#even a five minute task just drains me completely and i feel exhausted. its so awful

[hopepetal]

Masterlist

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Part Five! Warning for brief, likely medically inaccurate, non-descriptive mentions of stitches.

Reblogs and comments are much appreciated! :)

@applestruda

“You can’t do something like that again.”

Grian looked up at Pearl, his hands pausing from their task of preening his wings. “Huh?” 

Pearl set down her hairbrush, sighing heavily. “You know what I mean,” she began, “earlier today. With Impulse.” She leaned forward, narrowing her eyes. “You’re looking too deep and forgetting that, whatever is in there…” She gestured vaguely with her hairbrush. “...it’s not as important as Impulse is.”

“I just…” Grian grumbled softly, running his hands over his feathers, “I don’t know what to do, Pearl. I don’t even know what we’re going up against, other than it’s…”

“Wrong,” Pearl finished his sentence, nodding. “I know. I don’t really…” A yawn interrupted her, and she set aside her hairbrush. “I’m scared, Grian,” she admitted, leaning against him. “I don’t know what to do.”

Carefully wrapping his wing around her, Grian sighed. “I’m scared, too. But we have to do something, before whatever’s going on with Impulse gets really bad.”

The two sat in silence for a bit, taking comfort in each other’s company. In the space of silence, their thoughts had plenty of room to make noise.

What they knew was this: Impulse had been cursed. Or something of the sort. Whatever had been done to him was draining his life force, or at least had been. When it originally let up, Pearl and Grian had been skeptical but relieved. Given the burns on Impulse’s hand, they’d figured that he’d paid the price and let it go, but still remained wary. 

But today…

“It must’ve come back,” Grian muttered, “or maybe it never really left.”

“It’s strong enough to almost completely cloak its presence,” Pearl added, “so there’s always a chance we try to do something about it and it just hides from us, and then we’re back at square one.” She let out a worried sound, her wings fluttering slightly. “What if this isn’t something we can fix, Grian?”

Grian reached out and gently took her hands in his own, rubbing his thumbs gently over the back of her hands. “Whatever it is, we’ll find a way. I promise you, everything will be alright.”

Pearl gave him a weary smile. “I’m gonna trust you on this one. Don’t let me down, now.”

Grian smiled back. “I won’t. It’s getting late,” he added after a moment, “and you look exhausted. We should get some rest and come back to this tomorrow.”

Pearl pulled away from Grian. “Yeah, you’re right. Try to get some sleep, at least.”

Grian stood, carefully stepping out of the tent before stretching his wings and folding them behind his back. “G’night, Pearl.”

She gave him a little wave goodbye. “Good night, Griba.” 

Glancing up at the sky, Grian was relieved to see that it was mostly clear. The stars were bright, and that made him feel a little better. A small grin appeared on his face as he slowly walked over to his tent, thinking of the children’s story he’d grown up believing. That stars were actually the souls of courageous heroes, who died valiantly in battle. He didn't really believe it anymore, but it was a small comfort to the part of him that still made wishes when blowing dandelions. 

He settled into his tent with a satisfied trill and took a moment to finish preening his wings, having only a small section left over from his chat with Pearl. Having already changed into his night clothes, it was just a few minutes before he was ready for bed. 

Grian settled down on his stomach, spreading his wings out to either side of him until he was comfortable. Tucking an arm beneath his pillow, he shifted a couple times to find the perfect position before closing his eyes. 

For once, his exhaustion bested his insomnia, and Grian fell into sleep. 

–

The sun beat down on his skin as Grian held the body of his dearest friend close. Blood the same colour as his feathers coated his hands and the sand around them, and tears flowed in a constant stream down his sunburnt cheeks. 

“I’m so sorry,” he keened, grief twisting his cries into a mournful birdsong, “oh Scar, I’m so sorry. It should’ve–” It should’ve been me.

He gently set his friend down, laying him to rest in the warm sand. Standing up, Grian extended his wings– broken, flightless, stained with the blood of his friends and enemies alike.

“One more life to go,” he murmured, and the voice of the sole survivor echoed across the land.

The flightless bird took one last desperate reach for the sky. 

And Grian

fell.

–

Grian woke with a strangled gasp, the memories of a red desert already fading as he was struck with a feeling of danger like he had never felt before. And it wasn’t just danger– no, a feeling of pure bloodlust emanated from just outside the tent, someone was outside his tent, someone was in camp and wanted to kill him.

Grian instantly rolled out of bed, grabbing his dagger from the side table. Before whatever outside was given the chance to break in, he shot out of the tent and turned to face his would-be murderer head-on. His wings mantled themselves behind his back, feathers puffed up threateningly as he held the dagger out in front of him.

His eyes adjusted to the low light of the night, and Grian realized that he knew that silhouette. 

Impulse stood in front of him, blinking away the red glow that had just been in his eyes, confused and slightly alarmed. “...Grian?” he asked, voice still groggy from what had been effectively a forced sleepwalking, “what are you…?”

“You’re not Impulse,” Grian hissed, his grip on the dagger tightening. “I saw you– I saw you!” His voice slowly rose from a whisper to a shout. “Let him go!”

Impulse took a few steps back, confused and now even more alarmed than before. “Grian, I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m myself, I– I’m right here, just calm down…”

“I’m not going to calm down!” Grian snapped, his eyes fixated on where the red had lingered in Impulse’s eyes. He shifted back, preparing to strike. “I see you. I know you’re there.” He no longer saw Impulse– in his eyes, there was only whatever curse had befallen his friend. He knew one thing, and one thing only. 

Grian had to get rid of the evil that had hidden itself deep in Impulse’s mind.

Time seemed to slow down. At the same time, it all happened so fast.

Pearl had sensed the initial bloodlust, though not as strong as it hadn’t been directed toward her, and woken up. Upon hearing the shouting, she– dazed and still half-asleep– had stumbled from her tent and realized exactly what was happening as Impulse scrambled back.

“You’re looking too deep and forgetting that, whatever is in there…”

Pearl ran towards the fight, shouting for Grian to stop, knowing he wouldn’t.

“...it’s not as important as Impulse is.”

She threw herself in front of Impulse, pushing him to the ground just in time for the blade to slice through her wing.

Pearl screamed.

A distant howl answered her cry, and the camp exploded into chaos. 

Grian’s eyes snapped back into focus, and he dropped his dagger and staggered back. Horror shone on his face, especially when his gaze landed on Pearl’s damaged wing. Impulse shot up, eyes wide as he looked between Pearl and Grian, unsure of what to do and still terrified.

Scar burst out from the swaggon, his hair shining pure white and faint wings glowing behind him. “What’s happening?!” he called, stepping toward the gathered knights. 

Mumbo stumbled out of his own tent, holding his rocket launcher and looking a bit taller than he had been before bed. His hair was clearly longer as well, and the way that the sprout on his head had shot up would’ve been comical had it not been for the situation.

Tilly burst into the camp, sprinting over to where Pearl was kneeling on the ground and pressing herself against Pearl’s side, whimpering softly. Pearl took in a sharp, shaky breath. “I’m alright, baby. I’m okay, Tilly girl.” She wrapped her arms around the dog’s neck, taking a moment to calm herself down.

“I don’t…” Grian cut himself off, shaking his head. “I… what was I doing, oh my gosh, what…” He stared at his hands as though he expected to see blood staining them red. “Pearl, Impulse, I’m so sorry.”

Impulse gave him a weak smile. “I don’t really know what happened either. One minute I was asleep, the next I was outside your tent. And then…”

Pearl slowly stood, glancing back at her wings and trying to extend them. While her uninjured one opened with ease, the other could only open slightly before sending sharp pain through her. “I think,” she started, trying to take deep breaths and keep her voice from shaking, “I think I’m going to need stitches.” 

Grian looked absolutely devastated. “Pearl, I–”

She shook her head. “We’ll talk later. I’m going to need your help.”

Mumbo looked concerned, though he slowly lowered his rocket launcher. “Are you okay?” he asked, “I mean, uh, obviously not, but…”

Pearl gave him a reassuring smile. “I’ll be alright. Don’t think I’ll be able to fly for a little while, but it’ll heal. It was just an unfortunate accident.” She sighed. “You should all get back to bed. Grian, come with me.” She gave Tilly a soft pat and whispered something, and the dog padded away.

Slowly, everyone began to disperse, Scar’s hair regaining its colour and his wings fading away as he walked back to the swaggon. Mumbo seemed to realize that he had accidentally shapeshifted from the scare and changed himself back before disappearing into his tent. Impulse lingered a moment longer, his face unreadable but his body language giving away his anxiety.

“I’m sorry you got hurt, Pearl,” he said sincerely, “I’ll see you both tomorrow.” With that, he left, and the two were alone.

“Pearl–” Grian began, but she cut him off.

“Not here. Not now.” Pearl sounded… angry. Of course, she had every right to be, Grian was angry at himself, but still… oh, he hated when people were angry at him. It made him feel so small. 

Nevertheless, Grian dutifully followed Pearl to her tent, where she went straight to a specific chest and pulled out her medical kit. “You know what to do?” she asked as she handed him the kit, but it wasn’t really a question.

Grian nodded, and Pearl carefully lit a lantern, putting it on a stable surface. She sat down, and Grian sat behind her, silently preparing the tools. “Aren’t you taking pain medicine?” he asked, his voice almost swallowed up by the silence.

Pearl shook her head. “After.”

“Doesn't it hurt?” Grian pressed as he finished preparing the tools and carefully prepping the injured area. 

Pearl’s voice became slightly more strained. “About as much as you’d think it would,” she answered tersely, and Grian stopped talking.

He began to carefully stitch Pearl’s wing, falling into the repetitive motion after a moment. He wasn’t given long to sit in silence, as Pearl only waited a moment to get used to the feeling before speaking up.

“What happened?” she asked, and the anger in her voice made Grian wince.

“I… I’m sorry Pearl, I wasn’t–”

“Thinking?” she finished for him. “Yeah. You usually don’t.”

“Pearl, I…”

“What would've happened had you hurt Impulse and suddenly made whatever was happening to him worse? We don't know what he's going through. We don't know the full extent of what's happening. We can't act without thinking, Grian, especially when it's our friend's life on the line.” Pearl’s hands were shaking, and she clenched them into fists. “I told you. I told you that you couldn’t just laser focus on the curse. Even if you had managed to get it out of Impulse, what if that had hurt him? What if that killed him? What if the curse had jumped to you after you pulled it from Impulse? What if–?” And she had to stop here, to take in a breath. “What if you had died?”

Grian frowned. “Pearl, that won’t happen. I won’t let it–”

“We’re not invincible, Grian!” she cried, “tonight is a wonderful example of that, actually!” For a moment, there was silence. “We may be Watchers, but we can still bleed. We can still die. And even if we don’t, I…” She buried her face in her hands. “I’m sorry.” She slowly placed her hands back in her lap. “I’m still angry at you, though,” she added on. “What you did wasn’t okay. I know you’re hard headed and stubborn and you don’t think things through, but we can’t just solve every single problem with… enthusiastic violence.”

Grian nodded, before realizing she couldn’t see him. “Yeah. I… you’re right, Pearl. I really don’t… it was like all I could see was that thing, and it made me so angry and I just…” He took a moment to focus on the stitching before continuing. “I don’t have an excuse. I acted on instinct and I hurt you and I could’ve– it could’ve ended up so much worse, and I’m so, so sorry.” He had to bite back tears as he spoke, pausing in his stitches so he wouldn’t mess up because of crying. “I never meant to hurt anyone.”

The anger had faded from Pearl’s voice, though it still sounded a little strained from the pain she was in. “I know, Grian.” Most of all, she sounded tired. “I know.”

Grian finished up the stitches and carefully bandaged the area, before Pearl took a very generous dose of the pain medicine. He gave her a slightly concerned look, and she’d returned that with a deadpan stare.

“Has it been too long since your last wing injury?” she asked, raising an eyebrow, “have you forgotten how incredibly painful it is?”

Grian shook his head, holding his hands up. “No, ma’am,” he answered weakly, earning a small laugh from his sister. “No judgement here, none at all.”

Pearl carefully sorted her medical kit’s supplies before placing it back into the place it had been earlier. For a moment, both sat in silence again. 

Grian started to stand. “I should probably head back to my tent…”

Pearl placed a hand on his arm, interrupting him. “Can you stay here instead?” she asked, a soft vulnerability hidden in the plea. “I just…”

Grian nodded, almost too eagerly, and sat back down. “No, I…” he trailed off. “...I think I need it too,” he admitted, his voice wavering slightly. “If you don’t mind.”

Pearl smiled– an exhausted, pained smile, but one of relief all the same– and pulled him into a hug. “Thank you,” she mumbled into his shoulder, and Grian hummed softly in response.

It took a few extra blankets and pillows for them both to get comfortable, but eventually the two siblings drifted off to sleep. Grian’s wing rested gently over Pearl, a comforting and protective gesture all at once. 

Times would get difficult. Bonds would be tested, friendships would be strained. But no matter what, they would heal. Things would get better, and they would be stronger for it. 

Pearl fell asleep, and dreamed of falling stars.

[claitea]

anyone got tips for burnout bc i have it Bad and all the google tips are just "do some activities you like! mindfulness!" and those do not work for me ever

[long-cosmos-overhead]

Hi! Just found your blog but im too shy to reveal my useename so here i hide in the anon haha could you do an hc on Elrond, Lindir and Glorfindel (hope to god its the correct spelling!) reacting to their S/O whos clearly overworkedand exhausted but refuses to sleep because "this task was given to me, specifically, i need to finish it."

A.k.a modern!S/O who needs a long nap but anxiety and ADD wont shut up

Aw don’t be shy message me in dm and we can be mutuals if you’d like xx

(I do not own LoTR or The Hobbit or it’s characters/ gifs not mine)

Elrond

Elrond is a master at planning out his time he has likely planned out your time with your permission beforehand

He’s proud that you are working but his pride slowly converts to concern after it’s been hours and you’re looking awfully drained

Elrond stays up with you despite telling him he can just sleep but when it turns so late even he is having trouble staying awake he rests his hand gently on top of yours halting your writing

The ‘5 more minutes’ don’t fool him he knows you well enough to know it won’t be five minutes it’ll be hours

At first he tries coaxing you to bed or at least to rest, as time goes on he becomes more stern giving you that look that you know you shouldn’t ignore

If it comes down to it Elrond will pick you up and lock his arms around you so you physically cannot leave the bed until you’re rested

No matter what he will give you praise Elrond knows you work hard but he’ll also give you fair criticism on your time management, he will make a timetable for you by morning

Lindir

Lindir starts his morning with you already working and tells you to make sure to eat, drink and rest before he goes out to do his duties

He is horrified when he returns rather late to see you in the exact same position eyes red and far too drained for his liking

Immediately Lindir panics believing it was somehow his fault because he didn’t check up on you if at this point you haven’t stopped working congratulations Lindir is now in panic mode

He will plead with you to at least eat and drink it breaks his heart when you tell him you just can’t because the work was given to you especially and you need it done by the deadline

Lindir knows how stressful meeting a deadline is by as your lover he cannot stand by and let you work yourself into a grave

He offers his help whether it be a massage or to split your work so he can do some if you don’t agree to any of his help Lindir will talk to the person who gave you the work

He feels so happy to have gotten you an extension or another person to spilt the work with that he races right back to so he can finally have you in his arms resting

Glorfindel

(There’s no gifs for him I’m so mad)

Glorfindel understands the importance of hard work, he himself has run into burnout through work so he has less of a concept of when enough is enough

In the beginning he encourages you firmly he is so proud to have a hardworking partner

His concern comes over slower than the rest but it is not any less strong he sees your tiredness as normal until you struggle to eat or move from fear you won’t complete the task

Glorfindel definitely urges you to rest he brings you over food and drink but gets hugely concerned when you don’t touch it

Glorfindel tries getting you tired and relaxed enough to come to bed willingly by running his fingers through your hair, leaving kisses and warm touches all over your skin

If you still won’t leave he just picks you up and drags you away, he doesn’t care if you’re protesting or trying to fight back, he’s far stronger than you and he is putting you to bed

He rewards you with kisses and a warm embrace when you finally give up and reasons with you to take breaks and lower your workload if not you’re to come to him and he will help you sort something

[gwydionae]

(Keep My) Back to You

A/N: Gosh dang it, I am determined to finish this thing if it kills me, which this chapter almost did. It’s over twice as long as the last two! Action scenes gotta make everything difficult. But yeah, more action, canon divergence, and Sakura in this one, but still a healthy dose of Naruto and Sasuke friendship stuff.

Posted on fanfiction.net >here<. Chapter 1 on tumblr >here<. Chapter 2 on tumblr >here<.

Teaser: Naruto just wants a friend. Sasuke will never allow himself to have one. But heavy burdens carried by small backs feel lighter when the load is shared with others.

Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto. Canon divergence. Rated T for mild language and violence.

Chapter 3: Teammates

"Damn it..."

Naruto's muttered curse hung in the small, dark room as he slowly pushed himself up from the floor, eyes straying back to the figure lying in the corner for what must have been the hundredth time that night. The stark white bandages covering nearly every inch of the body glowed in the dim moonlight, contrasting sharply with dark hair and clothes. After seconds that felt like ages, soft, rhythmic sounds and near imperceptible movement told his heart what his head already knew; Sasuke was still breathing. He was fine. He was alive.

Slipping out of his bedroll, Naruto silently stood and tiptoed his way past his sleeping teammates and out of the shared room. He didn't stop until he'd left the stifling closeness of Inari's house behind, allowing the salty air of the Land of Waves to fill his lungs as he slumped onto the dock, dangling his feet above the calm water.

The day's events had left him exhausted and drained, but every time he closed his eyes he could feel the cold of the ice surrounding him, smell the sweat and blood in the air, see the limp body in his arms. He'd never known joy like when he heard Sakura cry out to him, proclaiming Sasuke's return from the dead, but it hadn't made the experience of witnessing someone he cared about die in front of him any less traumatic. But then, it hadn't just been the sudden death of a teammate that had scared him, either. He clutched at his stomach, unable to keep his hand from shaking.

"Stupid fox..."

Ever since learning of the demon housed inside of him, Naruto had done his best to push all thoughts of it aside. It had often been difficult, the insults following him through the village suddenly taking on a whole new meaning, but he himself had never felt any indication that some great, evil entity had been living in his abdomen his entire life. But that day on that bridge, there was no denying its existence. The anger, the pure rage that flowed through him had been heinous and intoxicating, providing him with the destructive power to bring pain and death indiscriminately. And he had accepted it gladly.

There was some comfort in knowing that the Nine Tails hadn't wrestled away full control. He had, after all, retained enough willpower to stop himself as the masked boy's identity was at last revealed, returning him to his senses. But what if the mask had never been broken? What if he had continued to pour his unbridled hatred into a faceless opponent until it wasn't Kakashi's arm impaling the other boy's - Haku's - chest, but Naruto's?

The mere thought sent a shiver down his spine. He had always known, of course, that shinobi, at their core, were trained killers. The arsenal of weapons and techniques at his disposal were there so he could complete any mission, using deadly means if necessary. He should have been prepared for it, the possibility that a life would be taken with his own still-young hands. But upon witnessing such bloodshed in just one day, whether innocent or criminal, he felt his stomach churn at the thought, the idea of the monster living inside of him someday taking away his agency and restraint physically repulsive.

Naruto gulped down several deep breaths. He would have to learn to control it, overpower it. He couldn't allow himself to be so eager to use the fox's power when presented to him, and with more dangerous missions sure to be in his future, the opportunities to do so would surely rise.

Sasuke's cold and lifeless body flashed in his arms. Sakura's tear-stained face. Kakashi's bleeding chest.

"Damn it!"

None of that would have even happened if he hadn't been so weak in the first place. He wouldn't have been caught in an obvious trap, wouldn't have passed out or known the temptations that came with unbridled fury. Wouldn't have watched Sasuke die.

"He's not dead! He's fine!"

But even that wasn't entirely true. "Fine" was a relative term, but most weren't likely to consider having dozens of unnatural holes in their body a state to be thought of as "fine".

The hours following their ordeal on the bridge had been horrifying in their own way. Sasuke could barely stand let alone walk back to Inari's house for proper treatment, and while Naruto's offered shoulder for support may have kept him from collapsing, it was obvious that any pressure put on a needle caused him further pain. And there had been far more needles than it was possible to avoid.

Sasuke's legs were tended to first. He stood, one hand gripping a table while Naruto had hold of the other, a kunai handle wrapped in cloth clenched between his teeth as Kakashi carefully extracted the senbon one by one. Body shaking at the pain and effort to stay upright, Sasuke had grasped his hand so tight his knuckles turned white, muffled grunts of pain only occasionally sneaking past his normally stoic facade. Sakura had been shivering as well, uttering reassurances to both Sasuke and herself as she tried to focus on her task of applying the first aid to the newly opened wounds. It had taken every ounce of effort for Sasuke to not crumple to the floor the second they were done, still shaking as Naruto helped lower him. And that was only his legs.

His shirt had been removed in pieces, allowing for less pull on the senbon and access to the wounds in full. The sight of his small, bare chest, back, neck and arms covered in large needles with thin trails of dried blood leaking from each caused Naruto's breath to hitch in his throat, and Sakura had kept furiously wiping her eyes to keep them dry so she could concentrate properly. The pile of bloody senbon kept growing, achingly slowly but disturbingly large. Sasuke's breath grew more ragged with each extraction, Naruto's hand going numb in his grasp. When Kakashi had finally reached his neck, the kunai had needed to be removed from his mouth as violent coughing fits had begun to dye the fabric red. There was no hiding the agonized gasps and moans after that.

Mere minutes after the last of the bandages had been applied, Sasuke had passed out and was carried to their sleeping quarters by Kakashi. Naruto would never have thought it possible for him to look so young and fragile. Sakura had sat there in a bit of a trance, her gaze remaining on the doorway the rest of their team had left through. A moment passed before she had rather mechanically begun cleaning up the mess, but Inari's mother had stopped her, told her to rest. She would handle it. Said it was the least she could do.

If anyone had noticed that Naruto had managed to come out of the battle completely unscathed despite the many holes in his jacket, they kept it to themselves.

Raising his arm, he pulled back the sleeve to examine his skin. It was clear, unblemished as if he hadn't been in a fight for his very life less than twenty-four hours ago. No puncture wounds, no scratches, not even a bruise marred its surface. A far cry from the state he should have been in. A far cry from the state Sasuke was currently in. He supposed this was another gift of the Nine Tails, another reason to be tempted to unleash its power.

What if they did notice? What if they asked? What if Sasuke asked? Sakura and Kakashi had been distracted by their own life or death matters, but Sasuke, he was there. He had seen him fall unconscious. He had stood in front of his battered and worn out body and taken a blow meant for him because he had been too weak to protect himself. Of all people, Sasuke deserved the truth; he had more than earned that much. But...

"...damn it..."

He was scared. He could take down mob goons, use himself as bait in a deadly trap, and stand up to cold-blooded killers, but the thought of Sasuke, the rival he'd worked so hard to keep a connection with for five years, rejecting him, shunning him, calling him a monster?

"Damn it, damn it, damn it!"

The sudden creak of a footstep signaled that someone was approaching, having managed to sneak up on him while he stewed in his worries. But before he could turn around, Naruto felt a lithe but athletic form slowly lowering, seating itself behind him, and resting its back gingerly against his own with a stifled grunt. In an instant it was as if he was transported to a very different dock, one that lived in his memories as both peaceful companion and stinging rejection.

Which would this be?

"You should be sleeping."

"I slept all day." Sasuke's voice was quiet and raw, but the tone was matter-of-fact, as it usually was.

"Someone bandaged up like a mummy should sleep all day."

Expecting a bit more than the typical non-committal "hn" he received in response, Naruto waited for Sasuke to continue, explain what exactly he was doing there, but seconds turned into minutes with only the sound of light waves to break the silence. He supposed that Sasuke had always preferred peace and quiet, but it wasn't as if he hadn't been getting that back in their room. And coming to sit with Naruto almost assured he wouldn't get it for long.

"...how're you feeling?"

"Fine."

It was Naruto's turn to answer with his own wordless response - an incredulous snort - as he pulled a knee up to his chest and leaned against it, frowning as he stared at the water below. He felt Sasuke shift behind him as well.

"You said so yourself. I'm fine. I'm not dead."

Naruto tensed, unable to stop it despite knowing that Sasuke would likely feel it as well. Inwardly he berated himself on his lack of ability to just simply be quiet thanks to years of conditioning his voice to be as loud and obnoxious as possible. He always seemed to catch someone's attention when he didn't want it. He only hoped he hadn't said anything else out loud that he preferred not be overheard.

"Yeah, well, you coulda been."

"But I'm not."

It was hard to pinpoint what was more infuriating, the words Sasuke was saying or the fact that he was saying them so casually through a raspy, sore throat that had been coughing up blood mere hours ago.

Even so, he couldn't deny the fact that having him there with him, feeling the warmth from his very much alive body, hearing his damaged voice, was doing far more to calm his nerves than sitting and moping alone had done. Naruto didn't exactly have a lot of experience with accepting support from others as it so rarely had been offered, but the comfort another physical human being radiated was greater than he'd ever imagined it'd be.

...was - was that why Sasuke was there?

No, no, no. That was definitely not the reason. But then... maybe? It wasn't impossible, was it? Well, it sure seemed impossible, from Sasuke of all people. But, maybe because it was Sasuke, of all people...

The two weren't friends. They didn't hang out or play together like other kids. Heck, they didn't even train together until they were forced to. And their conversations weren't exactly what others would call cordial, if you could even label their antagonizing as "conversations" in the first place.

But beneath the goading was a strange mutual respect. Over the years an unspoken agreement had seemed to form between them, ever since that day on the dock. Naruto would draw others' attention away from Sasuke, and Sasuke in turn was one of the very few to never bully him. In fact, there had been more than one occasion during which Naruto had suspected Sasuke may have had a hand in decreasing his daily abuse, though he never had been able to prove it.

And after becoming teammates, it felt as if something had changed. Maybe it was due to the fact that they were suddenly forced to actively work together, but Sasuke had seemed... less distant. He was still a brooding loner, of course, but Naruto had noticed him doing things such as offering a hand to pull him to his feet, agreeing to eat lunch with the team, and even once or twice diverting the attention of clients a bit less than thrilled to see a "monster" fulfilling their request onto himself.

Even without any of that, what other possible reason could Sasuke have to drag himself outside and sit purposefully near him only to ignore any attempt at conversation? Because as all of this churned within Naruto's brain, his lone companion sat quietly, seemingly content to simply share a space. If he was about to give him the third degree about what had happened on that bridge, as Naruto had thought he might, he was sure taking his good, sweet time bringing it up.

The longer they sat, the more Naruto felt himself relaxing, the foreign acceptance of comfort turning natural. And the more natural it became, the more he knew how painful it would be if he ever had to give it up.

Naruto looked back down at his unblemished arm. Sasuke was here. He was alive. But it had been due to the compassion of their opponent and nothing else. If he wanted this feeling of comfort to go beyond this singular moment, he couldn't afford to sit idly on a dock cursing the failings of his past.

Nor could he be afraid to use every advantage at his disposal, no matter how volatile.

His fingers curled, clenching into a tight fist.

"I'm gonna get stronger."

There was a shift of movement behind him as his words filled the night air with his resolve, but Sasuke remained silent, listening. Naruto sat straight and looked into the star-filled sky, determination etched into his face.

"I'm gonna train every day until I pass out. I'm gonna keep getting stronger and stronger and stronger so I don't need you to protect me anymore. And even then I'm not gonna stop. Because I swear I'm gonna keep you and Sakura-chan and Kakashi-sensei and all of Konoha safe. I will be the Hokage, and the Hokage has to be strong enough to protect everyone. No matter what."

Lowering his gaze, his voice became thick and heavy as he forced out one final promise.

"I won't just watch you die again."

The stillness of the night gathered around them once again as Naruto's words hung in the air. He had not so long ago made a very similar vow after freezing up at the start of their journey. That one, however, had been sworn out of shame of his own cowardice, watching Sasuke and Sakura risking their lives while he stood by and watched. This one, this one was made with full understanding of what his weakness could lead to and the people that would pay the price for it. The first had been selfish, an inward desire to prove himself, but this new promise was sown for the sake of others, out loud, a witness present to hold him accountable.

His witness slowly got to his feet and, keeping his back to Naruto, broke the silence.

"Catch up to me before thinking about becoming the Hokage."

It wasn't an insult.

It was a challenge.

Naruto grinned.

"Watch me."

Hopping to his feet, he trotted over to where Sasuke had begun slowly limping his way back to Inari's house, pleased to find that his injured teammate didn't protest when he offered himself up as support.

"How'd you even make it out here all by yourself? You can barely walk!" Naruto feigned an exasperated sigh. "You're lucky I'm here to help you get back. You might've fallen straight into the ocean!"

Sasuke did not seem quite so ready to be teased for his predicament.

"You're lucky I don't shove those senbon into you until I figure out why you don't have a scratch on you."

Their walking jolted to a stop as Naruto's fears from earlier suddenly reared to life. He had noticed. Of course he had. There's no way he wouldn't have. There really was no simple way of explaining the mysterious disappearance of over a dozen small holes in his body in a matter of hours, possibly minutes if Sasuke had realized it before they'd even left the unfinished bridge.

But he couldn't tell him the truth. Not yet.

"...can you wait for the answer?"

The question was quiet but firm, and Naruto glanced over to look Sasuke in the eye, refusing to flinch and give away how much weight his response would hold. He returned the gaze, dark eyes searching for something hidden behind the blue, but after only a brief pause, he closed them with a light sigh.

"As long as it doesn't hurt the team, I won't ask."

The tension again eased out of Naruto's shoulders, a smile returning to his face as they resumed their walk back.

"Thanks."

"Hn. Usuratonkachi."

"Jerk."

The decision was made. He would learn to control the Nine Tails, both for his team's sake and his own. Perhaps he would even ask Kakashi about it in the morning. He had never liked secrets, and the sooner he was comfortable sharing one as massive as this the better. Of course, he doubted he would ever truly feel ready for that conversation, but if he had to have it, then the least he could do was make sure he was able to say with confidence that he was, in fact, not a dangerous monster. ____________________________________ 

"Damn it..."

Sasuke absently reached up to rub at the mark on his neck as he headed back toward the stream he and Naruto had caught fish in earlier. Four days - four days they'd been stuck in this giant, monster-ridden forest, and they hadn't so much as attempted to take a scroll from another team. The attack by that Orochimaru had come before they'd had a chance to strategize, leaving them unconscious and open to an ambush by the Sound which in turn left them so injured they needed several days to recuperate. The exam would be over in less then twenty-six hours, and they didn't even have a solid plan.

His fingers massaged his neck as he pulled out the water bottle in order to refill it. He had gotten better at hiding it, but even now a constant, dull pain emanated from the place he'd been bitten. On several occasions he'd caught Sakura staring at him, a look of worry and guilt on her face before forcing a stiff smile. He couldn't stand that look. It made him feel weak, reminded him of how helpless he'd been when faced with a truly deadly opponent. Naruto, however, remained oblivious to the true nature of his injury, Sakura keeping his secret for now. He was grateful for that. The last thing they needed was for all three of them to be distracted with something they couldn't do anything about. The best he could do was to remain alert at all times, ready to deal with any threat as quickly and efficiently as possible.

A serpentine eye peering out from behind a half melted face flashed before his eyes, Sakura petrified, tears streaming down her cheeks, Naruto hanging unconscious.

"...damn it."

Sasuke plunged the water bottle into the stream in frustration. He had to focus. Keeping himself and his teammates safe had to be the priority. He would need them to pass the exam, of course, but more importantly, passing would in turn give them an added layer of protection. A return to D rank missions filled with gardening and babysitting would only lead to impatience, and the more impatient he became, the more enticing the dangerous burst of power from the mark on his neck would seem. The more enticing a new set of eyes would seem.

He had sworn to defeat Itachi without becoming him. He could not allow failure during some survival test to tempt him into doing otherwise.

Clearing his mind of unsettling thoughts, he concentrated on his surroundings, reaching out with his senses for the smallest sign of a threat. He needed to keep his guard up, especially while on his own, and no sooner had he regained his focus than his muscles tensed in anticipation. There was a well-hidden, unknown chakra not far behind him, announcing a presence he'd been too distracted to notice sooner.

Sloppy, careless.

Turning with lightning speed, Sasuke flung the now full bottle in the direction of his silent observer, quickly reaching for more deadly weapons as a follow up. However it wasn't the ease at which his assailant dodged the projectile that worried him. It was the position his hands had been in before Sasuke had forced him to move. His pointer fingers and thumbs had been touching, leaving a triangular hole that he'd been watching Sasuke through with narrowed, hazel eyes.

The Mind Transfer technique, a staple of the Yamanaka clan. He'd seen Ino use it at the academy. But he didn't know much apart from the fact that the user could enter a target's mind, and this wasn't Ino. Had he reacted a second later, his body would already be in another's control, set to easily secure their Earth scroll for the enemy. Leaving Naruto and Sakura, even for the smallest of moments to clear his thoughts, could have doomed them all.

Sloppy.

Careless.

"Damn it!"

Keeping a close eye on his attacker was essential, unsure of how much time such a technique required to complete. Kunai in hand, Sasuke ran at the other boy - a teenager, slightly older than him, with auburn hair pulled into a ponytail, a tanto being unsheathed from his back - intent on forcing his opponent into close quarters hand-to-hand combat. He only hoped this one couldn't use single-handed seals.

The sound of metal clashing against metal rang out as Sasuke knocked away the incoming blow from the tanto. He quickly sent a fierce kick aimed at the other's head, but it was dodged effortlessly and followed up with a slash to his abdomen with the knife, Sasuke nearly unable to back up in time to avoid the attack. Rushing forward once more to make sure his opponent's hands stayed occupied, the two continued to trade blows, but it didn't take long for Sasuke to realize that while the ninja before him may specialize in intelligence gathering through stealth and cunning, his skill with the tanto was far above that of a normal genin. Each attack, each block, each dodge was made with the accuracy and finesse only rigorous training could provide.

He had always been confident in his taijutsu, but his lack of experience with weapons outside of shuriken or kunai left him at a disadvantage when faced with an expert. Normally his solution would be to create distance, relying on his sure aim and misdirection, but such a tactic would risk freeing up his attacker's hands. The increasing cuts in his shirt and sores on his body from the relentless blows were giving him few other options, however, the latest swipe managing to nick his arm. He ignored the trail of blood, concentrating solely on his opponent's movement in search of an opening.

With a determined parry of a slice aimed at his abdomen, Sasuke pushed enough chakra out from the soles of his feet to propel him swiftly away in a backflip that would have been more graceful had the mark on his neck not sent a stab of pain into his shoulder. Grimacing, he fought to remain focused, hands instantly grabbing for several shuriken from his weapons pouch. With practiced ease, the blades flew through the air, and as predicted, the auburn-haired shinobi dodged the seemingly frontal assault. Sasuke smirked, manipulating the shuriken's path with the attached wire like a skillful puppet master, sending it around a nearby tree with the intent to bind his nimble opponent to it.

A burned face, jaw slack and eyes wide, melted away, turning to mud, leaving merely a scarred tree trunk and loose wire as the same snake-like figure rose from the branch in front of him, baring its fangs, neck elongating as he could only stand there, paralyzed -

A roar of frustration left him as the hesitation from the terrifying memory was just enough to allow his prey to escape his trap, running not at him but toward the surrounding foliage. He was trying to hide, attack from the shadows. Sasuke couldn't allow it.

The Sharingan at last blazed to life in his eyes, his opponent's movements seeming to slow instantly. However no sooner had he reached to grab another kunai then his whole body seized up, sharp pain like lightning shooting out from his neck, tightening his muscles, holding him in place. He could feel the mark burning, the scabbed bite wounds throbbing, but no cry escaped his constricted throat, and his lungs refused to expand. His skin was on fire, every beat of his heart pure torture.

He could smell the putrid breath from the demonic head on the twisting neck, see the saliva hungrily glistening on its sharp teeth -

"A proud Uchiha, paralyzed with fear? Surprising. But it will make my mission that much easier to complete."

His attacker's first words sounded distant, blood pounding in his ears as if demanding to be freed from his fragile body. He gasped for air, silently begging for the pain to stop, for his body to move. But neither did as he wanted. He was frozen in place once again, merely waiting for the final blow, incapable of saving himself, let alone others.

"Sasuke!"

A warm, firm back bumped up against his own, a ringing of struck metal and grunt of annoyance proof that for once, Naruto had arrived just in time. His eyes returned to black, feeling slowly returning to his limbs as air filled his lungs. He leaned into the comforting presence behind him.

"Late as always."

"Hah! Thought maybe you drowned. Shoulda known you'd need me to bail you out!"

Sasuke allowed himself to crumple to the ground as the familiar popping sound of multiple shadow clones appearing from thin air met his ears.

"Sasuke-kun!"

Sakura appeared at his side, looking at him with that same expression full of worry he hated so much. As Naruto left to confront his attacker, she reached out to steady him. He didn't have the strength to push her away.

"Are you alright? I knew it shouldn't have been taking so long! We should have been here sooner! Are you hurt?"

"I'm fine."

Her anxious expression told him that she didn't believe his words.

"It's that mark again, isn't it?"

He didn't answer, shamefully realizing that he'd subconsciously been rubbing at his neck since collapsing. There was some relief as her eyebrows furrowed in consternation at his stubbornness. Any look was preferred to her pity.

"Sasu-"

"Where's Naruto?"

Pushing himself back to his feet with Sakura's help, his eyes fell upon multiple Naruto's engaged with the mysterious shinobi, puffs of smoke dissipating into the air as he expertly cut down clone after clone. It was unsurprising that Naruto's taijutsu abilities were no match, having always been a step behind his own, but the sheer amount of shadow clones had at least done the job of buying enough time for backup. The three of them would be sufficient for their single opponent. What worried him was the idea of two more waiting with a well-timed ambush.

"He can use the Yamanaka clan's Mind Transfer technique." Sasuke lightly pushed away from Sakura as he drew some more shuriken, noting the look of recognition on her face. "His teammates were probably waiting to use that to their advantage before showing themselves. We can't be careless when dealing with him."

The confident smile he got in return was not what he had expected.

"That technique has to be precise," she said, arming herself with a kunai. "If he were to miss his target, his body would be at our mercy for over a minute. It's best used on a stationary target, so as long as all three of us can keep moving, he won't be able to use it."

Sasuke knew that he shouldn't have been surprised. She had always been the only one to consistently beat him when it came to written tests, and on top of that she and Ino had at one point been close friends. And yet her weak points, a distinct lack of physical ability and stamina compared to even the other females in their class, always seemed to overshadow her strengths in his mind. Taking in her newly shortened hair and still healing wounds from when she had watched over both him and Naruto, he nodded back at her, resolving to finally stop underestimating the third member of his team.

"Then let's move."

Hiding the lingering discomfort, Sasuke took off at a run, quickly scaling a nearby tree in order to support Naruto's frontal attack from above. He noticed Sakura hesitate for a fraction of a second, glancing his way before dashing off to flank their opponent from the opposite direction, a look of determination on her face. She was trusting him, believing he'd keep it together despite the somewhat alarming state they'd found him in. He could only do the same for her.

The number of clones had dwindled drastically in the time it had taken Sasuke to regain his composure and use of limbs, but five Narutos were still fighting valiantly as his shuriken began raining down. The assault hadn't been entirely unexpected, their foe dodging both the projectiles and Naruto's punches with relative ease. The late addition of a kunai from the direction the ninja had been heading had their foe backflipping out of the way, using chakra to kick off from a large, gnarled tree as he barreled into one of the remaining clones with his tanto. Seeing his opening, Sasuke grabbed a kunai and jumped, managing to repay his attacker for the nick on his arm with a slice of his own as the ninja attempted to roll out of the way.

"Hey, hey, not leaving so soon, are we?"

Naruto struck their opponent with a forceful kick, a sinister grin spreading across his face, but the unknown shinobi retained his calm demeanor. Too late Sasuke recognized a quick series of hand seals, and in a burst of smoke, the enemy ninja's body was replaced by one of Naruto's who blinked up at his original and Sasuke in surprise.

"Over there! He used Substitution!"

Sasuke bolted before Sakura even had a chance to finish her warning, giving chase to the quickly retreating tanto wielder.

"Stay focused! It might be an ambush, but we can't let him out of our sight!"

The fleeing ninja was fast, and the effort to keep up was making his neck throb. He could hear Naruto and his three remaining clones crashing through the forest behind him, Sakura's much quieter pursuit a bit further back. Gritting his teeth, Sasuke's eyes darted around. With all the noise, there was more to worry about than just one potential team of three, and they didn't have the time nor the energy to waste.

A cry from Naruto, however, forced him to halt in his tracks, whirling his head around right as one of the four crashed into a tree and clutched his arm in pain. The blow had come from a topless male figure wearing a strange mask, a tanto strapped to his back. His skin looked as if patches of it had been dyed an unhealthy purple.

"Ahhh! Wh-what is - "

Sasuke watched as terrified horror washed over the struck Naruto's face, the injured hand he held up shaking violently as it too turned purple before starting to bubble, as if it were being boiled from the inside. A vice seemed to tighten around Sasuke's heart until at last, with a loud pop and hiss, the clone disappeared. The screams of pain, however, continued to echo throughout the forest surrounding them.

"Don't let this guy touch you!"

Ripping his attention away from the now unoccupied space, Sasuke looked up to see the three remaining Narutos all frantically dodging the newcomer's punches.

"That purple stuff is, I dunno, poison or something! Don't let it get on you!"

Unlike the auburn-haired shinobi, this one seemed to prefer weaponless fighting, his strikes powerful but lacking the same finesse. The comparison, however, instantly reminded Sasuke of the dangers of standing still for too long, and praying that Naruto was fast and skilled enough to stay out of their new opponent's reach, he again took to the trees, jumping through the branches as he searched for any sign of the ninja they'd been following.

It didn't take long to find him. Below in a small clearing less than fifty yards from where Naruto and the purple-skinned ninja were fighting were not one but two tanto-wielding figures. The attacker with auburn hair was speaking to another slightly younger male with black hair and pale skin who was dipping an enormous paint brush into ink. A half-finished painting of a tiger adorned a large, unfurled scroll in front of him.

" - no more time. If capture is no longer possible, then - "

Sasuke didn't wait to hear their conversation; the element of surprise was too precious a commodity. Drawing more shuriken, he threw several down at the shinobi and another with wire attached toward a branch opposite him, correctly anticipating the one he had fought earlier to skillfully dodge backwards as Sasuke swung from his hidden perch, aiming for that spot. His foot collided with his opponent's jaw, and he quickly followed it up with a series of punches and kicks, forcing the other to block with no time to draw the tanto on his back. Sasuke's attention, however, was divided, with one eye on the third member of the team at all times. The black-haired boy's lack of concern for his teammate, swiftly returning to his painting instead of defending him, was more disconcerting than if he had joined the fray. He either trusted in his comrade's capabilities, or that tiger was a far greater threat than it appeared. Likely both were true.

Sweat covered his body as each jab, each kick seemed to drain him of a lot more energy than usual. His shoulders felt heavy, a stinging pain shooting into his neck, while his opponent deftly absorbed his blows. This wasn't working. His attacks were wearing himself down faster than they were his enemy, and the painting would be finished soon. He needed to be precise, quick, create an opening.

He needed his Sharingan.

His heart pounded at the thought, remembering what had happened mere minutes earlier when he'd attempted to use it. He desperately wanted to believe that the timing had been a fluke, that his most powerful weapon wasn't locked away behind a wall of suffocating paralysis. Behind that cursed mark. But the feeling of his chest and muscles tightening, the inability to even gasp for air was fresh in his mind, and that made him hesitate, and the more he hesitated, the closer the tiger came to completion.

The fourth leg showed the beast ready to pounce.

Punch, punch, kick, punch, block.

His lungs were constricting; he couldn't breathe.

The tail was added with a graceful flourish.

Kick, dodge, counter, punch, punch.

His veins were on fire, the pain utterly debilitating.

The stripes were added one by one, the tail the last area left -

A loud clink pulled his gaze fully away from his current opponent and toward the painting shinobi where the ink pot now lay tipped over, its black contents spilling out and marring the tiger's snarling jaws. A kunai rested near it, and glancing up, he saw Sakura running to engage the painter.

His moment of distraction cost him. A swift kick to his gut sent Sasuke tumbling to the ground, knocking his head against a thick tree trunk.

"Sasuke-kun!"

Blinking the stars out of his eyes, he quickly wobbled to his feet, doing everything in his power to brace himself for another blow. But no blow came. Instead, the auburn-haired ninja was darting away from him, heading toward -

"Keep them busy. I'll make sure the other one can't interrupt."

- toward Naruto.

"Damn it!"

Sasuke immediately made to follow, fearing it would be impossible for Naruto to survive a concentrated assault from both the tanto expert and poison user, but something caught him around the ankle, causing him to fall back to the hard ground. Turning to look, a strange black and white snake was wrapping its way around his leg, and a quick glance showed several more springing from a small scroll in the painter's hands. His paintings were coming to life, and if snakes six feet long were coming from such a small scroll, he was grateful he never had to lay witness to the tiger.

With a growl of impatience, Sasuke grabbed a kunai from his pouch, but before he could use it, another flew from Sakura's hand, hitting its mark and dispelling the snake instantly.

"Go!" She fended off her own snake before landing another hit on one of the three headed in his direction. "I can take care of this - help Naruto!"

He hesitated only a fraction of a second before nodding his thanks and racing after the fleeing ninja, kunai still in hand. His limbs ached, begging him to stop and rest, but instead he pushed on harder, faster. He had to make it in time. Naruto's life was at stake, and if the painter was anywhere near the level of his teammates, Sakura would be in danger as well. He had to find a way to end this and soon.

The dead bodies of his parents, his clan spurred him forward. He couldn't lose anyone else.

The auburn-haired ninja had vanished into the forest, but at last, up ahead he saw a flash of orange propelling itself from tree to tree, dodging purple projectiles of some sort and firing kunai back in turn.

"Did you seriously just try to hit me with a frog? Ha! Idiot!"

Naruto's obnoxious voice ringing through the forest for once gave Sasuke a slight sense of relief. There was still time. Just a little farther.

But then it clicked. The purple-skinned ninja's attacks weren't as random as they initially seemed. He was driving Naruto, leading him toward a large tree that had snapped in half, a hollow space in the trunk well hidden amongst its dead branches. A single remaining sturdy limb protruded near the shadowed opening, a brief glint of metal the only indication of the danger lying in wait. Heart pounding, Sasuke watched as his teammate leapt toward the branch, oblivious to the trap about to be sprung.

The nightmarish vision that played in his mind ever since that fateful night five years ago - the blood of loved ones coating the blade that struck them down and spattering like fireworks across the ground - was about to no longer be a memory.

"Naruto!"

He wasn't going to make it. Unless his timing was perfect, more spilled blood would be added to his grisly collection. That couldn't happen. No matter the cost.

Forcing chakra out through the soles of his feet, Sasuke launched into the air, Sharingan burning red in his eyes right as the ambusher raised his weapon to strike. Time seemed to slow as upon reaching the branch, Sasuke barged into Naruto, pushing him out of the blade's path, blocked the tanto with his kunai, and struck their attacker in the chin with his palm, sending him falling toward the ground below.

Sasuke could sense the pain coming as if he were a lightning rod in a storm, managing to land safely on the ground right as his muscles seized up for the second time that day. The hand he had braced against the tree was rigid, his body trembling as his lungs once again refused to expand, black dots forming in front of his vision. It felt as if the only way to end the agonizing torture was to give in to it.

"Sasuke!"

Naruto's voice was the last thing he heard before the pain suddenly dulled. It wasn't a slow easing of suffering like last time, however, and some part of him knew that his body had not yet been released from its paralyzed state. Instead it felt as if he had relinquished control, retreated further into his mind to escape the torment.

But someone else was still feeling it.

A silent scream was vibrating around him, the pitch both earsplittingly shrill and impossibly deep. The one suffering in his place wanted to writhe and claw at his throat, but found his limbs frozen and useless. With a last futile gasp for air, the other voice stilled, and darkness swallowed them both.

A stabbing pain in his neck caused his eyes to fly open once more, his lungs gulping the air around him hungrily. He collapsed to his knees, limbs again having gone numb, allowing the trunk of the tree to keep him from falling prone. Body still shaking, he turned his head just enough to see the auburn-haired shinobi lying face down a few feet away. He appeared to be unconscious.

"Watch out!"

The warning from Naruto could merely act as harbinger of what was sure to be his very painful demise. Sasuke didn't need to look up to know the ninja whose body was somehow poisonous to the touch had decided to focus on the easy, downed target, and as much as he begged and pleaded for his legs to move, move, move, his body had not yet recovered enough to obey.

The mark on his neck burned, extending its foul miasma, hissing of his weakness, promising brutal death to those that would dare attempt to cut his life short.

He needed more strength, more power. He had to survive, to live on to complete his goal, to avenge his clan, his family. Double-edged sword it might be, but the curse on his neck could provide him with what he needed.

...just this once.

He could give in just this -

"Sasuke!!"

The forest was suddenly flooded with chakra, deep and ancient. It wasn't like anything Sasuke had ever felt before, its oppressive nature barely controlled, fighting to run wild. A searing heat seemed to boil the very air, and the weight of it pressed him harder against the tree until suddenly it vanished. Manifesting in its place were dozens if not hundreds of Narutos, circling him, creating a protective barrier between him and the promise of death.

"You aren't laying a finger on him, you bastard!"

Sasuke could only stare in shock as one after another the clones threw themselves upon the ninja with purple skin, sacrificing their existence for a single, solid blow each. But as stunning and incredible as the spectacle was, relief, pride and jealousy all churning within him at the gaudy display of will and stamina, a lingering unease clung to his insides.

He had known Naruto for years, paid far more attention to him than anyone knew or he cared to admit. They'd been assigned to the same team, going on missions and training together for months now. He had witnessed Naruto gathering and using chakra countless times.

The chakra that had saved him wasn't Naruto's.

There was no doubt that it had come from Naruto - the plan to simply outlast his enemy with an army of shadow clones could come from no one else. But Naruto's chakra had always been bright, mischievous, and obstinate. There was almost a warmth to it, like rays from the sun. If asked to visualize it, he'd describe it as a neon yellow, a color generally associated with cheerfulness turned up to an insufferable degree. But this chakra had been red, a dark crimson filled with anger, hatred, and torment. The utter wrongness of such heavy energy bringing so many Narutos to life was unsettling; he didn't want to think of what hidden part of the outwardly hyperactive facade such fearsome chakra had come from.

"What the heck was that? You'd think you wanted the guy to poison you or something!"

The words were meant to come across as their typical casual ribbing, but the worry lacing them drew Sasuke's attention out of his thoughts and onto the figure crouched beside him. Naruto - the original, he assumed - wasn't doing a very good job of hiding his concern, wearing a look very similar to the one Sakura had been directing at him the past two days. Sasuke instantly broke eye contact, anger and shame filling him as his legs still refused to support his weight, gripping his neck so tight his fingernails were digging into his skin.

A warm hand settled on his back.

"Hey, you ok? What happened? Why're you - "

"I'm fine."

The words were an obvious lie. All the defiance in the world couldn't mask the fact that his body was still quivering, heart still pounding, lungs still gasping. Couldn't mask the fact that he was weak.

"Sasuke - "

A yell of frustration put them both back on full alert, the number of Narutos having already severely dwindled as their opponent aggressively fought against the onslaught. The damage he was taking from each clone, however, was beginning to add up. Cuts from kunai covered his arms and chest, and his breathing was labored, sweat dripping down his chin. But still he continued, slowly working his way toward his actual targets.

With a grunt of pain and stiffness, Sasuke at last made it to his feet, Naruto quickly reaching down to help support him. Doing everything in his power to keep his hand from shaking, he reached into his pouch to fish out one of his last remaining shuriken.

"Lead him to this tree."

Naruto passed him a confused look until he glanced down and noticed the wire attached to the weapon in his hand. Understanding brightened his face, and with a confident nod, a group of clones clustered in front of them, blocking the view of their approaching foe. As one of the clones assumed Sasuke's crippled form - a sight that further deepened his shame as he saw firsthand how completely helpless he appeared - the two originals slowly backed away from the tree, slinking into nearby shadows to lie in wait for their opening.

It didn't take long for the purple-skinned ninja to barge his way back into view, eyes locking instantly with the fakes that had been left behind. Sasuke raised his arm, and as their opponent's fist connected with their decoys, used every ounce of energy he had left to send the shuriken flying around the trunk, grimacing in pain as he used the wire to guide it until their enemy was pulled flat against the tree, wrapped in place. Naruto reached out to help steady his shaking hands and pull the line taught until the body jerking to free itself finally stilled.

"I see. You have already defeated my companions."

Both boys' heads whirled around to face the indifferent sounding voice. The painter Sakura had been holding off was sitting on the back of a large black and white bird, sweat mixing with the mud and ink staining his pale skin. What few remained of Naruto's clones took position between them, the newcomer barely seeming to notice as he glanced impassively at his fallen teammates. With a hand, he reached back and pulled both a Heaven and an Earth scroll from his pouch.

"These are what you are after, correct? Do you still need one?"

Sasuke's eyes narrowed while Naruto blinked in surprise.

"Uh, yeah, we - "

"The Heaven scroll."

They watched the other boy pocket his Earth scroll again while he held out the Heaven scroll toward them, neither his countenance nor posture showing any sign of nerves or resentment.

"I will give it to you if you allow our retreat."

"Sai!"

Sasuke kept as tight a hold as he could on the wire as the captive shinobi began to writhe once again, but the painter had already tossed the scroll at their feet.

"You two are in no condition to continue, and I have very little chakra left myself while this one - " he nodded toward Naruto and his clones, " - seems to have more than enough to spare. Their companion will likely be along shortly as well. We have failed in our objective. The belief that an alternative outcome would be acceptable without proper orders is not an assumption I am willing to make."

Without waiting for confirmation of their agreement, the boy apparently named Sai casually walked over to the ninja with the auburn hair and hoisted him onto the back of the giant bird, Sasuke watching him apprehensively the entire way, preparing for the double cross. However once he and his unconscious companion were appropriately situated, the bird began to flap its wings, hovering just low enough to the ground that its claws could reach out and grip around the arms of their remaining teammate.

"Would you mind loosening his bindings? I don't need the entire tree."

"Oh. Uh, sure. I guess."

Naruto let go of the wire, and lacking the strength to continue holding on alone, Sasuke followed suit, allowing it to fall slack around their captive. He braced himself for an assault, but as promised, once freed, the bird took hold of the disgruntled third team member and lifted them all into the air. With a last glance their way, Sai directed the bird upwards, steadily rising until they cleared the tree tops and were out of sight.

The look of confusion that had taken up residence on Naruto's face finally melted away into a cocky grin.

"Heh, yeah, that's right! Beat it, you bastards! I'll let you off easy this time, but if I so much as - "

"Sasuke-kun! Naruto!"

The sound of his missing teammate's voice was enough to finally lift the weight of anxiety that had settled in his stomach ever since he was first ambushed. Adrenaline fading, he felt his knees buckle from exhaustion, nearly taking both him and Naruto to the ground with his dead weight.

"Hey!"

"Sasuke-kun!"

Sakura hovered beside him as Naruto carefully lowered him to the ground. His legs felt like they were made of jelly, and the mark was still sending arcs of pain through his neck and shoulders. Closing his eyes, he concentrated on his breathing - inhale through the nose, exhale through the mouth - trying to bring his heart rate back under control while desperately trying to block out the worry he'd seen etched into their faces.

"Geez, Sasuke, what's wrong with you today? That's the second time you just kinda went all rigid in the middle of a fight. I can't be expected to save your butt all the time, you know!"

The same hint of concern he'd heard woven into Naruto's previous words was back, loosely hidden under a thin layer of bravado. It crawled through Sasuke's ear and down his spine, reminding him that it was there because he was weak, powerless in the face of a tiny, black mark on his neck. He was subconsciously rubbing it again. Both hands were moved to his lap, fingers curling into tight fists.

"I'm fine."

"Sasuke-kun."

He couldn't help glancing up at Sakura at the quiet call of his name. The worry, the pity was expected, but there was also a determination on her face that caused his eyes to linger as she opened her mouth to continue.

"Secrets shouldn't be kept from your teammates."

His gaze hardened, but Sakura refused to look away.

"Secrets? What secrets?"

Naruto didn't need to know. It would only cause him to worry more, and Sasuke was already getting enough of that from Sakura. He didn't need their concern, and there was no one he wanted pity from less than the person whose back he was begrudgingly starting to associate with comfort and stability.

"Nothing."

"Sasu - !"

"I said it's nothing!"

Sakura snapped her mouth shut as if he'd slapped her. Her eyebrows remained furrowed, but with a defeated sigh she eventually turned away, leaving a pit of guilt in his stomach. The uneasy silence that followed felt like it stretched on for hours, the tension palpable.

Only one hand was still in his lap. He was massaging the mark again.

"As long as it doesn't hurt the team, I won't ask."

Naruto's words hung thick in the air as memories of a quiet, painful night in the Land of Waves washed over Sasuke, where two boys sought comfort in the other's presence under a blanket of stars after a terrifyingly brutal day. The mystery surrounding Naruto's miraculously fast healing had as of yet gone unsolved, but in the months that followed, not once had there been any indication that whatever Naruto was hiding was a threat to those around him. Even today, whatever that sinister chakra was, its appearance had very likely saved his life.

It was a truth he couldn't in good conscience keep denying. Naruto's secrets were his own and no one else's. Sasuke's was a burden that belonged to every member of Team Seven, whether they knew it or not. And the longer it took for them to find out, the heavier and more deadly it would become.

Head bowed, Sasuke took a deep breath as he reached for the cowl of his shirt and tugged it aside, arching his neck so the mark would be plainly visible. Naruto cautiously leaned in, eyes widening as they fell upon the three black tomoe.

"What the heck is that? Where'd it come from? And what - are - are those bite marks?"

Quickly shielding it from view once more, Sasuke studied the rocky ground for fear of closing his eyes and seeing the melting face with sharp fangs behind closed eyelids, bile rising in his throat as the answers pushed their way past his lips.

"Orochimaru, he... did something to me. The mark reacts to my chakra somehow, causing pain whenever I use it. The Sharingan especially. Activating it for even a second causes my muscles to seize up."

"Wait, that creepy snake guy did this? But, why?"

It's a gift. Sasuke-kun will come to me seeking power.

"I don't know. It is powerful - it activated once, gave me strength I'd never had before, but - " His eyes darted towards Sakura. " - but I can't control it, and if I try to use it again, it's possible it could take control of my mind."

Naruto cocked an eyebrow and frowned as he crossed his arms.

"When did that happen? And whaddya mean it could 'take control' of your mind? Is he, I mean, can he, like, make you do stuff or something?"

"It happened while you were unconscious two days ago." Sakura answered the question, her green eyes glancing in Sasuke's direction nervously as she continued. "The mark activated somehow, and Sasuke-kun was... he wasn't acting like himself. But as soon as it stopped, he was back to normal."

Her last words were pushed out quickly but forcefully as if to assure herself that the situation was not as alarming as it sounded. Sasuke hoped that it worked on her. It hadn't worked on him, the pain in his neck having returned to a dull throb, constantly beating out a reminder of the mark's existence.

Looking back and forth between the pair of them, Naruto unfolded his arms, rubbing a hand nervously over his stomach. Sasuke didn't like that the frown remained in place. It didn't suit him.

"So... so if you use any chakra at all... you'll either be suddenly paralyzed or start acting super weird?"

The simple and straightforward summary barely seemed to scratch the surface of everything the cursed mark had done - and would continue to do - to him, but such details were best kept to himself. Sakura had been right; Naruto needed to know how it affected the team, but he didn't need to know the full extent of both the physical and mental torture he'd experienced so far. That burden was his alone to bear.

Sasuke sat up straight, met his gaze, and nodded.

"Yeah."

A silence filled the air between them following his answer, allowing the implications of his predicament to fully sink in. Finally, after a deep breath, Naruto abruptly jumped to his feet with a grin that didn't quite reach his eyes, roughly smacking Sasuke's back.

"Well, then it's a good thing I've got plenty of chakra for both of us! We've already got the scrolls we need, so all we have to do is head to the tower - easy!"

Holding in a wince, Sasuke swiped away the offending hand as Naruto held up the Heaven scroll for Sakura to see.

"You got their scroll! That's amazing!" Relief shone in her face before quickly being replaced by a light scowl as she bonked Naruto on the head. "But that still doesn't make it easy! You can't just use Sasuke-kun's Sharingan for him, and there might be more people desperate for a scroll waiting in ambush! We'll have to make sure we stay on alert the entire way there. We can't afford to run into anyone else right now."

Her glance in his direction did not go unnoticed. Heat crawled along his skin, disgust and embarrassment for his current burdensome state thankfully overlooked as Naruto continued to predict their assured victory. Their conversation faded into background noise as thoughts of his vulnerability plagued him, mocking and berating his open display of weakness. The battle hadn't even lasted that long and yet he could barely move, unable to overcome the effects of the mark.

He hadn't been strong enough to handle the situation alone. He'd needed others to save him.

His father would be too ashamed to call him his son if he had still been alive to do so.

"Hey, Sasuke?"

Naruto's voice broke through his thoughts, dragging him back to the present where he noticed that the other boy had again sat down next to him while Sakura seemed to be hunting for salvageable weapons. Turning to face the one addressing him, Sasuke found his blue eyes instead locked on Sakura who was pocketing a stray kunai. Naruto seemed strangely subdued after his loud boasting, his mouth pressed into a thin line, hand again clutching at his stomach.

"When this whole exam is over, can - can we talk? There's something I wanna tell you."

A blink was the only outward sign that the request had taken Sasuke by surprise, hiding his curiosity behind years of experience at keeping himself closed off from others. When he spoke, his voice was even and apathetic.

"Does this have anything to do with the strange chakra you used to make a hundred clones today?"

Naruto's body tensed visibly at the question, and at last he tore his gaze away from Sakura to shoot a nervous grin his direction, anxiously scratching the back of his head.

"Guess that was pretty obvious, huh?" Sasuke's eyes bore into him, and when he refused to offer up a response, Naruto sighed and continued. "It's not - well, it doesn't affect the team or anything, not really, but - but I just - you trusted me with all this Orochimaru stuff. That - it - I mean, it means a lot. To me. And I want you to know that - that I trust you, too."

The frank admission caused conflicting emotions to collide violently within Sasuke's chest. That part of him that would likely forever be that lonely little boy crying over the loss of his entire clan felt lighter, warmer, stronger than it had in years. Despite the belief that such an acknowledgement was unearned, Naruto had offered it up freely anyway. His words had nothing to do with his worth as an Uchiha or a shinobi, but merely his existence as Sasuke. Naruto had somehow always been the one to see that side of him.

But he also knew that there was nothing more treacherous than being trusted by someone so completely. Mere minutes ago he had nearly given in to the temptation of the power Orochimaru's gift provided, despite only having an inkling of the rewards and consequences. Imagine if, under the control of the dark curse placed upon him, he gave in to another temptation, a temptation for powers he knew could match Itachi's. Or if one day he was at such a loss that he didn't even need Orochimaru's influence to convince him to heed his brother's parting words. If today had proven anything, it was how far he had yet to go to reach his goal, and knowing that someone had such trust in a person made them an easy target. It was the last lesson his brother had taught him.

His face, impassive as ever, showed no signs of the war waging within him. Instead he did his best to bury all emotions, all of his doubts and fears in the deepest depths of his soul. He simply couldn't worry about it now. There was too much at stake, too much else that needed to be dealt with in the single remaining day of the test. Shifting his position, Sasuke turned away from Naruto, resting his weight fully against the other boy's back as he closed his eyes, shamefully seeking a comfort he knew he didn't deserve.

"You'll tell me after the exam?"

Naruto's response was instant and resolute. "Yeah."

"Then let me rest so we can hurry up and get out of here."

An annoyed huff met his ears.

"Jerk."

"Usuratonkachi."

As Sasuke sat quietly, Naruto behind him and Sakura close by, he silently cursed his cruel fate, that the only two people capable of making him feel safe were also the two people who never should have so willingly offered him their trust. ____________________________________ 

A/N: I almost put a "believe it" in here and that thought slightly horrifies me. Also my ff.net account is officially 20 years old! Should I be proud or ashamed? lol

As always, critics and grammar police are appreciated!

[notveryglittery]

sleeping at last

summary: virgil can’t sleep. remy’s here to fix it. words: 1.2k / ships: platonic sleepxiety (remy & virgil) warnings: mentions of not sleeping for an extended period of time, implied self-deprecation. let me know if there’s anything else! notes: it’s my first time writing a proper fic in ~4mo and i might actually cry, i’m so happy and proud. ironically enough, i got this idea and wrote it while trying and failing to fall asleep. also, keep a look out for a few more parts, it’s gonna be a series <3

read on ao3! 

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — 

“Hiya, babe.”

“Please don’t make me regret this.”

“Shh, okay, it’s fine.”

Remy moved slowly, settling himself onto Virgil’s bed, careful to not disturb the other. Virgil had his head in his hands and his breathing was erratic, short stuttering inhales and shaky exhales. His shoulders were trembling.

“Shh, okay,” Remy repeated, dimming the lights in the room with a simple swipe of his fingers through the air. “I have an idea. Think you can look at me, hon?”

For a moment, Remy was worried Virgil was nearing being unresponsive. It was one thing to help the anxious side get the shuteye he’d been unable to achieve for the last day and a half. It was another thing entirely to help him through a panic attack. Remy took a deep breath, preparing himself to do so, if necessary.

Thankfully, a few seconds later, Virgil lowered his hands and lifted his head. Even in the low light, Remy could see Virgil was sans makeup, and the bags under his eyes were not a pretty sight. It looked even like he might have been crying earlier, if the redness was anything to go by.

“Hi there, sleeping beauty,” Remy said, gently, teasing.

Virgil cracked a smile, swatting at him half-heartedly. “Shuddup.”

“No can do, sweetie,” Remy replied in a despairing sort of tone, as if he really was so sorry about it. “Gotta talk to help you get to dreamland.”

“How dreadful,” Virgil groaned, somehow the perfect mix between annoyed and hopeful. It was weird and seemed kind of impossible but Remy wasn’t going to question it.

“You’re not allowed to call my methods cliché, got it?”

“No promises.”

Remy rolled his eyes, pretend exasperated.

“Deep breath in.”

Despite Virgil’s initial response, he followed Remy’s example easily. They both inhaled through their noses. Before Virgil could release, however, Remy held up his hand. He lowered a finger by five Mississippi counts in his head, before beginning to exhale slowly through his mouth. Virgil did the same.

if it hadn’t been thirty six hours since Virgil had last slept (and if even then, it had been more than three hours of rest), Remy would joke about how he could already see the tension draining from Virgil’s shoulders. That’d just put him on the offense, though, as it was clear he was close enough to snapping without Remy’s ribbing to make matters worse.

“We’re gonna go again, but this time we’re gonna close our eyes on the exhale, okay?”

Virgil looked ready to oppose, as if the idea of not being able to see his surroundings when he was so on edge was absurd, but Remy was already beginning to take a deep breath in. Virgil, seemingly desperate enough for a night undisturbed, hurried to do the same so as not to fall behind. This time, Remy counted only two Mississippi seconds, before initiating the exhale. He let his eyes slip shut, only able to hope that Virgil was doing the same. Once his lungs were free of air, Remy opened his eyes.

To his surprise, Virgil’s were still closed, and his head had begun to dip.

‘He must be exhausted,’ Remy thought, ‘I ought to watch over him better.’

“Ready to go again, darling?” He asked, barely a whisper, as if hesitant to break the silence.

Virgil’s eyes snapped open with a quick hitch of his breath. After taking a moment to settle himself, he nodded. “Can you count out loud, though?”

“Anything for you.”

And so they continued. Eyes kept open as they inhaled. Two Mississippi seconds counted aloud in the softest voice Remy could muster. Eyes slipping closed as they exhaled and remaining shut until the next inhale.

After roughly eight rounds of this (Remy wasn’t worried about keeping track, as he already had one set of numbers to repeat), Virgil was looking significantly more relaxed. It wouldn’t do him any good falling asleep sitting up, though, and so Remy decided then it was time to move onto the next step.

“Okay,” he began, hesitantly, so as not to startle Virgil with switching tasks suddenly. “Part two.”

“Hmm,” Virgil answered, swaying slightly in his current position.

“Need you to lay down. Can you do that?”

“Of course,” he responded, sounding haughty, as if offended that Remy had to ask whether he could accomplish such an easy request.

Without much grace, Virgil simply flopped backwards, head landing amongst his pile of pillows. Remy supposed it was a good thing Virgil had already been sitting in the middle of his bed when he’d arrived, so there was less shifting to do before getting comfortable. He was pleased to see Virgil had continued the process of closing his eyes while breathing out and opening them again while breathing in. It seemed harder each time, though, his eyelids fluttering the longer he went on.

Remy moved as well, situating himself further up and closer to Virgil’s head. He settled with his back against the headboard and, with a single thought, made the bed just bigger enough to accommodate them both without being cramped.

“I’m gonna put my hand in your hair. Is that okay?” Remy asked.

Virgil hummed, in what could have been a yes, but Remy wasn’t risking it.

“Virgil, honey, is that okay?”

“Yeah,” Virgil mumbled, tilting his head towards Remy’s voice, blinking up at him.

Without waiting this time, Remy sunk his hand into Virgil’s hair, combing his fingers through the violet locks. He did so slowly, working to carefully remove any knots that needed untangling. Virgil hummed again and if Remy didn’t know any better, he’d guess Virgil was about to melt right into the mattress.

“Keep breathing,” Remy murmured, “eyes closed on the exhale. I’ll count for you.”

Between having to focus on when to have his eyes opened or closed and listening to Remy’s steady counting, the racing thoughts that normally plagued Virgil’s mind were sluggish now, caught in the web that Remy was weaving. Eventually, his eyelids grew too heavy to even bother in trying to lift them.

“M’gonna…” he tried. A few more deep breaths passed before he continued. “Eyes… shut.”

“Good idea,” Remy agreed, “you’re so smart.”

Virgil grunted, as if he wanted to disagree.

“Fight me about it in the morning,” Remy suggested, smiling just enough that Virgil could hear it in his voice.

“Bet,” Virgil managed somehow, despite one long exhale and the tingly feeling of Remy’s fingernails scratching at his scalp doing their best to lull him to sleep.

“Bet,” Remy echoed.

it was maybe fifteen minutes more (it wasn’t like Remy was going to take his phone out to check the time and it definitely wasn’t like he could trust the clock on the wall) before Virgil’s breathing had evened out completely. His expression was peaceful, lips parted slightly and eyebrows no longer furrowed (they seemed to be constantly, always in some state of concern). Remy carded his hand through Virgil’s hair once more before moving away, stretching his arms and twisting his upper body just enough to loosen his muscles from sitting still for so long.

He was careful getting back to his feet, doing his best to avoid any sudden shifts or creaks. Virgil had always been a light sleeper, after all. It took one more easy thought to return the bed to its original size, so Virgil wouldn’t wake up disoriented by the extra space.

“Good night, angel,” Remy whispered. “I’m sending you good dreams so don’t worry about a thing, got it?”

He waited, as if Virgil would tell him ‘no promises’ again.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

[therainroguefanfiction]

❉ 139 Dreams (Lucifer) Exception

📑 Table of Contents

Genre: Angst, Fluff, Slice of Life, Friendship ☁

Word Count: 2,518 ☁

Pairing: Reader x Lucifer ☁

World: Obey Me! ☁

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ: *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: . ☁

It all happened so suddenly, coming out of nowhere and side-swiping you like a freight train. It started a week ago when you were playing an MMORPG with Leviathan – him in his room and you in your own, communicating via the console voice-chat. Normally, the two of you would game well into the early morning hours until Satan finally yelled at the two of you to ‘shut up and go to bed or I’ll kill you!’, but that night was different.

It was only five minutes until eight at night and you felt completely drained, both mentally and physically. Yawns tore from your body every few minutes, your eyes drooping despite you willing them to stay open. No matter how many times you shook your head and slapped your cheeks, it was as if the sandman himself was standing atop your head, constantly sprinkling sleep into your eyes.

You fought as long as you could but, finally, at around eight-thirty, you decided to give in to the growing need for sleep. “I’m gonna call it a night, Levi.”

“Huuuh?~” came his surprised reply across the headset. “It’s only eight-thirty-five! We haven’t even entered Mageia’s magic kingdom yet. I have to save the princess from her witch aunt so she’ll fall in love with me. She’s so cute and innocent, the perfect companion for my chosen class!”

You were too tired to even roll your eyes at his dramatics. “You’re much stronger than me, I’m sure you can beat the area on your own.”

“Of course I can!” He nearly stuttered. “But it’d be easier using you as bait for the exploding toads and plasma leeches. Your class can handle the damage and it doesn’t use plasma for its attacks. That’s the only reason I’m even playing with you.”

“Gee thanks,” you sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. “I’m really tired, Levi, I’m sorry. I promise I’ll help you tomorrow. Good night.”

“Wait a min –”

Before he could finish his sentence, you quickly shut down the console before crawling under the comforter, sure that a good night’s sleep was all that you needed to feel better. You were out like a light before your head even hit the pillow.

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ: *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: . ☁

“Hun, please wake up…”

A soft voice reached through the clouded haze of your sleeping mind, but it was distorted, seeming so very far away. Who was it? You couldn’t tell, but it seemed so familiar to you.

“Y/N, are you alright? Wake up!”

The voice was growing in clarity as small hands gripped your shoulders. The sudden, violent shaking of your body snapped you from the foggy depths of sleep and you found yourself looking up at the avatar of lust through blurred eyes. Asmodeus’s face was contorted with worry, his slender fingers digging into the flesh of your shoulders.

“What is it?” you mumbled, only having enough energy to whisper. It felt like you had been asleep for only a few moments before being awoken and your body was begging for more rest.

He produced a small huff of air as he stood up straight, putting the back of his hand on his waist. “No one has seen you all morning! Mammon started taking bets on whether you had been eaten by a demon or not.”

“What are you ta -” your voice broke, making you clear your throat as you forced your body up to rest against the wall at the head of your bed. “What are you talking about, Asmo? What time is it?”

A frown took over his lips, orange eyes scanning your form. He could tell that you were much weaker than normal, but he hadn’t a clue what was causing it. Surely if it was the work of a demon, he would be able to sense something, but nothing stood out to him. “It’s almost one in the afternoon! I’ve been trying to wake you up for the past eight minutes, you know. I was beginning to think you were dead.”

Being a dramatic demon by nature, his concern didn’t bother you as you just assumed he was over-reacting again. Stifling a yawn, you grabbed your D.D.D off the floor beside the bed, reading the time – one-fifteen. “I slept in?”

“I just told you that!” He whined, bottom lip jutting outward. “Honestly, how long did you and Levi stay up last night?”

You frowned at the clock on the home screen. ‘I really slept over seventeen hours… and I still feel exhausted! What the hell is wrong with me?’

“Y/N, are you listening?”

“Huh?” Your eyes snapped to meet his, offering him a sheepish smile. “Sorry, what was that?”

“I said you’re lucky you didn’t miss the demonology test! Lucifer wouldn’t be so forgiving!” He scolded lightly. “I had to convince the teacher to let me take care of it so he wouldn’t go to Lucifer. Now come on, get up and get dressed!”

The thought of the test made you want to crawl back under the covers. You hadn’t studied at all, mainly because you had forgotten about the test even being a thing. You were so going to fail this test…

With a sigh, you pulled yourself from the bed and grabbed a clean uniform from the closet. Just as you started to lift your shirt, a spark of terror went down your spine and your eye twitched in annoyance.

Asmodeus hadn’t moved, his orange eyes glazing over with lust as he stared intently at your body. When he noticed your lack of movement, his eyes flickered up to meet yours and he smirked. “Don’t stop on my account, Y/N.” He purred your name.

A shudder of disgust went through your body and you picked up the closest item to you – a stuffed cheeseburger that Beelzebub had given you for your birthday. You chucked it at his head, “Get out!”

He dodged it with ease, sending you a pout. “But -”

“OUT!”

“You’re no fun~” he whined but did as he was told, leaving the room.

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ: *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: . ☁

You made it to your demonology class on time, taking a seat beside Simeon, who offered you a kind smile. The test was two and a half pages of multiple-choice questions, with one essay question on the last page. The class was given exactly forty minutes to complete it and turn it in.

At first, your anxiety for the test kept you focused on the task at hand and you were surprised to know the answer to the first few questions. As time slowly ticked by, though, you felt yourself growing more and more tired. The anxiety was slowly draining what little bit of energy you had left, and your eyes were struggling to stay open. You felt so confused, unsure of why you felt so bad.

‘Maybe I just need to splash my face with some cold water,’ Shaking your head, you raised your hand, waiting for the teacher to call upon you. “May I go to the bathroom? It’s an emergency.”

She frowned at you above her half-moon glasses. “You realize the timer won’t be stopped for you, correct?”

“Yes, ma’am, I understand.”

She hummed. “Fine, go ahead.”

“Thank you, ma’am.” You offered her a bow before quickly turning and leaving the room. The halls were empty, your shoes echoing off the marbled floor as you stepped into the bathroom. The water was ice-cold against your skin, making you suppress a shudder, but it seemed to wake you up for a moment. You stared at yourself in the mirror, frowning at the bags under your eyes and how glassy your eyes looked. Your skin was pale and you just looked horrible.

‘Come on, Y/N, get it together.’ You dried off your face, dropping the paper towel into the trash bin before stepping out of the bathroom. A wave of nausea came over you as the world around you began to spin. You clutched at the wall, screwing your eyes shut. You were faintly aware of footsteps approaching, but as another wave of dizziness hit you, you couldn’t be bothered to care. It took everything within you to try and keep yourself together, but with your low energy levels, you weren’t able to.

Black dots spotted your vision before you fell unconscious, your body tumbling to the floor in a heap. Lucifer, startled by what he saw, sprinted toward you, calling your name as he gently slapped your cheek, but you didn’t stir.

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ: *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: . ☁

A soft groan passed your lips as you regained consciousness, squinting up at the bright fluorescent lights in the ceiling. The smell of rubbing alcohol invaded your stuffy nostrils, making you start coughing violently.

“Easy now!” Cried the nurse, a short demon with curly brown hair and piercing violet eyes. “You need to relax your body.”

You wanted to scowl at her, to ask, ‘How the hell do I calm down when I’m hacking up a lung?’, but you couldn’t stop coughing long enough to do so. A warm hand rested flat on your back between your shoulder blades and you felt a wave of calm go through your body. Slowly, your coughing fit came to an end, leaving you gasping for breath.

“Do you know what’s wrong with them?” A deep voice came from behind you, one you knew quite well – it was Lucifer.

The woman shook her head with a sigh, “I’m afraid not. Demons and angels I’m used to treating, but I’ve never treated a human before.”

Lucifer felt his eye twitch and he resisted the urge to ask why she was here, then. Instead, he told her, “Please bring Solomon here.”

She shrugged before leaving the room, the door sliding closed behind her.

“Are you alright, Y/N?” He inquired, removing his hand from your back as he reclaimed his seat.

You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him as you laid back down, eyes closed as you tried to keep yourself calm. Your immune system had always been quite strong and you couldn’t remember a single time when you suffered more than just a runny nose. Were you even sick? Maybe you had pissed off some demon and he cursed you or something.

“Why didn’t you tell anyone that you were feeling under the weather?” He demanded, red eyes watching you closely.

His gaze made you squirm uncomfortably and you struggled to give him an answer not only because he intimidated you, but also because you were starting to lose your voice. “I didn’t know…”

“You didn’t know?” His brow raised, tone disbelieving. “How do you not know when you’re sick?”

That was a good question, and you found yourself wondering the same thing.

“Well?”

“I… don’t know.”

His lips parted to speak, but he was cut off when the door slammed open. A grinning Diavolo strode into the room, with Solomon close behind. The red-head offered you a warm look, “How are you feeling, Y/N?”

Having the warm-hearted demon ruler here made you feel more at ease, knowing that Lucifer wouldn’t do anything with him around. You offered him a weak smile, “I’m okay.”

“You certainly don’t sound it,” Solomon interjected, stopping at the side of the bed. He grabbed either side of your head before bringing his lips to your forehead.

Lucifer saw red. He jumped from his seat, prepared to attack the silver-haired male but Diavolo pulled him away from the bed, ordering him to calm down. The two of you didn’t even notice the scene.

Solomon pulled back with a frown. “You definitely have a fever,”

Diavolo tilted his head. “Oh, that’s what you were doing?”

The silverette raised a brow at the angry aura radiating from the avatar of pride. “That’s right. It’s more accurate if you use your lips.”

“Fascinating,” he murmured. “Will Y/N be okay?”

He nodded. “They just need to get some rest and drink a lot of water. I imagine it’s the flu.” He paused, glancing over at you. “Y/N, were you out in the rain this past weekend?”

“Oh…” Your face went blank at the question.

“‘Oh’?” He parroted.

You rubbed the back of your head sheepishly. “Ah, well… Mammon had a bet with another demon that I wouldn’t sit out in the rain. The idiot bet a lot of grim, so I felt bad and did it.”

Lucifer’s eye twitched. “It was a lightning storm. Are you stupid, Y/N? You could have been killed.” You flinched at his harsh tone, something that didn’t go unnoticed by him. “I’m going to kill Mammon,”

On instinct, your hand shot out to grab his wrist when he passed by the bed, something you instantly regretted when his red eyes fell on your form, narrowed at you challengingly. You took a breath, forcing yourself to meet his eyes. Normally, you avoided Lucifer like the plague because he not only terrified you, but you found yourself slowly falling for the handsome demon, and that terrified you more anything. To him, you were nothing but a human here for Diavolo’s little experiment.

The fever seemed to have given you some confidence. “It wasn’t his fault, it was mine. If you’re going to punish someone, then it’s only fair that you punish me.”

His brow rose, surprised at the conviction in your tone. Normally you were so compliant when you spoke to him, on the rare occasion that you didn’t avoid him. It stirred something deep within him and he had to take a deep breath to compose himself. “I believe your illness is punishment enough. Don’t let it happen again.”

You nodded, releasing your grip on him. When he left the room, you released the air you hadn’t realized you had been holding, shoulders drooping. Why did it feel like you had just scraped by with your life?

Diavolo watched you curiously as Solomon suggested ways to recover quicker. If anyone else had grabbed Lucifer like you just had, there’s no doubt in his mind that they would be hurt, if not far worse, but when it came to you, he had shown remarkable restraint. The number of times you had gotten into trouble since coming to the Devildom was on par with Mammon, but Lucifer had never gone beyond a simple scolding. Meanwhile, those that had been by your side creating the same trouble were given harsh punishments.

You noticed the demon lord staring and sent him a curious look. “Is something wrong?”

He shook his head, carefully patting your shoulder. “Rest up, Y/N!”

“I will, thank you!” You offered him a smile, watching as he left the room.

Solomon sent you a knowing smirk, his eyes shimmering with amusement. “Lucifer didn’t punish you,”

“Yeah,” you breathed, falling back against the mattress.

“You truly are the exception, aren’t you?” He murmured under his breath.

You heard him speak but couldn’t make out the words. “What was that?”

“Oh, nothing.” Solomon gave you a closed eye smile that sent a shiver down your spine. He was fascinated by the idea that you, a mere human, had such an effect on a powerful demon like Lucifer. He was looking forward to investigating this further.

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ: *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: . ☁

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[alluremin]

padiddle | pjm

pairing: park jimin | reader

genre: boyfriend!au | fluff

warnings: none but jimin is shirtless, heyo

premise: You were determined not to lose the coveted game of padiddle yet again, not only for your pride, but also because you’d rather not end up naked in a car full of your friends.

word count: 1.4k

a/n: for those of you who don’t know, yes this is a real game. trust me when I say, you do not want to lose. I thought of this idea after I miserably lost the game myself and who better to lose your clothes with than park jimin (:

As you watched out the car window, you felt your eyes get heavy. It had only been two of five grueling hours you would spend in the car before reaching your destination and though you had only woken up from a nap a few hours prior, you felt exhaustion take over your body. There was something to be said about how draining it is to do absolutely nothing.

On every Spring Break for the last few years, you and your friends took a road trip to a random (preferably seaside) city. Your motley crew consisted of Kim Seokjin, your neighborhood friendly helicopter “parent”; Mina Seo, best friend extraordinaire and Seokjin’s sweetheart; Jung Hoseok, resident peacemaker and smile-generator; Jeon Jungkook, a connoisseur of memes and being much too strong for his own good; yourself, chronic worrier for your friends’ safety and sanity; and finally, Park Jimin, the love of your life and quite possibly the cutest human being on Earth. 

You all had met in your second year of college. Seokjin had been a year older than all of you, and Jungkook, a year younger. You thank Professor Mo every day for putting you six together for your group project. Without that stout and a strange man, you wouldn’t have met your best friends in the world. You smiled out the window as the memories you had with your troop flooded you with nostalgia.

“What’s on your mind, sweetness?” You turned to meet the gaze of your boyfriend. When you didn’t immediately respond, Jimin laid his head across your lap. You reached down to run your fingers through his hair, your eyes meeting his. Just then, you bend your upper body downward, your lips in pursuit of his plush cheek. Only Jimin turns his head at the last second only to awkwardly mush his lips against yours.

You lift your head with a giggle. “I was just thinking about how if Professor Mo hadn’t paired all of us up for that class project, I wouldn’t have ever met my best friends and the love of my life. I dunno..” You trailed off, embarrassment flooding your cheeks with red. You and Jimin had been together for nearly 3 years and he still managed to fluster you to no end. Especially when he looked at you with that fond little smile and his eye scrunched up into crescents. It was infuriating. He was so cute that it actually made you angry.

“I love you too, y/n,” he met your gaze with a smirk. At that, you sat up and rested your head against his shoulder, finally allowing sleep to wash over your body.

After your nap, you woke up in a daze. It was one of those short periods of sleep that made you feel like you were in another century upon waking. You sat up and rubbed your eyes. You felt your boyfriend’s hand reach up and rub your cheek to get your attention. You dropped your hands and felt his lips on the area he had previously touched with his thumb. You smiled and turned to look at him.

“She’s alive!” Mina screamed from the passenger seat of the van. You grabbed a McDonald's wrapper from the floor and threw it in her direction. She giggles at your attempt, you hadn’t even come close to hitting her, but it was the thought that counts.

“Okay we’ve been in the car for hours and we still have 2 more to go. It’s already dark outside and we need a way to pass the time… Are you guys thinking what I’m thinking?” Jungkook smirked and looked at all of you guys from his middle seat.

“Padiddle?” Hoseok responded with a giggle. “I’m down!”

“Me too!” Your boyfriend answered, nudging you with his shoulder.

Padiddle, to any who haven’t played it, sounded like an innocent enough game. It was, however, the exact opposite. Basically, whenever a passenger would see the headlight out on another vehicle, they had to hit the ceiling, if it was a taillight, they hit a window. The last person in the car to complete either of these tasks is the loser. The loser has to take off one item of clothing. You usually ended up being the last person to hit, and in turn, usually, the first person left in just their underwear. This time, however, you refused to be the loser. Upon hearing Jungkook yell, “Go!”, you turned your laser focus toward the road with a determined look on your face.

“I hate this game,” you said while covering your arms as goosebumps began to cover your skin. You were left in just your bra and sweatpants. In your defense, you hadn't been wearing a sweatshirt or socks like your fellow passengers, and the jerks you called your friends said that you couldn't count your blanket or hair ties as clothing. Jimin was no better than you, however, he was too left shirtless in the backseat. The soft glow coming from the headlights of the other cars on the highway reflected on the muscular planes of Jimin’s chest and abs, and you shamelessly stared at your boyfriend.

Suddenly you heard a tap on the ceiling directly next to you and your reflexes followed as quickly as possible. You were safe this round. Mina had not been so fortunate, however, opting to take off her shorts. It’s not like Seokjin would be complaining. “Alright I quit,” your best friend says. “I’m pantsless and the rest of you are nearly there.” The rest of you all mumbled in agreement. Mina opted to put her short back on but stayed in her sports bra. The car had gotten pretty warm, Jin had decided to turn up the heat in the van, so you decided to stay in your bralette as well and cover up with your thin blanket instead. You draped it across Jimin as well.

After around thirty minutes of playing on your phone, you turned to Jimin to find his eyes already trained on your chest. His eyes met yours, no embarrassment apparent in his visage. Instead, he threw an arm around your shoulder and pulled you closer to him. He dropped his head into the juncture of your neck and dropped quick kisses there. Soon his lips began to linger along different parts of your neck. He worked his way up to the sweet spot below your ear, his tongue darting out. You felt goosebumps rise across your skin. Jimin smirked against your neck, he had felt it too.

“Park Jimin,” you growled in a hushed tone, “knock it off. We’re in a car full of people.”

He lifted his mouth up to your ear, “baby almost everybody is asleep, except for Jin. He’s driving and its too dark to see anyway.”

“We’ll be at the hotel in like forty-five minutes, you can’t wait until then?”

“Not really, no.” You gently slapped his bare chest. You made eye contact with him, your hand that had whacked him settled in his sturdy chest. Your smile quickly dropped from your face, as well as did Jimin’s. The air suddenly felt really thick and hot as you and Jimin simultaneously moved toward one another, your lips meeting in the middle. What started out as soft pecks, quickly escalated into a full-blown makeout. Jin had the music turned up so as to keep himself awake while driving and it happened to also conceal the sound of your lips smacking together. At this point, you two began to get carried away, but you couldn’t care less. The only thing that had mattered to you at the moment was Jimin. He pushed you back to lay across the seat and pushed his body in between your and the back of the seat, remaining partially on top of you to prevent you from falling off of the seat. You knew you two should stop before you got too worked up but you couldn’t find it in yourself to care.

“Hey! No sex in the car, you nasty-asses!” Hoseok screeched from his seat in the middle of the van. “We can’t be more than twenty minutes away, you couldn’t wait?”

“It was Jimin’s fault!” You screamed from your position below your boyfriend. He looked down at you incredulously.

“Yah! Way to throw me under the bus.” Jimin pinched your cheek, lighting up at the giggle that fell past your lips.

He began to lean down to leave another kiss on your lips when Hoseok wailed, “Jimin! What the hell man? Get off your girlfriend!”

You pushed at his chest and sat up with him, opting to lay your head on his shoulder. “Don’t worry baby, we’ll continue this when we get to the hotel,” you whispered in his ear, leaving a quick kiss below his ear.

“You’re gonna be the death of me woman.”

© alluremin 2019

no reposting

[365daysofsasuhina]

[ 365 Days of SasuHina || Day One Hundred Twelve: Sick in Bed ] [ Uchiha Sasuke, Hyūga Hinata ] [ SasuHina ] [ Verse: A Light Amongst Shadows ] [ AO3 Link ]

She told him not to stay out training in the rain. You’ll catch cold, she’d warned!

But Uchiha Sasuke is a stubborn man, and he is not to be told what to do, or not to do, by anyone. Not even his wife.

Right now, however, it doesn’t matter that he’s one of the strongest shinobi the world has ever seen, or an Uchiha, or the reincarnation of Indra. The illness keeping him sick in bed couldn’t give less of a hoot who or what he is...besides, well...sick.

“Do you...want me to call a medic? I think Sakura-chan is -”

“I’d rather die here in this bed than let her treat me,” he immediately cuts in, tone deadpanned.

Her brow lifts at the rather...blunt insistence. “Well...all right then. What about Itachi’s wife?”

“She’s out on an aid mission...of course.” A dark eye then glances to her, the other held closed. “Hinata...it’s just a cold. I’m not going to die.”

“I-I know that! But I still don’t like seeing you sick…”

“Me neither. But I’ll be fine.”

“Do you...want me to make you some soup?”

A blink. “...sure.”

Given a task, Hinata snaps to it. She’s treated colds the old fashioned way before: mostly for her teammates. Tsume’s always been stubborn about Kiba’s treatment, and Shino...well, he never really gets sick. At least not that she’s ever seen. So, she’ll just use prior expertise on her husband this time around.

Fluids. Vitamins. Sleep, and plenty of it. She can manage that. At least until someone a bit more experienced gets home.

Making sure he’s tucked in, she moves to the kitchen. Taking out soup stock, vegetables, and even some meat, she busies herself chopping, dicing, slicing, and simmering. Cooking, at least, she’s well-versed in. Each ingredient is handled with care, chosen for its good nutrition. Goodness knows she’s not about to give him anything less than the best! Soon enough, she’s got a hearty concoction that’s sure to help his body fight back.

While that’s cooking, she sets about making him tea with lemon and honey. His voice doesn’t sound rough yet, but best to get ahead of the curve. And honey’s good to have when ill, anyway.

Throwing a few senbei alongside his bowl and mug, Hinata ferries the whole tray into the bedroom and sets it alongside the bed atop a table. “Feel like sitting up…?” If not, well...she could always feed him, she supposes.

“Yeah.” Doing so with a grunt, Sasuke manages to turn, feet on the floor as he takes up a spoon. The first bite sees him pause.

“...is...is something wrong?”

“...this is really good.”

That makes her perk up a hair. “...oh! I’m glad you like it. I a-always make it whenever someone’s ill. It seems to help. And I brought you some tea.”

“Thanks…” Slowly nursing his soup, he can’t help a lethargy to his movements that only makes her all the more worried. She’s...never actually seen him sick until now. Probably due to having a medic in the family. But now that they’re a bit more on their own...that seems to have changed a bit.

He downs the whole thing, and then a second bowl, draining his tea and then making a shuffling trip to the bathroom. Hinata, in the meantime, takes to tidying up, going so far as to open a window to let in fresh air. It still smells like the rain from the night before...which she pouts at. She’s tempted to blame the weather, but..she did warn him…

Rubbing at his eyes, Sasuke returns and takes a seat back on the bed. “This is so annoying...there’s so much I should be doing right now.”

“Well, the only thing you’re going to be doing is getting some rest,” Hinata sniffs. Ushering him back under the blankets, she tells him, “You’re going to need it if your body wants to fight this off, ne?”

“Yeah, yeah…” Heaving a sigh, he lets her fuss, fighting a smile at all her mother henning.

“Come get me if you need something, okay?”

“All right.”

“Anything at all.”

“Hinata…”

“I’ll be just in the other room -”

“I got it,” he can’t help but cut in again, giving her an exasperated glance tempered with a weary affection. “...you go do...whatever you’re gonna do. And let me sleep instead of fussing.”

Going pink, she nods, hesitating a moment longer before leaving the room and shutting the door with a soft click.

Well...now what?

She doesn’t want to leave the house in case he needs something...but nor does she want to do anything that might keep him awake. Pondering her rather limited options, she decides that - for now - she’ll sit and read a book. Perfectly quiet, and doable right here, without any need to stray very far.

Now...what book to read...

Perusing her (admittedly lacking) collection of books (she really needs to remedy that), Hinata settles on one. Five minutes in, she decides she needs tea. Ten minutes after tea, she needs a snack. But there’s no good snacks in the house, so...she’ll just have to make some. Thirty minutes later, she’s putting a cake in the oven just as Sasuke walks into the room.

Thankfully it’s already in or she’d have dropped it in surprise.

“W-what are you doing up?”

“Can’t sleep.”

“I...I didn’t wake -?”

“No, you didn’t wake me up. Just...can’t breathe through my damn nose...and my throat’s all -” He cuts out with a cough.

Well, shoot.

“Um…” Hinata hesitates...and then brightens. “Oh! Um...hold on.”

With that, she scurries out of the house...and instead goes to their neighbor’s.

...no one’s home. But she has a key! Surely she won’t mind if she just...borrows a few ingredients. She’s made plenty of poultices before, and this one should do the trick…!

Once her little concoction is complete (and her mess cleaned up), she leaves Itachi’s house behind (locking it back up) and returns home.

Sasuke’s taken a seat at the table, looking up as she enters. “...hey.”

“Here!”

“...what’s that?”

“I’ll show you. Go lay down.”

“But -?”

“Just do it!”

Sasuke heaves a sigh, but does as ordered, watching curiously as Hinata spreads something along his chest. Vapors make his nose flare. “...what the hell is that?”

“It’s a mix for relieving a cough. It’s got camphor in it, and some eucalyptus. Feel how it’s sort of cool?”

“Yeah…”

“Good, it’s working, then! Just...let that waft up to your nose, and breathe normally. It will help.”

Sasuke looks a little skeptical, but...he trusts her. “All right then.”

Yet again, Hinata leaves him to sleep, finding she’s just in time to fetch her cake. By now she’s starving, but...it has to cool before she can frost it. And she should probably eat something proper first...should she wait for Sasuke, though? No, he’s sleeping (hopefully). He’ll eat when he gets up.

Assuaged, she nibbles some leftovers and finally gets immersed in her book...and when Sasuke emerges again, it’s almost night, and her cake has been cooled for hours.

“How do you feel...?”

“Well...about the same, but I slept like a rock. Hungry.”

“I’ll heat up the soup!”

They both have a bowl, sitting quietly until Hinata frosts her cake. As usual, Sasuke refuses it, having more senbei instead as she enjoys the fruits of her labor.

“Think you can sleep tonight?”

“Yeah...I’m still exhausted, honestly.”

“Okay. We’ll just...do this all over again tomorrow.”

Wash, rinse, repeat for four days. Then finally, Sasuke wakes the fifth morning feeling pretty much back to normal. Sitting up with a grunt, he looks to Hinata, shaking her shoulder. “Hey...wake up.”

“Nn…” Struggling to open her eyes, there’s a cough and a sniffle. “Morning already…?”

“...yeah. And now it seems it’s your turn to be sick in bed.”

Cue a whine, hiding under the blankets.

“...I’ll go get some soup.”

     This is...a lot more simple than I intended, and a little random / rambly...but I'm tired and just...wasn't really feeling the challenge tonight. But what's a challenge if it's not a struggle sometimes? I refuse to miss a day xD      Anywho, just some fluff with a stuffy-nosed Sasuke. Poor guy. I had a cold for the first time in yonks this past Winter...NOT fun, so I sympathize. If only I'd had a Hinata to nurse me better x3      But yeah, that's all for tonight~ One of these days I'll stop doing these so late lol - but either way, thanks for reading!

[cmarionthewilkid-blog]

C.O.N.S.U.M.E.D

What happens when we consume more than we need? What happens when our choices are influenced by societal pressures of how things should be? Part 1 of my reflective journal will aim to provide a glimpse at two weeks of a working mom, head of a house of five, who also coincidentally adds event planner often to her job tasks. 

Day 1: I specifically started my consumption journal on Friday, October 25. The day before a large case competition I was hosting on campus. Day 1 starts like most every other day of my life. The 20 minute drive to daycare, followed by the usual ice cap pit stop at Tim Horton’s. This day is special though, with the pressures of ensuring everything was just right for our judges and sponsors. I stroll off to Ferme Beaulieu to spend $328 on gifts. I am thinking that at least I am buying local products (honey, herbs, ketchup aux fruits) and feel pretty great about that. But why do I feel obliged to buy gifts at all? Wouldn’t a sincere thank you be enough? I guess according to Jonathan Porritt (2011), I have fallen victim to consumerism at its best. Somehow, I feel OK about it though. 

 A quick stop at Dollarama for gift bags, disposable coffee cups (cringe!), and plastic plastic trays. Finally, a $148 trip to Provigo for snacks for the case competitors and coaches. Oops, did I mention the trip to the t-shirt printer to pick up the 60 red printed competition momentos. Let’s add the 250+ pages I printed that day! As I sit here and reflect on the necessities (needs) of running a case competition versus expectations (and wants), I come to the realization that most of what I have purchased is simply there to enhance image. 

Day 2 (October 26): Tim’s ice cap (check!). 60 Donuts, 60 pre-packed lunches, 24 cans of Perrier, 60 cans of soft drinks, 40 coffees in disposable cups, 100 plastic glasses of wine. Today, I am completely influenced by materialism and keeping the “image”. Let’s keep in mind that I work for a business school and that comes with some rather large assumptions around how things are supposed to look and be. Not to mention, I am hosting five people from the company who is sponsoring the event, so I need to keep them happy and ensure the event lives up to their expectations. I am reminded of Amitai Etzioni, (2012) and his sentiments about “keeping up with the Jones’”. It is true, when one party sets a certain expectation, we all rise to meet, or better, exceed them.

Today; however, my biggest disappointment was food waste. The boxed lunches were good, but about 25% of people didn’t eat all their meal. Almost 100% of the people didn’t eat the dessert included. We don’t have access to compost, so it went to the trash. Above the clear environmental impact of my event, I am reminded of the fact that one fifth of the world’s richest people consume 45% of all the meat and fish (Shah, 2014). Despite the company providing compostable cutlery and cups, I feel guilty that I sent so many things to the landfill today. To top it all off, Sodexo served a less than stellar menu at the Gala dinner (veal sous-vide). I swear I wanted to eat it, but alas, two bites in and I am done. More to the trash. Exhausted and mentally drained, I wonder to myself where the balance between convenience and waste needs to come into play. Why can’t we have compost stations on campus?

Day 3 (October 27): But first, my ice cap! A friend’s child’s birthday party today so I scramble to get things together. I run to Provigo to grab stuff for mini pizzas to share (forgot my grocery bags, so plastic it is). My friend insisted on no gifts at the party, which I wanted to accept, but quite frankly couldn’t. I’m glad I didn’t because apparently no one else respected it either. I think about this social obligation more deeply (Goodwin, Smith, & Spiggle, 1990). I try my best to make a compromise, we opt for a movie day among friends instead of a traditional gift. I am hoping this small intrinsically motivated action may decrease future landfill waste in the future. Nonetheless, we are filled with waxed juice cups and plates. Back to the Provigo to grab something for the family for supper. I grab peppers in a plastic bag, sausages in a styrofoam package, pasta sauce in a glass bottle, cheese in plastic packaging and pasta in a cardboard box. Nothing much to compost or recycle unfortunately. 

Day 4 (October 28): Monday and back to work. Ice cap, yup! I am starting to get quite the collection in my office recycling bin. My boss just commented on it. I guess it is a bit of an eye sore..haha! 

Two trips to Provigo today. One at lunch to grab George’s bread, deli ham, Coaticook cheese, carrots and dip. Next stop on the way home from work for supper, chicken, baby potatoes and stuffing. 

Day 5 (October 29): If you haven’t guessed by now, ice cap time! Today, my brother (who lives with us) did a fridge clean up. Sigh! I can’t believe how much stuff we threw away. Past date, wilted vegetables, moldy fruits. Why don’t I just throw money directly into the garbage can? Is it normal that the first thing I think about is wasted money? According to a study  by Graham-Rowe, Jessop, and Sparks (2014),  wasting money is indeed a major motivator to minimize food waste. Inspired by this revelation, I am determined to have leftovers for lunch and transform the chicken salad sandwiches tonight for supper. I don’t even have to stop at Provigo today! WOW!

Day 6 (October 30): IC (that’s all I will say). Wednesdays are always tricky because I am running around and teach a class at night. It is one of those days. I grab lunch at Subway (steak sub, chips and a drink) -> garbage.

Run to Provigo after work and grab steak, carrots, potatoes and gravy from Provigo and throw it in pot to cook. I also realize that I haven’t really bought any candy for Halloween for my students in case class. $65.30 later and we have meat and candies! I’ve also been putting out chocolates outside my office door for students. 

Day 7 (October 31): Another ice cap to go please. I don’t even eat lunch today. Now I realize we have no candy for the kids. Drive to Walmart and $68.03, we’ve got goodies. No lunch again, and we go to a friend’s for supper. Off with the 4 year old trick or treating in the rain. She gets a pail of treats, we have 2 boxes of stuff leftover.

Day 8 (November 1): Day of the dead? I think so! Actually order breakfast with my ice cap at Timmy’s this morning. No lunch today. We decide to go shopping after work today as my brother has a 40% discount at L’Equipeur. $218.58 later, my husband enjoys new shoes, jeans, sport jacket, t-shirts, and a pair of sneakers for my mom for Christmas. Oh wait! Marlee needs new winter boots, so $86.22 later, we have new winter boots for her. I also see the cutest dress boots at Marshall’s (fake baby Uggs). I suppose these is what the marketers are hoping for. Top it all off with super for the family at Guido’s. (Wow! I have really been eating like crap!) Day 8 hurt the bank account!  Day 9 (November 2): Maybe I should actually buy some groceries for my empty fridge. I sludge off to Provigo early Saturday morning to spent near $200. At least I have meat, veggies, fruits, and some of the other basics for my family to actually live on. Stop at Tim’s on the way home for the usual. 

Day 10 (November 3): Beautiful breakfast with family (and an ice cap). Spent the day making food (soup, roasted chicken, pasta sauce, etc....). Trying to cut down on the restaurant stops this week. End up at the library with some dear colleagues from GSE503, so I think another ice cap is in order to stay awake (and leftover Halloween Candy). 

Day 11 (November 4): Check that thought. Day went to hell, running late, dead tired, no breakfast, grabbed Rima for supper. Fridge full, but I don’t even care at this point. 

Day 12 (November 5): Today is a new day! I started making iced coffee at home! No Tim’s! I actually did not spend $1 today! Why do I feel so great? Apparently it is something referred to as perceived consumer effectiveness (PCE). When is comes to sustainable buying practices, this PCE is influenced directly by guilt and pride. This becomes important because it means that as a consumer,  my behaviours could be modified by using emotions (Antonetti, & Maklan, 2014).

Day 13 (November 6): Another no spending kind of day! Feeling all pride and no guilt! Maybe Atonetti and Maklan are on to something!

Day 14 (November 7): Last day of recording! No ice caps and going strong.  My husband and I are feeling like we need a little extra family time, so we go out for supper at Mike’s with Marlee. We follow it up by a little Chocolat Favoris. I asked myself why we went to Mike’s again? What a waste!   A quick stop by Provigo to grab snacks for my basketball girls. I make an orzo salad plus pull together fruits, yogurt, cheese and granola bars.

Stay tuned for Part 2 to see if I actually made some changes and what this whole process has meant for me. Until then, I leave you on this note: Waiting on the World to Change

REFERENCES

Antonetti, P., & Maklan, S. (2014). Feelings that make a difference: How guilt and pride convince consumers of the effectiveness of sustainable consumption choices. Journal of Business Ethics, 124(1), 117-134. Retrieved from www.jstor.org/stable/24033218

Etzioni, A. (2012). You Don’t need to Buy This. Retrieved from https://youtu.be/FN3z8gtDUFE

Goodwin, C., Smith, K.L., & Spiggle, S. (1990). Gift giving: Consumer motivation and the gift purchase process. In NA - Advances in Consumer Research. 17, eds. Marvin E. Goldberg, Gerald Gorn, and Richard W. Pollay, Provo, UT : Association for Consumer Research, 690-698. Retrieved from http://acrwebsite.org/volumes/7086/volumes/v17/NA-17

Graham-Rowe, E., Jessop, D.C., & Sparks, P. (2014). Identifying motivations and barriers to minimising household food wasteby. Resources, Conservation & Recycling, 84, 15-23. doi: 10.1016/j.resconrec.2013.12.005

Porritt, J. (2011). The trap of materialism. Retrieved from https://youtu.be/DtwXryPNciM

Shah, A. (2014). Consumption and Consumerism: Global Issues. Retrieved from http://www.globalissues.org/issue/235/consumption-and-consumerism

[chinxino5-blog]

tinsel

basicallyidomoo fic - [ fluff request ] warnings: none. 3002 words

@it-vaniss request! prompt: “fluffy basicallyidomoo fic about the two of them decorating the christmas tree”

-

Craig had left to get Christmas crackers at ten a.m., leaving Brock with the simple instructions of setting up their tree and decorating. It was a pretty straight forward task, there wasn’t much that could go wrong.

Except that it was one o’clock and all he’d managed was to make space for the massive fake tree and open the attic door.

“‘Decorate the tree’ he said. ‘I’ll only be gone for an hour’ he said... dickhead.”

He found himself laying at the bottom of the ladder, glaring at the gaping hole of death and humidity that was their roof. He’d hauled himself up there two hours ago only to half clamber, half fall, back down when he encountered the biggest spider he’d ever seen waiting for him.

So instead of trying to figure out a way to get around the beast guarding the gates of Hell and retrieve the dusty boxes, he snacked on cereal and cursed his roommate from the carpet.

The angry message he’d sent to Craig had a response of several laughing emojis and a stupid gif. Obviously with no solution available, he shuffled back to lean against the wall and grumbled into his empty bowl.

“Stupid Craig with his stupid gifs and stupid emojis,” he muttered. After several long moments of nothing new or life-changing appearing to help him, he stood reluctantly and placed his bowl to the side, his determined glare settling once again on the opening of his attic. Taking a deep breath in, he placed one foot on the first rung. The moment he lifted his other off the carpet their obnoxiously loud doorbell rang through the leisure room and he jumped in alarm, foot slipping and sending back him to the floor.

He groaned, whimpering into the carpet with his hands on his throbbing hip. He was not motivated in the slightest to get up and answer whoever chose to interrupt him at that moment. If they knew him well enough to know the door was almost always unlocked they would let themselves in.

Sure enough, a few seconds later his door clicked open and footsteps could be heard walking down the hall. “Brocky?” Of course he called Marcel… “Craig told me you needed-” His words cut short as he glanced into the room, seeing the mess of limbs that was the exhausted Brock. “... help.” The little chuckle had Brock lifting his head from the carpet to glare up at the man leaning against the frame of the doorway.

“I hate Craig,” was all he said before huffing and allowing his face to return to the carpet. Marcel laughed again but didn’t say anything more. Brock half listened as he walked away and returned a few minutes later.

“You can hate Craig when we’ve got this tree set up and decorated. C’mon, I came over here to help you, not do it for you.” His words were playful and teasing as he nudged the man with his foot. Music played from the speaker in his hand and Brock slowly pulled himself up using the ladder beside him. He caught Marcel’s lopsided smile and rolled his eyes at the overly cheerful Christmas song that played from the little blue cylinder.

“Don’t have plans for Christmas Eve?” Brock asked, brushing himself off lightly and touching his hip tenderly. It was probably gonna bruise and he knew he’d be blaming Craig completely.

The other man shrugged, smile still on his face. “So far, my plans are to help some idiot put up his Christmas tree because he can’t do it by himself.” Brock huffed, shoving the other gently as he laughed at his own teasing. “Which brings me to my question: why haven’t you even gotten the box down yet?”

Marcel followed him as he trudged to the kitchen and put his bowl in the dishwasher. “There’s a massive spider up there guarding it and I don’t care what anyone thinks of me. I’m not going back up there. That thing is hungry for my face, I swear.”

He didn’t expect anything less from his close friend as he snorted into the back of his hand and threw his head back with high-pitched laughter. It came out more as a giggle than a proper laugh as he tried unsuccessfully to contain his amusement. Brock shook his head when he found his lips twitching into a smile. Marcel’s laugh had a child-like feeling to it and anyone who knew him could agree that it was highly infectious.

It was one of Brock’s favourite things about his friend.

“It’s not funny!” he scolded, kicking his friend lightly as they found themselves beneath the gaping hole in the roof once again. Marcel placed the speaker down, still giggling. Brock crooked his index fingers and brought them to the sides of his mouth. “It had these big fangs and its body had these dark red bits. Its legs were so long Marcel, it’s plotting my death right now – it can’t wait to kill me.”

Marcel raised his brow, desperately trying not to laugh or grin at the silliness of his friend. He just shook his head and put both hands on the ladder, one foot on the first rung.

“Don’t you worry your pretty little head about it, Brocky, I’ll go face the terrifying beast for you,” he cooed, his voice gentle and condescending. Brock frowned, trying not to pout as he tried to look more annoyed than he was.

He watched Marcel scale the ladder, taking his time peaking up into the attic as he deliberately shook his knees and arms in ‘fear’. He huffed and folded his arms. “Yeah, yeah, get on with it then, Prince Charming,” he scoffed and Marcel paused to throw and cheeky grin back down at him. The accompanied wink had Brock’s cheeks flushing as he turned away.

He jumped in alarm as his friend shrieked, standing on the wooden support beams above with only one leg visible. “Brock, the spider’s gonna get me!” Brock’s concern dropped.

“Shut up!” he snapped, hearing the wicked laughter from above as Marcel took a few seconds to get out all of his giggling.

“It’s so tiny,” he squeaked, howling with laughter from the dark, humid space above. “It’s smaller than my big toe!”

Brock’s face burned with embarrassment. “It’s not that small,” he mumbled to himself, flushing even darker as the laughter raised a pitch. “Marcel!” His whining had the laughter dying to giggling, dying to little snorts and huffs here and there. “Hurry up and get the box so we can start setting it up.”

He walked from the room, fanning at his face with one hand. He sent Craig another angry message, including a retelling of Marcel’s teasing. Receiving the response of “suck his dick, it might help”, he left his roommate unanswered and threw his phone onto the cough. He cleared out more space for the tree and tidied the rest of the house for decorating.

After another few minutes he returned to the leisure room at the call of his name. Marcel slowly handed heavy boxes down to him, the cardboard sagging under the weight of plastic branches and dozens of ornaments. Brock offered a hand to help the other balance as he got his feet back on the ground and smiled smugly at the man’s rosy cheeks and heaving chest. His forehead glistened with sweat.

“Maybe if you hadn’t spent an extra five minutes up there giggling your ass off you wouldn’t have ended up so overheated.” He handed his sour words to the other with a glass of icy water, the liquid drained in seconds.

Marcel relished in the cool temperature of the room, grinning through his heavy breaths. The playful smile had Brock turning to the box that held all the tree parts. He knew the teasing words would follow him as he dragged it from the room and pretended Marcel wasn’t there. “I thought it was pretty funny, y’know. Your little spider friend up there was giggling with me, you just couldn’t hear him.” The smirk in his words had Brock throwing an unamused look over his shoulder, Marcel’s eyes twinkling above the box in his arms. “Such a small spider only has a little laugh,” he added and Brock threw his head back with an exaggerated groan.

“Let it die,” he whined, reaching the corner of the main room where he planned to set up the tree.

“I’ll think about it.”

He took the glass from the top of Marcel’s box as the other turned to get the last from the living room. Brock refilled the cup and poured one of his own before opening the biggest of the three boxes. The plastic green leaves pricked at his fingers as he pulled out the base and fake trunk of the tree.

Marcel crouched down beside him, helping slot the parts together with a grin. “Watch out for big spiders in the box, Brocky.”

Brock huffed. “Really?” he asked, forcing down his smile at the high-pitched laughter from his friend. With a small giggle of his own, he grabbed one of the branches and pointed it at Marcel. “Why don’t you leaf me alone?” He couldn’t stop the smile from breaking out across his own face as Marcel’s dropped.

“Have fun doing this by yourself.” He dropped the branch in his hand, walking towards the hall and shaking his head.

Giggles became laughter as Brock scrambled over one of the boxes so he was close enough to grab Marcel’s shirt sleeve. “I’m sorry!” he forced out, bending at the middle as his laugh faded to a breathless wheeze. “I had to.” Marcel was smiling slightly at him when he stood upright again, one brow quirked in disapproval.

“No you didn’t,” he corrected, brushing the hand away and bending down to open the other two boxes. “You get that tree up, I’ll put some stuff up around the room – we’ll do the tree décor after,” he instructed.

Brock pressed his lips together, making sure to move out of reach as he started popping the branches into place at the base of the tree. He threw a daring look over his shoulder. “Don’t worry Marcel, I’ll be done in tree seconds flat.” He bit down on his tongue to stop his laughter. Marcel raised his head, deadpan expression. A bauble hit him on the head and he squeaked, laughter slipping from his lips.

“You’re an idiot,” was the only response he received and he snickered in satisfaction.

“You love it.” He missed Marcel’s little smile that accompanied his rolling eyes.

Brock hummed along to the Christmas music as he worked, locking each branch in on each level of the tree. The smile on his face didn’t change much as the fake tree took shape and began to look fatter and better. Though it was still bare and not so Christmas-y, it looked like a tree and that was the start.

He was almost constantly aware of Marcel’s whereabouts, the other singing along as he hung tinsel over the small chandelier and draped it over the curtain rails. He put wreaths up on the two doors facing into the main room. Halfway through his job, a broom brushed at Brock’s foot, curious eyes looking up to see Marcel closely inspecting the tree.

“Looking good, Brocky – made any eight-legged friends?” His inquiry had a branch swatting at the top of his head and Brock stepped away to allow the whistling man to sweep under and around his tree for all the little fake leaves that had fallen off.

When Brock announced he was finished, Marcel wandered back in from where he’d disappeared to the leisure room. He had a makeshift tinsel scarf and a pair of flashing green and red glasses he’d found somewhere. The look in Brock’s eyes showed he was less than impressed but his smirk contradicted him no matter how hard he tried to fight it down.

“Let’s get this bitch dressed up, baby.” The enthusiastic cry from Marcel, paired with his energetic fist pump, had Brock pushing a bundle of tangled tinsel into his arms.

His smile was sweet. “Get untangling!”

Marcel had never looked more like a kicked puppy. The excitement in his eyes vanished as though Brock had poured a glass of water over his head and he disappointedly sat down on the floor with the mess of gold, red and silver on his lap. Surprisingly enough, three long strands of tinsel were laid out on the floor, separated, in just over five minutes. Long enough for Brock to have put the lights around the tree. Just as he finished adjusting the spiral, a loose length of gold was looped over his head and pulled tight around his waist.

He protested through his laughter as his arms were pinned to his sides, the big golden bow tied at his back locking his elbows down so he could only raise his forearms.

“I don’t want to break it.” His whine did nothing more than make Marcel laugh, a cheeky grin on his face as he wound the red tinsel in a wide spiral around the tree.

“Then don’t, stupid. I’ll do the tinsel and you can decorate the lower part of the tree!” His voice peaked as though his idea was far more brilliant than it actually was though the frown on Brock’s face refused to stay, too easily replaced with his giggling smile.  

Still, he accepted the challenge and once all the tinsel was in place he awkwardly shuffled from the box to the tree and back, collecting baubles and hanging them on the ends of branches. Marcel danced around him, grinning at Brock’s concentrated expression with his tongue peaking through his lips as he pushed his hip into the branches to allow his hands to reach the places missing ornaments.

Occasionally Marcel would stop to watch him struggle but he refused to ask for any help as he made his way around the bottom half of the tree. The other man filled any spaces he couldn’t reach and handed him ornaments he couldn’t get low enough to fetch, humming through all the silly Christmas songs Brock listened to in his car any time he left the house.

The whoop of excitement made the tied man jump in surprise as Marcel’s face lit up. The source of his excitement became clear as Mariah Carey began to play from his speaker.

“Oh God,” slipped from his mouth as Marcel began singing and dancing dramatically around the tree. He grabbed Brock’s hands halfway through the song, spinning him around as he struggled to keep his arms against his body. His giggly words weren’t exactly coherent but he loved the beam on Marcel’s face. When he was released he just listened as he continued filling out the last of the tree.

Something plastic slid onto his head, a headband of sorts fitting tightly behind his ears. He spun around, confused, feeling whatever was sitting above his head swing around after him to hang between Marcel and him. The proximity was unexpectedly close and his eyes went wide as his friend intertwined their fingers and leaned in. The lips on his were careful. They only stayed for a second or two, Brock realising after a breath that he should probably close his eyes. When the pressure on his lips vanished, too brief for the tied-up man to even respond, the hands slipped out of his and his eyes blinked back open.

The question on his tongue was trapped behind his lips as he blushed bright red and looked up. The headband on his head had a small wire stand that curved forward to hand a sprig of mistletoe just above and in front of the wearer. His pale cheeks burnt even darker and he shook his head and bent down, flinging the accessory off his head.

Fucking Craig, he thought to himself, turning back to the tree and shuffling around the other side to adjust tinsel and baubles where Marcel couldn’t see his bright red face. His roommate just had to own something as stupid as that.

“All I want for Christmas is you.” The soft singing had lost its silliness as the song came to a gradual end. No matter how hard Brock tried to convince himself that it was just a joke or a silly play Marcel could laugh at, those seven words burnt themselves to the inside of his lung and his heart slammed against his ribs.

When he returned to Marcel’s side of the tree, his face had somewhat cooled but the effort it took to look up at his friend was heavy in his chest. He wasn’t expecting soft curious brown eyes and a little smile. He wasn’t expecting the other to address what he’d done at all.

“Sorry, I probably shouldn’t ha-,”

“Don’t be,” Brock cut in, clamping a hand over his mouth instantly as his face began to reheat. With Marcel’s patient eyes on him he didn’t have an excuse to move back out of sight and instead focused his eyes on the almost empty box of baubles. His hand fell away. “I’m not, er, upset or anything. You don’t have to be sorry.”

The little smile on Marcel’s face grew as he stepped closer, spinning Brock around by his shoulders. The tinsel fell away with one tug and when Brock turned back around the same pair of lips ghosted his cheekbone.

“Good to know.” The cheeky words allowed a smile onto Brock’s face again. A flustered smile, but a smile all the same. Marcel just laughed at Brock’s rosy cheeks, closing up the boxes and flicking on the power-board. Both of them wore toothy grins as the tree glimmered and glowed with colour, baubles reflecting light and the tinsel sparkling.

“Looks perfect.”

Marcel stepped up beside him, slipping an arm around his waist and pressing his lips to his temple. “It is perfect.”

-

it-vaniss’ ask

note: here ya go! basicallyidomoo is such a cute pairing, my eyes have been opened :0 v cute to write, although it’s a bit past xmas now ^-^” i manage to make my ships kiss in literally every oneshot im so sorry, idk why but i love the cuteness of it all.

sorry for how long it took! hope you it’s what you were looking for!

gi

[dontshootmespence]

Typical

A/N: An anon request for Spencer and the reader both work for the FBI, but in different departments. They can’t stand each other. Unfortunately, they have to work together on a case, and well...one thing leads to another. 

                                                              ----

“We’ll be working with Y/N Y/L/N of the Domestic Trafficking Task Force,” Hotch said. 

Spencer felt his skin crawl. Y/N was abrasive, rude, had no sense of personal boundaries and was basically his complete opposite. She was intelligent (he couldn’t deny that) and gorgeous (he hated the fact that he noticed that despite everything else about her he couldn’t stand), but in his eyes those were her only positives. Ever the professional, he always did his best to work with her, but it got more and more difficult each time. What was worse was the fact that the rest of the team fawned over her; they were always looking for an excuse to work with her. 

Just as he imagined her storming down the hallway toward them, she made her presence known. “Hello all,” she said, patting JJ on the shoulder as she walked in. “I wish we were seeing each other under better circumstances, but I need your help.”

“Whatever we can do,” Morgan said. The internal eye roll was strong in Spencer. As he was saying - everyone loved Y/N no matter how hard and rude she tended to be. Today, she hadn’t been rude the second she walked in the door; that was something.

Y/N glanced around the room, noticing everyone’s expressions, saddened, but eager to help in any way they could, except Spencer of course. He’d always had an issue with her and she had no idea why, which sucked because he seemed like a catch in every other way. With everyone else, he seemed sweet; he was the BAU’s youngest agent with a baby face and a heart of gold...apparently. She’d never seen it before, so she’d believe it whenever she was graced with his decent personality. “For the past three years, I’ve been trying to infiltrate a national human trafficking ring that we believe has its headquarters just outside the city. Last year, I sent two agents, one veteran, and one newbie undercover. They both missed their last check-in. Very unlike them. I’m afraid something’s happened to them.”

“Why was the new agent sent undercover on such a long-running case?” Spencer blurted out. He hadn’t meant to say it out loud, it had just been running through his head, but his mouth was moving faster than his brain. 

Y/N glared at him from across the room. “Agent Samantha Wilcox was desperate for a chance to prove herself; considering that we’d determined that most of the victims were young college students, I figured she would be perfect for blending in, and she’s never given me a reason to doubt her abilities, so I gave her a chance. And before you say anything, my veteran agent is gone as well, so I don’t believe her being green in Academy terms has anything to do with the fact that I haven’t had any contact with her.”

This time he managed to bite his tongue even though he wanted to say something. “We’re here to help in any way we can,” Hotch replied, noticing the tension between the two agents. “Let’s get our agents back.”

                                                             ----

Nearly 28 hours passed before the BAU managed to make a connection between the two missing agents and the trafficking ring; their covers had been blown. “How would their covers have been blown?” Spencer asked as he searched through Samantha Wilcox’s “dorm” room.

“Samantha isn’t stupid, but if she truly believes and trusts someone, she might have accidentally let her guard down in a way that she assumed meant nothing,” Y/N said. Her heart was beating faster and faster. “God, if I can’t get them back.” Her voice started to break, the tears falling from her eyes as she collapsed down onto Samantha’s bed. What the hell would she tell their parents? Agent Turner, the veteran, had parents in law enforcement as well; they’d be heartbroken, but they’d expect it. No parent expected a new agent like Samantha to die so young; her parents were schoolteachers; if something happened to her...”Oh god, I shouldn’t have sent her in there.”

Spencer was taken aback by the show of emotion from Agent Y/L/N. “We’ll find them,” he said softly, continuing to search around the room for clues that might lead to where the two agents had been taken - hopefully, the ring’s headquarters. 

From her cupped hands, she lifted up her head and stared at Spencer through tears. “You’re being nice to me,” she said, surprised. Maybe he was a nice guy.

“I’m always nice -”

“Bullshit,” she interjected. “You’re professional, most of the time. You’re never nice to me.” She stood up and wiped the tears from her eyes as she attempted to get back to searching for clues. “For some reason, you fucking hate my guts. You being nice to me feels weird.”

“I don’t hate you. I barely know you,” he replied. “You annoy me.”

She spun around on her heels and exclaimed. “I annoy you? Why? What the hell have I ever done to you?”

“You have no sense of personal space and you’re a robot. That’s why the emotion threw my off. I didn’t realize you had any.” He was tired of keeping it in. They were alone, so he spoke his mind. 

The shuffling of papers was the soundtrack to the lull in their conversation. “I tend to pat people on the arm or the shoulder. I probably should’ve kept that to myself with you; you don’t know me well and I know how you feel about touch. As for being a robot, well, sometimes you had to compartmentalize in order to do your job effectively. I’m sorry if that makes it seem like I’m a robot, but that’s how I manage to continue doing my job.” She found nothing in the stack of papers and angrily let them fall to the floor, heated tears spilling into her hands; she was exhausted, frustrated and apparently, she was a robot. “So go fuck yourself.”

Spencer grimaced at his own assumptions before turning around to see Y/N sobbing at the thought of losing two of her agents, because she’d trusted in their abilities (possibly a little too much). He wasn’t one to keep in his emotions; he let them out, and sometimes they influenced his work; Y/N just handled things differently, and he’d made assumptions based on her work personality that weren’t necessarily true. 

Closing the space between them, he wrapped his arms around her hesitantly. He still wasn’t great with touch, but he’d been getting better with it over the years, and he’d caused her to break down, so he figured it was only fair he try and comfort her. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I handle my emotions differently than you. I shouldn’t have assumed something about you based on the limited knowledge I have of you.”

“Oh my god,” she laughed, her tears spilling onto his shoulder. “You’re hugging me and you said two nice things to me today. I think the world might be ending.”

Spencer huffed as she sat back down on Samantha’s bed and took a deep breath. She rubbed her clenched fists into her eyes and tried to wipe away impending sleep, but she’d been awake for nearly 30 hours and she was emotionally drained. “You need some sleep,” he whispered. “You’re no good to your agents if you’re a walking zombie.”

“I can’t go to sleep while they're out there undergoing only god knows what,” she replied, shaking her head and standing up again, nearly teetering over from lack of balance. “Okay, maybe you’re right. A couple hours.”

Spencer placed his hand on the small of her back and coaxing her down the stairs. “I’ll drive you home, and I’ll text my team on the way to tell them what’s happening.”

S: Y/N is exhausted. I’m driving her home. Keep me updated on any progress and I’ll let her know.

H: You finally got her to rest? She’d been awake for 30 hours and barely got any sleep for two days prior. Make sure she rests for a few hours. We’ve got everything covered.

“I let them know. They’ll keep me updated.”

Y/N nodded her head as she sat in the passenger side of the government car. Spencer got into the driver’s seat and began the hour-long drive back to the city and her apartment. It was barely five seconds into their trip that he heard her light snoring. 

                                                            ----

“We’re back,” he said, unbuckling his seatbelt and opening the door for her. Even after an hour long nap, she felt better. A little rest would have her at her best. 

“Thank you for driving me, Spencer.”

“It’s no problem. And I was wrong, you’re not a robot.”

She chuckled under her breath as they stepped into the elevator and made their way upstairs to her apartment. “Thanks, and I’ll try not to be such a bitch.”

“Then I’d say we’re even.”

Fumbling with the keys in her bag, she finally got the door open and walked inside. Spencer immediately walked into her kitchen and grabbed a glass of water and a piece of fruit before handing them to her. “We’ve been together for over 30 hours, and you’ve barely had anything to eat or drink in that time.”

Reluctantly, she took the banana and glass of water, downing them both in less than five minutes. He grabbed the peel and glass, disposing of them in the trash and sink. “We’re going to find them.”

As if on cue, he received a text from Hotch.

H: We have a lead.

The coordinates were in the middle of her apartment and where the rest of the BAU was now. “We have a lead.”

                                                           ----

After another hour, everything was over. Agents Turner and Wilcox were both badly bruised, but they seemed to be okay otherwise. Turner and Wilcox and narrowed down the possible headquarters to one of two places, and Wilcox had confided in a fellow classmate who she’d befriended - it turned out said classmate was a leader in the ring, despite her young age.

“You are so stubborn!” Spencer grumbled, following her around in an attempt to bring her back home. “Everyone is under arrest. You have seen your agents off; both are in stable condition. Let me take you home again. You need rest.”

“You’re annoying...” She shuffled toward Spencer and gave Hotch a wave, pointing at Spencer and then at the car. Hotch gave her a thumbs up; everything was in good hands now.

A day and a half without more than an hour’s rest was ridiculous. She’d done this in college all the time. How did she ever manage? 

“Weren’t we just here?” She laughed, looking at her front door again.

“It seems like just hours ago, and yet years ago.”

As they walked into the apartment, Y/N felt the tension release from her body. The pressure was off; she was so tired, but it was all over. She found herself crying again, and once more, Spencer held her as she did. Maybe Y/N wasn’t so bad after all. After her crying fit she lifted her head up and pressed her lips to his. “Sorry,” she said, shaking her head and turning away. “I’ve been overly emotional and now that the pressure is off, I’m just-”

“It’s okay,” Spencer replied. “It makes sense. A lot of people seek out sexual comfort after a traumatic experience. Although I do find it surprising that you’d kiss me.”

“Just because I assumed you hated me doesn’t mean I didn’t and don’t still find you attractive.” She was so tired. In reality, she should probably just go to sleep, but she was considering kissing him again; maybe she could fall asleep in a little while and not be alone. 

Before she could make the decision to kiss him again, he grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her close. “How can someone be so annoying and attractive?”

“Just shut up,” she huffed. As they stumbled back to her room, she shrugged her jacket off and let it fall to the floor before hurriedly reaching back to pull Spencer’s shirt out. He quickly buttoned himself and threw it and his blazer in a pile alongside her clothing. 

While she made quick work of her belt and and his own, he buried his face in between her breasts, licking and sucking at her soft skin while he traced the sides of her curves his the pads of his thumbs. “Did you ever think that maybe we didn’t like each other because we had backed up sexual tension?” He laughed.

“I’d like to think we are above that,” she replied, her lips tracing his jugular vein and making their way down the sensitive skin of his collarbone. 

Spencer placed his hand on the doorknob to her bedroom and pushed it open, guiding them into the bedroom and flopping down onto the bed hastily. “I have a feeling we’re not above that.”

“What did I say,” she laughed. “Shut up and kiss me.”

“I think we’re going to be doing a lot more than kissing.”

“Do you always talk this much?”

“I have a tendency to.”

Reaching down, she peeled off her jeans and motioned for him to do the same. He did as he was beckoned and then positioned himself in between her legs, kissing down her body before tasting the sweetness that had formed against the delicate lace she wore. “You were meant to be sleeping,” he laughed against her thighs. 

“You’re the one who grabbed my wrist and kissed me,” she replied, gasping as his tongue swiped against her sensitive clit. 

“Because you kissed me first.” He made his way up her body as they both continued to laugh.

The more she thought about it, the more she believed he was probably right; they’d been so horrible to each other because they both sucked with relationships. “And now here we are.” Spencer placed himself at her entrance and slid in smoothly, grabbing her hands and placing them both above her head as he began with short, shallow thrusts. “Oh fuck.” When he let go of her hands, they instantly flew back to his ass; with each thrust, she squeezed him, asking through touch that he get closer. His mouth dropped open at the feeling of her heat, keeping his pace consistent as she scraped her teeth up his chest and neck before slipping her tongue into his mouth. “Fuck me, Spencer.”

As she bit down on his earlobe, he grabbed her hands again and held them both above her head with one of his hands. The other reached underneath her curves to pull her closer by the small of her back as he thrusted into her over and over again until she was a writhing, shaking mess. “Oh hell, Spencer.”

He fell to the sheets at her side and attempted to catch his breath. “So it only took us two years of working together and hating each other to admit that we don’t actually hate each other?” Spencer asked.

Y/N bit her lip and turned to face him, raking her fingernails lightly down his chest. “I guess so,” she laughed. “But let’s keep pretending we hate each other at work.”

“That’s probably for the best,” he said. “At least for right now. I don’t want the rest of the team thinking I was full of shit.”

That would be something to explain to the Bureau; the two agents that hated each other wound up in bed together. Typical.

@coveofmemories @sexualemobitch @jamiemelyn @unstoppableangel8 @iammostdefinitelyonfire26 @hogwarts-konoha @lukeassmanalvez @yoinkpeter @the-slytherin-ice-queen

[where-the-wind-is]

A Little Birdy Told Me

The Arcana

Masterlist

Chapter 7

Lucio had been complaining non-stop for days.

The strain of trying to walk after almost a year in bed was finally taking its toll on him.

"Birdy I can't move my legs! And they're on fire!"

You'd gone up and down the lift at least six times retrieving stronger and stronger pain medicines, you were exhausted. Definitely worsened by the goings on of the day before. Valdemar had insisted they needed more blood for whatever it was they got up to in their chambers, and they graciously left the decision of donor up to a facility-wide vote. Well there was one recent outcast that everyone was happy to throw under the carriage.

You remember the pitcher was full to the half-way line between one pint and two pints before you lost consciousness.

Needless to say you were feeling a bit dizzy, and running around to accommodate the Counts ceaseless demands was not helping.

"Does it still hurt when you move?" You ask as you spread an orange paste on his calves.

"Yes, and that smells weird"

"Stop breathing then" you deadpan, you expect a laugh but instead you receive an exaggerated sigh and a sullen mumbled response.

"Hurts when I breathe, too...hurts to do anything"

You already knew he was in pain, that's the thing about the plague, it isn't pleasant. Shaking your head slightly you return to the task at hand. He couldn't lift his legs to try walking today which was a good indication that he needed a break.

"How about when you blink? Does it hurt then?" You ask slyly.

"Of course it doesn't hurt to blink!" He snaps, but you don't let up.

"How about when your heart beats?"

"Are you serious?"

"Surely growing your hair is painful"

"Fine fine point taken" he chuckles. You feel your heart warm at the sound. His laugh is becoming a terribly rare thing. "If you're gonna be a pain then at least give me my comb, I must look like Melchior after being in bed all day.

With a grin you stand to retrieve his comb from his vanity, you make it halfway there when the spinning starts. Everything starts to tilt to the right and you find yourself wondering if maybe you should sit down. It takes you until you're on the floor to realize it wasn't the world that was tilting. Even there lying on Count Lucio's plush carpet you don't stop falling. The sensation of the sudden drop drags you down down down an invisible drain until all you can see is black.

0Oh great he fell down.

"Birdy?!" Lucio calls fruitlessly from his bed. His voice scratches in his throat and his lungs burn with the effort of yelling. "Birdy what do you think you're doing?"

Oh this was just great. The day Lucio is in the most pain and is most in need of his tender little helper the bird up and faints on him. Probably did it to spite him. Ever since the medic snapped at him he'd been waiting for that change of attitude he knew would be coming. Lucio knew the bird didn't like him anymore, so why was he still putting up the act? He didn't know how much pain Lucio was in so there was no way Birdy was doing it for his benefit.

"If you don't get up by the time I count to three I'm gonna come over there!" He threatens. This little ploy to get out of work was funny but Lucio still needed help.

"One!" The number was the only sound in the otherwise quiet room. Lucio had grown to hate the quiet so much. Birdy could fill the quiet with concerned questions and dry jokes, but now he was quiet as death.

"Two" he didn't yell it this time, it was too harsh on his lungs and he was becoming a bit scared of breaking the silence. Was Birdy really going to make him count all the way to three?

"...three" it was hardly above a whisper. He had said he'd 'come over there' but Lucio was starting to realize he had no way of actually doing that. The weird paste Birdy had given him smelled like turmeric, and it helped the pain quite a bit. Maybe he could move?

No! Ow ow that definitely hurt ahhh.

He hissed his breaths through his teeth as he tried to mentally power through the pain. He'd tried to move his legs but they hadn't budged an inch, and they felt like they were being stabbed repeatedly. He looked from his weakened legs to the crumpled body of his only friend and...he felt helplessness creep in.

Cold and clawing up his neck, making his tongue curl in disgust. He was familiar with this feeling, but it struck harder every time.

All he could do was wait.

0It took hours for him to finally stir.

Ok that's not true, it was maybe a minute and a half, but to Lucio it was hours. When the boy finally did start to rise Lucio was immediately rambling.

"What the heck was that? Why'd you faint? Is that even allowed?" None of these questions were answered as the bird remained seated, seemingly thinking.

Very very slowly he turned his beaked face towards Lucio and spoke.

"Must've swooned fur you yur exclinse…." He slurred. Instead of standing to return to the count, he picked up the comb he'd dropped and crawled back. Lucio was just completely lost for how to respond to that out of place joke.

"You just fell asleep on the floor." He spoke incredulously. Birdy's head shot up with the speed of a meerkats’ and suddenly he was begging.

"Please don't tell Valdemar about the slip up, it really wasn't a big deal and it won't happen again ok? One time thing I promise." He held up his gloved hands as he pleaded, words seeming to fall from his masked visage without any control.

Lucio hadn't thought to tell Valdemar, but that really was scary and if Birdy was ill then maybe it's best if his creepy boss knew about it.

Then again, Birdy was begging. That meant leverage.

"I could stay quiet about this…" he teased, "if you do something for me"

The tension in the room was palpable as the bird's goggle eyes stared him down.

"Like what?" He asked, hardly above a whisper.

"Let. Me. See. Your. Face. It's really not a big thing to ask." He punctuated. The bird turned his beak to the ground, a hand coming to rest on the fastener that kept the mask secured to his face.

"It's not a big thing to ask, but I still can't do that, your Excellency." He said sadly.

"Fine!" Lucio spat, royally sick of this request getting denied. "Then no deal"

The Birdy sat for a long time before he wordlessly started gathering his things to leave.

0It was only a matter of time, you knew the punishment for sleeping on duty. It was just a matter of time before–

"No. 137, a word" there it was. Resigned, you followed the Quaestor as they led you away from your dinner.

"Yes?"

"I've received a rather disturbing complaint from–"

"I know my mistake and I know the consequences. It was an accident I will not repeat. I am ready to accept my punishment" you say it robotically, you know with the Quaestor oftentimes the direct route is best.

"Ah good, that takes the song and dance out of this." They smile serenely. "Sleeping on the job is punishable by losing night-sleeping privileges. Since it was the Count you neglected I think...hmm let's say five days. That seems appropriate."

You close your eyes in a flinch at the words. It was longer than you expected but it definitely could've been longer.

You could go five days without sleep...right?

[jarienn972]

The Right Place - Chapter Seven

I have to apologize that I’m a little behind getting chapters posted here on Tumblr as the past few weeks have been a literal hurricane around here.  My family was very fortunate to never lose power and suffered no real damage other than a few scratches from debris hitting our car but many of my friends weren’t as lucky.  I managed to get a lot of writing done last weekend while waiting out Irma and have additional chapters of this story already up on both AO3 and FF.net.  I’ll try to have them up on Tumblr over the next few days for those who are following this story.  Thank you to everyone who has reblogged and liked these chapters!

From the beginning on Tumblr:  Prologue/Chap One  Chap Two  Chap Three  Chap Four  Chap Five  Chap Six

Tuesday evening, Portland Medical Center

Killian woke with a start, soaked with sweat and trembling as his mind forced him to relive those events in the form of an all too vivid dream – or more correctly a too real nightmare. He knew his heart was racing so he tried to focus on relaxing, slowing the thundering inside his chest before it garnered the unwanted attention of the nurse. Pushing through the aches and pains, he made himself take a deep breath, exhaling slowly as he leaned forward, determined to force himself out of this hospital bed. It wasn't as easy as he thought it might be but he somehow managed to swing his legs over the side, his bare toes scarcely grazing the chilly tile floor when he felt the warm touch of a hand on his shoulder.

"What are you doing?" his wife asked, her voice sounding quite concerned.

"I don't bloody know," he sighed, not entirely certain how to reply to her question.

"Are you alright? You were twitching and shaking in your sleep."

"Just a dream, Love," he stated rather unconvincingly. "I'm fine."

"I doubt that," she replied, rolling her eyes in disbelief. "It's never 'just' anything with you. Tell me what it was…"

"Nothing more than reliving being stabbed in the back and then nearly drowning," he grumbled. "It was a lot to digest, however as disturbing as it may have been, it might have stirred up some memories I hadn't recalled earlier."

"Okay…," she hesitated, debating whether to allow him to continue and potentially provide some new details or make him lie back down and discuss things in the morning, finally allowing curiosity to prevail. "What did you remember?"

"I suppose I should start from the beginning," he said as he attempted to raise his legs back up into the bed as it sunk in that Emma wasn't going to allow him to leave these confines just yet, finding it even more difficult with gravity opposing him. She noticed his frustration and provided a helping hand to get him comfortable and back under the bedcovers once again. "Thank you," he said with a disgruntled sigh, hating to be so needy as it then dawned on him that his stepson wasn't present in the room with them. "Wasn't Henry here earlier? I wasn't imagining that?"

"You're welcome, and no, you weren't imagining Henry. He went for a walk a few minutes ago. Pretty sure he just went down to the lounge so he could talk to Violet without his mother overhearing. And you – you don't need to push yourself… You don't have to talk about this right now if you don't want to…"

"I'd rather share as much as possible before I find myself hacking up my bloody insides again… Now..., let's see if I can piece all of these jumbled images and the like together into something that makes sense…" He squeezed his eyelids closed momentarily, attempting to formulate coherent thoughts from hazy recollection. "I offered to give the two thieves the doubloons I've stashed away on the Jolly Roger if they'd leave the shopkeeper be, but we never made it back out to where I left her anchored…"

"Okay, that much we knew. Do you remember anything about what happened after you boarded their boat?"

"Aye," he said with a subtle nod. "The seas became rougher as we rounded one of the small islands out in the bay. I could sense that the man at the helm reduced our speed as the waves swelled. So, I took advantage of the choppy sea to antagonize the masked man aiming the pistol at me, goading him into a physical attack as we crested over a sizable swell, causing him to lose the weapon which I retrieved and disposed of. A couple of quick rights to my opponent's jawline put him out of commission so I turned my attention to the second thief. The other one wasn't aggressive – cowering against the bulkhead as I pulled his mask off to reveal the face of an anxious young man. I was about to take over the vessel's helm when I felt the sting of the blade through my back and then looked down to see it protruding from my chest…"

"Killian…, you don't have to…" she reminded him, reading the visible anguish on his face and hearing his voice crack before he paused. "You can stop…"

He only shook his head and continued, retelling the events gradually bolstering his strength. "As I collapsed, I saw the face of the third man – an older man, very different in demeanor than the others. He was far more methodical - clearly used to getting his way – not unlike the Crocodile in that respect… I heard them arguing for a few moments before they tossed me overboard and sped away…"

"And it was after they left you to drown that you think you saw Ursula?" Emma wondered, still on the fence as to whether she believed he wasn't hallucinating by that point.

"I'm certain she was there, Swan. I wasn't near enough to shore to have made it by myself. I was bleeding and quickly succumbing to hypothermia. I'd already failed at an attempt to cling to a buoy that was close enough to reach, but I hadn't the strength to grasp the metal bar wrapped around it…" He took another pause, his tale sounding daft to his own ears so how would he ever convince his wife? "I'd consigned myself to my fate when I felt something surround me – something that lifted me from the water and carried me to the shoreline…"

"A tentacle?"

"Aye – a tentacle. And yes, I know what if feels like to be in the grip of a sea creature's tentacles. It's a sensation one doesn't soon forget, but I also saw a glimpse of her face as I lay on that beach. She was laughing, calling me lucky…"

"Well, I would definitely say that you were pretty damned lucky to have the Sea Witch rescue you," she grinned, eliciting a weak smile from her husband. "But back to the third man – do you think he was the one who organized the robbery?"

"I've no doubt he was the person in charge, but I'm quite certain this wasn't actually a robbery…"

"What do you mean?" It was already one of the theories that she and Deputy McCallen were working with, so she was rather curious how Killian had come to the same conclusion with what he knew.

"My memories may be slightly suspect at the moment, but I'm certain that the older man asked the younger one why they'd brought me instead of the shopkeeper…"

"The shopkeeper – Ms. Scott? They'd intended to kidnap her?"

"I don't know… That's part of what's bothering me...," he replied as he raised his hand to massage an aching temple, fatigue beginning to take its toll yet again. "Before I offered the doubloon, she'd already informed them that she didn't have a lot of cash in the shop. Her till and safe were both mostly empty so they'd eagerly took the bait when I offered my gold, but that apparently wasn't part of the older man's plan."

"I think we need to speak to Deputy McCallen and give him this new information and we'll probably need to have another talk with Jean Scott because this could be a new angle for motivation."

"Perhaps," he sighed, his wounded chest aching from the strain of all of too much talking. Emma recognized that drained expression and decided that he'd done enough for now.

"You look completely wiped. Why don't you let me call the nurse and see if they can give you something for the pain so you can get some rest?"

"You do realize I was asleep for more than two days, correct?"

"Yeah, well, you're still gonna need a lot more of it so your body can heal and so we can get you back home." As she stood, she leaned in over him to tuck the blanket tighter around him as he grumbled some nonsense about being coddled. She planted a brief kiss on his lips before replacing the oxygen mask, completely ignoring his further protests.

Not long after the evening nurse agreed to give Killian a different pain killer to soothe some of his discomfort, he drifted soundly back to sleep, thankfully without suffering another coughing attack. Emma had dozed off herself as well, taking advantage of a few minutes of peace,yet waking to the rumble of her stomach. It hadn't been an easy task to find a comfortable position in the unforgiving chair, but she'd somehow managed. Now, as she stirred, she glanced down at her watch to see that it was after 9PM. No wonder her stomach was growling. She'd been so focused on taking care of Killian, she'd forgotten to grab dinner, suddenly remembering that her son probably hadn't eaten yet either – although she couldn't remember if he'd returned to the room.

She sat up, her eyes drawn to the other chair by the window where she saw Henry leaning against the wall, the glow of his iPhone screen giving his face an unnatural bluish pallor. He must have snuck in while she was napping, surprising her that she'd been sleeping so soundly to not have heard him enter.

"Sorry, Kid," she apologized as she stood up, taking the few steps over to him to yank one of the headphones from his ear. "Guess I slept through dinner, didn't I?"

"You looked exhausted when I got back so I didn't want to bother you. I just went back down to the cafeteria and got us some sandwiches," he pointed a white square takeout container on the counter by the sink with a knowing smile. "It's turkey, not grilled cheese, but I thought it would keep better. There are some potato chips in there too, although I'll admit I ate most of them."

"Thanks," she laughed while retrieving the container before settling back down at her husband's bedside. "Turkey will do just fine." She flipped open the lid to reveal what must have been half of a submarine sandwich with lettuce and what appeared to be cheddar or American cheese poking from beneath the bread. While it certainly wouldn't have been her first choice, she didn't really care what She was eating right now as long as it appeased her protesting stomach. She devoured it quickly – perhaps a tad too quickly as she later cursed herself for eating so fast when plagued by a miserable bout of heartburn. Gulping down half a bottle of water in an attempt to quell the fire, she happened to catch a glimpse of her son snickering at her while popping his earbud back in but she decided to pretend she hadn't noticed.

Turning her attention toward her sound asleep husband, she placed her hand atop his and gave his fingers a gentle squeeze, questioning for a moment if his skin felt a little warmer than earlier. She could hear his slight wheezing as his compromised lungs fought to bring in enough air, remembering that he had reclined the bed a few inches earlier so he didn't feel as though he were falling over when he slept in the upright position. It was significantly easier for him to breathe when his head and chest were raised into that sitting position so she hunted for the controls and brought the bed back to the higher position. He didn't awaken with the movement but he did turn back toward her making it easier to see the crimson flush across his cheeks. The room wasn't exceptionally warm but his temperature definitely had changed.

Immediately, she started scanning the displays of all of the electronic devices that surrounded him seeking out the one that was supposed to be monitoring his body temperature. He'd arrived hypothermic so she knew the nurses had been watching him closely but she found herself overwhelmed by so many different numbers flashing in front of her. She didn't know what most of them meant but she trusted her instinct when it said something was amiss so she didn't hesitate when she smashed her thumb onto the nurses' station call button again, hoping someone would respond faster this time.

"Mr. Jones? How can I help you this evening?" a tinny female voice sounded through the speaker.

"This is Mrs. Jones and something's wrong – he's way too warm…"

"I'll be right there," was the reply and true to her word, the brunette nurse who had provided the pain reliever earlier scurried into the room, meeting Emma at her patient's side. She swiped a device across Killian's temple while scrutinizing the monitors above him trying to determine why she hadn't received an alert. She verified all devices were properly connected – no wires loose or missing so there didn't appear to be reason for a malfunction but the thermometer in her hand and the monitor to Killian's left both displayed the same reading – 103.2 degrees.

The nurse frowned at the numbers, but wasn't entirely surprised by them. When he'd arrived, they'd known he was highly susceptible to infection but the question now was if it was indeed an infection, where had it developed? Was it pneumonia attacking his lungs? Was his wound compromised or was this something entirely different? She raised her stethoscope to her ears, listening for any unusual sounds from her patient's lungs, but everything sounded relatively normal – at least for someone who'd nearly drowned three days ago. His breaths were still somewhat labored, but she highly doubted he'd developed pneumonia. Had a day shift nurse missed a warning sign earlier when she'd changed out the dressing on his wounds?

"His lungs sound okay to me so I'm going to check both of his wounds. Let's start though by getting those covers off of him…" Emma was already tugging off the sweat dampened cotton blanket and sheet, leaving them pooled at his feet. The sheet beneath him and the thin gown that hung from his shoulders were equally soaked. The nurse lowered the gown to his waist to have full view of and access to the bandages being careful not to disturb any of the wires and sensors still adhered to his skin. Unlike the younger nurse earlier, she hadn't taken the time to draw the curtain but modesty was hardly a consideration at the moment. As Emma hovered at the end of the bed, the nurse reached into a box of pale blue latex gloves mounted on the wall above the nightstand, rapidly pulling on a pair before peeling back the tape securing the gauze patch to his chest. The incision and sutures showed some redness and a bit of mild bruising, but the healing tissue wasn't displaying any unusual discharge or unexpected discoloration so the nurse carefully replaced the dressing. "This one looks like it's healing just fine. Now, let's see what the one on his back looks like…"

She didn't enlist Emma's assistance to support Killian's upper body as she leaned him forward, wrapping her own arm across his upper chest, just below his collarbone while her left hand pulled back the upper corner of the smaller gauze bandage covering the entrance wound. This nurse clearly had more experience in this procedure – or was just physically stronger, but it worried Emma that her husband hadn't awakened even while being slightly manhandled. Emma didn't have an angle where she could see the wound on his back this time so she had to go by the nurse's change of expression to judge the situation.

"Does it look alright?" she asked without really thinking, the question popping out of her mouth to Emma's instant regret.

"I'm not sure," the nurse responded, covering up the wound as she guided Killian's unconscious form back against the mattress. "There's a lot of swelling around the entry wound but it could be due to irritation or pressure from his own body weight. It's a little tricky with wounds to the back. Knife wounds are particularly nasty too because the blade can push dirt and bacteria inside the body cavity so whatever is causing this reaction might not be visible from the outside. I'll talk to the doctors but they'll probably want to start him on a more aggressive antibiotic and I'm pretty sure they may want to attempt an MRI as well. For now, I can get him some medication to help lower the fever and we'll get some cooling packs brought in."

"Is there anything I can do?" Emma wondered, suddenly cognizant of the fact that her teenaged son was still present in the room, likely having just witnessed the disturbing sight of his stepfather's incision and overheard a good portion of this conversation.

"When he wakes, try to keep him from overexerting himself for a while – at least for the next twelve hours or so – and that includes talking too much. He really just needs rest more than anything and since this is the first day that he's been conscious, we've obviously had to adapt our plans for treating him. It's wonderful that he's able to communicate, but now he's going to want to get up, walk around but he still has a lot of healing to do. I'm sure he's anxious to get home, but we don't want to rush things. Anyway, I'll be back in a few minutes with the fever reducer."

"Thank you," Emma responded, partially relieved as the nurse peeled off the gloves and hung her stethoscope around her neck before heading off to locate the necessary medication. Her words had left Emma reeling a bit until she finally brought her head back to the realization that while the day had been a flurry of activity, it had really only been a matter of hours since they'd located Killian and even less since he'd awakened. Her perception of time seemed so off as she remembered it was now getting late in the evening and she hadn't even given a thought to where she and Henry were going to spend the night. As Killian's wife and a member of law enforcement, she could argue her point to stay, but the hospital would likely frown on a 15 year old staying here. All she knew was that with Killian fighting a fever and definitely not out of danger, she wasn't leaving him tonight without a fight.

"Mom? What's going on?" Henry finally spoke up, having watched in silence from his spot by the window as his mother called for help. He wanted to pretend that this wasn't serious, but all he'd just seen transpire had been a bit alarming.

"I'm not entirely sure myself, Kid," Emma sighed. "Killian's running a fever that these machines didn't warn anyone about and it's probably from an infection, they just aren't sure yet. The nurse went to get him some medication to hopefully bring the fever down, but that's probably just the start…"

"But other than the cough, he seemed okay earlier?"

"He's still really sick. I had to remind myself of that too and remember that it could be a while before he's back to himself – although as you know, Killian being himself could prove to be a huge challenge to him getting better…" She dropped back into the chair, body and mind exhausted. "Just how much of all of that did you see and hear?"

"You mean did I see that huge cut across Killian's chest when the nurse pulled back the bandage?"

"Yeah, that's part of it…"

"It's okay, Mom. You know I've seen worse," the teen responded sincerely and Emma really couldn't argue with that. No 15 year old boy should have seen some of the horrors he'd experienced – fairytale or not. "Can I ask you a sorta weird question though?"

"Of course – anything," she assured him, although certainly not expecting the inquiry that followed.

"When the nurse had you pull back the covers, was there actually a plastic tube or something coming out from beneath the gown, between his legs…" Henry paused a moment, instantly blushing as he struggled for a way to phrase the rest of the question to his mother whose cheeks were already reddening with the realization of what he was trying to ask.

"Yes, there is," she cut him off without missing a beat to spare them both further embarrassment. "It's called a catheter. Since Killian can't really get up yet to go…" Now she was the one stammering for the right words, but he got the message.

"Ow..." Was her son's stunned response.

"Trust me, Kid – he's so full of pain killers right now, he doesn't even know it's there."

"Think they'll take it out now that he's awake?"

"Well…," she hesitated, unsure of how to answer. "I guess unless you want to help empty bedpans, they'll probably wait until he's strong enough to get up and out of bed on his own."

"What's a bed pan?" Henry wondered, not familiar with the term.

"Use your imagination…" Emma laughed, thoroughly thankful that her son's awkward question had lightened the mood considerably. It gave her a moment to take her mind off of the gravity of Killian's injuries while Henry sat deep in thought before suddenly reaching his own A HA moment.

"Oh! Eww… Gross! I've changed enough of Neal's diapers… I'm so not doing that!"

"Then don't you dare mention that catheter to your stepfather," she warned. "He freaked out enough over the breathing tube in his throat…"

"I'm not saying a word," Henry chuckled. "I don't want to be around for that…"

Emma shook her head, giving her son a weary smile as she heard a light rap from outside the doorway. She doubted that the nurse would knock when returning with Killian's medicine so what else could it be at this hour? She stood and took one wary step toward the door as it slowly swung open to reveal Deputy McCallen's timid face.

"Am I interrupting something?" the deputy asked shyly, looking quizzically at Emma's still slightly flushed face and the mischievous grin on Henry's lips.

"No, not at all," she replied with a snicker. "Come on in. We've just had a minor setback, but it's nothing we can't handle…" she explained as McCallen stepped through the doorway.

"You're in pretty good spirits for a setback," the deputy said, unaware of the conversation he'd narrowly missed walking in on. "I'm just reporting for my shift this evening and I was hoping that your husband might be up to looking at some photos of different boats so we can get a better description of the one his abductors used."

"The nurse gave him a pretty good pain killer a few hours ago and he's been out cold since. We were waiting for her to come back with something to help fight this fever when you arrived. I've got a feeling he won't be awake for a while."

"Well, I'll be here all night, Sheriff. I'll be right outside so just let me know when he's awake."

"You do realize that this protection duty still isn't necessary," she said with a hint of annoyance.

"Then you can call it professional courtesy, but either way, you'll have the company of the Cumberland County Sheriff's Department for a while." The deputy clearly wasn't backing down from his orders but Emma was far too fatigued to care. Tomorrow was another day though…

[shaizstern]

Article from NYT: Avoid Burnout Before You’re Already Burned Out

You don’t have to be ready to throw in the towel to improve things at work. These small changes can go a long way.

Credit...Fran Caballero

By Elizabeth Grace Saunders

According to the World Health Organization, burnout is a workplace issue.

But just because burnout can happen at work or because of work, doesn’t mean how you use your time outside of work can’t help prevent it. As a time management coach, I’ve seen that at the core, burnout prevention is about living out what is true about your body, your personality and your reality. You don’t need a dream job. But in your overall life, you do need to find time to take care of your health, do things you find refreshing and have a sense of purpose. The closer you are to living your truth, the less likely you are to burnout.

I can’t guarantee that if you follow these simple strategies that you will never experience burnout. I can guarantee, however, that you’ll significantly reduce the likelihood of it, and that you’ll get back to work more quickly after taking a break if you reach a burnout state.

Your body

Your body is designed to repair and restore itself. So when you’re feeling the impact of burnout — ongoing exhaustion, detachment from your job and perhaps even weight gain and illness from stress — it’s a sign that the demands on your body exceed its ability to keep up. Giving your body what it needs is the foundation of burnout prevention. You can help reduce the energy depletion associated with burnout and facilitate restoration by prioritizing three universal core needs: sleeping, eating and moving.

Sleep serves many purposes, including regulating our mood, clearing waste from our brain and re-energizing our cells. That’s why not getting enough sleep is one of the main risk factors for developing burnout, and improving sleep quality can help individuals with even a clinical burnout problem recover enough to return to work.

First, you should know how much sleep you need. The National Sleep Foundation recommends between seven to nine hours of sleep for most adults, but that could mean as little as six hours to as much as 10 depending on your needs. The goal is to get to the point where you feel alert most of the day. And as a bonus, you’ll likely feel happier too, which can reduce your chance of the cynicism associated with burnout.

Getting more sleep is pretty basic math: You can either go to bed earlier, get up later or do both. If you tend to lose track of time, set an alarm to remind yourself to turn off electronic devices and wind down at least 30 minutes before your bed time. In that moment, you’ll likely feel tempted to stay up longer. One strategy to motivate yourself to get to bed is to remember just how bad it feels when you’re exhausted and then how good it feels when you’ve had enough rest.

What you put in your mouth also has an impact on your mood and energy. Avoid foods that make you feel tired or too full. Try eating lighter, healthier foods that increase your energy level. Similarly, eating smaller, more frequent meals can help maintain your high energy.

So if you find that you’re more negative about your job at certain times in the day, you may want to assess whether you need to eat more frequently. Before working with me, some of my coaching clients would forget to eat, and found that their energy level was dragging by mid-afternoon. For some of them, creating a routine around packing lunch the night before or simply setting a calendar reminder to get lunch midday really helped. When you’re honest about what fuel your body needs to feel happy and healthy, you help buffer against the potential for burnout.

Finally, taking time to move provides another opportunity for our bodies and minds to recalibrate. Even five minutes of outdoor exercise can have a meaningful psychological impact. And better yet, if you can do 20 to 30 minutes of exercise at a time, you can over all improve your mental health. For example, when something stressful happens to me, I’ll try to go on a walk or a run around the block as soon as possible to get the negative energy out of my body. This not only reduces the negative feelings but also calms my mind so I can focus for the rest of the day. Thinking through difficult situations is important but at a certain point, the only way to release the emotions is to physically let them go.

Your personality

In addition to living our truth about our health and our bodies, to prevent burnout we need to honor the truth around our personalities.

“Self-care is dependent on the individual. It is based on what helps them to feel more like they’re in their natural state, which is the thing, place or feeling that would happen if there were no pressure on them — the thing they would want to do,” said Robert L. Bogue, co-author of “Extinguish Burnout: A Practical Guide to Prevention and Recovery.”

“When you’re operating outside of your natural state, you are consuming energy,” he explained. “The more in alignment you become, the less you’re demanding of yourself and the more personal agency you build up.”

Put simply, you need to know what restores you and invest in those activities to prevent burnout. But what fulfills these needs for you may look different than what fulfills those needs for someone else. For example, someone who is highly extroverted may need to hang out with friends or family on a daily basis after work to buffer against burnout. Someone who is highly introverted, on the other hand, may require time alone to recharge. One introverted home-schooling mom I know starts and finishes each day with deep breathing and makes sure at least once a week to do something on her own, such as journaling, gardening, crafting or hiking.

Or the differences in what you need may vary based on your core motivations. For example, Dr. Steven Reiss, a research psychologist, conducted studies involving more than 6,000 people and found that 16 core desires can motivate our behavior: power, independence, curiosity, acceptance, order, saving, honor, idealism, social contact, family, status, vengeance, romance, eating, physical exercise and tranquillity. For instance, I really enjoy order so I might choose to take a night to tidy up and organize my home in order to recharge. If you have a very strong desire for curiosity, you might spend that same night learning a new skill or language, or going somewhere new to feel refreshed.

I’m not wrong, and you’re not wrong. We’re just different. As Mr. Bogue stated, the more you know what truly aligns with who you are and honor that need, the less drained you will feel and the less likely you will burnout.

Your reality

A third element of burnout prevention is to live the truth of your work situation reality — what you can actually change, and where you will need to find alternative sources to meet your needs. According to the “Areas of Worklife” model, workload is only one of the six contributors to burnout. Control, reward, fairness, community and values are the other five elements.

These other contributors revolve around feeling supported, appreciated and safe. Ideally, you can either shift your current work environment or find a new job where all of these areas meet up with your expectations. But in some cases, that’s not possible. In those circumstances, you have other options.

One alternative is to modify your expectations. For example, you may prefer going to lunch with colleagues, but maybe that’s not their preference. It may work better, instead, to cultivate community by stopping by their desk to chat for a few minutes, or organize after-work get-togethers if everyone agrees to come. Or you may prefer that your boss verbally affirms you every time you complete a large task. But maybe that’s not his style. You can learn to appreciate that he gives you good annual reviews and respects your opinion in meetings.

Another alternative is to stop expecting satisfaction in these areas within your job and, instead, seek opportunities outside of work that fulfill these core needs. For example, maybe you volunteer with an organization where you feel appreciated, find the activities intrinsically rewarding, have values alignment and a strong sense of community. Or maybe you invest time in your family or friends to cultivate a feeling of belonging, fulfillment and autonomy.

When you’re “filled up” by how you invest your time outside of work, and you feel supported by people who know and care about you, you have a buffer against the drain that may exist in the office.

You may not have the ability to change everything you don’t like about your job, but you do have the ability to improve how good you feel about yourself and life in general. By investing your time based on the truth of your body, personality and reality, you can reduce your risk of burnout. And if you already feel burnt out, you can recover faster.

[thepunisher]

A Bottle Marked ‘Poison’

Tony Stark/Bucky Barnes | E | 14765 words | 2/? |

ao3 link

Summary: The headstones are clean and well preserved and surrounded by fresh, colorful flowers when he reaches them. Not lilies, never lilies. But roses and sunflowers and violets. Someone has been taking care of them for years. (Not him. He can’t even take care of himself.) There’s names and dates and pictures. There’s quotes. Beloved mother. He has a split lip, his eye is a nasty shade of purple and he’s still nursing three bruised ribs. Somehow this hurts more. OR On the anniversary of their deaths, Tony visits his parents’ graves. He has an unexpected encounter. Things go downhill from there.

Chapter 1 |  Chapter 2

Chapter 3: Haunting TW: Panic Attack

8. I came home on Tuesday and found all of the chairs that I own stacked in a tower in the center of my kitchen. I don’t know how long they had been like that but it can only be me that did it. It’s the kind of thing a ghost might do to prove to the living that he is still there. I am haunting my own apartment.

Doc Luben, 14 lines from love letters or suicide notes

He jolts awake, a scream on his lips, gasping for breath, heart pounding inside his chest.

He's disoriented at first, frantic, not making any sense of the bed, the room, the ceiling. It takes a few seconds to place where he is, but the realization does nothing to quiet the roar in his ears.

(He's still falling. Falling, falling, falling. There's no stopping, there's no ground beneath him, there's no air. He's surrounded by darkness.)

He struggles to free himself from the covers, their weight, their texture impossibly unbearable for his too sensitive skin. He only manages to tumble off the bed, sheets still tangled around his legs and his movements are too frenzied and uncoordinated, it takes him a minute to get them off. And then he's crawling a few paces away, throwing them off of himself as if they were on fire.

(He is on fire.)

He folds himself in half on the floor, head between his legs, arms hugging his knees, wheezing.

The taste of ozone lingers on his mouth each time he sucks in a breath.

He can hear Friday's soothing voice over the loud buzzing of his brain, but he can't make out the words she's saying. He squeezes his eyes shut.

(He's in a cave. He's in space. He's in a bunker.)

It'll pass.

(He's dead. They're all dead. He killed them. They killed him.)

Panic attacks can only last for so long. The body cannot withstand that kind of pressure for over a certain amount of time.

It's not helpful knowledge when a minute lasts a lifetime. When his hands shake so hard he has to force them into tight fists. When even breathing is a task he fails at.

He rocks himself back and forth, eyes wet.

(It'll pass.)

When it's gone, when his muscles stop spasming and he lets himself fall backwards, head dropping to the floor with a thud, each nerve ending almost fried - when it's done, and Tony is a person again and not a bundle of white noise, he lets out a long exhale and closes his eyes.

Centuries later, he becomes aware of the cold sweat drying on his skin, his threadbare tank top clinging to him like a second skin, wet and uncomfortable; the glass of water he knocked off the bedside table, shards everywhere; the digital clock blinking 2:34am in angry red. The exhaustion a dead weight on his soul.

He stands up on wobbly legs, and waits a few seconds to make sure he won't topple over before putting one foot in front of the other with uttermost care. He dumps his shirt on the floor along with his boxers as he walks to the bathroom unsteadily, the marble cold under his bare feet.

He doesn't bother with the lights, doesn't pause at the mirror. He hops in the shower and he doesn't wait for the water to reach a comfortable temperature before throwing himself under its spray. It's freezing at first, but he doesn't really register it. Soon it's so hot it's scalding, but Tony doesn't move. He stands there, water pouring over his head, pasting his hair to his forehead, and down his body, painting his skin red. He braces one hand on the wall, the contact the only thing keeping him upright and for the longest time he just watches the water drains, not really seeing it.

He's used to nightmares and he's used to panic attacks. He's good at neither.

(He's not good at much these days.)

There's no light at the end of some tunnels. No getting out of some locked rooms. Some tunnels you start to decorate. Some rooms you settle in.

Some darkness, you feel at home in.

There's no way in hell he's going to go back to sleep, nor face the mess he left in the room. The mess inside his head. So Tony gets out of the shower and grabs a fluffy white towel, doing a poor job of patting himself dry, its soft fibres still too harsh on his skin.

He bypasses the bed and goes straight for the closet, grabbing a graphic shirt at random and putting on a pair of well worn jeans over clean underwear.

Lights still off, he heads down to the workshop.

Time to tinker.

Dum-E stirs from his charging station when he enters, and greets him with a whirring sound. Tony pats him on the head, ignoring the countless cardboard boxes scattered all over, covering most worktables and moves towards one of the few free spots, sitting on a bench.

“Give me some music, Fri,” he says, and as Friday complies, the room is filled with too loud hard rock. Loud enough that he can't hear himself think.

With a flick of his wrist a project appears in a flash of blue light. He takes apart something irrelevant, something of no consequence. He just needs to keep his hands busy, his brain on stand by.

It's not long before one of the monitors that takes up an entire wall bleeps an alert. The algorithms are always running in the background and, every once in awhile, a false positive throws him off, but more often than not, though not as often as he would like, something very real pops up.

He spends some time sorting through the incoming data, analysing blueprints, confronting stats to form a half coherent plan of action, and even longer debating whether he should wait for a day in which he's not in such turmoil - why bother? - or for a moment in which his hands won't tremble anymore - a waste of time.

Fourteen missions, four months, hundreds of files, dozens of junk and memorabilia.

He put together crumbs bit by bit, and yet something is always missing. He doesn't know what will take to complete his puzzle, or if there's no closure to be had and he's just deluding himself and what he's searching for are not facts and pieces, but just a reason wake up in the morning.

But there's no choice to make, not really. He only spares a second to strip and put on the underarmor, the black fabric fitting him like a glove.

It's gonna take him a little less than two hours to reach Oregon, if he pushes it. Plenty of time to catch his breath.

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

The building is massive and block-like, a monstrous thing that seems to sprout from the ground, and it's the only form of civilization hidden between miles and miles of vegetation. An iron fence circles its perimeter, with old cameras mounted every hundred yard or so, most of them busted.

Nothing looks particularly recent in terms of tech, but Tony takes no chances, Friday running every scan, keeping an eye out for silent alarms and explosives. Three of the five Hydra bases he raided between December and January had been burned down to a crisp quite recently. One was still smoking when he got there.

Tony doesn't know if Hydra is just covering its tracks, aware that someone is targeting their old hideouts, or if he needs to look out for a new player, but there's no harm in being overly cautious.

It's a child's game getting past the fence and the main gate. Getting inside the grid and looping the security cameras feed, just in case, is a couple of minutes’ job and after that he easily makes his way to the subterranean floors, quiet as a mouse, his black and golden armor almost invisible in the dark.

Nothing jumps out of the shadows and no guards appear out of thin air to attack him. The place reeks of abandonment.

Level -1 is a labyrinth he can navigate only thanks to the blueprints he acquired, each hallway the same as the one before, a long stretch of dust and concrete, the air stale.

His reactors light the way as Friday doesn't detect any heat signature in proximity, close or otherwise. The place has been deserted for at least a decade. Everything is silent except for the mute mechanical whirring of the armor joints as he moves.

The doors are big and heavy, and it'd be satisfying to blow them up with a small well placed missile, but he's not 100% sure of what's on the other side.

Tony discovered the wrong way Hydra's predilection for booby traps.

The security system is old but solid, and it takes him a good five minutes to hack into the panel controlling the lock and work his way around it. The doors slide open with a loud screeching sound of metal striding, and he holds his breath, but no alarm breeches the night.

He detects a strong smell of mold even through the faceplate filters as soon as he steps over the threshold. The room spacious, its surface almost entirely occupied by cabinets.

“Jackpot,” Tony says, using a gauntlet to lighten the place enough to see.

Some cabinets are sideways, a few on the floor, gutted, drawers spilling their contents like entrails. Most have faded labels, and he can't find any logical sorting system as he looks around.

“Friday?” he calls.

“All clear, boss.”

He lets the suit disassemble behind him. He's gonna need patience and his dexterity to find anything remotely useful in this mess.

“Sentry mode,” he says, and the armor takes its place behind him, ever vigilant.

He takes a small torchlight from one of the suit’s compartments and puts it in his mouth, teeth clicking, opening a drawer at random from the cabinet nearest to him.

All the folders are pretty much irrelevant. Contracts, properties, business transactions, some over fifty years old, paper turned yellow with age. Some corporate names look familiar, and he takes pictures, making a mental note to check on their current status. It's tedious but necessary work, and with a sigh, he moves on to another drawer, another cabinet.

He's not even sure what he's looking for, not really, but he knows he's gonna find something. Hacking his way online has been pretty much useless so far. Hydra is good at what it does, always has been. But this is one of the bases where they kept him , and if experience taught him anything, it’s that they always left something behind.

Forty minutes later, neck sore and eyes dry, he stiffens, shoulders going tight, stomach dropping under his feet, as he recognises the first name in hundreds he must have read so far.

Stane.

A large sum of money addressed to one Obadiah Stane, May 12th, 1987.

When his heart starts beating again, Tony hurries through the pages, paper whistling between his fingers. Schematics for weapons, guns, bombs. Stark Industries prototypes. More checks. 1985, 1989. 1990.

It's ridiculous how a strip of black ink has the power to turn his insides into molten lava. How a string of words and numbers can turn him into stone.

He has come to terms with Stane’s corruption a long time ago, or at least he thought he had.

But then he sees it, December 16th, 1991.

He sees it and he stops breathing, pain gripping his chest in a vice. He stumbles back, torchlight falling to the floor.

His back hits a cabinet, and the metal rattles loudly in the silence, almost as loud as his heart.

He made a working version of the serum. Barnes’ words echo in his mind. Hydra wanted it and they wanted him dead. That's why.

It has drilled a hole inside his brain for over two months cause how, how had Hydra known about the serum, when Howard was so secretive about his projects? And how could they have known when and where to attack and to take it? Howard was a lot of things, but he was not careless.

Deep down he had known. Deep down Tony had always known, the thought like a virus nagging at the back of his mind, corrupting his memories.

Was he thinking about the money when he hugged Tony in the middle of the night, whispering soothing words to a son who had just lost his parents? Did he go home twirling his moustache in glee because he had taken a threat out of the equation? A rival? A pawn.

One he had used as long as it suited him, just like he had Tony.

It’s just another betrayal he expected and yet is not prepared for. All these months hunting Hydra down, carrying his one man crusade, trying to understand, trying to erase. Trying to move forward.

(There's no moving forward. There's only the past coming full circle, eating its own tail.)

He pushes himself upright, hoping to find more files in some other folders, but the cabinet he was leaning on falls backward and finds the floor with a loud bang.

Nothing happens for the longest second, and his shoulders drop in relief, when all the lights turn on suddenly, bathing the room in white-blue neon.

Tony barely even flinches, retinas burning, before something flies over his head and starts shooting. The drawer where his hand just was, covered in holes, shredded papers exploding in the air like confetti.

The suit engages immediately as Tony runs to take cover, repulsors blasting several times, their target moving swiftly in a zigzag motion before getting hit and falling to the floor heavily.

“Fuck,” Tony mutters, as two more flying robots enter the room, spraying bullets.

“Friday!” he yells, and the armor tries to dodge and attack, several cabinets bursting in flames when it misses its mark.

Tony holds his breath and crawls his way out of the line of fire, clutching the Stane folder in one hand, so tightly he's creasing the sheets.

Two gun shots resonate loudly in the room, and a moment later he hears something hit the ground. He turns to see both robots on the floor, unmoving.

When he looks towards the doorway it's to see the snout of a rifle, gunmetal still smoking.

“What the fuck,” Tony finds himself saying in disbelief, as his gaze runs past the weapon and finds metal fingers on the trigger and one intense blue eyed stare.

Barnes advances with sure strides, swinging his rifle left and right, checking the perimeter. He's wearing his tactical gear, black from head to toe, combat boots silent as he shortens the distance between them.

For a second, Tony is half afraid he's facing Hydra’s executioner again, but Barnes doesn't shoot again.

“Take what you came here for, and hurry. We gotta go,” he says instead, voice quiet and commanding when he's a few steps away.

“What the fuck,” Tony repeats a little less breathy but no less stunned.

“They know someone's here. You tripped an alarm,” Barnes says. “There's more incoming.”

What the fuck, he refrains to say for a third time, knowing it would not be enough to convey his stupor.

“So, you are following me,” Tony manages when he finds his voice again, pointing an accusing finger.

“So not the time, Stark,” Barnes replies, eyes darting across the room with focused precision, searching for threats.

“Oh, I think it's the perfect time. What the hell is going on? Why are you here? How did you know I was here?

Barnes sighs, takes advantage of the moment of relative peace, no psychotic drones attacking. “Rhodes was worried about you.”

Tony sputters. “Rhodey asked you to follow me?”

The cabinet on his left rattles, bullets piercing it in rapid succession and turning it into a colander, the sound so loud Tony’s ears ring. He doesn't have time to react before Barnes is on him, pushing Tony behind him with enough force Tony's sure Barnes must have left a handprint on his chest. With Tony behind him, Barnes raises his left arm like a shield, bullets bouncing off of it.

Tony sees Barnes grunt and stagger back a couple of steps before pointing his rifle so fast it's a blur and shooting the bot off with perfect accuracy.

He doesn't have time to protest nor to process the fact that Bucky fucking Barnes apparently just saved his life, before five more bots appear.

Tony wastes no time and hops into the suit, taking care of one with a couple of well placed hits.

When he finishes disposing the second one, he turns just in time to see Barnes shooting one off, arm steady, aim never wavering before leaping high enough to grab another one off the air and pulling it apart with his bare hands. He throws a knife across the room at the third and last bot. It hits it dead centre, and the bot falls noisily, while Tony is hovering uselessly.

He’s grateful for his faceplate cause he's quite sure his mouth has been hanging open for the past minute at least.

There's no point in denying even to himself that it's almost fascinating watching Barnes fight, the calibrated precision with which he moves, each blow hitting its target perfectly, no wastes. Something about it reminds him of Natasha.

He heard from Rhodey that the two spar quite often together.

(He hears from Rhodey more than he would care to know.)

He's still staring when an increasingly faster beeping noise fills the room. He looks around frantic and his eyes fall on the angry red lights flashing in all the bots.

“Fuck,” he mutters, throwing himself on Barnes, with no hesitation, lifting him off his feet and flying as fast as he can, hoping to get away in time.

He's not fast enough. The explosion finds them when they’re almost out of the building, propelling them both forward and throwing them violently against a wall.

Tony barely has time to flip their positions to catch the worst of the impact, thinking his armor surely is better protection than combat gears.

His head hurts and the hud flickers, making him dizzier. He groans, managing to sit on all fours.

Plaster falls all around them, but the fire doesn't consume the upper levels.

Barnes grunts, gets up on unsure legs. He pauses for a handful of heartbeats, hand on the wall to steady himself, eyes closed.

When he opens them again he stands straighter. “We need to leave,” he says, already walking towards the gates. “The bots activated when you tripped the alarm. Hydra would have been alerted. They're probably on their way already.”

“See, you keep saying that,” Tony says, prissy. “But how do I know it wasn't you who tripped the alarm, Mr. Brooding Stalker.”

Barnes levels him with a stare. “I'm the Winter Soldier, Stark. I don't trip alarms. Beside, I know this base. I was kept here for a while.”

Tony doesn't say, I know. He doesn't say, that's one of the reasons I'm here. He doesn't mention the stasis room he found when he explored the building earlier. Doesn't say he got claustrophobic just by looking at the cryo chamber.

He clears his throat instead. “You still haven't said why you're here,” he says, and his left boot keeps sputtering, hud marking it in angry red.

“Flying system compromised,” Friday informs him, and he could compensate with his other boot and his repulsors. It would be an uncomfortable flight, but he could make it. He drops to the ground instead and starts walking, falling two steps behind Barnes.

“Rhodes was concerned about you. But he doesn't know I'm here. I’d like to keep it that way.” He's pensive for a moment. “He doesn't know you're here either.”

“So why are you here?” Tony asks.

“This may come as a huge surprise to you, but believe it or not, you're not the only one with a grudge against Hydra.”

Too many thoughts go through his mind too fast to grasp, too inconsistent to follow through. There's a lot he feels he should say and even more he knows he shouldn't.

In the end, Tony says nothing, and they keep on walking away from the building at a brisk pace, vegetation getting tighter around them.

“It still doesn't explain why you're following me,” he says, some time later.

“I'm not.”

Tony snorts.

“We got more in common than you think,” Barnes says cryptically, before abruptly turning left.

(He knows.)

“That's my ride,” Barnes says, and he doesn't wait for a reply.

Tony follows.

Amidst a clearing in the mass of trees, he can see some flickering, the tell tale sign of retro reflective panels.

They both board the Quinjet in silence, automatic door closing behind them.

“I'm probably gonna pass out soon,” Barnes says, as soon as they do, tone almost conversational.

Tony whips around in time to see him stumble and lean heavily against the wall.

“What?” Tony asks. “What do you mean ‘pass out’? Why would you pass out?”

Barnes is breathing heavily, both arms clutching his middle. It's eerily terrifying how wholly different he seems from the focused machine he was while fighting, he was until now. Like a puppet whose strings have been cut off. When he takes one hand away, the flesh one, it comes away crimson.

For a moment, Tony can't make sense of it. “Why the hell are you bleeding?” he almost yells, getting out of the suit and coming to Barnes fast, slapping his hands away to take a look himself.

There's several holes in the fabric of his vest.

Bullet holes.

He never noticed the blood in the dark, the black of Barnes’ uniform masking it. Barnes had never wavered inside the archive. Never stumbled once.

Tony’s mind reviews the entire fight in a matter of seconds. Barnes shooting bots, Barnes taking them apart with brute force. Barnes shielding him.

He falters, heart fluttering inside his chest like a hummingbird’s wings.

He must have been hit protecting him.

“Why the fuck is this not bulletproof?” Tony asks, distress making his voice higher than he would like.

“It is,” Barnes says, through gritted teeth.

“Does this look bulletproof to you?”

“I'll be fine. It's just superficial. The kevlar must have absorbed most of the impact.”

“Oh, sure. You look totally fine.”

“Stark,” Barnes tries, but Tony is not really listening.

“Oh my god, Steve is gonna kill me.” He runs his hands through his hair, pacing the length of the plane.

How could he explain that he never even knew Barnes was with him? That it wasn't him who shot him? How can he take him back to the compound when, according to Barnes, no one even knew he left? Would anyone listen?

He knows how it would look, no matter the truth. Steve's concerned stare back at the Christmas party is still too fresh in his mind.

“Stark,” repeats Barnes, a little more forcefully.

Tony doesn't hear him. “Scratch that! Rhodey is gonna kill me first.”

He's been working so hard trying to build a bridge between all of them, trying to build a team again. How to tell him that he's been working on his own behind his back for months and he got Barnes hurt in the process?

He's not ready to give up his hunt.

“I'm gonna kill you, if you don't pull yourself together,” Barnes mutters.

It gets Tony’s attention, grounding him. He turns to Barnes.

“Yeah, you already tried that. Didn't really work out for you, did it,” he says, and it comes out harsher than he intended. None of this would be happening if Barnes had just minded his own business.

Barnes is quiet for a while. “I never tried to kill you,” he says, dead serious.

“Right,” Tony says drily.

“I never tried to kill you,” Barnes repeats. “If I wanted you dead, you'd be dead.”

Something in the flatness of his tone bothers Tony.

His breathing is labored, his left hand leaning on the wall denting the metal.

“We need to take off,” Tony says, letting go. They wasted too much time already. Barnes needs medical attention and he doesn't want to be here when Hydra shows up.

“Can you fly this thing?” Barnes ask. “I'd rather not, but I will if you can't.”

Tony scoffs. “I designed this thing.”

He reaches for Barnes again, putting one arm under his, supporting him as they advance towards the seats of the cockpit, Barnes’ long hair tickling his cheek.

It's the closest they've ever been, no murderous rage between them, no armor.

For a fleeting second he thinks he can smell a whiff of coconut. He shakes his head.

“Yeah, good for you. But can you fly it?” Barnes asks, through gritted teeth. Tony has no idea how he's still standing, let alone talking.

“Put pressure on the wounds,” he says as Barnes sits heavily in the chair next to the pilot’s. Tony helps him strap himself in before heading over to the pilot seat and starting a fast flight check.

“I can fly anything,” he says distractedly, when he's satisfied.

Barnes makes a sound that resembles a snort. He coughs after. “I had no idea we had the best pilot in the Resistance on board.”

Tony stops mid motion, he’s so stunned he turns around, mouth hanging open. “Did you just-- was that a Star Wars reference?”

“Stark. For fuck's sake,” Barnes says, but there's something that looks like a small smile on his lips. It soften his features.

“Right. Priorities. Friday?”

“All set up, boss,” comes from the speakers.

“Then takes us home, Fri. To the Mansion. Maximum stealth,” he orders, and they take off smoothly, the engines a soft humming under their feet.

Five minutes in, the Big Empty already a dot behind them, he engages the autopilot and walks to Barnes.

He's sitting with his eyes closed, brows furrowed, hands tightly gripping the armrests.

“Alright. Take your top off,” Tony says, gesturing to the uniform. He needs to assess the gravity of the situation.

Barnes opens one eye, looks at Tony up and down. “I usually require a little more romancing than this, before putting out.”

Tony blinks stupidly a couple of times, caught off guard, brain stuttering. He swallows. It's probably the blood loss, he figures. He clears his throat. “Yeah, well,” he says, lamely, but Barnes is already freeing himself from the safety belts and he's unfastening his tac vest.

He barely flinches when he lifts his arms over his head to take the black thermal off, but he doesn't make a sound even though he must be in incredible pain.

“I'll be fine,” he repeats as Tony takes in the state of his abdomen, where four tiny holes mar his skin, rivulets of blood flowing slowly, soaking the top of his pants, though not as copiously as he would have imagined. “I've had worse. I'll take care of it myself once we land.”

“How would you like ‘moron died of shock’ on your gravestone?” Tony asks. “You started healing around the bullets already,” he adds, inspecting the wounds, trying really hard not to pay attention to anything else, definitely not eyeing the angry looking scarring on his left shoulder, where the vibranium arm meets his flesh. “We need to take them out.”

His fingers hover lightly over Barnes stomach  without him even noticing. Barnes’ muscles contract when he goes to touch it and Tony halts himself mid motion, hurriedly withdrawing his hand. When he looks up, Barnes has an expression he can't read on his face.

Tony clears his throat again.

“I'm gonna get the first aid kit,” he says, and gets away as fast as he can, his heart skipping a beat inside his chest.

He doesn't know what's wrong with him.

(Too many things to choose from.)

It's been a long day, he tells himself.

(The sun is just rising.)

He comes back with the medical box and sets himself comfortably, pushing his seat next to Barnes’. He cleans his hands as best as he can with the hand sanitizer before putting on sterile gloves. He disinfects a pair of surgical tweezers before pouring antiseptic over Barnes’ middle. Barnes goes rigid under him, abs tensing, but once again, he makes no sound.

Tony doesn't like it. He wants to shake him, he wants to tell him to scream, to show some emotion, to react. That he's allowed to.

It's not his place though, so he says nothing.

“My hands are not very steady,” is the only warning he gives before he starts working.

One bullet is easy enough to extract, and within a few minutes, he places it into a container near the kit, where it hits the bottom with a clicking sound.

“I wasn't trying to kill you,” Barnes says, some time later, when Tony is struggling to grab the second bullet.

Tony stops what he's doing and looks at Barnes, confused. Was he so concentrated on his task that he missed the conversation?

“In Siberia,” Barnes clarifies. “I was just trying to stop you from doing something you would regret.”

He makes a sound, shakes his head. He doesn't look at Tony. “No, that's not entirely true. I was also trying not to die. I guess my sense of self preservation is something I can't turn off.”

Tony says nothing.

After a long moment he goes back to the bullet.

“Not so sure I would have regretted it,” he hears himself say, not taking his eyes off that strip of skin.

There's a fragile thing between them, a truce that feels like a glass bubble, and he knows that it would break if he were to look him in the eyes.

“I'm the killer, not you.”

Tony snorts. “Hate to break this to you, but I'm pretty sure my body count is a tad bigger than even yours.”

He drops the second bullet with the first. Dive in for the third one.

“I was a sniper. Before Hydra. I was a sniper in the army,” Barnes says adamantly. Like it's important for him to prove that he has always been a monster.

Take a number, Tony thinks.

“And I was a weapon manufacturer,” he says, a bit more forcefully than he intends, voice dripping venom.

“And how many of those weapons did you fire?” comes softly, almost gently.

Tony doesn't reply, because that never mattered. Anything he ever created is his responsibility. Has always been. He wasted decades drinking and partying, trying to fill a black hole that just kept on sucking the life out of him, uncaring of the world, of his work, of his legacy. And that legacy had only brought death, with his name stamped on, while he was too busy trying to have a good time to notice.

Tony clears his throat a third time.

“I think this is beyond my medical knowledge.”

The two remaining bullets are lodged too deep inside and he doesn't want to risk doing more damage by probing blindly. The wounds are clear, no ragged edges, no broken parts. He doesn't like leaving him with a job half done, but he'd rather not turn something seemingly easily fixed into a mess.

At least they don't seem to have hit any major organ. Even the bleeding has stopped.

He cleans the wounds as best as he can and covers them with gauze.

“You're gonna need someone more qualified to take a look,” he says.

Barnes shrugs, turns away.

The moment is over.

“Friday, call Dr Cho.”

“Calling,” Friday says, and the dial tone fills the cabin.

“Hello?” comes sleepily from the other end.

“Helen, hey,” Tony says, getting up, putting some distance between him and Barnes, tone jovial. “I'm gonna need a favor.”

[kinky-bean-buddy-blog]

The Beginning of the Adventures of Frankie and Sage

My therapist told me when I was sixteen that I needed to find a way to “vent” my feelings into constructive energy. Catharsis, he called it. He suggested drawing. The next therapy session I brought in a folder of the same doodle with different colors; a cartoon tyrannosaurus rex, attempting to play a trombone with its tiny arms.

“Your troubles are apparent in what you’re portraying in these. You feel frustrated like the T’rex, because you’ve been given a myriad of what seems impossible tasks.”

“Bullshit.” Then I left. Seventy dollars an hour for complete bullshit. I didn’t go back, but I did take up running. Maybe his advice wasn’t as useless as it seemed. Every time I felt like lashing out,  I started running around our two block street, and sometimes didn’t stop until I was completely exhausted.

That’s where I was now, nine years later, still running. Now it was less an escape and just pure habit. The sweat beaded along my brow, and dripped down my neck. I’d lost track of how long I’d been running, but I was in touch with my body. There was no burning in my legs, a deep ache in my stomach, a taste of dried spit in my mouth, and steady breathing. I could’ve kept going another lap, but the pain in my stomach, caused by my own stupidity of not eating breakfast, was demanding too much attention.

I turned onto Sweets Avenue, and sprinted down the cracked side-walk, extending my stride, and pumping my arms. I closed my eyes and imagined a thick rope  between me and my childhood house. Every time I threw my hand forward I grabbed onto the rough twine and pulled back. My legs were no longer the driving force carrying me to my destination. I drew in a deep breath, lungs burning, heart pumping over time, and took the final steps of my morning jog.

Everything came to a stop. My body hit an invisible wall. I coughed a bit and rested my hands on my knees to stay propped up. Dry heaving wracked my stomach and throat. Then the dizziness hit. I knew I should’ve cooled down properly and walked, or stretched, or something, but I as soon as my stomach decided to reject that morning’s activity I gave literally zero fucks.

I walked into the house. Normally it was well lit and radiating warmth from the kitchen. This morning, as I walked down the narrow hallway, wood flooring creaking with each step, there was an unusual amount of quiet in the Donamaria household. I pegged it on my brother’s bachelor party last night. Although my parents didn’t join us at the “gentleman’s” club, they still stayed up later than usual to make sure my brother, all of his friends, and I got home safely. Anthony was surely sleeping off a hangover, along with the rest of his buddies. I was the designated driver.

I couldn’t let last night’s activities stop me from my morning routine. I made a sharp left, entered the mudroom, and kicked off my worn running shoes. I took off my ball cap and hung it on the wall. Sweaty hair held up by the hat fell into my eyes. I quickly ran my hand back through the mess and pushed the locks back somewhat in place. By feeling alone I was able to tell how in need of a hair cut I really was, and after a quick glance in the mirror I realized chestnut brown roots sneaking through the platinum blonde. On a good day my hair was cut closely to the sides, flopping neatly over the top in a quiff shape.

I could get it done before the wedding.

“Which is..” I mumbled to myself, pulling out my phone to check the date. “In two days.” Yeah, I could get it done. Grabbing a granola bar from the pantry and a water bottle from the frig, I padded up the steps as quietly as possible. I crammed as much of the chewy granola  into my mouth as humanly possible and chomped, washing it down with the contents of the plastic bottle. I took a detour from my bedroom to the restroom, opting for a shower. I adjusted the temperature handles  to my liking and pulled up the plug on the bath faucet to redirect the water to the shower head.  peeled off my sweaty clothes, and stepped under the stream of water that felt cool on my overly heated skin. I closed my eyes and faced toward the water.

I let the events of last night take hold of my thoughts again. The nightclub atmosphere; loud dance music, the smell of sweat and alcohol, careless laughs of the those losing all inhibitions, scantily clad, beautiful women dancing on poles and on other women, gripping their assets. I shivered as  my abdomen heated up.

“Have a little fun, Frankie!” Anthony’s best man, Damien said, hanging his arm around my shoulder. It was a bit of an exaggeration to call it “saying”. Damien yelled, mixed with slurred, over the speakers. I wrinkled my nose at the scent of alcohol on his breath.

“I’m having plenty fun.” I replied, sardonically. “Good, good fun.” Despite his drunken state he remained unconvinced. Less than five minutes later, after Damien had to “drain the vein”, I was being pulled into a secluded room by one of the only fully dressed workers in the place. She closed the door behind me, and not knowing what else to do, I sat in the chair in the middle of the room. The walls were painted black, but there were bright lights shaded pink lining the trim. The shade reminded me vaguely of my himalayan salt lamp back at my apartment in Clifton.

I wished I was there. As I thought about my comfortable bed and cuddling with my border collie, lab mix, Benny, the door behind me opened. The first thing that caught my attention was a gentle wave of long, amber hair that fell down to the middle to a distinctly feminine curve of her spine. I don’t know why I always looked at hair first. Symbolically long, loose hair such as hers was associated with virginity, innocence even, Something told me that was not the case here. She closed the door behind her, and  stalked closer to me.

Next, I took into account her shorter stature and willowy frame. Tanned skin, supple breasts, defined collar bones, accentuated muscles- everything about her screamed sensuality. Her bare leg slipped in between my thighs. I felt her eyes glazing over me, but I didn’t want to make eye contact. I didn’t want to accept I was really letting this happen. She smoothly transitioned into a full straddle across my lap, and gently traced her hands over my chest and onto my shoulders to rest. Her soft touch gave me incredible chills. Her hips began to move and as did her mouth along the crook of my neck. My sweet spot. I couldn’t help it. I melted into it. I let myself go.

“Not quite used to doing this for a lady.” The sultry voice was unforgettable. The words stung my ears and pulled my back and away from reality at the same time. I was no longer in a strip club sitting under a drop dead gorgeous woman, but sitting in Mr. Montgomery’s biology classroom, petrified and on the verge of a breakdown because of one person.

I plucked up the courage to look at my seducer’s face. Striking green eyes stared back at me. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t move. Then after the shock faded the realization hit me; Sage Watson, the mythic bitch that made my life fucking hell for six years was giving me a mother fucking lap dance.

I quickly pushed her off, and stood. I wasn’t enough of an asshole to just leave her there so I helped her up.

“Hey, Miss. What’s the deal? Did I do some-”

I ran out of the room as fast as I could and spent the rest of the night in the car with the heat up all the way, listening to NPR, as I waited for the rest of my party to leave.

I still couldn’t fucking believe it. I had the opportunity to make her pay for everything she had done, but I didn’t. As I rinsed the apple scented soap from my hair I talked to myself like I was still there, talking to her.

“Serves you right to become a stripper. That’s what you get for cheating on your chemistry final. Fucking hell, Frankie, who the fuck would ever actually say that?”

Exasperated, angry, and horny, I masturbated to that one hot chick off of Game Of Thrones, and then sat down under the falling water. I pulled my knees to my undersized breasts and rested my forehead in between them, my thoughts spinning out of control wildly. Why did I she have to come back into my life now when I had come so far?