#but now my heartrate is high even while sleeping???

[semiotomatics]

does anyone else find heart palpitations just. extremely unpleasant? like i know theyre not ~bad or anything but i still Hate having them

[elliewiltarwyn]

ellie's journal: Second Astral Moon, 17th Sun

My mind is still reeling, so I brook no criticism if this seems a little discombobulated.

As of today, I’m now a member of a secret organization known as the Scions of the Seventh Dawn. Normally I’d be suspicious of such underground movements; indeed, I’ve learned too well to always be nurturing such suspicions of everyone around me.

Yet when I learned that in this organization dwell others with the “gift”… that is, others who have been having visions of falling stars and an enormous crystal that speaks to them… I must admit my heart skipped a beat. The leader—she bears the title of Antecedent, and her name is Minfilia Warde—made it quite clear this was an invitation, not a conscription, yet how could I not take her up on that? It feels like an even clearer version of the path Raya-O laid out for me a few moons ago: a path that has already seen me defend Gridania and the Guardian Tree from the Ixali and strange black-masked mages. I’d kick myself forever if I didn’t walk this road as far as I can, to see what lies at the end of it and beyond.

Minfilia seems earnest enough, mayhaps too much, but it’s endearing… though I’m unsure if I am blinded by the way my heartrate is already increasing, my cheeks already reddening, whenever she looks upon me. Gods, I’m too easy a mark for pretty women; woe betide me the moment I come across one with ill intentions again.

Speaking of intentions, I was not the only new Scion recruit; there were two other adventurers beside me who even now are sleeping in bunks on the far side of these quarters. I would not have noted them much… except for the fact that our paths before converging here in this secret headquarters were uncannily similar: all of us recently rescued an Eorzean city-state from primal-tempered threats, followed by a triumphant confrontation with a fearsome black-masked mage — all the while experiencing these visions. It’s too easy—and too early—to say my fate is tied to theirs already… but I have to admit it’s one of the more intriguing ways I’ve made friends.

Well. I say friends… The miqo’te is nice enough: bubbly, enthusiastic, and cheerful. Lilyana is her name, and she claims to be an alumnus of the secret guild of rogues that take up residence in Limsa Lominsa. ‘Tis possible, especially since I haven’t been there in six years, and I’m unaware of how things may have changed or even what seedier elements laid underneath the surface of my “dear” home turf. I just wouldn’t expect someone like her to be a rogue; albeit, ever since our induction she has been juggling and twirling one of her knives in a highly skilled manner, without once cutting herself. Her disposition is sweet, and if she in fact is capable of defending herself—all the better.

The other adventurer is the primary source of my hesitance to claim “friends” just yet. She is an armored hyur with naval blue hair, trained at the Gladiators’ Guild in Ul’dah by the name of Mia Longhart. She is practically Lilyana’s opposite: looking every bit the honorable gladiator but with a begrudging personality that has, quite frankly, been off-putting to experience. She sniffed out my role in the siege of the Guardian Tree and looked too satisfied in having done so, and she’s been abrupt and curt ever since. I’m sure I don’t know what I’ve done to earn her ire—well. Okay. I did retaliate by tying her to a rumor I heard this morning as I departed the Quicksand, of a blue-haired gladiator who saved the sultana. (“Her crown,” Longhart had corrected as she rolled her eyes. Details.) Surely that isn’t enough to warrant this chill from her? My skin crawls whenever she looks at me, and it always feels like she’s sizing me up when she does. I really don’t appreciate it.

Admittedly, we may have gotten off on the wrong foot. I suppose we’ll see if that changes: Minfilia said she will have our first assignment prepared by the morrow. Lots of high-minded talk about transcending the realm’s boundaries; it’ll be interesting to see how that takes shape.

It’ll be less fun if Longhart doesn’t stop shooting me suspicious glares from her bunk. Don’t think I don’t see you.

[memorymessage]

almost fainted at the animal shelter today :)

i don't even want to undermine the severity—this is the scariest feeling i've had in many, many years. which is saying a lot, since i'm a chronically ill bitch.

had to embarrassingly sit outside, could barely walk back to the car, felt weak and faint in the car, felt weak and faint at home, the blood left all my extremities, i was freezing cold, my mom wanted to take me to the hospital but i refused, then it got worse and i seriously thought about going to the hospital.

(i detest going to the hospital where we live, since the quality of care has tanked. this hospital left my grandma screaming from pain in the waiting room.)

i'm only now starting to feel better, 5 hours later. still weak, heartrate wonky.

my mom decided to spend the night just to make sure i'll be okay (🥺)

i just...i can't explain what happened. sometimes i get weak and have to squat down after just getting out of bed, usually when i'm washing my face or making coffee. but that's not overly unusual considering i take very strong meds to sleep and am lethargic with low vitals after waking.

but this was many hours after i had been up. it was actually mid-late day, and i had woken up in the morning.

after spending some time with the cats at the shelter, i felt my ears plugging up, like the feeling of when you're changing air pressure while driving up a mountain and you have to yawn to pop them. then, I started feeling really faint. i had to grab my mom's arm, and she excused us from the employee so we could go sit out in the hall, then sit outside in their backyard area.

the scariest part about it is i have no idea what caused this. i assume it was my blood pressure, because of the ear plugging, as i've had issues with ear plugging due to high blood pressure before. but i have no idea why my blood pressure spiked.

while i was still feeling faint at home, the highest reading i got was 140/90. i usually run quite low on the bp side, so that is fairly high for me. but assume it was like 160/100 when this all happened, or something. is that actually high enough to cause a fainting spell that impacts my body for 5 hours? now my bp is back down to 100/60, and i am still feeling weak and ill.

it could have been my bitchass heart, who still has tachycardia issues. that, combined with the high blood pressure, might have been enough to do it. my rhr just now came down to 80 from being at 100 while laying down for the last few hours.

but, again...like, why? i've had issues with feeling weak or overheated when out and about in the world, but it never got to the point of feeling like i was going to pass out in public. a full blown episode. and it's not like my body is completely out of commission—i've been doing walks lately.

usually i can trace it back to at least something, but this was wholly unprecedented.

[roo-bastmoon]

Some red flags

Disclaimer: not a medical professional. Not a nutritionist. Not Korean. Not trying to diagnose anyone. Only sharing my own personal thoughts as a compulsive overeater. Feel free to keep scrolling if not your thing.

In the past, Jimin has called himself an ugly pig and confessed to Hobi that he was worried because he “can’t stop eating.” And we all know about how he fainted because he went 10 days with only one meal but was constantly rehearsing. (Jimin is a perfectionist who used to rehearse until 4 in the morning during his school days, so I think it’s fair to call him an extremist.)

 But to hear him talk about it, that’s all in the past, he doesn’t starve himself any more, he eats well and he’s fine.

 And yet… in my opinion, Jimin still exhibits signs of binging (both food and alcohol) and food obsession.

 In the most recent V Live, Jimin ate for 25 minutes and commented:

·       He only feels 10% full

·       His face was too round these days

·       He can really put on weight

·       Once he starts eating, he can’t stop

·       Before he came to the US, he ate 5 meals a day and gained so much weight

·       It was really hard to lose that weight

·       He can’t have leftovers; he eats everything that’s in front of him immediately

·       He can eat an entire fried chicken by himself and then is puffy the next day

·       When dieting, he watches mukbangs (videos of other people eating)

·       He didn’t intend to eat but food was right in front of him and he couldn’t resist 

·       He no longer starves himself but he exercises a lot

 Some of this could just be differences in culture (I’m told binge drinking in Korea is quite normal, as is an obsession with diets, skincare, and plastic surgery), but when I hear Jimin talk about food, it’s just red flag after red flag for me.

 Also just my own opinion, but I think JK is exhibiting signs of an exercise obsession…

 After traveling internationally, being diagnosed with COVID (thankfully only mild symptoms), and under quarantine with orders to rest, he was dancing around and working out with weights in his hotel room. He insisted on doing this because he didn’t want “to get out of shape” or gain weight… from a few days of not exercising. (He also complained exasperatedly that all he did lately was eat and sleep... while sick with COVID.)

 On the third LV concert day, after 3+ hours performing, JK also was:

·       Running

·       Doing back lifts

·       Doing ab exercises

·       Boxing

·       Sparing

 And yet he refused to eat during the V Live, saying he’ll save it for tomorrow.

Because Jimin and Jungkook are always together (*casually looks into the camera like in The Office*), I think they both trade habits to some degree and shape each other’s perspectives.  

Overeaters Anonymous has defined as “symptoms of unhealthy food behaviors” to include:

·       Obsession with body weight, size, and shape

·       Periods of strict self-control followed by eating binges

·       Grazing on food that is there

·       Extremely restrictive diets

·       Inability to stop eating after the first bite

·       Preoccupation or obsession with food

·       Using food as a reward or for comfort

·       Over exercising 

·       Exercising to combat feelings of guilt for eating

Now I don’t know if the boys have an Eating Disorder™ but I do think they have an unhealthy relationship with food (due to their industry’s image standards--let’s not even start with Jin’s malnutrition from only eating chicken for a year). I think this because I’m a compulsive overeater and binge comfort eater myself (as are approximately 30% of the human population), and some of this just resonates loudly. I don’t mean to project, though.

 I wish with all my heart that Hybe would get each of the members their own trainer and nutritionist who will calculate their exact basal metabolic rates based on heartrate measurements during high intensity days, then ensure they get adequate calories with at least 3 meals of protein, fat, and carbs plus one snack on a daily basis. (I also think the members—like all human beings—would benefit from regular therapy sessions, but that’s a whole other post. Doubt my little tumblr blog is going to impact cultural stigmas on the other side of the world.)

 Maybe I’m way off base. Maybe they are just men in their twenties who are very active and then like to eat a lot and complaining about their lack of control is just a casual way for them as celebrities to relate to their image-conscious fans.

In any case, I hope they are doing okay. I’m gonna love and support all members of BTS even if they don’t shower or wear makeup or have pimples or stuff their faces or smoke or forget English words or fall down on stage or crack on high notes or miss their choreography from time to time. In fact that stuff often endears them to me more. I don’t love them because they are perfect; I love them because they are authentic, talented, kind-hearted people.

 These are just my thinky thoughts what I needed to think out loud. I appreciate others’ perspectives if folks feel like discussing the topic (just please keep it kind)!

Here, have a cute Jikook smiling compilation pic as a palate cleanser:

[radioactivepeasant]

Fic Prompts: Star Wars Wednesday

(Based on the prompt: What if Luke was captured on Hoth?)

The room was dark when Luke woke. That, in and of itself, was unusual. The medical bay in Echo Base was always painfully bright. Luke squinted through the thick bacta and tried to make out his surroundings. Why was the room so dark?

Luke thought he remembered warning sirens pulsing faintly through the tank. A sense of fear and urgency. Had they cut the power to hide from a probe? No...that didn't feel right. This place was too empty. Han and Leia and Chewie weren't here watching over him, as they had been since Han found him in the snow. They wouldn't have left him if-

...if everything was okay.

Despite the warmth of the bacta around him, Luke realized that he felt cold. Maybe he was still in the base. But then, where was everyone else? Had he been left behind?

They wouldn't leave him!

...would they?

The increase in his heartrate sounded an alarm on the outer controls of the tank. All at once, the bacta began to drain out, and the harness rose. Relief washed over Luke. Obviously someone had to still be here, or nobody would have noticed the heart monitor. It was probably 2-1B. He couldn't really sense droids, after all. The medical droid would know what was going on.

A wave of heat staggered him as soon as his bare feet touched the ground. At a control panel beside the tank, a jet black Artoo unit hooted at him in a suspiciously judgmental manner.

This was not Echo Base.

This isn't right...

Luke swallowed, grimaced, and spat out a bit of bacta that had gotten under the oxygen mask.

"Droid!" a harsh, modulated voice barked, "Why did you release the subject without authorization?"

Luke whirled to find a guard in crimson robes entering through a door behind the tank. His heart sank when he recognized the design of the uniform.

Empire.

Oh no. No no please, Force no!

He had been captured.

But then, why would they let him heal? He had a pretty high price on his head! Usually Imps were scrambling to kill him, not heal his wounds.

"Put him back under. Now!" The guard approached slowly, brandishing a spear at Luke. "You. Hands where I can see them."

Luke backed away, on the verge of panic. Where was he? What had they done to his friends? Why was he unhurt?!

"What the kriff is going on?" he croaked.

Watch him, watch his movements. If that spear isn't electrified, maybe I can grab it...

"You aren't here to ask questions, Rebel, you're here to answer them. Get back in the tank before I give you a reason to need the bacta," the guard snapped.

He swung his spear closer, and Luke jumped back. His bare shoulders collided with a tank wall, and the Artoo shrieked at him in dismay. A swift glance behind him revealed that Luke had not backed into the same tank he'd come out of.

There was a second tank beside his, and it was still occupied.

Luke felt the cold again, as if the tank had been filled with ice water. Inside the cloudy liquid, a battered figure seemed to hang frozen. The figure's limbs ended abruptly in scarred amputations that looked old, but aggravated. Dark contusions spread across what little of the person's torso Luke saw before returning his attention to the guard. Was this someone else they'd been interrogating?

The guard advanced again and held the spear to Luke's throat. "That's enough, Rebel. By rights, you shouldn't even have been brought here! We're wasting perfectly good bacta on scum like you."

Fear and adrenaline swirled together into an indignant mixture not too far off from courage, and Luke spat out, "Yeah, because I'm so eager to walk forward with a karking spear at my throat. You been out in the suns too long? I'm not impaling myself on that!"

The tip of the spear pressed closer, and this time Luke felt a low humming from it that promised a nasty shock if it made contact with his skin. He could almost swear he felt faint amusement in the red guard.

"Well that's what the bacta's for, isn't it?"

A spark arced from the point of the spear, and Luke instinctively jerked his head backward. But the jolt never struck. Luke tried to look, but it was as if the air itself had turned to stone, locking them all in place where they stood. If he strained his eyes, he could just make out the spark, flickering pathetically in midair, never to land. He could breathe, at least, but it was labored and shallow. The guard seemed to be having more trouble than he was -- the only indication to Luke that this was not some kind of paralysis weapon.

"Touch him and your life is forfeit."

The voice was soft, barely audible through the transparisteel of the second bacta tank, but it seemed to ring in their ears all the same. Luke couldn't turn, or shift his eyes far enough to see the speaker, but he could guess who it might be. The other prisoner had awoken. How was he holding them in place? Was it-

Was he a Jedi?

The guard collapsed, and suddenly Luke was free to move again. He turned slowly to look into the tank, barely even noticing that the guard lay where he had fallen, unmoving. The bacta was still cloudy, pumped full of heavy antibacterial solutions. But now that the man's eyes were open, they were impossible to miss. The fiery golden eyes of a dragon pinned Luke in place; they weighed him down with their gaze as surely as if he had been manacled to the floor.

Whoever the other prisoner was, Luke understood instinctively that he was a very dangerous man.

"No harm will come to you while you sleep," the man vowed. He appeared to be making some attempt to soften his dragon's stare, while simultaneously sifting through Luke's very soul. It did not alleviate the young man's fears.

"Thank you...?" Luke managed after several failed attempts at speech. "I can...keep watch while you sleep, if you want." Not that I can help much without my-

The lightsaber.

His father's lightsaber was gone. Was it still in the Rebel base? Or had the Empire taken it? Luke gripped the side of the tank for support. No friends, no weapons, no connection to his father; he had nothing but the shorts he'd been wearing when 2-1B first put him in the bacta tank.

I'm sorry! First Aunt Beru and Uncle Owen, then Ben, now I've failed you too, Father. I'm so sorry!

"Have you failed? Or did Kenobi fail you?" The man in the tank interrupted his thoughts without warning. The cold grew sharper, and shadows crept from the corners of the room to curl around the tanks. Golden eyes burned in the darkness of the occupied tank.

"What?" Luke gasped, pulling away from the tank.

"Sleep, Luke. When you have recovered, there will be much to discuss."

As Luke felt the chill close in on him again, it struck him that the dangerous stranger knew his name. And he spoke it as though he were familiar with Luke.

Luke had questions. But he wasn't sure anymore that he wanted them answered.

[annaizscribbling]

Angst : Logan vs the vague sense of having to do Something, Anything, Everything but not knowing what to do, or worse, knowing what to do and not doing it, like you’re locked inside a bubble and you’re screaming to b let out but instead u just watch time fly by and the thing doesn’t get done

Thank you for the prompt! I kinda focused on the comfort in this surprise Hurt/Comfort. This was really cathartic to write!

Summary: Logan can't start the huge pile of work he needs to get done and it's wearing on him. Virgil lends a hand.

Lowkey big brother Virgil.

Wordcount is 1292

Heads up for spiraling, anxiousness, and some self deprecation.

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

Logan’s fingers drummed along the side of his desk at a frantic pace. The wobbly rhythm did not comfort him. It did not relieve the clawing urgency that was piercing the middle of his chest.

The stack of unfinished paperwork was looming on one side of the desk while the other side was occupied by his laptop, equally brimming with a metaphorical mountain of tasks. They all sprung on him at once. They all demanded his attention. They all rang with urgency.

He didn’t sleep last night. Not enough.

The new tasks all came in just moments before he was going to bed the night before. Logically, he knew that it would just have to wait until morning, as he couldn’t sacrifice his sleep schedule that easily, and it would be tough but perfectly possible to finish it in the morning.

That information did not stop his mind from racing all night.

It was only a matter of minutes until he had spiraled further than he intended, and sleep would evade him.

All he could do was lay there as his dread grew and grew. He tried mentally sorting what order he should tackle the work in, what steps he would take, how many hours he could spend on each category.

He just let himself sink into a dizzy panic as he soaked in just how much work he would have to do the coming hours. The time kept slipping away more and more each time he anxiously glanced at the clock.

Logan gave in to his nerves at 5:00 in the morning and drank much more coffee that Patton would approve of on a normal day, much less one where Logan was so high strung.

So, there he was, too much caffeine and one sleepless night later, sitting at his desk, spiraling and thrumming his fingers.

There was too much to do. Too many tasks. Too little time.

His heartrate was elevated more than comfortable. His whole being felt buzzy and upset. Caffeine on top of sleep deprivation.

Not enough time. Not enough strength. Not enough help.

The task was so big he couldn’t begin.

Even though he knew that his only course of action should be starting.

His fingers drummed faster in a lopsided beat.

Logan needed to start. He needed to begin. He needed to start so that the sharp buzzing feeling of urgency will relinquish its hold on his heart.

But the feeling was so miserable he couldn’t start.

But the feeling won’t go away until he finishes.

Oh, what a wicked contradiction.

Now he would never start. Logan will only stare aimlessly, drum his fingers, sit uselessly, and rot away into a worthless husk as the task grows with each coming day.

He can’t start, but he can’t walk away.

His blood felt electric with dread. His head throbbed with pain.

Was he doomed to never escape his agony?

A firm hand on his right shoulder shocked him out of his miserable thoughts.

“C’mon Buddy, talk to me.” A gruff but far from unkind voice said beside his ear.

“Virgil?” Logan’s own voice sounded raspy and sore, tight with unshed tears.

“Yeah,” Virgil said gently, some relief spreading over his face, “How about we go chill somewhere? I think you need a sec to relax.”

Logan’s anxious heart jumped in his chest. “No, I-I can’t. I really shouldn’t, but thank you, Virgil. I appreciate your intervention, but I really need to work.”

Virgil raised a skeptical eyebrow. “You just said ‘work’ with as much enthusiasm as me saying ‘phone call’.”

“That was not my intention, I apologize.” He said quietly. “But it’s probably best that you leave me, I really must be at least a little productive today.”

“Dude,” Virgil bit the inside of his mouth unsurely, “You look really tired and out of it, and you didn’t even notice me until I shook you. You’re stressed out of your mind.”

“I’m alright, Virgil.”

“Who’s the expert in stress here?” Virgil rolled his eyes. “Me. That’s who. And I know a stress overload when I see one. It’ll only get worse if you keep doing the thing that’s causing it. So break time, let’s go.” He jutted his chin toward the door, gesturing for Logan to get up.

“No, Virgil.” The bespeckled side said gravely. “I’m fine, but if I was stressed it wouldn’t be due to work,” He swallowed. “It would only ever be due to a lack of work,”

Virgil crossed his arms, unamused but quite determined. “So that’s how we’re doing this?” he huffed. “Fine. Hypothetically, how would a lack of work stress you out?”

“It’s unimportant.”

“Logan come on.”

Logan suddenly felt very, very small under Virgil’s withering stare in addition to the already heavy burden of his job. His voice sank to a pathetic whimper. “It’s too much,” he said, voice breaking as he did. “I can’t start.”

Virgil’s features softened quietly.

Logan rubbed his moist eyes beneath his glasses. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. There’s so much work and I can’t start, but because of that I can’t finish.”

His friend put his steadying hands on his shoulders again and gently rubbed circles into his back as Logan continued.

“I didn’t sleep, I can’t calm down, and I can’t just start. It’s pathetic.” Logan spat, fury at his own actions settled atop the anxiety already in his system.

“No, it isn’t.” Virgil said in his usual gravelly voice. “You’re stressed and tired from a boatload of surprise work. Your reaction is normal and you’re just too overwhelmed to see that right now, which is perfectly fine.”

A new fiery streak of anger shot down his stomach. “But-”

“Nope.” Virgil cut him off almost cheerfully . “You’re about to pull a ‘me’ and start self-deprecating, so I’m stopping you there. It’s fine that you’re overwhelmed and it’s fine that you need some help and a break.”

Logan gritted his teeth, seething. “Take a break from what? I haven’t done a single thing today.”

“You need a break from putting all of your energy into panicking. Let’s go.”

“But-”

“L, if you don’t cooperate, I swear that I will carry you out myself.” Virgil threatened.

“I need to work.”

It was in that moment he learned not to ever call Virgil’s bluff, as he was promptly and unceremoniously picked up from under his arms and carried out of the room like a misbehaving cat. His legs dangled some distance above the ground.

Virgil deposited him on the couch in the living room where he just blinked, still startled and confused.

“You’re strong.” Logan said blankly.

“I’m fight or flight.” he shrugged. “Sometimes I choose fight and you gotta be buff to help guarantee a win.”

“Oh.”

“You’re also short so that helps.”

Logan glared.

“Now I’m going to grab Janus and let him wrangle everybody else from the imagination.”

“Is that where everyone is?”

“Yup, and once they get here, we’ll help tackle that workload together.”

Logan drummed his fingers on the side of the couch, deliberating.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Virgil asked delicately as he slipped onto the couch beside his friend.

“I don’t wish to burden all of you just because I couldn’t handle my job.” He admitted in a raspy whisper, throat tight once more.

Virgil thunked his chin atop of Logan’s messy hair, smiling fondly. “You aren’t a burden, Logan. You’re family.”

He pulled away just enough to look into Logan’s exhausted brown eyes. “And you know us, we do anything for family.”

Logan smiled weakly and shut his eyes, letting tired tears leak out. He leaned against Virgil’s shoulder.

“We’ve got you Buddy.” Virgil whispered as he tugged him closer to ruffle his hair, “We’ve got you.”

[hereliesanotherfic]

Albert James Moriarty x Reader

A/N: Just a little drabble, nothing too intense. More an admiration for our handsome Albert ^^ But I hope to write more for Yuukoku no Moriarty! I just got into the anime so I know nothing of the manga. So in this fic, I had to make up an aristocrat family/servants. The more I learn of the series I might not have too! xD Let me know what you think!

Rating: PG 13 (probably) Triggers:

(Mentions of) Family member death, thoughts of suicide,

(Actions of) Murder but no heavy details.

You weren’t anything special to the world, or at least never felt like it for a long time. You had ‘worked’ for a wealthy family in Durham for more than 5 years now and most of your work was shared with your older brother. You haven’t been allowed to see him lately though, and it was concerning. He began to fall ill, and you did your best to care for him after serving all your duties to the family. But it’s been a long…long time since you’ve seen his face now, almost a year. The Lord of the house, Lord Vincent told you not to concern yourself and they had a handled on it, but over the time those words have been of no comfort. The fact that you cannot see your brother after so long makes you fear something awful has happened. After all, the noblemen and family weren’t the kindest to lower class like yourself. You’ve gotten smacked and hit, drinks thrown at you, belittled, and shamed beyond what is humane. Your only string to life is that your brother might truly be alive and struggling, but you’ve never felt a depression and despair this deep before.

At this moment, you were on your hands and knees scrubbing the dining room floor, the maids setting a table fit for five. You overheard Lord Vincent had invited some noblemen who were new to the area over for a feast, and once the reply came back, he demanded all get to work in preparations. The butler had stepped in, clapping his hands. “Alright, quickly now, clean up and make yourselves presentable, they will be here shortly!” You placed your sponge in the bucket and hurried it to the washroom. Racing back, you stood in your spot at the end of the line of maids, brushing out your uniform of wrinkles or dirt. The butler scanned down all three maids, his eyes scowling at you. The butler was a bit of a prick like the noblemen, he had no respect for you since you were on the bottom of the barrel. You looked to your feet, wishing for nightfall to come so you could sleep again.

“Come with me,” you heard Lord Vincent cheer and you dared to glance up at the guests. First was a very tall, slender brunette with gorgeous green eyes and a strong jawline. Following him were two blondes, striking ruby red eyes, a little more build but just as attractive. You quickly stared back down at your feet, praying you weren’t caught by anyone in the room. If Lord Vincent or his mistress found out you were eyeing the guests it’d mean another punishment. Your food, injuries, sanity? They liked to change it to see how far your threshold could go.

As proper maids do, you each stepped up to a chair to pull it out for the noblemen. You weren’t sure if you were lucky or doomed to seat the brunette. Allowing him to sit and then aid pushing his chair in, he glanced over his shoulder to you and your peripheral vision could see his small smile. Without thinking, your eyes looked up and locked to his, which made his own eyes soften slightly. You immediately looked back down to the floor and took your place back to the side of the room. It was only an interaction of maybe 5 to 10 seconds, but it felt so impressionable. You admired how his tux made his shoulders and back a bit broader, whatever fancy cologne he was wearing was practically intoxicating, and his eyes and smile could get you dangerously lost. It wasn’t often young noblemen appeared, and now you were glad they didn’t.

The five aristocrats talked and ate the delicious food. You never really knew what the foods were or how to cook them, but it always looked mouthwatering. Time seem to go faster today, but you felt it was because of that damn brunette. You locked his image to his voice after threatening another glance, his voice smoothing through the conversations like melted butter. In a moment, you heard the famous finger snap of the Lord, signaling for places and leftovers to be cleared from the table. As a good maid, you took action and stood besides the brunette, clearing his space leaving no crumb behind. You felt eyes on you, but you couldn’t tell if it was him, or the Lord on your left side. You did every mental trick in your mind to not be too nervous. But it was already failing you.

“Your maid seems unsteady, Lord Vincent, is she alright?” the blonde you learned to be William spoke. He was across the table but he still noticed the slight tremors in your fingers? What the hell?! You stood straight with your couple plates and cups and looked to Lord Vincent, who looked pleased, but you saw his little ticks to know well enough, he was pissed.

“Do not fret about the service Lord Moriarty! She has been failing my family repeatedly, so a change has been due for a while now.”

…What?

“It’s so hard these days to find high class maids,” his wife sighed loudly, a look of disgust lingering on your backside.

You heartrate increased dramatically while your skin paled. You slightly bowed to excuse yourself from the conversation (even though you were just the topic) and headed towards the kitchen to dispose of the plates. You practically dropped them in the skin and held onto the counter. Your suspicions about them killing off bad service wasn’t just a rumor, it was true! You knew now because you were next! Your brother—you had to find a way to get out and save your brother! …

Your eyes started to water at the realization. ‘They had a handle on it’, in aristocrat terms, in the Vincent family terms, they eliminated him. And dragged you on to play the fool believing your brother was alive just to suck out whatever they could from you. You dropped to your knees as your tears poured, fingertips turning while you still gripped the counter above you. And the thought of joining your brother now…maybe he would forgive you if you join him for letting him die.

“Why are you crying?” a voice behind you spoke softly, startling you out of your self-pity and turning around instantly. To your utter shock, it was Lord Albert James Moriarty, and he was less than two feet from you, one hand outstretches as if to catch you.

You harshly wipe the tears from your face and eyes with your sleeve, standing up as quickly as physically possible and giving your uniform a couple messy pats, yabbering your apologizes as if your ending life still depended on it. “I am so very sorry Lord Moriarty, you should never have seen me in such array. Please forgive my improper-ness.” You didn’t know where to look, what to do with your hands, your anxiety was eating you alive! So you did your only method, stare at the floor with your head down and grip your uniform, your hair falling slightly forward as it was falling out of its bun. You could feel your body shaking and tried to stop it, your embarrassment eating you up on the inside for making a fool of yourself in front of not just a Lord, but a handsome one at that. He couldn’t have been more than a couple years older than you, and he could be placed in a museum and you were the cement floor.

“Please, don’t be afraid of me,” Albert begged softly, the gentleness of his voice being completely unexpected. You felt his large hand wrap around one of your clenched ones, making you remove your grip from your dress and be held in his hand. In the same moment, his other hand swooped under your jaw gently and lifted your face to look at him, swiping the (still) falling tears with his thumb. He locked his eyes with you (e/c) ones, a small smile came back to grace his lips. Just as you feared, you fell into a trance. You felt his other thumb rubbing small circles in your hand as he spoke his velvet words again.

“Come, it’s time to leave,” he hummed, closing his hand fully around yours before turning and heading out of the kitchen. You immediately started to panic at the though of Lord Vincent seeing the guest of honor so close to you, let alone touching you or speaking to you.

“L-l-l-lord Moriarty, I can’t do—this isn’t rig-okay, I mean!—” You choked to find the words, not wanting to offend him in any way, but terrified of not stopping him before re-entering the dining room like this. His grip was strong and you couldn’t pull back more than he pulled forward. He stopped for a moment and chuckled, looking over his shoulder to you with a smile and slender eyes.

“Do not worry about that miss, Lord Vincent has no more hold over you.” And he continued walking. You had no idea what that meant, but you were about to find out.

After he pulled you through the doors into the dining room, the sight was appalling. The head Maid was sobbing on the floor, a bloody knife fallen from her bloody hand. Lying hunched dead over the table were the Lord and his mistress, each suffered one to three stab wounds. The smell of all this blood was too strong and you covered your mouth with your hand. Before you could take in any more of the messy scene, Albert was already dragging you along outside, the two blonde brothers finishing up inside with the maid. You were practically speechless.

“L-..Lord Moriarty?” you said just above a whisper as he opened the door to his luxury carriage, looking at you. “…What’s happened?”

“Lord Vincent and his wife have both paid their debt for the slaughter of lower class servant workers, that’s all,” he stated matter-of-factly. Your eyes widened at his words, but they were soft. How did another aristocrat family know of this, not to mention care?

“We in the Moriarty family are…different,” he chuckled, before stepping to the side. “Please, hop in.”

“Why?” You asked, forgetting for a moment he was a nobleman.

“I’d like to give you some time to think if you’d like to be a maid for our family, or if you’d like to start a new life elsewhere. In the meantime, I can provide you a safe place to stay.”

You cheeks reddened slightly at the word ‘I’ and he must’ve caught on, closing his eyes for a brief moment before looking back into yours. If it wasn’t so dark out, you could’ve confirmed or not if he was blushing a bit too.

“We, my brothers and I,” he corrected, and motioned you into the carriage. At this point, your former Lord was dead, you brother was dead and you had little hope immediately on the street. Maybe serving the handsome Albert James Moriarty wasn’t such a bad deal after all. Especially if they are taking away some of the scum of the world.

Albert couldn’t have been more pleased when you stepped inside the carriage. This operation William put together has been brewing for a few months. Truth be told, Albert has seen you more than a couple times, but he’s never interacted with you since that wasn’t part of the plan. It was obvious to William you were being tricked, and your heavy depression blocked your brain from the truth. Only once you feel your life was truly on the line would you snap out of it. Albert was just as happy as his brothers to save another lower-class citizen from harm. Not to mention Louis lightly teasing him about keeping his eyes on you a little too much.

[lulaypp]

Note: While this is meant as a mini follow-up of my Three Dark Walls And A Collar, it can be read seperately.

Warnings: Panic, Flashbacks, Mentioned Nightmares, Referrenced Torture, Injuries

----

Nightmares were common for them. Far from pleasant, but definitely not a rarity.

Jason bit his lip as he panted, his chest sore as he tried to control his rapid breaths. The night light by his bed softly illuminated the room enough to stave off part of his panic as he fumbled to untangle himself from his sheets.

It had been a week after Black Mask had caught him. Dick and Alfred had deemed Jason well enough to leave the med bay but not the manor, which was fine by him. At least he got to stay in his own room without people crowding around him all day long. But as peaceful as the solitude was, it made nightmares a bit harder to wrangle down. Even so, it was nothing he wasn't used to. He had been living alone with his nightmares for years.

But it would be easier without the rain and flapping branches outside, a storm brewing quick and heavy.

His breaths and heartrate were still running fast by the time he settled under the blanket again. His healing ribs were protesting at his movements and curled up position, but he stubbornly tucked his knees to his chest. He kept his eyes on his dim nightlight, trying to ignore the non-existent smell of mud, the shadow that clung to the far walls and the solid pressure on his neck.

The rain pattered heavily onto the window and he could almost hear the sound of the drops hitting the earth and grass despite being indoors and far too high up. Nearby tree branches rapped against each other and onto the brick walls as the wind swept them back and forth. If the pitch is heightened up a notch and the sound sharpened, it could almost sound like-

Jason sucked in a breath, blinking away images of a glass wall standing far too close and pulled the sheets tighter around him. It frustrated him to no end that the effects of his short-lived captivity still lingered in his mind, randomly throwing him to little fits of panic. He understood that it was natural and normal, even for his insane family of vigilantes and ex-assassins-in-training, but it always bugged him.

He could hardly stand any sort of sharp clicking anymore. He discovered that the hard way after he was helping Dick looking over a case and he had been idly fiddling with a retractable pen. He had been putting it back together after dismantling it when there was a strong pressure on his neck and the pen’s clicks grew louder. On hindsight, he felt rather foolish for accidentally triggering himself, but at least he knew that now and avoided all computers and clicking stationaries.

In the privacy of his bedroom, he allowed himself a soft whimper, trying to will himself back to sleep yet attempting to stay away from it with equal measure. He was exhausted, but he was tired of nightmares. At the most, if he got tired in the morning, he'll get a nap once the storm blows over. Maybe Damian would be generous enough to be a pillow.

Thunder split the tapping at his window and he jumped, burrowing further into his thick blanket. His chest was throbbing horribly and the injuries littering his arms were aching. His still-kind-of-broken fingers screamed from where he was clutching at the sheets, but he didn't let up his tight grip.

His neck hadn't yet healed. It probably had suffered the worst damage, along with his throat. The collar had left burns from where the metal had charged volts straight onto his skin and his trachea had been mangled after suffering repeated strangling pressure. It wasn't as bad now, but Alfred had insisted to leave it bandage-wrapped to help the healing process. No one mentioned the fact that it also deterred Jason from accidentally clawing at the burns and scratches, be it during his nightmares, panic attacks or absentmindedly. He didn't quite appreciate having something around his neck, but he understood the benefits.

His sight was blurring slightly and he hoped that it was sleep finally coming to take him again. Until he realised that it was just his breathing running out of control. Air was shallowly entering his lungs at a quick pace, his neck turning fiery.

He squeezed his eyes shut and slowly worked himself back from near-hyperventilation. The noise outside was really starting to get into him. He doubted he could get any sleep right now. Especially not a decent one.

With his mind made up, he gathered his large, fluffy blanket more firmly around himself and shuffled out of bed. He gingerly rested his weight onto his injured ankle before slowly making his way to the door and out into the corridor, a headache slowly brewing the longer he stayed up. After a short pause at the top of the stairs to catch his breath and right his tilting vision, he carefully limped down and crossed multiple winding hallways before finally reaching the kitchen. Which was, unfortunately, occupied.

His headache was reaching a brain-pinching level and he had been too focused on not tripping over his blanket and his own feet that he didn't realise the other person, jumping when a deep voice greeted him.

"Jason? Are you supposed to be up?"

Jason blinked at the hazy figure approaching him. "Bruce? When did you get back?" As far as he was aware, Bruce was supposed to be on an outer space mission with Justice League and wasn't due back until a few days. Maybe Jason was actually asleep and dreaming.

He let Bruce push him onto one of the stools at the kitchen island. Bruce took a seat right beside him before answering, "Just over an hour ago. What are you doing up this late?"

Jason scowled, realising that he probably looked a little pathetic, childishly wrapping himself in his fluffy blanket. "'m not a kid." His throat decided now to remind him that talking was still not a wise thing to do. "'s'not like it is that late either."

"It is four in the morning and you are injured. You're not shouldn't walk around with a sprained ankle."

Just because that was true, didn't mean that Jason would agree, even if his leg did. "That was days back. Besides, it is not like you can judge how badly I'm hurt and what I can and not do just by staring at me for-"

"I read the reports, Jay. Damian told me what happened last week which is why I came back early."

"At least I'm not stupid enough to fling myself back onto the streets." Jason rolled his eyes, huffing as he leaned against the counter. He tried to ignore the blooming warmth bubbling inside him at the thought of Bruce coming back from space just because he was hurt. "I'm fine and old enough to take care of myself, old man."

Bruce's lips were pressed into an unhappy line but he let the silence reign over them. Jason had forgotten why had he thought going downstairs it was a good idea, regretting it now that his head and leg were throbbing.

Just as he was weighing the pros and cons of getting up to make himself tea, Bruce spoke up.

"Is there any reason why you decided to come down to the kitchen?"

Too tired to make up a lie or to deflect, Jason mumbled as he tried to make himself comfortable with his head on the counter top, legs tucked under himself and the blanket firmly covering him. "Couldn't sleep." The marble tile was cool against his forehead and he closed his eyes, burying his nose into his soft blanket.

He didn't see Bruce coming closer, but fingers were running lightly through his hair. While they were nice, it also meant that the man definitely noticed the supressed jump when a loud thunder cracked and rumbled. The sound made him aware of the noise again, the insistent pattering of rain drops.

The blanket around him shifted slightly before Bruce said, "C'mon. Let's get somewhere more comfortable."

Jason didn't quite feel like moving, finally finding a position comfortable enough that his ribs wouldn't protest, his back wouldn't hurt and he wouldn't fall off the small stool, so he stayed put. But the decision was made for him when he was ripped away from the counter. He blinked in surprise, taking a while to realise that Bruce was lifting him up before leaving the kitchen.

He wriggled in Bruce's arms. "Bruce, put me down. I'm an adult and heavier than you are. You don't get to carry me."

Bruce only held tighter the more Jason struggled. "Well maybe I don't get to carry you, but you get to be carried and seeing as I am the only one around..." Bruce was obviously hiding a teasing smile.

Jason huffed, resigned to the relative comfort, and closed his eyes. Just as he thought sleep might come to him, another lightning split the darkness of the hallway as thunder shook the windows they passed. He pressed his head into Bruce shoulder, heart running loud in his ears. Dirt was tacky on his tongue and bandages around his neck felt suffocating. His chest ached worse with the effort to keep his breathing even and his head was spinning. His fingers reached up to assure himself that the thing strangling him wasn't metal.

Something squeezing his shoulder startled him. It was Bruce's hand rubbing and lightly patting, the angle awkward from where it crept up from under Jason's shoulder. He felt momentarily embarrassed at the thought of Bruce noticing his spiralling panic but the feeling was gone when the thundering outside kicked up again.

"How was space?" He probably shouldn't be making small talk with his sore throat, but he really wanted something to overlap the storm.

Bruce must have caught up on that as he started talking. A lot for a man whose native languages were incoherent grunts and growls. "It wasn't really eventful. I don't really see why I was brought along since it was a negotiation mission and the Lanterns and Clark could have handled that on their own, but I assumed that they wanted me for the budget handling."

As Bruce went on about funding and budgets, Jason closed his eyes, paying little attention to the words but wholly to the voice and tone. He never thought he'd ever willingly listen to Bruce drone on about finances of all things, yet here he was feeling comforted by it.

By the time Bruce stopped, Jason was already in a half-asleep daze. He felt himself getting lowered and blinked slowly to take in his surroundings. It was darker now, but the blurry silhouette of Bruce pulled him back from any rising fear. The sound of the storm was also gone. Where were they?

His blanket was pulled away from his loosening grip and he was about to protest when it was adjusted to properly drape over him. "Where're we?" he mumbled. The surface under him didn't feel like a bed so it couldn't be his or Bruce's room. And the place lacked any windows. Not to mention that it had to be deep enough in the manor to block out the noise of thunder.

"Theatre room." Bruce was hovering somewhere in front of him, fingers running through his hair.

"Oh." That made sense. The theatre room was designed to be relatively soundproof.

His eyes were slipping close when a kiss was pressed to his forehead. Call it placebo, but he felt his headache starting to clear away from that one gesture. He let out a contented sigh, melting into the figurative warmth around him.

"Sleep, chum. I'll be right here." Bruce shifted closer, pulling off what felt like a makeshift hug while still keeping his carding fingers as he started humming a tune.

Jason heard himself mumbling something in response as he pressed into Bruce's shoulder, eyes closing and breaths evening out.

[moony-meadow]

Going for Goldie (6)

Pt. 1 / Pt. 2 / Pt. 3 / Pt. 4 / Pt. 5

After Beelzebub departed, Mammon and I were once again alone together. The white-haired demon had resumed his place on the sofa, only now he was laid out on it with his back propped up against the armrest. This left me inside his stomach at a kind of incline. I’d taken to leaning against the back wall and was taking advantage of the surprisingly relaxing warmth the fleshy surface provided.

“I can’t believe I’m going to be stuck in here for hours,” I moaned, flopping my arm over my face dramatically. “So much for having a midnight snack.” It wasn’t uncommon for Beel and I to run into each other at the kitchen in the middle of the night. We both seemed to have a habit of craving late night treats.

“Well,” I felt Mammon’s hand plop down onto his stomach, causing a small tremor around me, “I could always swallow somethin’ for ya to eat.”

My face instantly formed into a grimace. “Don’t be disgusting, Mammon,” I chided. The idea of eating someone’s second hand food was positively repulsive. Though I knew the demon was joking, I still didn’t appreciate the crude commentary. A chuckle rumbled around me, but otherwise Mammon said nothing more.

“You know, I think since this turned out to be a lot more than a quick trip into your stomach, that you owe me Goldie privileges for at least three days,” I stated. Had I not already committed myself to helping Mammon keep his credit card from Lucifer, I might have abandoned the whole thing as soon as things got complicated. But, if I gave up now and made Mammon cough me up, then the whole thing might end up being for nothing.

A strangled noise of outrage came from Mammon. “Three days?! Ya gotta be kiddin’ me!” The stomach walls all pressed in around me slightly, I could only assume as a result of Mammon clenching his hand around his middle. “I--I’ll give ya two days, but that’s it!” he exclaimed after my lack of response displayed how serious I was about the matter.

“Fine, but you also have to take me out to dinner some night,” I declared.

Mammon unclenched his hand from around his stomach, but I could tell that he’d now tensed up all over. “Wha? You can’t be--pfft, like the Great Mammon would ever be caught goin’ out to dinner with a--with a human,'' he stammered. I had to stifle a giggle, I could just tell his face had become all blushy.

It was a pretty common occurrence that whenever I took part in some playful flirting with the Avatar of Greed, his face would heat up while he stuttered out insistences that he had no interest in humans. I knew it was just one of his defense mechanisms, so I had stopped taking offense to it a long time ago.

“It can be lunch if you prefer,” I replied, feigning ignorance.

“Huh? No--I’m only havin’ a meal with you if you’re the main course,'' Mammon finished the sentence proudly.

I rolled my eyes. “This is the last time I’m ever going to be in your stomach.” While I felt pretty sure of my own statement, there was a part of me that wondered if I really would be able to avoid being eaten again. Yesterday I would have said I would never let a demon eat me under any circumstances, and yet here I was sitting in the belly of the beast.

The pressure at the front of the stomach returned as Mammon rested both his hands on top of it. “Well ya better not end up in any other demon’s stomach,” he warned, a hint of possessiveness in his voice. “You are my human, after all.”

Being the Avatar of Greed, it wasn’t surprising to me that Mammon tended to be overprotective of his belongings. However, I never would have guessed I would be considered among those belongings. His possessiveness over me wasn’t only in regards to me being eaten, he had also expressed jealousy when his brothers tried to get a little too close to me. In a way, it was kind of endearing. Although, I always made a point to make it clear that I was not an object to be owned.

“I’m your friend,” I corrected smoothly, “and you don’t have to worry about anyone else eating me, at least not with my permission anyway.”

Mammon was silent, and for a moment I wondered if I’d made him upset in some way. But then his hand began to slowly and gently rub his stomach. I smiled softly and leaned forward to pat the outermost wall in response. The guy wasn’t the best at accepting compliments or genuine displays of affection, but he had his own little ways of showing his appreciation.

“Hey, Y/N?” Mammon spoke up, now idly trailing a finger over his stomach. “You’re not...I dunno, scared of me or nothin’, are ya?”

My eyebrows lifted in surprise. The genuine concern in the demon’s voice threw me off guard. He usually made an effort to try to convince people that he was an incredibly powerful demon that ought to be feared. And while his brothers often treated him as though he were weak, I knew better. Mammon was the second eldest of the seven Avatars, and therefore the second most powerful. However, the thing with Mammon was that the guy pretty much never flexed that power. For whatever reason, even when his little brothers smacked him around or called him names, Mammon never lashed out.

As a result of all that, it was easy for me to sometimes forget that I hung out with a potentially deadly demon on the daily. Of course, when Mammon had shrunk me I’d been reminded of that latent fear. However, I wasn’t about to tell him that. I didn’t know how he’d react to the knowledge that my natural instincts insisted I be wary of demons like him (especially when they were giant sized), but I certainly didn’t want him getting the impression that I was some scared little thing. Besides, logically I knew Mammon could (mostly) be trusted. Plus, having a pact with him meant I could stop him if he ever were to do something that really freaked me out.

“Oh please,” I dismissed. “It would take a lot more than an overgrown demon to scare me.”

“Hmmm,” Mammon hummed thoughtfully. “Maybe next time I should eat ya in my demon form, that might really give ya a fright.”

The joking tone of his voice was obvious, but I still sent a kick into the nearest wall in retaliation for the comment. “How many times do I have to tell you there won’t be a next time?” I huffed.

“Is it really so bad in there?” the demon inquired, once again prodding at the outside of his stomach.

I took a moment to assess my surroundings. It was just as pitch black as ever so I could only imagine what everything actually looked like. Surprisingly there was no foul odor, the stomach acid that was pooled at the bottom didn’t seem to have a scent to it. The temperature was a bit warmer than I’d prefer, but it was thankfully tolerable. And while the squishy stomach walls still kind of grossed me out, I had gotten pretty used to them already.

Being in the stomach itself wasn’t terrible, really it was the mere fact that I was in someone else’s stomach that I disliked so much. It was a matter of pride. Being in the Devildom, it was very important that I keep my head held high. Showing weakness would just encourage potential enemies to target me.

“It’s...well it’s not exactly the Ritz,” I responded, unsure of how exactly to explain it to Mammon. “I have no idea how I’m supposed to sleep in here either.” I couldn’t deny that it wasn’t entirely uncomfortable, but I wasn’t really sure if I’d be able to fall asleep with the knowledge that I was literally inside someone’s stomach.

As if on cue, Mammon gave a yawn that caused everything around me to tighten for a moment before loosening once again as he exhaled. “Well, let’s test it out,” he announced. That was the only warning I got before Mammon sat up and got to his feet.

With Goldie safely tucked away in a pocket, I was able to easily brace myself against the walls with both hands. I felt quite secure--that is until the floor suddenly became a wall and one of the walls I’d been holding onto suddenly became the floor. “I suppose I should have seen that coming,” I thought to myself.

After a few moments of shifting as Mammon got situated, everything around me finally settled and I was able to get myself comfortable. It wasn’t like there was a ton of room to spread out, but it was plenty of space for me to lay flat. The stomach acid had seemed to dissipate shortly after Mammon had laid down, as if his body had finally caught on that I wasn’t going to be digested so it had no business sticking around.

“Comfy?” the demon asked as he went back to gently rubbing his stomach in a circular motion.

I snorted. “About as comfortable as someone can get in a stomach.”

“Good,” Mammon replied cheerfully, unphased by my grumpy tone.

“You better not roll onto your stomach,” I warned. While I figured the action wouldn’t necessarily hurt me, I doubted it would be comfortable being squished by the entirety of the giant demon’s bodyweight.

A chuckle echoed around me. “Don’t worry, I’m not much of a stomach sleeper,” Mammon promised.

With nothing else much to say, and exhaustion beginning to heavily set in, I said, “Okay...then goodnight, I guess.”

“G’night, Y/N.”

In a matter of minutes I could tell Mammon had already fallen asleep. His breathing was slow and even and his heartrate had dropped to a resting level. Honestly, the natural ambience of his body was kind of relaxing. The up and down motion his breaths caused almost made me feel like I was on a gently floating boat. It didn’t take much longer for me to drift effortlessly into a deep sleep.

The next morning, as soon as Mammon and I woke up, I demanded he quickly get me out and unshrink me. My urgency was in large part spurred by the fact that my bladder was absolutely screaming at me after having not been emptied in so long. I didn’t even get the chance to relish my return to normal size before I darted out to the bathroom, but not before ordering Mammon never to tell another soul about the previous night’s events.

After dumping everything I’d been wearing into the wash, taking an hour and a half long shower, and then absolutely stuffing myself during breakfast, I actually felt back to normal. Of course, I wasn’t about to forget the experience of being eaten anytime soon. And something told me Mammon wouldn’t either.

[need-a-fugue]

Trustworthy (Chapter 6)

Summary: You’ve spent the last three years teaming up with Santiago Garcia on every mission you had a hand in coordinating… and the past several months plotting with him to take down the biggest bad to hit your radar. But even all your time at the DEA and all your experience in the field couldn’t have prepared you for this.

Pairing: Frankie “Catfish” Morales x Fem!Reader (slow burn)

Warnings: language and just plain being miserable

It’s cold and wet and fucking miserable.

Your day so far… wake at the ass crack of dawn to a jerking, sputtering, clearly about to go down helicopter. Get – essentially – tossed from said helicopter into the midst of a bunch coca farmers out in an Andean valley. Become an accomplice in the unwarranted deaths of a few said coca farmers. Mill about the tiny community – wary eyes watching your every movement – as Santiago trades money for those lives… and for a handful of donkeys. Or mules, or whatever the fuck they are. Load up said donkeys with millions of dollars – certainly the type of cargo these poor animals are used to carrying – and head off into the jungle. With a sprained ankle. And a probable concussion. And – you realize just as that familiar ache begins to set into your hip – a shit ton of rain headed your way.

You’d lost track of how far precisely you’d gone, how many miles you’d traversed through this treacherous environment. And you refuse to ask, afraid that it’ll be just a fraction of how far you feel it’s been. By the time the sun descends and everyone hunkers down beneath a cluster of heavily rooted trees – just enough of an overhang to provide a bit of shelter from the once-again assaulting rain – it feels like you’ve all piled four damn marathons one on top of the other. But looking around at the thick foliage around you, noting the relatively small trail tamped down by your group as you climbed and trampled and fought your way up and out of that valley, it’s very clearly been closer to the length of a 5K fun run. Minus the fun. And the free T-shirt.

You let out a ragged, rather dramatic harrumph, the sheer annoyance at your predicament currently outweighing any fear or discomfort. But the discomfort is there none the less, every single nerve ending either on fire or vibrating from the utterly depleting fatigue that this day has caused.

Benny scoots closer to your side, tucking you back behind his shoulder just as you let loose with another full-body tremble. The action pins you even tighter to the wall of roots and mud and bark behind you, and to Frankie, who flanks your right side. “This fucking sucks,” you mutter, the final word coming out in an odd shuddering trill as the chill works its way out of your body.

“Yeah,” Ben breathes out with a soft chuckle before leaning back with an exhausted sigh. “Well, we’re dancing with the devil now.”

“Dancing?” Frankie returns, causing your tired gaze to swivel his way. “We were dancing when we got on the plane to come down here. I’d call this full intercourse.”

You all release a threadbare laugh, little more than a trickle of amused breaths being about all anyone has the energy to emit. Your arms wraps tighter around your core as you tuck yourself a bit deeper into Benny’s side, your eyes still trained on the man to your right. “Let’s just pray this is a one-night stand,” you smart, lips pulling into a sly smile the moment Frankie turns your way.

It takes a moment for his face to falter, the pained set to his features slowly melting into something just a little bit more relaxed as he snorts out an amused breath of his own. He gazes down at you, watches as you lean further back, burrowing even more into Ben’s warmth. He stares deeply, his dark brown eyes cutting through the onslaught of rain that continuously dribbles from the brim of his hat. “How’s your ankle?” he says finally. And the question catches you entirely off-guard. Not because it’s so strange or unwarranted, but because you’re certain that whatever thoughts and questions were just tumbling through his head, that rather benign inquiry wasn’t among of them.

You offer a small shrug. “S’fine,” you lie, biting the corner of your lip as the twisted appendage continues to throb. “Not like I got shot or anything,” you say as you lean forward and peer around Benny, trying to catch a glimpse of Will through the heavy rain and dark surroundings. “How ‘bout you, Ironmaiden? You still with us?”

You hear a short snicker from the man – and from Ben too – just before a deep rumble of, “Not dead yet,” cuts through the impending night. His face remains hidden in the dark, but you’re convinced that a hint of a smile flitted over it at the very least, and that’s enough to make you feel like a good deed’s been done.

But when you look back at Frankie, his shoulders heavily slumped as he leans away from the relative shelter of the trees, out into the pounding rain, you feel that tiniest hit of triumph swiftly uncoil and fade away. “Hey,” you bark out at him, nudging him with your foot as you lean back once more. “You’re gonna freeze out there.”

His lips tug up at the corners, but the small, closed-mouth smile never reaches his eyes. He makes no move to duck back beneath the leafy canopy, instead turning away and letting out a long, deep sigh. You nudge him again, saying nothing, but raising a questioning brow when his gaze connects with yours. “Pretty fucked up,” he mutters blandly before dropping his head again to stare down at the wet earth beneath his boots.

“Yeah,” Ben agrees beside you. “Pretty fucked up.” He uses his shoulder to jostle you a bit, get you to sit up and turn towards him. He holds up a giant, ripe mango, giving a little nod in place of an order to take it.

“Thanks,” you say, plucking it from his grasp. He merely nods again, this time a silent no problem, before shifting to present another to his brother. You look back at Frankie, his broad shoulders still slumped, now thoroughly soaked as well. “Hey,” you begin, the word coming out more as a pained grunt as you reposition yourself and fold the twisted ankle up beneath you.

His eyes fly up, wide and worried at the hurt in your voice. But the last you thing you want is for him to feel even worse than he obviously does right now. So again, you brush off the pain, shaking your head and rolling your eyes at the unasked are you okay? emanating from his stare.

“A little help?” you ask, holding the mango out to him. He reaches for it with a look of confusion. “My hands are so cold, fingers are numb,” you state with a shrug just before leaning forward and capturing his arm. Before he has the chance to even register what you’re doing, you’ve already wrapped yourself around him, tugging him with the only remaining energy that you have back beneath the tree’s canopy.

He lets out a little groan in protest, but appeases you all the same, scooting back until he’s flush with the wall of roots behind you. “You could just bite into it,” he mumbles as he settles back and uses his thumbs to break into the fruit.

“Mmm,” you hum out, no real response at all. His left arm is still held tight in your grasp, your cold – though not actually entirely numb as you had led him to believe – fingers pressing into his bicep, gliding along the soaked-through fabric of his windbreaker. You scoot closer to his side, still feeling Benny at your back, but now craving the heat being put off by the man in your hold instead.

“Here,” he breathes out, handing you a mangled chunk of mango.

The smallest titter of a laugh blows past your lips as you accept it and drop your heavy head down to his shoulder. “Don’t you have a knife?” you ask before shoving the food into your mouth.

He stills in your grasp. “Huh,” coming out of him in a surprised sort of grunt. He moves the mutilated, dripping fruit up to his lips, licking at the juice before tearing into a hunk of orange meat with his teeth. He shakes his left arm free from your clutches and deftly wraps it around you to tug you close, all without ever disturbing your cheek’s perch atop his shoulder. His wide open palm slips down to your hip and presses its warmth right over the dull ache of that damn old injury, and the deep tenor of his voice resounds in your ears as he says simply – mouth still full – “didn’t think of that.”

000

The sun rises somewhere around your second or third hour of hiking. You think. The burner phone you’d brought along had long since gone dead, and it’s been ten years or so since you’ve worn an actual watch. But it certainly felt like two to three hours went by from the time Santi roused you from your shivering near-sleep and the ominous birth of a new day.

Thick mist and fog gathers round, clinging to the ground, the trees, obscuring the way and growing heavier the higher into the mountains you climb. You take to doing rollcall every fifteen minutes or so, each calling in turn to the person behind, making sure that no one’s been lost to the surrounding haze.

You lose all sense of time, not even realizing how long it must’ve taken to get to the terrifying and precarious footpath cut into the side of the mountain until you look up to see that the sun is now high in the sky, closer to its journey down than up. The fog had just begun to abate as you all reached the narrow trail, and while that was very clearly a good thing – because if ever there was a time when you needed to see exactly where your feet were stepping, this was it – a part of you cursed the cloud for lifting and allowing an unobscured visual of all that lay below.

You can’t help it. With every step you take, your eyes veer from the placement of your feet along the narrow, rocky trail over to the steep drop off and then out to the endless acreage of mountainside and jungle below. Every step. Every plodding, breathless, horrifying step. And to make matters worse, to ratchet your heartrate and blood pressure just that much higher, the children in front of you have chosen this time to begin petulantly arguing and hurling accusations.

You roll your eyes and try to tune out the thinly veiled allegations and insults being tossed back and forth, each man’s voice carrying a different shade of I’m tired and hurt and hungry and I need a damn nap.

It was really only a matter of time, you figured, before the grumpiness managed to overflow into conflict. That’s just what happens when people – men in particular – go without rest for this long, carrying the burden of survival on their backs for endless hours of drudgery. Sure, you’d hoped it wouldn’t come to this… if anyone could find their way through unparalleled stressors without cracking, it’d surely be a team of elite special ops guys. But, then again, these men were all retired. They had real lives that they’d left just to get sucked into this shit. They had families and jobs and car payments waiting for them back home. And they’d been under the mistaken impression that they’d be able to get back to them all in just a handful of days. A week, max.

Also, one of them had been shot… and everyone else harbored at least some injury from that helicopter crash that you still hadn’t been able to fully mentally process. So, sure, it makes sense that they’d eventually devolve into juvenile bickering. But did they have to do it on the side of a fucking mountain?

You stop short, a small gasp of surprise shooting from your lungs as you nearly faceplant into a donkey’s ass, Will and Ben both having come to a sudden halt in front of you. “The fuck” you nearly shriek, but neither of the men so much as toss a glance your way. You peer around the animal in front of you and glare at Will, tired eyes burning into the side of his skull. “Fucking move!”

He turns then, shooting you a confused look, taken aback, it seems, by your sudden irritation. As though this moment of impatient annoyance should be reserved for just him and his brother. But before you can say another word, before he’s able to come to the obvious realization – that there are other people in this world! – on his own, his stare veers, eyes blowing wide as they lock onto something behind you.

A crunch of rocks, a shuffling sputter of movement, a terrified scream blossoming from the mouth of the donkey in the rear. By the time you’re able to maneuver yourself around to see to what’s happening, all that’s left is a cloud of cash slowly trailing behind the fallen animal, and a stricken Frankie cemented up against the side of the mountain. You catch his horrified gaze, hold it for a moment before finding the words, “Are you okay?”

He gives a weak nod as he pulls himself upright, slowly making his way behind your – now nervous-as-hell – donkey. Ahead of you, the arguing has intensified, though what’s being said, you can’t quite glean. And you don’t honestly care. Frankie pushes past, giving your shoulder a reassuring squeeze on his way, and finally makes it to the front of the group where he directs everyone to keep moving… convinces them, somehow to let go of whatever the hell it is that they’re bitching about.

Had to get all the money…

Fucking Lorea…

Just move, damn it!

That’s about all you manage to get from their conversation. It’s all you care to get. Blame, accusations, words in general, none of that matters right now. Frankly, the sudden loss of a donkey and millions of dollars doesn’t matter to you right now. Nothing matters right now except continuing to put one foot in front of the other for however long you have to do it… however long it takes until you reach a place where you can collapse into the exhausted, pained heap of a being that you are and simply sleep.

Taglist:

@tweedlydumbtweedlydoo @icanbeyourjedi @greeneyedblondie44 @mrscrain-x7 @kyjoraven@elephants-are-a-thing @nakhudanyx @thirsty-flygirl @leannawithacapitala

[dustofbrokenheart]

The Lost Boys: Promised Prize

Dwayne x Reader

Word Count: 1,768

Summary: After final exams are over, Dwayne makes good on the reward that you guys worked out. 

A siren blared as a police car zoomed by your building, waking you from your impromptu sleep. Where the sun had previously forced its way through the gaps in the blinds, nocturnal darkness had completely taken over and doused everything in shadow. You stretched leisurely on top of the sheets, giving your eyes time to adjust as shapes blurred into focus.

Propping yourself up on your forearms you reached for your alarm clock, the glowing red numbers flashing 10:14 pm.

Well then.

It appeared that you had literally slept half of the day away and then some. You blamed it on your body’s post-finals bid to finally catch up on the sleep that you had been depriving yourself of for the past two weeks.

You also hadn’t seen much of your boyfriend during that period, although that wasn’t by your choice. When he found out how busy you were with finals prep he basically disappeared which was his way of giving you space so you could be productive. He didn’t even talk with you about it, he just straight up stopped coming to your apartment. 

It was a good thing you knew him as well as you did otherwise you might’ve taken his ghosting to mean something else entirely and you told him as much when you finally saw him over the weekend.  

You went down the hall, switching on lights as you walked by on your way to the kitchen. A cool glass of water from the fridge always hit the spot after waking up. The water was extremely refreshing and several large gulps followed the first.

You took the water bottle with you so you could continue sipping from it while you went outside to get your mail. The small metal door creaked open and you juggled everything in your hands you flipped through the stack of envelops and inserts.

Junk. Pizza coupon. Bill. Bill—oh! Something from the college!

Unable to wait until you were inside, you tore open the envelope with shaky fingers. The paper unfolded and you scanned over the typed font with nervous determination.

You lowered the grade report in shock. Did you read that correctly?

You held it up again and, sure enough, the verdict was the same—you aced all of your final exams! And in doing that, your semester grade point average was high enough to make the Dean’s list.

The whole apartment complex was treated to your victorious banshee yell as it echoed off the concrete and glass of the apartment complex. Even some of the wildlife scattered.

High with endorphins, you scurried back to your apartment, laying the paper smack dab on the center of the kitchen table. There was another person who needed to see it as well.

The sun had been set for a few hours, plenty of time to find a first meal of the night, which meant that he would be dropping by at any time.

You found it impossible to sit since you were still feeling the excitement so rather than sit around and wait for him, you decided to channel the energy into something productive.

Cabinet doors were opened and closed as you took out different ingredients that were all thrown into a mixing bowl and kneaded together with your bare hands. Some of the mix stuck under your fingernails but you were more than happy to suck it off your fingers.

Separating the tan dough into small balls you carefully placed them on a cookie sheet and stuck it into the oven. Ten minutes later and they were out, cooling on the counter.

Dwayne still hadn’t arrived even after your cookie quest. You blew a couple of strands of hair away from your face. Time to do some dishes.

You slipped a Ratt cassette into your boombox, cranked it, and got to scrubbing. In the middle of cleaning the tines on a fork, you heard him enter.

He was bent over, taking off his shoes when you met him by the door.

He stood up and leaned in for a sweet kiss, but you stopped him to wipe some stray blood droplets off of his lips before you allowed it.

“Come on, there’s something I wanna show you,” you insisted, pulling him to the kitchen.

He sniffed the air.

“Peanut butter?” he asked hopefully.

“Yep. Sit down and I’ll bring you some.”

He sat down obediently and you knew he wouldn’t be able to resist reading the only readable thing in front of him. While you took your time with the cookies, you watched him out of the corner of your eye and saw the exact moment he took the bait.

He slid the paper closer with his pointer finger and read it silently. Even when he faced you there was no discernable reaction that most people would’ve noticed, however, you weren’t most people. The warmth in his brown eyes and the slight softening of his mouth were very clear to you.

“I aced everything,” you boasted, setting the plate pile of cookies in front of him.

“And the Dean’s list,” he added.

You were touched that he remembered that bit and gently scratched his scalp which had him rolling his head in a feline manner. “That means I get my reward too.”

He reached out and stroked the outer rim of your ear. “A promise is a promise. Wanna do it now?”

Back when you were stressing out all the tests and essays, and before Dwayne ghosted, he promised to give you a gift to keep you motivated. Anything you wanted. You told him you wanted a piercing done midway up your ear after seeing some people at school with them and he promised to do it for you.

You swiftly nodded. You really wanted the piercing.

Without another word, he shoved two peanut butter cookies into his mouth for safekeeping and tugged his shoes on. For being as old as he was, his inner child was always near the surface and you loved that about him. Most of the time.

“Heathen,” you razzed as you playfully hip checked him out of the way so you could grab your silver boots.

Opting not to retaliate, he merely winked and ushered you out the door, cookies still in his mouth.

The drive to the cave was short and uneventful. A benefit to the apartment being closer to the bluffs than it was the pier or the boardwalk. Dwayne expertly guided you down the rickety, wooden stairs and to the mouth of the cave.

Earlier in the relationship he always offered to fly you down so you didn’t have to use the stairs, but he respected the decision to do it yourself unless you were too tired or tipsy, in which case he made the final decision.

He prowled around the cave, grabbing supplied from seemingly random spots. “Do you still want it on the cartilage?”

You told him yes and sat on the cool edge of the fountain, noting how quiet it was with just the two of you here.

“What’s the rest of the crew up to?”

“I left the boys on the beach and Star wanted some more stuff for her bed. It’s not even midnight so they’ll be gone for a while yet.”

“I need to hang out with her more now that classes are done for now,” you said resting your chin on the tops of your knees.

“She’d appreciate any company that isn’t us at this point.”

You remembered the blood he had on his lips earlier. And the crumbs he left on them after eating the cookies. “I can’t imagine why...”

He plopped down next to you on the fountain and spread everything out, handing you a box full of earrings so you could pick one out.

“Fingers crossed you guys didn’t rip these off of your meals.”

Dwayne chose not to say anything, preferring to watch your squirm at the thought.

You did have to admit that there was quite a nice selection to pick from, no matter the source. There were shiny studs, pieces with all manner of materials dangling from them, and delicate hoops both decorated and plain. But a small, snug silver hoop with a pearl-colored sphere attached caught your interest.

Dwayne noticed and started rubbing your ear with alcohol to disinfect the area. Then he held the piercing needle over a small candle flame to sterilize it. Star had taught them a lot about piercing procedure and etiquette; not wanting to jeopardize your mortal health, he put her words to use.

Needle ready, he swung around with one of his legs resting in your lap.

“For grabbing onto if it hurts,” he offered and you settled your hands onto his jean-clad thigh. The needle was poised against the cartilage midway up your ear and you couldn’t help it when your heartrate sped up. 

The last time you had your ears pierced you were a little kid and you couldn’t remember the pain. You hoped this new one wouldn’t be too unbearable.

He nudged you gently to see if you were good to continue.

“I’m good. And you’d better not hit a nerve and paralyze me cause then I’ll have to beat you up.”

Were there any nerves to hit in that part of your ear? You weren’t sure but it came out of your mouth last minute.

“Good luck punching if you’re paralyzed,” he smirked punching the needle through the flesh as he spoke. He had a bottle cork pressed on the back of your ear so that the needle didn’t stab into your neck when it came out on the other side.

Your lids slammed shut and your finger nails dug into his leg. It wasn’t the worst you could imagine but it was still a sharp, noticeable pain.

Dwayne was quick with it removing the needle and dropping the cork in order to work the earring through the freshly made hole. He clicked the earring closed and gave the area one last wipe down with a water soaked q-tip.

“Well? How do I look?” You were impatient and he wasn’t moving fast enough for you. 

He held up a mirror so you could see it. You weren’t sure how he conjured it since none of the vamps in the cave used them, but you were more interested in seeing at your ear at the moment.

You gasped as you turned this way and that to admire it.

“I love it, Dwayne!” You peppered him with kisses.

Dwayne looked at you with evident pride. Pride in your smartness, pride in how you handled the pain, pride in the way the piercing turned out.

Beautiful, he thought.

_______________

Congrats to everyone that’s finished with finals and good luck to those who are still working through exams. Thanks so much for reading! 

[andveryginger]

Fictober Day One: “Elephant in the Room” (1/1)

Title:   “Elephant in the Room”

Prompt:   1. “I need you.”

Fandom:   Marvel Cinematic Universe/Multiverse (Clint/Tasha AU)

Rating:   Teen

Warnings/Tags:   Language!

Notes:   Real life sucks. But hey... it got done. Something of a follow-on to my MCU Ladies Fanwork Exchange piece, “By Example,” written in 2016... what seems like a century ago. In it, Tasha is wounded during exfil, following an operation that wasn’t quite as expected. The original story focusses on Maria Hill/Steve Rogers, but this snippet shifts the focus back to our favorite SHIELD spies. Decidedly AU at this point, and written with the idea that maybe the multiverse can fix it.

Posted without beta, and after months without writing fic; essays and non-fiction don’t flex quite the same muscles. Apologies if it’s a bit rough around the edges.

*****

“I need you.” Natasha Romanov heard the strained whisper, felt the familiar presence somewhere off to her right.  She felt weightless, floating in darkness, yet somehow aware of the coarse texture of the medical ward sheets beneath her fingers. To her left, her heartbeat echoed through the telemetry monitor, the steady rhythm fluttering slightly. Exhaustion, pain, and no small amount of medication weighed heavily on her, pressing her back into the thin mattress, discouraging any attempt to move, to acknowledge the whisper at her right.

“I know we don’t…talk… about stuff like this, but…” There was the rustle of clothes, and, even in her limbo state, Tasha could almost see Clint Barton rub his hand over his face. His voice was quiet, low, reflective, barely audible over the hiss of the oxygen. “We’re the normal ones – no armor, no invulnerability, no super strength – and we just go charging in. We don’t stop, don’t think too hard about what we’re getting into; we just do. ‘Cause it needs to be done, and it’s what we’ve always done. But now…�� He paused, taking a breath and forcing it out in an audible exhale. “When you climbed back into the ‘jet today, I felt that good ol’ adrenaline rush: Job well done; world saved – Hell, maybe even the galaxy! I was looking forward to beer and pizza back at base, trading fish tales with Maria and Cap and, well, whoever else. But now, Tash, I’m sitting here, watching you breathe, and I… realize there’s a lot we don’t say that maybe we should. “I need you,” he continued. “I need you in my life. Not just because you’ve saved my ass more times than I can count – though that’s a damn good side benefit – but you’re my best friend. My partner in crime. We get into so much shit, and we just… understand how it affects us.” Tasha again heard him shift, his leather jacket squeaking slightly. She imagined him wedged between the wooden arms of the too-narrow bedside chair, leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. His chin was down, wide eyes lifted to study her face. There was a long moment of silence, and she could almost feel his struggle with his words and his voice. He wasn’t, as he frequently pointed out, known for his eloquence.

“Fuck.” Clint snorted, gave a sarcastic laugh. “Why is this so fucking hard to say?” There was another heavy sigh, the soft brush of his hand over his hair. His voice shifted to a low rumble as he tried a different tack. “Had a talk with Cap a little while ago – you prob’ly heard him come in,” he said. “Stark told him Maria was in the medbay, and he came all barreling down here, thinking she was on her last breath.” Another dark chuckle. “Seems our favorite meat popsicle has a bit of a thing for the boss. Hearing she might not make it made him recalculate a few things and… well, let’s just say they’re going out for coffee later this week.” “The whole thing got me thinkin’ I don’t wanna wait till it’s too late, Tash,” he said. “You’re gonna be good – Doc Cho said as much. But watching you collapse, catching you before you fell…” The marksman drew a sharp breath. “…and then talking to Cap, it made me realize I don’t wanna quit running into the line of fire, but I damn sure want you to know how much I care – fuck, how much I love you – ‘cause, in the end, maybe one of us doesn’t make it home, and I don’t want there to be any question.”

Drawing a deep breath, Tasha struggled against the heavy weight of unconsciousness. She forced her fingers to move, followed by her toes and lips. Pain gripped her side, crawling across her rib cage and back as she emerged into the dimmed lighting of the room. Her heartrate fluttered in response, echoed in the high-pitched beep of the monitor. When she finally opened her eyes, she found familiar blue-green depths watching her, glassy and sparkling at the same time. His voice was soft, gentle, and warm as he greeted her. “Hey.” Still feeling the weight of the medicines, of the fatigue, of the need to sleep while her body repaired itself, Tasha blinked sluggishly, frustrated with the lack of cooperation from her eyelids as she fought to stay awake. “Hey,” she whispered in response. Relief and affection filtered into his gaze, emotions she allowed to reflect in her own. Abruptly, however, his attention dropped to his palm. Tasha frowned, confused for the instant it took to follow the shift. Then recognition settled: A small, silver arrow pendant and chain lay in the palm of his hand. Her necklace – the one he had given her. It had apparently broken in the fight and fallen off confusion of the extraction.

She licked her lips, drawing her attention up toward the mass of unruly hair atop his head. Her voice was groggy, rough as she spoke. “There’s no question, you know.”

He raised his head and looked up at her. The corner of his mouth twitched upward into a rueful smile even as a rosy tint crept over his cheeks. “So you heard everything.”

“Unconscious, not dead,” she replied. Her lips twitched. “One of the things about sharing a brain… we already know how we feel.”

“Even when we’re in denial?”

Tasha chuckled, though she immediately regretted it. “’Specially then.”

A long moment of silence followed as Clint swept his rueful and affectionate gaze over her features. Swallowing, he reached his empty hand through the railing and, pushing back the scratchy sheet and thermal blanket, clasped her own. It was warm against her chilled skin, the callouses on his palms and fingers as comforting as they were familiar. A somber tone settled over his features. “I’m done with denial,” he said. “I… can’t take it back, and, well, I don’t think I want to. Love isn’t just for kids, Tash.”

Taking a deep breath, Tasha then swallowed back the lump in her throat. She forced a smile, a teasing one, though she knew he would see through it. “That’s a heavy word, Clint.”

“I know,” he conceded. His lips thinned. “I think we both know what it really means, why we always seem to avoid it.” His gaze dropped back to the necklace. “Lots of rumors about us. Those I don’t really care about; let ‘em wonder. But… I’m in this for the long haul, Tash.”

Warmth flooded her, creeping up her neck and sweeping over her cheeks. She arched a red brow. “…’till death do us part’?” Clint nodded. Sleep tugged at her once again, and she grimaced. There was a lot more to talk about, but it seemed all else was going to have to wait. The grimace gave way to a soft, lopsided grin. Her speech was starting to slur, despite her best intentions. “If I go first, I’m haunting your ass, Barton.”

Giving a laugh, Clint pushed forward. His lips gently brushed hers, hand offering an affectionate squeeze. “Wouldn’t expect any less,” he murmured. “And you know I’d return the favor. Now… I’ll get your necklace fixed while you get some rest.”

“Not because you told me, but because I don’t seem to have a choice in the matter,” Tasha replied. She allowed the lopsided grin to widen. “Oh, hey… tell Steve thanks. Then give him Hell.”

He laughed softly, and his lips curved into his own mischievous grin. “Already on the agenda.” With one final squeeze of her hand, he dropped a kiss to her temple. He slipped from the room just as sleep reclaimed her.

[aries-rising-on-an-aquarius-tide]

Spoilers: Futility 4x22

Trigger warnings: references to sexual assault and murder, angry sex, biting, marking

Evocations: XIII

Going through the motions and the paperwork after finding Gardner dead in Erin Goss' living room seemed to take a long, long time. When Olivia finally let herself into the apartment, it was so late that Sky High didn't even budge from the sofa when the door clicked open and then softly shut.

But Alex was still up. Noises drifting out of the kitchen drew Liv in that direction, where she found the blonde amid a disastrous mess of baking supplies. Open cannisters, boxes and bags were everywhere; flour, drips of mixtures, dropped chocolate chips, and empty egg shells ran from one end of the island to the other.

Alexandra baked when she was angry.

That was fine by Olivia, as they both had plenty to be angry about. The Gardner case had been a thorn in their side right from the beginning, and now it had ended less than optimally - to say the least. A rapist was dead but dead wasn't exactly justice, and none of them really believed that Erin had been defending herself.

Luck had been on Alex and Olivia's sides in the two years they had been together, in that they hadn't gone to the mat over cases very often. It was often commented on by those who knew they were together, how unusual this was.

"He's dead," Liv said flatly.

"So I heard," Alexandra replied, hands on her hips as she blew a section of blonde hair off her forehead.

Five rapes, three indictments dismissed, now a murder, and the perpetrator was dead. They were going to the mat this time, and they both knew it. Had known it since Alex had blown up over Gardner's motion to call Bethany to the stand. Very little of it was about pride; it was about the futility of it, of all the energy expended trying to protect the women, only to have things fall apart. Both women felt impotent, everything they had tried having only resulted in further complications.

"She was sleeping with him," Liv added.

Alex snorted, wiping her hands on her apron. "Well that was obvious."

The oven timer went off, and Alex slipped on oven mitts, yanking a tray of cookies out. Sighing, Olivia slumped into one of the bar chairs at the island.

"We never should have had Carrie waive her privacy," Alex tossed out.

"So the jury could have deadlocked over the ID? It still would have given him the chance to run and kill that woman."

"That woman would still be alive if we had done our jobs!" Alex slammed a spatula against the counter, every inch of her tall body wound tight with anger and inexpressible sadness.

"We did do our jobs!"

It wasn't that Olivia didn't understand; just two nights before she had been singing the same tune to Elliot, about the fine line between doing the right thing, and doing too many right things. There was just no soft place to land when they were both feeling like this.

"I can't do this anymore," Alexandra said tersely. Liv stilled in her seat, her heartrate leaping. "It's bad enough that I never know when you're going to come home with bruises from some predator attacking you. If I can't get justice for the victims, I'm failing on both fronts."

"Alex, I can take care of myself."

"Not always."

"Most of the time," Liv insisted. Alexandra made an irritated noise in her throat and flipped pages in her cookbook angrily. "If you want to drop SVU, nobody's stopping you," Olivia told her then, taking a page from Elliot's book.

Alex scoffed openly at that.

Liv rose from her chair and rounded the corner of the island counter. "Hey, it's true! Just because you're the best ADA that the unit has ever had, doesn't mean you can't move on. But I know exactly what I signed up for - and the bottom line is, a lot of the time this job is hell. That's not going to change."

The truth of the statement hung in the air between them.

"You don't get it, do you?!" Alex snapped, stepping up to the brunette, their sparking, angry gazes meeting. "I see what this job does to you - to us - and I can't lose you. I can't."

Alex's hand grabbed Liv's forearm, fingertips biting into the skin with the force of fear and guilt and anger. Worse, though, was that Olivia did understand; she knew exactly what the pressures of their jobs was doing to their relationship. It kept her awake some nights, wondering how long they could both sustain things.

Liv put her hand over Alex's and attempted to pry the fingers away, which resulted only in Alex's other hand, locking onto her bicep and pushing her hard against the counter.

"Alex," Liv warned, but it was obvious from the blonde's stormy gaze that it wasn't going to do any good.

Alex tightened her grip so that Olivia couldn't raise her arms, and leaned in, dragging frustrated kisses along the lines of the brunette's throat. The kisses included plenty of teeth, nipping and scraping the skin, leaving red marks in their wake.

Liv struggled under the weight of Alex's body pushing her, both women breathing angrily and fast. "For fuck sake, Alex!"

The blonde sank her hands into Liv's short dark hair and pulled, dragging a hiss from her throat before she clamped a hard kiss onto her mouth. Their fear, and impotence and exhaustion with the case poured into their angry touching, ramping up with every motion.

Olivia yanked at the apron that Alex was still wearing, her hands fighting to untie the strings as Alex tried to keep her pinned. Changing tactics, Liv used her weight against her, pushing forward and away from the island altogether. They stumbled across the space between the counter and the refrigerator, crashing into the appliance and sending magnets clacking to the floor.

Grunting with surprise, Alex steadied herself and fisted the bottom of Olivia's shirt into her hands, tugging it swiftly up over Liv's head and off, shoving her backward. The brunette crashed back against the island where Alex immediately pinned her with another kiss.

Olivia bit into the blonde's bottom lip, and Alex drew back, eyes wide. "Christ!" Blood welled where teeth had cut, and when the kiss began again, Liv sucked it clean.

The apron was finally untied and, Liv's hands slid down Alexandra's back, pulling her sweater up, wrestling to get it off. When it was gone, more biting followed, over the blonde's neck and shoulders until she was slapping Olivia's hands down. Pushing her in her hold, Alex got her turned around so that she was facing the counter.

One hand slid up Liv's back, curling to a stop at her neck, holding her in place while the other hand snaked around Liv's waist to open her pants. They had never really done this - fucked out of anger, out of fear - and it felt dangerous and electric. Alex's hand manoeuvred into Olivia's pants as she struggled, and when she was met with clamped thighs, she brought her knee up to wedge between her legs from behind.

"Fuck you!" Olivia panted.

Alexandra dropped her mouth to the warm skin of Liv's back and bit her there. "That's what I'm doing," she told her evenly. Spreading Olivia open with her long fingers, Alex stroked mercilessly over the swollen clit she found there.

"Fff-agghh!" Liv cried angrily, her forehead against the cool marble of the countertop.

The blonde released her grip long enough to jerk pants and underwear down together, then sank her fingers into Olivia's hair while the other hand stroked at the dripping wet heat of her entrance from behind. Both women growled unintelligibly when Alexandra filled Liv with her fingers.

She was not gentle, nor did Olivia want her to be, as Alex pulled her head back by the hair and fucked into her hard enough to stutter her feet forward on the floor. Liv stretched her arms across the island, fingers slipping on spilled flour and other sticky ingredients.

"You're going to come for me," Alex panted, then groaned at the responding clench of Liv's cunt around her fingers.

"Fuck . . . fuck!" It seemed to be the only working word left in Olivia's vocabulary.

Come she certainly did, screaming with anger, with relief, while trying to thrust into Alex's fingers yet somehow away from them all at once. Before Liv had barely caught her breath, she spun on the tall blonde and grabbed her with both hands, planted on either side of her ribcage.

Trailing remnants of flour and sugar in their wake, Liv shoved her hands beneath the bra Alexandra had on, squeezing her breasts gracelessly, pinching her nipples hard enough to make her hiss in pain. Then Alex's mouth was on Liv's again, her arms encircled her waist and she hoisted her onto the counter.

Olivia sank another bite into the blonde's throat, her hands working to get the bra off. When she succeeded, she raked her nails down Alex's back, getting a roar of lustful anger in response. For the first moment since they'd started, Alex stepped away from her, their eyes still locked like dogs growling through a fence.

She popped the button on her pants, unzipped and shoved her pants off her hips to the floor, kicking out of them. The scratches down her back were hot and stinging as she stepped back up to Olivia and brushed her lips close to her ear.

"Fuck me," she breathed, then bit down on Liv's earlobe.

"Make me," Liv rasped out, shivering as the bite was followed by Alexandra's hot tongue.

"My pleasure." The blonde grabbed one of Liv's wrists and pulled, dragging it low and forcing the fingers to uncurl.

As soon as her fingers made contact with the damp, wiry curls between the blonde's thighs, Olivia's resistance evaporated. Her fingers straightened so Alex could guide them where she wanted them, and where Alex wanted them was deep inside her. Then Liv took over, withdrawing and then sinking her fingers back in to the hilt, over and over again.

The last of their anger and fear burned down as the sound of Liv fucking Alex filled the kitchen, not stopping until the blonde was quaking and dripping and gasping for mercy.

.

.

"Another cookie?" Alex asked quietly.

"Mm, yes please," Liv nodded against Alex's chest.

Alexandra reached across to the plate of cookies that they'd rested on the toilet cover and took one, passing it off to the slippery, wet brunette that was atop her in the hot bath.

They had been there a long while, reheating the water each time it cooled, tending to their bites and scratches, washing off flour and sugar remnants. And, of course, eating cookies.

"Lex?" Olivia mumbled, serene but tired.

"Yes?"

"I promise you won't lose me, as long as I can help it."

Alexandra took a deep breath and combed her fingers through Liv's short, wet tresses. "I know, Babe. I know."

[teenwolffanclub-me]

Season 1, Episode 12: Code Breaker

Hey there beautiful reader! If you’re new here, this is a series I’m writing where each chapter is an episode from the first season of Teen Wolf. If you’ve been here before, hey! I missed you! Previous and future chapters are linked at the end of each part if you want to catch up.

Pairing: Stiles x Psychic! Reader

Warnings: two very justified character deaths 

Notes: I feel like I blacked out and now we’re somehow on the last episode. Not sure how that happened so fast but here we are. Just prepare yourself bc this one is entirely too long but I didn’t want to do two parts 🤷‍♀️

Does anyone want me to continue with Season 2? Please let me know bc I won’t do it unless people are actually interested.

I also wanted to give a shoutout to everyone who has sent me nice comments and showed love on this series. It’s meant the absolute world to me!

Okay now let’s get some closure!

                                                    ————————

I walked through the hallways of the high school, using every ounce of willpower I could muster to keep my eyes firmly planted in front of me.

The pressure of dozens of curious stares weighed on my back as I made my way toward the lockers briskly. From the moment I walked through the doors a few minutes ago, all eyes had been on me. I squared my shoulders and forced my head to remain up high.

If people wanted to gossip, they could go right ahead.

My pace quickened as I heard the unmistakable sound of judgmental whispering behind me. I pinched my eyes shut tightly and tried my best to block out the irritating noise. I just wanted to get my books and go to class. At least there, I would see Scott, Stiles, and Allison.

Once I reached my locker, I shakily dialed in my code and popped the small metal door open. I instantly stumbled back, my eyes going wide as a shit ton of dirt came spilling out. I stood still for a few seconds, blinking slowly as I tried figuring out what the hell just happened.

With a frown, I wiped my hands against my jeans, which were now covered in the stuff. My eyes flickered down toward the pile of soil on the tiles in front of my feet, my brows furrowing in confusion.

How the hell did that much dirt get into my locker? How did any dirt get into my locker?

I glanced around the hall slowly, anxious to see my classmates reactions. I was already the weird girl after everything at the dance. I didn’t want to be the even weirder girl who keeps dirt in the locker.

A surprised breath left my lips as I saw that the halls were now completely empty. I turned all the way around, peering in both directions, but there wasn’t a single soul here with me. My head started pounding and I winced at the unexpected sensation before rubbing at my temples gently.

I swiveled back toward my locker, wanting nothing more than for this day to be over. Maybe everyone was right. Maybe I wasn’t ready for this yet. I instantly froze at the sight of a single purple flower sitting in the middle of the dirt pile. I was almost certain it hadn’t been there a moment before.

My heartbeat thrummed loudly in my ears as I reached a trembling hand inside the small space. I tentatively plucked the plant, which I easily recognized as wolfsbane, out of the soil. My eyes flickered around the purple leaves and long, green stem as my confusion only grew.

Just then, an ear piercing scream echoed through the halls. I whipped around, instantly going rigid when I saw that I was no longer in the school, but standing in the middle of the lacrosse field.

I glanced around the empty stadium, trying to figure out what the hell was going on. Did I suddenly develop the ability to teleport? Or was I losing my damn mind? My eyes trailed downward as I felt cool air brush against my legs. My breath hitched as I saw that I was wearing my formal dress. The navy fabric was covered in blood and dirt, the strap on my left shoulder torn to shreds.

A bolt of fear licked up my spine as I heard rustling directly in front of me. My gaze slowly swept upward before landing on a pair of glowing red eyes that were illuminated in the shadowy distance. My eyes pinched shut as terror coursed through me when they started moving closer.

“It’s not real.” The mantra was a shaky whisper as my body trembled. “It’s not real. It’s not—”

Just then, my eyes jerked open on their own accord. I bolted upright with a harsh gasp, my throat constricting painfully as I sputtered and coughed a few times. One of my hands came up to clutch at my chest as I tried desperately to catch my breath.

Only a split second passed before Stiles flailed into a sitting position beside me. He whipped his head from side to side with wide eyes, as if searching for the cause of my panic. Once his attention landed back on me, he instantly pulled me into his chest and began murmuring lowly.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay.” One of his hands rubbed at my back while the other cradled my head against him.

“Lydia...” I gasped, my breath coming out in quick, trembling spurts. The dream had been some sort of vision or clue...it just had to be.

“Lydia’s alright, okay? They’re gonna find her.” Stiles’ fingers threaded through my hair and massaged my scalp soothingly.

“What? What is it? What happened?” Scott’s head suddenly popped up at the foot of my bed, his hair so messy it looked like he’d been hurled through a tornado.

“Another nightmare.” I breathed, feeling my heartrate dropping back down to normal as Stiles’ hands continued rubbing against me gently. 

Scott sighed from the floor, his shoulders sagging in relief. One of his hands came up to massage the back of his neck and he grimaced uncomfortably. “Cool. Is it my turn on the bed yet?”

“You can curl up down here if you want, like a good puppy.” Stiles smirked at his own joke as one of his hands left me to point toward our feet.

“Scott, just go sleep in your own bed. It’s literally right there.” I gestured to my window, which faced his, and slowly pulled away from Stiles.

As much as I would love to stay in his arms forever, I had to learn to get ahold of myself on my own. They couldn’t keep babying me. Both of them had done nothing but obsess over my health from the moment I was discharged out of the hospital two days ago. 

Scott had refused to leave my side since I’d gotten home, other than the brief moments he made appearances in his own house so that his mom knew he was still alive. He insisted it was to keep an eye on me, and that was partially true, but he was also basically in hiding right now. 

Jackson, being the wonderful friend that he is, somehow found the time to tell Mr. Argent that Scott is the beta they’ve been looking for, kindly adding on to our reasons-life-is-currently-terrible list.

“And let you guys have all the fun without me?” Scott mumbled sarcastically and leaned back to lay on the pillow and blanket I’d set up for him on the hardwood floor.

This had been our routine for two days. Mom banned me from having any visitors while I recover, but that hadn’t stopped Scott from staying or Stiles from sneaking in after school. Each night, I could barely make it through a few hours of sleep at a time before jerking awake from yet another nightmare. Or maybe they were visions. I honestly had no idea.

My days had also been...weird, to say the least. Most of the time, it was hard to tell whether or not I was awake. My sense of reality was seriously fucked up. I was having almost constant visions and dreams, and they never made any sense. It felt like my subconscious was trying to tell me something, but in another language I had yet to learn.

Lydia was still missing, and I was beyond worried sick. Sheriff Stilinski and the entire police department had searched every square inch of Beacon Hills over the course of the last two days, and hadn’t found a single trace of her.

Aside from that shitshow, I also hadn’t spoken to Allison since the last time I’d seen her at the dance. No one had, actually.

Scott—when he wasn’t fawning over me—was losing his mind because apparently while I was being a dumbass and getting myself bitten, Mr. Argent somehow made him shift in front of Allison. Then, he shipped her and Kate off to an undisclosed location until further notice.

I’d sent her a few texts since being home, but she only responded once. The words had replayed in my mind over and over for several hours after reading them as I tried figuring out an acceptable response.

You knew the whole time, didn’t you?

I eventually decided not to answer at all. What could I say? I’d kept something huge from her, although it was never really my secret to tell anyway. She had every right to be pissed off. I wanted to address it in person and, honestly, didn’t have the mental capacity to worry much about it right now.

I blinked a few times, feeling myself come back from my dazed thoughts as Scott and Stiles’ voices fluttered back to my ears. I’d been doing that a lot, too. Getting lost in my mind for several minutes at a time, if not longer. I felt a curious gaze on my face and took in a slow, deep breath before lifting my head to meet Stiles’ eyes.

My heart clenched uncomfortably in my chest at the look he was giving me. It was the same expression that had been etched into his face ever since I’d woken up in the hospital. It was like he was afraid I would try to kill him at any given moment, while simultaneously worrying that I’d suffer a mental break or croak on the spot.

I heard the rumbling sound of snoring from the floor and knew that Scott was already out cold again.

“I’m sorry I woke you.” I sighed, suddenly feeling exhausted. I glanced at the alarm clock on my bedside table, noting with a regretful wince that it was three in the morning. He had school in only a few hours.

Stiles’ eyes inspected me tenderly, rounding with concern as he reached out to tuck a stray clump of hair behind my ear gently. “I wasn’t sleeping. You stole my pillow, so...”

I couldn’t help but chuckle at that. He apparently couldn’t sleep without the thing and had brought it with him each night. It was quite possibly the most adorable thing ever.

“I’m still sorry.” My voice was barely above a whisper as I looked down toward my lap and fidgeted with my fingers. 

Ever since I was bitten I’d felt...different. Like a burden. Out of control. It was as if my mind was warring with itself all day, every day. I had a constant nagging fear that I was forgetting something important. It was like it was on the tip of my tongue, but I just couldn’t remember.

Stiles leaned toward me slowly and cupped my cheek before placing a gentle kiss on my forehead. His fingers trailed down to brush against the side of my neck before tangling in the hair at the base of my skull. His free hand came up to the other side of my head and he pulled it down against his chest. My eyes fluttered shut as a sigh left my lips.

A sense of peace always washed over me when he was near. Despite everything going on, all it took was a small touch to quiet my racing mind. I felt myself relaxing, if only slightly, in his arms. A moment later, I leaned back to look at him again, my stomach fluttering at the intense gleam of worry shining in his caramel eyes.

“There’s something wrong with me, isn’t there?” My voice broke and I furrowed my brows as traitorous tears filled my eyes. I didn’t want to cry. I didn’t want to feel sorry for myself. I wanted to get better.

Stiles glanced fleetingly at the place where Peter had bitten me, but jerked his attention back to my face quickly, probably hoping I hadn’t noticed. “Whatever it is...we’ll figure it out.”

Somehow, his response wasn’t all that comforting. I didn’t doubt for a second that he’d be there for me every step of the way as I went through whatever this was. I’d watched how he helped Scott during the early stages of his transformation, and it was admirable. But I didn’t want there to be anything wrong. I didn’t want there to be anything different about me.

I just wanted to be normal.

“C’mere...” Stiles opened his arms and I couldn’t help but instantly fall into them.

He pulled me tight against him and leaned back, snagging his pillow from my side of the bed on the way down. My eyes fluttered shut as I laid there on top of him, my legs between his and my head resting above his heart.

I listened to the steady rhythm of his pulse, feeling it lull me to sleep within seconds.

                                                    ————————

I leaned back against my headboard, adjusting the book that rested atop my knees. My bottom lip was tucked between my teeth anxiously as I flipped another page. I narrowed my eyes as they swept over the words, urging my mind to comprehend them. I just couldn’t. I was way too distracted.

My eyes flickered up to find Scott lounging in my desk chair across the room. He was playing some game on his phone and it was making this annoying boing sound every few seconds. It was starting to drive me crazy, but it wasn’t the only thing causing my jitters. 

I glanced away from him to look out my open window and sighed heavily. It was already dark outside, and Stiles wasn’t here yet.

It wasn’t usually like me to jump to conclusions, but considering the state of our lives right now, it wasn’t a stretch to be worried. At this point, though, I was moving toward a full on panic attack. School ended six hours ago. What could he possibly be doing?

I opened my mouth to voice my concern, but never got a chance as Scott interrupted me before I could get even a single word out.

“He’s fine.” He said absently, his eyes never leaving his phone’s screen.

My eyebrows twitched up in surprise. “How did you know...”

“I can hear your heart racing.” He sighed and finally dropped his phone onto my desk before lifting his eyes to meet mine. “You either just ran a marathon, or you’re worried about something. That something is usually Stiles. And he’s fine.”

I rolled my lips into a tight line at the way he’d just read me so easily. “But it’s already—”

Just then, something thumped outside my window loudly. I stiffened at the sound, and Scott perked up in his chair, instantly on high alert. There was a low groan before a figure clambered through the opening. I instantly knew it was Stiles as I caught sight of his red flannel. He flailed to the floor spastically with a yelp and I slammed my book closed before bolting to my feet.

I rushed to his side, my arms wrapping around him as he struggled to get up. His chest heaved with ragged breaths as if he’d run the whole way here.

“Where were you? Are you okay? What happened?” I couldn’t stop the panicked words from tumbling past my lips.

My eyes trailed over him quickly to assess for any damage. His freckled cheeks were flushed and the top three buttons on his flannel were undone, exposing his white undershirt. He looked a little roughed up, but not hurt.

He finally stood up straight and his eyes widened when they met mine, as if only just then realizing that I was beside him. He gripped my upper arms sternly before walking me backward.

“What are you doing? Get back in bed.” I had no choice but to plop down onto the mattress as the back of my knees ran right into it.

“Don’t change the subject, Stilinski.” I frowned up at him and his eyes twitched in warning.

“Oh, God. Please don’t make me listen to another who’s more worried about who fight. I might seriously puke this time.” Scott practically threw himself onto the bed beside me, a look of feigned disgust taking over his face.

My eyes swept toward him and narrowed into a glare only briefly, as my attention moved back to Stiles when he started talking again.

“Moving on.” He sent a pointed look Scott’s way before continuing, his hands gesturing quickly in front of him. He was anxious, that much was obvious. “I had a uh...talk with Chris—”

“Who?” I interrupted, thrown off by the unfamiliar name.

Stiles’ eyes twitched at me in annoyance as he flailed one of his arms in a circle, signaling that we didn’t have much time. “Argent.”

“You call Allison’s dad Chris?” My voice rose in disbelief. Since when was that a thing?

“Oh my God. This is important, okay? He tried to get me and Jackson to tell him where Scott is and—”

Scott sprang upright on the bed, his eyes wide with alarm. “Why were you with Jackson?”

“Can I just finish? Is that alright with you two?” Stiles’ voice rose in frustration, his eyes pinching shut for a brief moment after he shouted.

Both Scott and I froze and he sighed before running a hand down his face. His gaze flickered to Scott as he extended a hand out apprehensively. “He’s literally planning to kill you. Tonight. Okay? So you can’t—”

Scott suddenly rose to his feet, his face tight with determination. “I need to find Derek.”

Stiles’ fingers curled into a fist, still hanging in the air, as he pursed his lips when Scott brushed past him. “Why do we keep going back to him? He’s like your abusive ex, okay? You have a problem. And did you miss the part where I just said you could be murdered by werewolf hunters at any given moment?”

“If the Argents are after me, he’s the only one who can help.” Scott braced his hands against my windowsill and turned to glare at Stiles over his shoulder.

Before either of us could ask him what he was doing, he doubled over with a low groan. I realized he was shifting and tentatively slid back on my mattress, not sure what was going on. I knew he would never hurt me, but I hadn’t seen anything supernatural since being bitten. It instantly had me on edge.

Then, he jerked upright and howled loudly into the dark sky. 

I winced at the deep, rumbling sound, feeling a painful twinge in my head. One of my hands came up to cradle my temple as my lips parted in a silent gasp. The noise was vibrating all the way in my bones, overwhelming every one of my senses. I felt myself slipping away from the present, my eyes wide but unfocused. I faintly registered an arm wrapping around my back as Stiles rushed to kneel in front of me. 

His free hand cupped my face, his lips moving rapidly as he tried to bring me back. I suddenly had the strong urge to close my eyes, so I let them flutter down slowly. Instantly, my breath caught as an image of Derek’s house popped into my mind. There were way too many things happening to decipher any of it. My brows furrowed as I tried making sense of what I was seeing. 

The clearest picture was the most gruesome. Blood. Everywhere. 

A painful spasm in my left shoulder had my eyes jerking open. They met Stiles’ wide, panicked gaze as he hovered only a few inches away from me. With a snap, his and Scott’s voices rushed into my ears. 

“What the hell did you do to her?” Stiles practically yelled, his voice tight with anxiety and a hint of anger. His hands were clutching my arms as he jostled me awake.

Scott appeared at his side above me, his face crumbled in horror. “I-I didn’t do anything! I didn’t mean to...”

“I think I know where to find him.” I interrupted breathily, blinking a few times to focus my eyes. I sat up with a groan, my head pounding harshly. Stiles tightened his grip on me as he tried to keep me steady. “His house. I saw it.”

Scott’s face dropped from beside me, his brows furrowing as his lips pulled into a frown. “So did I.”

We shared a long, curious glance. I had no idea what that meant, and judging by the glint of wonder reflecting in his eyes, neither did he. 

“So we’re just not gonna talk about whatever that was?” Stiles asked incredulously. He e took a step away from me and shrugged sarcastically with a tilt of his head. 

“We don’t have time.” I pushed myself up to my feet and strode toward my closet hurriedly. 

It was freezing outside by now, and I wanted to be prepared for once. I rustled through my sweaters until I found one I didn’t mind ruining. My shoulder protested each movement as I wrestled it over my head, but I tried my best to ignore it. I turned on my heel to face the guys and froze at the looks they were giving me. 

Scott seemed hesitant, but didn’t look like he was going to argue, while Stiles was very much unimpressed. 

“That’s funny.” He laughed humorlessly and pointed at me. “It looks like you think you’re going somewhere.”

I frowned at his demanding tone. “I’m sorry, are you my mother? No? Okay. That’s what I thought.”

I brushed past him to find a pair of socks in my dresser. If he thought he was going to start telling me what to do just because we’re dating, he had another thing coming. My eyes flickered up to meet his in the mirror as I heard rustling behind me.

“You can’t seriously—” His mouth opened and closed a few times as he tried to find the right words. I pulled out a mismatched pair of socks and turned to lean against the dresser as I slid them on. “Scott, tell her how stupid this is.” 

“Hell no. I’m not getting involved.” He glanced between us with wide eyes, lifting his hands in surrender. 

“If we don’t go now, Derek is going to die.” I forced the words out through clenched teeth, growing impatient. Somehow, I knew that’s the future we were up against, despite not having actually seen it happen. I just knew. 

“Since when do we care about that?” Stiles swiveled his head as his eyebrows rose in question. 

Scott stepped forward, suddenly looking pensive. “I’m not going to just let him die.”

“I’m the only sane one left...” Stiles muttered to himself, throwing his hands up in exasperation. 

After several more minutes of pointless arguing, a very disgruntled Stiles finally agreed to drive us to Derek’s. The three of us had barely made it a few steps outside the Jeep before he came barreling from the house, looking unpleasant as ever. 

“What the hell are you doing? None of you should be here right now.” His angry voice echoed through the trees as he continued stalking forward until he stood right in front of us. 

“Finally, someone’s making—oh my God!” Stiles didn’t have a chance to finish his thought as an arrow came out of nowhere and embedded itself into Derek’s shoulder. 

My eyes widened in shock and I whipped around just as another arrow came from the trees to land in his thigh. He crumpled to the ground with a groan, clutching at his injuries. 

“Close your eyes!” He shouted and tucked his face into his elbow. 

Long fingers clasped around my bicep and I was jerked to the side before another hand shoved my head into a warm chest. I screwed my eyes shut tightly, a quiet boom sounding beside us. Stiles and I separated quickly to see what it was, but my eyes landed on Scott instead. 

He was crouched down on all fours, blinking rapidly. He hadn’t been fast enough. He squinted into the distance and I followed his line of sight, but came up empty. 

Derek grunted lowly as he broke off the shafts of each arrow that still lay inside him. He stumbled to his feet and grabbed Scott by the collar of his jacket. “Get to the house!” 

Stiles and I didn’t hesitate to obey as we bolted in that direction, our hands tangled together. We only made it about halfway before Derek slumped to the ground behind us, exhausted. I staggered to a halt at the sound and nearly lost my balance when Stiles continued moving. 

His eyes flickered from me to the place where Scott and Derek lay crumpled on the ground in a moment of hesitation. With a grimace, he let me go and we both jogged their way. 

“No! Go!” Derek’s head popped up and he tried waving us off, but it was too late. 

I froze, partially crouched beside him, as a thin figure emerged from the darkness. She was stomping toward us with a huge bow slung over her shoulder. The dim light from Derek’s porch illuminated her face as she neared us, and my breath caught in my throat. It was the last person I expected to see.

“Allison, I can explain—” Scott immediately stammered desperately, still trying to get his bearings after being stunned by the flash bullet. I realized at then that it was the same type she’d tried out with me and Lydia the week before formal.

“Stop lying.” She barked, her voice tight with built up anger. Her eyes flickered up to meet mine, my chest tightening at the intense betrayal swirling inside them. “All of you, for once, stop lying.”

“I was gonna tell you the truth. I was gonna tell you everything at the formal.” Scott rushed the words out in a panic as he shuffled backward to match each step she took toward him. “Everything that I said...everything I did...”

“Was to protect me.” She finished with a humorless scoff, fingers tightening around the arrow she held at her side.

“Yes.” He instantly confirmed, pleading with her to understand. 

I knew exactly how she felt. Being kept in the dark sucked, no matter which way it was spun. Maybe she had been safer this whole time because she didn’t know. Or maybe all his secret did was create an irreparable wedge between them. She was bound to find out eventually, considering who her family was, and this whole mess was probably the worst way it could’ve happened. 

Allison’s eyes glistened as she peered down at him, her hardened mask of hatred cracking just slightly. Her voice trembled as a few tears escaped down her cheeks. “I don’t believe you.” 

“Thank God!” I jumped at the sudden voice from the darkness, and watched as Kate stalked out of the tree line with a roll of her eyes. “Now shoot him before I have to shoot myself.”

My heart leapt into my throat at her words. With Scott dazed and Derek seriously injured, there wasn’t much we could do to stop her from killing either one of them. The reality of our situation hit me like a ton of bricks. Stiles and I were utterly useless. 

“Y-you said we were just going to catch them.” Allison sputtered, head jerking toward her aunt in surprise. 

“Yeah, and we did that. Now we’re going to kill them.” Kate raised an arm absently and shot a bullet right into Derek’s chest as she passed by, not even sparing him a glance. “See? Not that hard.”

I gasped at the unexpected act of violence, my jaw going slack. He instantly fell against the damp ground, motionless. 

Holy shit. Oh my God. Is he actually dead?

Allison’s horrified expression matched mine, more tears coating her face as she stared at Derek’s lifeless body. She stiffened when her aunt joined her in front of Scott, who was still gaping from his crouched position.

“Oh no, not that look.” Kate mused, not sounding the least bit genuine. “That’s the you’re going to have to do it yourself look.”

She raised her gun toward Scott’s chest, a manic grin pulling at her lips. I moved without thinking, taking a big step in their direction. Allison instantly started freaking out and tried to put herself between them, but Kate shoved her away harshly. 

She tumbled to the ground just as a hand clasped around my wrist to stop me. I yanked against it, my chest tightening with panic. I had to get over there. I had to help. 

“Y/N! Y/N, stop!” Stiles yelled frantically from behind me, his hold falling loose as I continued struggling against him. 

I ran forward and staggered to a halt beside Kate, who was still pointing the gun at Scott, having no idea what to do now that I was here. She glanced toward me and sighed with a disinterested roll of her eyes. Before I even fully registered that she moved, I was already on the ground. She’d whipped the gun against the side of my face harshly, white hot pain instantly rippling through my head. 

“No!” I heard Allison shout in horror. 

A groan trembled past my lips as I shakily pulled myself up onto my elbows. My vision blurred as Scott jerked upright, about to rush to my side before Kate aimed the gun at his chest again. He froze, his wide eyes never leaving me. I brought a hand up to my temple and hissed when my fingers landed on a warm trickle of blood. 

“Ah, ah...” Kate tutted, amusement shining in her eyes as she glanced behind me, gun following the movement. 

I turned my head and saw Stiles freeze mid-sprint toward me. His eyes narrowed into an angry glare as his jaw clenched tightly, but he didn’t move an inch. I let out a huff, growing frustrated by this whole stupid situation, and swept my gaze back to Kate. 

“Just shoot someone already.” I barked, annoyed with her games. 

Was it stupid to taunt the person with the weapon? Yes. Did I give a fuck? No. At this point, I was more angry than anything. We’d spent months fighting and tracking the alpha—Peter—as he went on a bloodthirsty rampage through Beacon Hills. We’d nearly died in the school, and at the movie store, and in these very woods. Several times. 

Lydia and I had been bitten, and Stiles’ dad was close to a nervous breakdown because nothing in this town makes any goddamn sense unless you’re risking your life everyday just by knowing about the supernatural. And now, we had to deal with Allison’s batshit crazy family, on top of everything. 

I just wanted it to be over.

Kate huffed out a surprised laugh and pointed the gun at me again. “What poetic last words.”

“No! Leave her alone! I’m the one you want.” Scott shouted desperately, stumbling upright from his position in the dirt. 

An evil smirk twitched at her lips as she ignored him. I watched her pointer finger tighten on the trigger and held my breath as I waited for the inevitable. 

“Kate!” A deep voice boomed from behind me, making her pause. I instantly recognized that it was Allison’s dad. “I know what you did.”

The amusement dropped from her face at his words and her eyes flickered up toward the house for a brief moment. 

“Put the gun down.” Mr. Argent ordered, dried leaves crunching beneath his shoes as he walked toward us. 

“I did what I was told to do.” Kate jutted her hand toward me as she enunciated each word curtly. 

I stiffened, very aware that her finger, which still rested against the gun’s trigger, could set it off at any moment. My pulse hammered in my ears loudly and my entire body began trembling as my fear suddenly caught up with me.

“No one asked you to murder innocent people. There were children in that house.” 

My mind raced as I slowly pieced together what he was saying. The fire. It was Kate. But why? Why would she murder an entire family?

“Ones that were human. Look what you’re doing now, you’re holding a gun at sixteen year old kids. No proof they’ve spilled human blood.” He continued, his voice harsh and unfeeling. “Now, put the gun down...before I put you down.”

My eyes widened at his threat. Would he really kill his own sister?

Kate stared at him for a few long moments, her face crumbling in disbelief. Finally, she lowered her arm back down to her side. I let out a heavy breath of relief, but didn’t move from my crouched position in front of her. A loud creak from the house had everyone’s attention jerking toward it. 

The front door swung open slowly, nothing but darkness behind it.

“Kids, get back.” Allison’s dad ordered gruffly as he cocked his gun and aimed it at the decrepit structure. 

Scott stumbled to his feet, but didn’t make a move to run and hide as instructed. Allison joined his side a moment later, her bow and arrow cocked and aimed at the house. I heard quick steps behind me a moment before strong arms wrapped around my waist and hauled me to my feet. 

Stiles whipped me around to face him, and I winced as my head throbbed in protest. His hands came up to cradle the sides of my face, his fingers turning red as my blood smeared onto his skin. His wide eyes flickered around my body frantically, as if not fully believing that I was right here in front of him. 

He suddenly jerked me toward him and smashed his lips against mine, pouring every emotion he’d just gone through into the kiss. I responded instantly, my hands fisting the warm material of his flannel as I pulled him closer. It was over much too soon as he pulled back with a shaky breath of relief. 

“God, I’m so mad at you right now. I could literally kill you.” His eyes twitched as he continued inspecting me for any hidden injuries. 

“Wouldn’t that be a little counterproductive?” I chuckled despite the situation, and he just glared at me.

“What is it?” My attention jerked back to Allison at the sound of her panicked voice. I’d nearly forgotten what was going on outside the peaceful bubble that was Stiles. 

I turned back toward the house and saw Scott’s eyes flash bright yellow as he peered through the opened front door. “It’s the alpha.” 

At his declaration, a huge black mass raced out of the house, moving impossibly fast. It dashed around the area in a big circle before turning abruptly and knocking Mr. Argent right off his feet. He flew into the air before landing heavily, instantly passing out cold as his head slammed against the dirt. 

Allison cried out and made a move to help him, but quickly found herself in no better shape as the alpha rammed into her next. Only a second later, Scott was groaning as he lay in a heap beside her on the leaf covered ground. My heart slammed against my ribs painfully as my head whipped from side to side, trying to see where he was now. 

All the air rushed from my lungs as a powerful force shoved against mine and Stiles’ sides. His arms instantly wrapped around my waist, and mine around his shoulders. We held onto each other tightly as we flew several feet through the air. At the last second, Stiles shifted us so that he would take the brunt of the fall. He hissed in pain as his back slammed onto the dirt, and I quickly scrambled to get off of him. 

“Come on!” Kate’s angry voice echoed through the trees as she jerked her gun around in a circle. She was the only one left standing. 

I wrapped an arm around Stiles and helped him sit up. He waved me off, muttering something about being fine, and I huffed in annoyance. At this point I was convinced that he was physically unable to help himself from downplaying his own struggles. 

I was about to argue with him, but froze when Peter emerged from the darkness to stand threatening behind Kate. He snatched the arm that held her gun and wrenched it behind her with ease. She grunted in pain as he twisted it with a snap, two shots firing into the sky as they struggled. 

She had no choice but to release the gun. It landed on the ground with a dull thud as he gripped her by the throat and tossed her in the air like a ragdoll. She crashed onto the porch, a cloud of dust rising all around her as she shakily pushed herself up. 

Peter wasted no time in striding up the broken steps. He bent down and grabbed Kate violently before pressing her back to his chest, holding her in place with his claws at her neck. 

“No!” Allison suddenly shouted and sprinted toward them. 

My eyes widened in horror. What the hell did she think she was doing? I made a move to follow her, but Stiles wrapped both arms around my waist tightly. I pulled against him for a few seconds, but stopped when Peter’s voice echoed toward us. 

“She is beautiful, Kate. She looks like you, only not as damaged. So I’m going to give you a chance to save her.” My breath hitched as he addressed Allison and I started thrashing against Stiles again. I couldn’t let her get hurt. I couldn’t let anyone else I care about become one of his victims. “Apologize. Say you’re sorry for decimating my family, for leaving me burned and broken for six years. Say it, and I’ll let her live.”

A tense moment of silence passed as Kate seemed to weigh her options. Finally, she choked the words out the best she could. “I’m...sorry.” 

A small, satisfied smile tugged at Peter’s lips before he ripped her throat out with his claws. My jaw dropped as blood splattered across every nearby surface, my stomach churning at the violence of it all. Allison screamed, practically doubling over in horror as Kate crumpled to the porch with wide, empty eyes. Peter’s shoulders sagged as he let out a long sigh, a look of relief washing over him. 

“I don’t know about you, Allison, but that apology didn’t sound very sincere.” His amused gaze bored into her wide, glistening eyes as he stalked down the steps.

By the time he had one foot on the dirt ground, Scott and Derek were crouched in front of her protectively. I hadn’t even noticed that Derek was still alive, let alone completely healed, but I was more than grateful. 

“Run.” Scott grunted over his shoulder, and she didn’t hesitate to listen. 

She sprinted toward me and Stiles, taking her bow with her, and immediately crumpled into my arms. A harsh sob wracked her body as I pulled her in tight. I felt Stiles’ hand on my back as he guided us hastily toward his Jeep. A few animalistic growls and roars sounded from behind us, and I knew they were fighting.

“I’m sorry.” Allison cried, pulling away from me to wipe at her face. “I’m so, so sorry. I-I didn’t know what happened with you and Lydia, and now Kate’s gone and—oh my God. I’m the worst friend ever.” 

Stiles wrenched the passenger door open when we reached the car and I shoved Allison inside before crawling in behind her. Something snapped behind us, and I honestly wouldn’t have been surprised if they’d just uprooted a tree or completely destroyed the house. 

“It’s okay.” I breathed, running a hand down Allison’s back as she continued blubbering. “We’re both terrible friends, honestly.”

“Wait.” She suddenly perked up, her eyes widening in horror. “My dad.”

Damnit. I‘d completely forgotten about him. 

I turned to peer out the window and winced as Peter picked Derek up by the ankle and tossed him through the air. He crashed into Scott, who was trying to pull himself upright a few feet away, bringing him right back down harshly. 

Peter snarled, seemingly losing control as he hunched over and shifted fully into a huge, terrifying beast. He roared loudly, baring his claws and stalking forward. He grabbed Derek by the throat and threw him into a nearby tree before turning back to Scott. 

“I have to do something.” Stiles suddenly spoke up from the front seat. My head whipped in his direction as he threw open the driver’s side door and clambered onto the ground. 

“What? No!” I immediately tumbled out behind him and watched with baited breath as he reached into the trunk. 

My brows furrowed as I caught sight of a huge beaker in his hand. I barely had time to register that here was a yellow liquid swirling inside before he hurled it at Peter. As it flew toward him, I realized it was a Molotov cocktail, like the one Lydia showed us how to make when we were stuck inside the school. Peter caught it easily, his glowing red eyes snapping our way with a ferocious growl. 

“Oh, damn...” Stiles instantly deflated and took a tentative step back. 

My eyes widened as I whipped back around to face Allison, an idea suddenly popping into my head. She seemed to know exactly what I was thinking as she reached for her bow and instantly nocked the arrow into place. After taking only a moment to aim it out the opened window, she fired. 

It hit the glass bottle dead center, and Peter’s left arm erupted in flames. He roared frantically and tried shaking the fire off, only managing to make it spread across his torso more quickly. Soon, his entire body was ablaze as he staggered around and howled in agony. 

After a few long, torturous moments, he slumped down onto his knees in his human form. Thick smoke billowed from his charred skin as he sputtered and gasped for air. We all stood impossibly still, gaping at him in horror. I don’t think any of us had the slightest idea of what to do next.

Derek suddenly emerged from the house, his face a tight mask of fury. He stalked toward Peter, who now lay on his back, and stood over him with clenched fists. 

“Wait!” Scott rose to his feet and stopped only a foot away from them, his eyes wide with panic. Derek’s hard glare never moved an inch. “You said the cure comes from the one who bit you. If you do this, I’m dead. What am I supposed to do?”

My attention snapped back toward him, surprised at his words. There was a cure? I had no idea what he was talking about, but it must’ve been important if he was this freaked out over it. 

Derek’s eyes pinched shut and his jaw clenched tightly. He hesitated for only a brief moment before raising a clawed hand in the air. 

“Wait! N-no! Don’t!” Scott's desperate plea fell on deaf ears as Derek brought his hand down to slash Peter’s throat. 

Allison gasped from beside me, and I just stared ahead with wide eyes. My breath caught in my throat as I watched yet another person’s life fade away right in front of me. It was almost hard to believe, that he was actually dead. We’d all been through so much. It didn’t seem possible that it could all be over, just like that. 

There had to be more.

Derek staggered to his feet and turned to glower at Scott over his shoulder. His canines elongated and his eyes flashed bright red before he uttered the words we were all dreading. The ones that would seal our fate for the foreseeable future. 

“I’m the alpha now.”

Episode 11 Season 2, Episode 1 (Part One)

[felidlycanthrope]

Little Slice of Heaven

zuko x reader

disgusting tooth rotting fluff

I’m reposting this jawn because my old blog got hacked! If you liked or reblogged before please do so again- I want friends xoxo gossip girl

The soft glow of the morning light filtered through the flap of the tent. It was surprisingly humid for an air temple- so high in the mountain’s you’d think the breeze would be cool. Although, a clear factor in the warmth of the air could be the sleeping form of my boyfriend.

His hair had gotten longer over the past few months. He seemed to be becoming more and more like his intended self as it did- I know he understood that to some degree. He understood a lot more about himself after travelling with us for around a month or so.

“What are you thinking about? I know that face.” His eyes fluttered open. Golden irises blended with the rising sun’s light, studied me. He reached out to move a fallen strand of hair, calloused hands whispering a trail as they left.

I did the same, albeit in a slightly mocking manner. I smiled and replied, “just about how proud I am of you. And about how far we’ve come in the past couple of months.”

He smiled a little half smile- almost a smirk but not quite- as he replied: “You were thinking about me?”

“I’m staring right at you, why wouldn’t I be thinking about you? I’m also kind of thinking about breakfast. Does that soothe your ego?” I laughed, pulling the pillow under my chin to look up at him.

“Nah, don’t think so,” he said, doing the same. “I’m glad to make us up something if you’d like.”

“The others will probably be waking up soon, though, and it’d be annoying to cook for ten instead of two. Plus, I wouldn’t get this pretty little moment for as long as possible. Let Aang or Katara do it.” To cement my point, I gently pushed him onto his back as quickly as possible. I wrapped my arm around his waist, the other around his arm. I laid my head on his chest. As if his body acted of its own accord, his free hand lifted a few tendrils of my hair before moving to stroke my head. He offered his other hand, laced his fingers with mine, as if fitting a puzzle together even though you’ve done it hundreds of times before.

His heartbeat sped up for a brief moment as I did this, but slowly subsided back to normal. I could hear his breathing hitch for a moment- he was trying to calm his heartrate.

“It’s cute you still get nervous,” I assured him. “If you’re not comfy, we can move.”

“No I’m fine. It’s not nervousness. I just had a bad thought, that’s all,” he responded quickly, though not changing the pace of his stroking. He squeezed my hand- a gentle reassurance.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not right now.” He kissed the crown of my head gently.

The sound of his heartbeat intermingled with the rising sound of the early birds- both the avian kind and the airbender-waterbender kind. Aang’s light footsteps shuffled a bit more than usual across the cobbled floor to where Appa was. The hay rustled as he dropped it in front of the sky bison’s sleeping form. He stirred for a moment, but seemed to fall back asleep.

“You think anyone’s awake yet?” I heard Katara whisper right outside the tent as she began to collect a bit of firewood from the pile beside our site.

“Probably not,” Aang replied in a lowered, but mostly normal voice, “but we should probably keep it down a bit- Prince Emo over here definitely isn’t a morning person.”

“I don’t think he’s an any kind of day person,” Katara giggled. I heard the rustle of the logs, and the rustle of a sleeve being pulled away from imminent “danger”.

I craned my neck to look up at Zuko with a stifled laugh. He lifted his head specifically to roll his eyes before allowing his head to hit the pillow dramatically.

“Prince Emo, huh? Well, you can’t say he’s wrong.”

“I kind of want to go help now just to make a point,” he murmured.

I wrapped myself tighter around him. I twisted my foot over his leg closest to me and under his ankle farthest from me. “Nooooo, you can’t leave me,” I moaned. “Then we’ll have to actually do stuff. I don’t wanna do stuff.”

“We don’t have to do stuff. We can go find a spot in the woods and just go right back to sleep. I didn’t want to strain myself or Aang so we decided not to do any training today.”

I looked up at him with a furrowed brow. “When is your sneak attack scheduled?”

He chuckled; the vibrations reverberated into my own chest as his rose and fell. He lowered his voice a little more. “Not til after dark. ‘M gonna try to get him to use a lantern flame.”

“There it is.”

“But it’s not for a while. We’ve got the whole day to waste.”

“Let’s just waste it away in here,” I muttered, “then we don’t have to deal with people.”

Katara’s voice pierced the little slice of heaven we’d created. “Am I setting a place for the two of you to eat, or what? You guys are the worst whisperers,” she groaned.

I rolled over dramatically, letting my arm flop against the ground. I sighed, “I’m kind of hungry. Breakfast, then back to sleep. I like breakfast foods.”

He stared up at the ceiling for a moment, exasperated already. He lunged forward, pulling himself up as tall as he could. He offered a calloused hand. I shoved my blanket off and took it, following suit and reluctantly exiting my little slice of heaven.

[burnedbyshoto]

Burned Out

pairing: bakugou katsuki x reader

warning: cursing, alcohol mention, angst

word count: 1,981

a/n: this is for an anon and for @monst, enjoy!

✩✶✩❇✩✶✩

Fairytales were supposed to have happy ends, at least that’s what you had always been told.

The prince and the princess would meet and fall in love, but they would be distanced by some big bad and evil force. Thankfully the prince would defeat the evil, the princess would rejoice and their love saved, and they would live happily ever after. That was something that remained true through every story, in every tale love prospered. So was it cocky of you to think that your fairytale would end just the same?

You met Bakugou Katsuki in high school, and while he was no prince, nor was it love at first sight, the two of you did eventually fall for each other. Your feelings had been confessed in your second year of school and surprisingly, he had confessed his own feelings as well. The two of you remained in silent bliss about your new relationship for three days before things collapsed. 

Villains overthrew Japan and the two of you were separated.

By no means were you some damsel in distress, but in the end, Bakugou was among one of the heroes who defeated the big bad evil. You can still remember throwing yourself into his bloodied and weak arms as he stood there victorious. Blood stained nearly every area of his body, but his eyes were strong and emotional as he stared at you with a smile.

“I t-told you, heroes don’t l-lose,” he stammered through his pain as he kissed you.

That was the end of your fairytale, the next step was to move on with life and live happily ever after!

It wasn’t the case here.

How you craved it was the case.

But something changed one day with Bakugou.

He just stopped... caring.

It had started three years into your relationship. He began to start skipping days at work for no sensible reason, at least there was no actual explanation he could give you when someone came and reached out to you about it.

“Where’s Ground Zero?” His sidekick asked you one day as you were patrolling down the same street.

Your eyebrows scrunched as you laughed a bit confused, “Isn’t that what I should be asking you?”

“He hasn’t shown up at all this week,” the sidekick spoke slowly as if he was admitting some deep and dark secret. “I thought you knew?”

You didn’t.

Your hand slammed to the back of your neck as you scratched it, trying your best to disguise your uncertainty. “I’m sure he’s home?”

That night you had gotten home, Bakugou wasn’t there. Your frown deepened when he showed up hours later, his body bruised and battered as if he had been patrolling today as if he was trying to convince you he was working.

“Hi, love,” Bakugou murmured as he pressed a soft kiss to your lips. “It was a long day at work.”

That was the first lie you had experienced come from Bakugou Katsuki.

When had he ever lied to you?

“Was it really?” You decided to play along as you watched him prepare the plate of food you had prepared for dinner.

“Mhm, shitty villains still under Shigaraki’s influence are still out there,” Bakugou sighs as he slides into the seat beside you.

“Why haven’t you shown up to work in a week?” You ask quickly, your heartrate hammering as your eyes widened at the sight of Bakugou freezing at your question.

“It’s a long story.”

“I have time.”

“I don’t want to talk about it, sorry.”

“O-Oh, okay.”

After that, he stopped caring about the special days of your relationship. Of how you two always took the third weekend of the month to yourselves, to get out, to be a couple! It was a wonderful thing the two of you did, personal days were important and getting to destress with each other was even better in your opinion.

“That sounds like it will be fun for you boys!” You call as you lay under the blankets of your bed.

You hear Bakugou spit into the sink, the water running seconds after as clattering sounds ring from the bathroom.

“It should be, as long as those idiots don’t screw anything up,” Bakugou responds as you watch him walking out of the bathroom in nothing but sleeping pants. Your lips quirk into a small smile as you watch him turn off the lights and climb into bed with you. You snuggle immediately into his side as he holds you, the minty freshness of his breath soothing you.

“When are you guys going?”

“Next weekend.”

Next weekend… but that was…

“I thought next weekend was our monthly getaway?” You asked as you pushed away from Bakugou, your eyes confused as millions of emotions ran through his eyes.

He had forgotten.

“Fuck, baby, I forgot… shit, I’ll text them and--”

“No!” You interrupt, your head shaking as you refused to let you get in the way of his bro bonding days. “It’s just this one time, it’s fine, ‘suki! We have more weekend getaways, plus we have so many under our belt I can make do without one.”

Even in the darkness, you could see his cheeks tinting red as he pressed an apologetic kiss to your mouth.

“I’m sorry, I’ll make it up to you.”

“I’m sure you will, lover boy.”

But he never did make it up to you, and it wasn’t the last time he double booked on your weekend getaways.

It started piling up, slowly and surely.

Date nights became once a week thing until they vanished until once a month thing. Even getting him to take you out once, getting him to join you somewhere was a verbal battle. He forgot your anniversary, instead choosing to go out with his friends and came back blackout drunk. You convinced yourself it wasn’t that big a deal as it was your fourth year anniversary, you could handle not celebrating this one, right? 

But there was fighting, so much fucking fighting.

The bitter, revolting, and disturbingly toxic verbal fights that left both of you crying for each other. Fights that created chipped walls between the two of you, fights that were only being resolved with angry and bitter sex. It was exhausting and you were desperate for improvement.

But it was too late for improvement, not when there was a picture of a drunk Ground Zero on the cover of a tabloid with a girl in his arms. There wasn’t anything flirty between them, the newspaper confirming that there was nothing for you to be offended about, but this was taken on the night that the both of you had promised to talk. The night that you believed change was finally going to happen for the better. But he never showed up until long after you had passed out while waiting for you.

Eerily as it happened months ago Bakugou opened the front door of his apartment, his voice ringing out about his bad day at work.

His eyes locked on your figure which was closed off, distant, and cold.

“You okay, y/n?” He asks, his tone tired and his body looking exhausted as he drops his bag onto the ground.

Your eyes drop to the ground as he steps towards you, his finger brushing your hair out of your face as he chuckles, “Is something wrong? You look pretty sad-- where are your blankets?”

There was no need to look where Bakugou held his attention right now, honestly, you had no idea how to feel about the fact that he had noticed so quickly. Happy because he noticed? Sad because why was his attention already dividing away from you after he had just stepped through the door?

“I didn’t want to leave you a note because I respect and love you too much to do that,” you whisper as you think about the boxes of your belongs that had been transported to your office. “I’m breaking up with you.”

Your eyes finally lock on his own, and you’re not surprised to see that his eyes are emotionless.

“What?”

“One year, ten months, and seventeen days,” your voice cracks as you smile, yet the warmth that typically joins it was missing entirely. “That’s the last time you told me you loved me.”

“There’s no wa--”

“It is,” you laugh as you shake your head. “And it was through a text message too. It’s not the reason why I’m breaking up with you though… I know you aren’t a verbal person when it comes to expressing your love, but regardless.”

“Then why are you breaking up with me,” Bakugou asks, his voice a near echo as if he was merely a reflection of himself.

“Because I need more!” You cry as your hand’s fist at your side. “I shouldn’t have to be a person you interact with only when you’re drunk! I was your goddamn girlfriend yet I didn’t even feel like your fucking friend, Bakugou! I was a second thought at best! I saw that you were out getting drunk even though you promised we would stay and talk about our issues... We fight constantly, you get drunk weekly, your agency hasn’t seen you in days! I’m supposed to be your lover, not your goddamn babysitter! I can’t do this anymore! Not when I’m trying to be loved, because goddamnit I deserve to be loved by someone who goddamn wants me!”

Fat tears well down your face as you glare at your feet, refusing to look up at Bakugou, “It’s not even that I don’t love you, because I really do. I prayed you were the one for me, I thought that you were the one I was meant to be with forever, but I see that I was wrong. We are meant for other people and that’s okay, it’s just… I love you too much and I need to get out before I can’t anymore…”

Your words are strong but you want nothing more than to crumble into the floor and never move again.

“I really did lose everything, didn’t I? Including you.”

Your eyes snapped up at your ex-boyfriend’s face and you fell frozen at the sight of equally large tears rolling down his face. His face is full of bitter amusement and just pure tragedy.

“I’ve been failing at everything recently… I just feel so burned out from everything, and I didn’t know how to fix anything. My agency basically kicked me out, I’ve been working with Kirishima’s agency for months now… my friends hate me when I’m drunk and it’s bleed into their behavior when I’m sober. I’m not trying to excuse my dumbass actions, I put all that in front of you when I shouldn’t have ever… I’m sorry, y/n. I know I told you, heroes, always win but… this is an evil in me that has been kicking my ass for ages now. I really am sorry, I do love you too, so fucking much but I don’t deserve you. If you’ve felt I haven’t loved you in nearly two years, I-- I don’t deserve you.”

You’re speechless as Bakugou presses a wet kiss to your forehead, “I’m sure whoever it is out there meant to be yours, they’re one lucky bastard. I’m so sorry.”

Without anything else to say, Bakugou walked past you, his eyes dark and shoulders stiff as he entered the bedroom. The door clicked softly behind him and your heart hammered in your ears as muffled sobs seemed to scream in your ears.

Despite the tears streaming down your own face, despite the fact that you wanted to storm into that room and beat him silly until your angry punches became desperate and forgiving kisses, you walked out of the apartment.

Fairytales had a big bad evil… was your assumed evil always wrong?