was sallow and bruised. His clean shaven face was dark with stubble and his hair was ruffled and unwashed. You longed to reach out to him and cradle him against you, but he stood in the doorway, lingering like a ghost.

“Tommy?” You repeated, your voice almost a whisper, breaking his already shattered heart once again.

“How are you feeling, my love?”

You smiled softly, like spun sugar and sweet honey. No hospital bed or itchy gown could dull your infectious light. “Better now.”

He approached you almost cautiously. He settled down on the hard chair beside your bed and stroked a line down from your temple to your lips, his touch setting you alight like an electrical storm. There was a sadness in his eyes that reminded you of how he got when things were bad, and you willed him to come back to you. His touch was tentative and he inhaled shakily as you cupped his hand with yours, pressing a tender kiss to the inside of his palm.

“Don’t scare me like that. Ever.” He was stern, as though hoping his words would make it true. “I mean it.” He kept his gaze on your pretty face, trying his best not to stare at the harsh bruising on your delicate flesh or the sickly tone of your skin.

“Tommy I’m going to get sick, even you can’t stop that.” You teased gently.

“I can bloody well try.” His hands cradled your face, pulling you into him and kissing you fiercely, still mindful of the wires and tubes taped to your body. There was something about the tenderness and deep longing in the kiss that when mixed with your total exhaustion and love for your husband prompted tears to start falling from your eyes. You sniffled as he pulled away, concern dripping from his beautiful features, his powerful mind wanting to do everything and anything to stop your hurting.

“Hey, hey.” He said, running his calloused fingertips under your eyes and wiping your tears away. You leant into his touch and he kissed your temple, squeezing you even tighter into him. “You know I hate it when you cry.” He toyed with your hair and winked playfully. “Besides, all you need to focus on is getting better. You’re going to have to take care of me when we get home, this week has given me a fucking stroke.”

You rolled your eyes, kissing the inside of his wrist. “You’re a idiot, Thomas Shelby.” You blinked at the clock looming above you both, wanting to stay in your blissful bubble but also knowing that Aunt Pol would probably be in the vicinity harassing a poor nurse over your results. “You should go and find Polly, let her know that everything’s alright.”

He shook his head and nuzzled his nose across yours, an act so innocent that your heart dipped and swooped in your chest. “Later.” He said, breathless and consumed by you. Everything had been too much. Almost losing you had been harrowing, it had punctured him completely and he just needed to feel his girl safe and warm around him. He needed to know that you weren’t found anywhere.

“I just want to stay here for a while. Just me and you.”

You grinned. “Always.”

[lucky-peoqle]

the accidental 400mg edible | ted nivison

requested ? : yes !

"ok ok so hear me out on this request, so we all remember ted and the iconic 400mg nerd rope incident? what if he gave his girlfriend (another streamer?) one too, so now everyone has to deal with these two kids high out of their minds and like it would probably be so cute and fluffy with them trying to help each other ride out their highs (ya know after the initial panic) much love!" -@driverpicksthe-music

warnings : swearing, drug use, throwing up

pairings : ted nivison x reader

pronouns : she/her

a/n : im literally 15 and have never been high, bare with me i beg 🙏🗣 *= your channel name !

it was an accident, really it was.

ted just thought they were normal nerd ropes, so when he brought himself and you one from the array of snacks siting on the misfits counter, he didn't think anything of it.

you guys were signing shit for youtooz, half of them already high because it was going to be a long night of signing. you knew your way around high ted, he got hungry.

he wasn't paying attention to what he was grabbing from the kitchen counter, so when he saw the nerd ropes, it reminded him of his childhood.

he just had to taste them again.

and so he did, making you take one as well.

so the two of you ate the nerd ropes, you eating a full one while ted... he ate one and a half.

everything was going fine until you heard someone from the misfits let out a loud laugh.

"... what?" ted let out, a confused complexion rest on his face.

"dude, you and y/n just ate 400mgs worth of edibles!" swagger said through laughs, trying to catch his breath.

your face dropped, "you're kidding?"

swagger shook his head, handing you a wrapper.

you took it swiftly from his grasp, reading the print, "shit!"

you turned to ted, "babe, we're fucked."

y'know they thought they would be fine, thinking they didn't have anything to do that for the rest of the night.... or so they thought.

ted shook his head, "don't worry, we don't have anything else to do, do we?"

you thought for a second, until it came back to you, "we have dinner with my fucking parents."

cooper let out a loud laugh watching ted's eyes widened, "shit, we do!"

so here you are now, a few phone calls with your parents later, sitting on the bathroom floor, fingers down your throat, a bottle of water next to you, toby holding your hair.

you sat there, throwing up some purple concoction, since your nerd rope was purple.

"how's ted?" you look up at toby.

"right now you need to focus on getting this shit out of your system and yourself," she chuckled with a smile.

once you thought you had most of it out of your system, you washed you face off and walked into the living room, all eyes on you.

"how ya feelin?" schlatt asked from the couch.

"everything is started to hurt and i'm cold," you groan, turning your attention to ted, who sat uncomfortably on a chair, clad in a hoodie you didn't recognize.

"yeah, i feel like i'm dying," your boyfriend chuckled, tapping his water bottle on the side of the chair, "i would cuddle you but my bones feel like rubber bands."

you shook your head, walking over to him and placing a kiss atop his head, "i'll kiss it better."

"can you guys... not?" you heard travis laugh awkwardly.

ted glared at him playfully, "you're just jealous i have a hot girlfriend."

you giggled, taking a seat next to his chair, trying to find a position that didn't make your bones feel like they were being crushed or that made them feel like jello.

"have i told you you look gorgeous tonight," you heard ted giggle from beside you.

"no, but now you have," you smile.

schlatt let out a sigh, "god, they're so fucking sappy!"

the position you were sat in was starting to make you feel like hell, so with a groan you changed positions again, "jesus christ, my body is on fire."

you laid flat on the ground, "hmm, this is nice. much better than sitting."

"is it really?" ted asked, getting up and moving to an empty couch, laying down, "shit, it is."

hours passed, it was now around four or three and you felt a tiny bit better, enough to swat schlatt away from your face with his stupid back massager that he was now patronizing ted with.

you watched at ted sent out meaningless threats, laughing your ass off.

somewhere around five, you must have fallen alseep, because all you can remember is throwing up with ted (couple goals), a "cleansing barf" as he put it and laughing at him as he asked around about skittles while you munched on some chips.

you woke the next morning, still high out of your mind, looking at ted, who was already awake.

"were you watching me sleep," you giggle, "fuckin creep."

"i'm still really high," he said flatly.

you nodded, "so am i," you sigh.

yeah, the two of you didn't really do anything the next two days except lay in bed, laugh at nothing and everything, the rest of the lunch club and the misfits checking in on the two of you every now and then, asking if you need anything.

months past, now you sat in ted's living room. he had just uploaded his story time video about so said accident that he asked you to help him with, ted running in and taking a seat next to you.

"look at what cooper just sent me," he laughed, handing you his phone.

you took it out of his hand, looking at the youtube link cooper had sent him.

"ted nivison and y/c/n* being high as balls but cute asf for 6 minutes straight," you read aloud, letting a laugh slip.

"you wanna watch it?" he asked from next to you.

"duh."

[kidney9-9]

My Pizza Babe [Oliver Wood]

Hi there! I hope y'all enjoy this oneshot :) this is my first time writing for Oliver Wood! Please let me know if you have any advice about his character/how to write him, thank you for reading! This is set later on, where Oliver is now a part of a professional team and shares a home with Reader. Please read the warnings!

Oliver Wood x fem!Reader [Fluff, Established Relationship] Warnings: swearing, kissing, injuries, pain medicine, magic tea, and imagery of being intoxicated from Oliver's perspective Word Count: 2k

-

When the front door opened, you spun around with a grin, happy that Oliver was finally home. Today he was about an hour later than he usually was, and it worried you that he wasn’t answering any of your calls, so you felt relieved hearing the door open.

Once you got a good look at him, you gasped loudly, dropping the book you were holding. “Oh, what happened? Oh, my stars, are you alright?” You rambled, rushing to your boyfriend. Oliver groaned in return; he was barely able to stand up anymore from the shooting pains in his leg.

He also had a nasty bruise on his eye, almost covering half of his face, and one of his arms was wrapped up, and put in a sling.

“Bad accident during practice,” He answered, pausing as he stumbled a little into the living room. You quickly closed the front door before putting your arm around him, supporting his weight as you walked him to the couch.

“Here, sit down.” You murmured, now taking in all the damage on him. You frowned deeply as he sat down with a quiet, “Ouch.”

“Babe, what the fuck?” You asked, eyes widened when you realized why his arm was in a sling. You could see a crack in his collar bone, clear as day, under the skin, causing you to worry even more.

Before he could answer you, you continued again, “Fucking – who did this to you? Was it that new kid, John? I’ll beat his ass. How do you get injuries this bad from practice?! Oh shit, you’re probably cold, and the pain! Fuck, hold on.” You ran out of the room instantly, almost slipping from the lack of friction in your fuzzy socks.

Oliver stared at your figure in quiet shock, but a goofy grin took over his features. “Hey, it’s not that bad, I got treated already, don’t worry.” He called after you, feeling a little guilty.

Tonight, was supposed to be something special. He had spent almost three months planning tonight, and of course it had to be ruined by practice. He almost called in sick this morning because of how perfect he wanted this evening to be with you, but after the latest game, he needed to practice.

He pushed everything into practice today, feeling that he needed to be better at Quidditch more than anything, to prove to you that he was worthy of what he was planning on asking you tonight.

He was going to ask you to marry him. He wanted to spend the rest of his life with you, and he was ready to ask you.

If he told you the reason as to why he was so badly injured, he knew you’d feel guilty. It was because of how distracted he was of thinking over how he’d propose tonight that he made a mistake, bumping into a group of others on his broomstick. Then, he quickly turned, trying to get away from them, only to be snapped back by his loose clothing. A hole in his shirt he said he'd fix later but never did, had gotten caught onto someone’s foot.

Leading them to panic and kick him off, falling into another person and then ultimately to the floor. He got treated after practice was over, and the pain medicine was already kicking in. He felt a bit dizzy, and he was glad he was sitting on the couch now.

He snapped out of his thoughts when you rushed back into the living room, holding a cup of his favorite tea. You carefully handed the tea to him, the worried frown never leaving your face, even as his goofy smile spread across his face even more.

Even now, with all his bruises and scrapes, you managed to make him feel better just by being next to him.

“Drink this, I put some extra love into it! But seriously, drink it slowly, it’s going to help for the pain.” You spoke up, and he chuckled, shaking his head in disbelief. He couldn’t understand how lucky he got to be with someone as unique and lovely as you. He gulped some of the drink, making you fuss over him to not gulp it, but it was really one of his favorite teas. And he felt insanely thirsty, like he needed to drink this, or he’d pass out from dehydration.

You were always there for him, even when he was down physically and mentally.

You would always be there for him.

“I really love you; you know.” He whispered, giggling a little, watching as you lit the fireplace. You made your way back to him and grabbed the blanket on the other loveseat in the living room, carefully placing it over him as he took a huge and long sip of the tea. After a few mouthfuls of tea, he watched as you shuffled around the room. And Oliver felt like he was floating in happiness and peace with being back home with you, and his dizziness had become worse. Now he felt like he was quite drunk, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care about it.

“Hm, baby what’s gotten into you?” You sighed, raising your eyebrows, still concerned at his wounds. You grabbed a pillow, setting it on your lap as you carefully sat next to him, shifting into a comfortable spot.

You slowly helped him lean his uninjured arm onto the pillow in your lap, so the other side wouldn’t be forced under much pressure.

Oliver watched this all with a blush forming onto his face, almost pouting at you. He couldn’t help but fall deeper in love with you now, and he realized that every second he spent with you, that it became clearer on how much he wanted to spend the rest of his life with you.

He dreamed about married life with you for so long now too. He would wake up with dreamy smiles, after spending the night cuddling you and imagining the rings you two would always wear. He even dreamed about having a few children and pets together, in a cozy home.

“Oi, are you alright?” More worry dripped into your tone, now as you wondered if he maybe had a concussion as well. You leaned in closer as well, wanting to check if his head was bleeding in any area, you didn’t see before.

You weren’t focused on his reaction as you pushed yourself even closer, placing a delicate touch to his face, bringing him to completely face you now. He shivered slightly under your touch, now as millions of thoughts traveled through his head about his plan. His pupils were dilated, and cheeks flushed red as you leaned slightly closer.

You caressed his face softly with your thumb, as you gazed up onto his forehead, not seeing any damage. You gazed down to his lips, now feeling your face warm up at how cute he was.

He was still pouting his bottom lip out, and slowly you kissed the side of his lips with a small smile. He closed his eyes, whispering again, “I love you so much.” Then he smiled wide, without a care to the world.

You pressed another kiss on the other side of his lips, in the corner. “I love you too,” You paused, “But you’re scaring me, darling, what’s going on?”

Instead of answering, he dipped his face to yours, now taking the initiative to kiss you. He was slow, wanting to savor every moment of feeling your soft lips respond. He let his tongue out and slipped against your bottom lip, trying to move you closer to him. He was sloppy into the kiss, but he wanted more.

You sighed sweetly at the taste of the tea, and you were glad he placed it on the side table, next to the couch. You moved your other arm around his neck, playing with his hair with your fingers. You found it strange how he was acting, and you were worried he might have a concussion with the way he was responding, and repeating things, but at the same time, it didn’t seem too bad.

Pulling away for breath, Oliver hummed. “You’re so beautiful. Everything about you is beautiful, and perfect.” You giggled quietly at his compliments, shaking your head. Maybe he just wanted to be extra loving tonight? You weren’t sure.

“I can say the same about you.” You responded, lovingly drawing small circles on his face with your thumb. He leaned into your touch even more.

“I need to ask you for a favor.” He breathed out, closing his eyes as you kissed his other cheek again. Thoughts blanking as he started to wonder about his plan he was supposed to perform tonight, but he realized he couldn’t even form sentences correctly.

“Mm, sure, go ahead.” You responded, carefully lowering your kisses to his jaw. When you felt him squeeze your thigh, under the pillow, you pulled away.

You looked at him confused as he smiled brightly. He breathed in as much air as possible and he swore in his head, needing to get a drink because his mouth was so dry now. He wasn’t nervous though, he felt like he was floating off somewhere, and he giggled slightly as he realized the room around both of you was spinning slightly.

“Will you remind me to ask you to marry you tomorrow?” He blurted out, not being able to keep it in his mind. He just needed to tell you, for some reason, and his head tilted slightly as he tried to look up at the ceiling but realized it was just a swirly mess. Did he even move his head? He didn’t know, and he wasn’t sure if he was moving now, as he couldn’t really feel much of anything.

Your eyes widened in shock, “What?” You whispered out, unable to say anything else.

“I mean uh, I can’t really focus on anything. Think I had a speech planned, but I’m not sure. Something about you being incredible and perfect and I think I put something like a pun in there? I don’t know. But will you remind me when I wake up tomorrow?” He divulged, waving his uninjured arm around as he started to laugh.

“Oh! It’s something like thank you, for making me the happiest and luckiest person in this world.” He added on, watching your reaction now as another laugh bubbled out of him.

You stood up, completely stunned, “Oli, I mean, yeah, I’ll remind you for sure. But did you already drink all of that tea? And did you get treatment already at practice?” You questioned, now bewildered, as happiness, and worry bubbling throughout your body.

“Yeah, think so.” He responded, stumbling over his words again. You slapped your hands against your face as you groaned out a few swears.

“You’re so sweet babe, but hey, I need you to drink some water for me, sound good?” You spoke up, trying to ignore the delight surging through your mind, now knowing he wanted to marry you. You needed to focus on taking care of him now.

“Also, uh, I want pizza.” He spoke, words merging into one giant mess. You only nodded to him, eyes still wide. When you stood still, Oliver laughed and tugged you down with his free arm and you gasped, falling next to him.

You sat up, a laugh falling out of you as you saw him staring back at you with that goofy smile of his. He’d be okay, you reasoned, and soon you relaxed back against him, holding onto his hand while asking every once in a while, if he was feeling okay still. You even ordered the pizza he was asking for, and a few more in case he was really hungry.

When he spoke up again, he was gazing down to you, love evident in his eyes, “Can I call you my pizza babe?” His question made you silently laugh hard against him, knowing he was entirely serious.

“Yeah, you can. In fact, tomorrow, you can call me your pizza fiancé.” You whispered back, finally calming your laughter down. You scooted yourself up on the couch, now kissing his cheek as he repeated your whispers, “Woah, a pizza fiancé.”

He continued, “That’s so cool, but it’s even cooler if soon you can be my pizza wife. So, we can be pizza spouses.” This time you hugged his arm tight, nodding along with a sweet smile on your face. He resumed talking, to tell you all about his fantasies and that he will promise you now and endlessly that he will love you as much as possible.

[starkerscoop]

Little Touch of Heaven (Ch. 1)

Written for the @starkerfestivals​​ Summer Bingo

Prompt: Love at First Sight

And no, they do not get together in the first chapter. Despite my fluff rep, this fic will have some drama and angst, so buckle in!

Tag List: @snowstark​​ @nerdylocksandthethreebears​​

ao3

Tags: omegaverse, high school au

-

“Did you hear about the new kid?”

Tony’s ears perked up at the excited question, and he spared a glance at the direction it came from. Two girls stood by the blue lockers with animated expressions, and Tony wondered where they got their energy from. It was seven in the morning, damn it. It shouldn’t have been legal to be awake at this time, let alone to chatter loudly in the hallways.

“Yes!” the second girl said in response. “Have you seen him yet? He’s so cute.”

Tony scoffed and continued moving through the hall. He had no time for romance or aimless gossip. He was only attending school so that he could go on to university, escape his parents, and never return to his hometown. There was no need to concern himself with who was or wasn’t conventionally attractive.

The notion of a new student did intrigue him, however. It wasn’t often that teenagers or children moved to what was essentially the middle of nowhere. The most that the town got was retired elders seeking a quiet life.

Tony reached his locker and jerked on it harshly, getting its stubborn door to swing open with practiced ease. He pulled out the textbook he needed for his Physics class and stuffed it into his bag. After zipping it up, he shut his locker and turned, ready to make his reluctant way to his classroom, only to come face to face with James Rhodes, his best friend of twelve years.

“Hey, Tones,” Rhodey greeted. “You ready for Markovitz’s test?”

Tony quirked an eyebrow. “Are you doubting my skills? Please, I could do it in my sleep.”

“That makes one of us,” Rhodey grumbled, annoyance passing over his face. “The least he could’ve done was make the test later on in the week. But no, we have to take it first thing in the morning on a Monday. I haven’t even had coffee yet.”

“You’re good at Physics,” Tony insisted. “Markovitz is just a shit teacher.”

Rhodey gave a helpless shrug. “Nothing we can do about it. We need his class to graduate.”

Tony nodded in agreement and they stepped into the classroom, which was halfway full of students who resembled zombies more than the teenagers they were. Their faces were marred with stress lines and deep eyebags, but that was no shocker. It was their last year of high school, and they were overcome with a need to both work themselves to the bone and give up, letting life take them where it pleased. A great deal of the graduating class wanted to move to the big cities and become more than small-towners following in their parents’ footsteps. It took a lot out of them.

Tony and Rhodey took their seats, which were, unfortunately, on opposite ends of the classroom. That wasn’t much of a problem for Rhodey, who was charismatic and got along with most people he encountered. For Tony, who preferred for people to stay away from him at all times, with the exception of a select few, it was equivalent to the end of the world. But he made do.

It didn’t take long for the rest of the class to file in, and by the time the bell rang, they were all at their desks. Mr. Markovitz cleared his throat, bringing their attention to him.

“We have a test today, so you better hope you studied, because this one’s a tough one.”

He allowed them a brief moment to groan and roll their eyes, and continued:

“But before we start, I have someone I’d like you to meet. Come in and introduce yourself, Peter.” He finished speaking and turned his head to the door, his students mimicking the action with curious eyes.

A boy walked in with his head down, his brown curls flopping over his forehead with each short step he took to the front of the classroom, where he stopped and looked up at them with a grimace. Tony could sympathize. He’d never had the ‘new kid’ experience, but he imagined it wasn’t good.

The boy began to speak. “My name is Peter Parker, I’m from New York, and I want to be a chemical engineer.”

Peter gazed around the classroom, his stare lingering on each student with a curiosity of his own, until it landed on Tony. Their eyes widened as they met, and Tony felt his breath catch in his chest. The tenseness of Peter’s jaw seemed to melt off of him the longer they stared at each other, and Tony’s heart fluttered at that. He’d never calmed anyone at sight before, and he thought that, that was what might’ve been happening at the moment. A smile, small but bright, started to grow on Peter’s face, and Tony found himself blushing.

“Take a seat, Peter,” Mr. Markovitz interrupted, and the eye contact was broken.

Peter shuffled to the only available seat, the one two rows in front of Tony’s, and sat down next to Ned Leeds, an omega who led the only Lego Club in the entire state of Montana.

Mr. Markovitz walked through the rows at a hurried pace, tossing a test face-down in front of every student. He’d handed everyone a test in the span of a minute, eager to begin testing.

“As usual, there’s no multiple-choice in my class. You have forty-five minutes. I’ve set the timer; you may begin your test.” Once he finished speaking, Mr. Markovitz perched on his desk with the timer next to him, and didn’t move an inch for the entirety of the test, watching them all with strong focus.

He’d said more than once that he hated cheaters, and he took enough precautions that no one doubted him. Aside from keeping an eye on them as they tested and making all their questions short-answer, he also gave his students different versions of the test, so they couldn’t ask each other for help.

Tony gripped his pencil tightly, attempting valiantly to forget Peter’s presence for the duration of the test, and read the first question.

You have a mass of 71 kg and are on a 51-degree slope hanging on to a cord with a breaking strength of 165 N.

(a) What must be the coefficient of static friction between you and the surface for you to be saved from the fire?

(b) If the coefficient of static friction is zero, what would the incline angle have to be in order for the cord to not break?

He’d read up on static friction over the summer to prepare for Physics. This was something he knew the answer to. And yet, his mind was drawing a blank.

As the minutes ticked by, heat flickered at the base of his spine and rose up as panic stirred in his gut. He’d never stumbled over himself in a science test like this. What was going on? What was wrong with him?

Despite his alarm, he glanced up from his papers to look at Peter, who was scribbling away on his test. Perhaps Tony had gotten the harder version, and Mr. Markovitz had overestimated the students’ ability to pass Version B. That had to be it.

Tony sifted through the pages, skimming every question to identify ones he could answer, but his search came up fruitless. The questions, though phrased in terms he was familiar with, weren’t bringing any answers to mind, and he released a distraught whimper. Thankfully, no one seemed to notice, all engrossed in their tests.

Forty-five minutes flew by quickly, Tony’s stress making each second spent frantically scanning the test for something he could answer, shorter.

Mr. Markovitz collected each test with the same rushed demeanor he’d handed them out in. He tucked them into a drawer in his desk, locked it, and faced the class with his hands clasped before his stomach.

He announced, “Your tests will be graded by the end of the week. For homework, read the next chapter of the textbook, and be ready to discuss it tomorrow. Class dismissed.”

Everyone stood up, pushing their chairs in and rushing to their friends, no doubt to gush over the test. Tony made his way to Rhodey with an awful feeling in the pit of his stomach.

“That was horrible,” Rhodey sighed, massaging his hand to rid it of the soreness it had acquired during the test. “I bet it wasn’t for you, though, boy-genius.”

Tony shook his head mutely.

“What?” Rhodey placed a concerned hand on his shoulder. “It’s all right, man. Even if you failed, one grade won’t do anything to you.”

Tony didn’t agree. “I need to pass if I want to make it out of here.”

“One bad test won’t tank your grade,” Rhodey asserted. “I promise.”

Tony smiled grimly. “We’ll see what my parents have to say about that.”