#having a cold and Not getting enough sleep equals a headache for me apparently. i almost never get them unless im

[oblio-k]

me: says im gonna work on fics and artwork because i got my daily prompt

me, instead: spends all day watching shows because my head hurt

[llamagoddessofficial]

Thank you @eldritch-and-tired for commissioning this lil’ /Reader piece of @megalommi‘s Sans, Baggs. I will ALWAYS be a simp for this sexyman. Enjoy!!

Tw: injections, unwilling hypnosis/mind control

...

You giggled.

The light was so pretty. Swirling, undulating, cyan and magenta warping and shifting in and out of one another in an endless hypnotising rhythm. It made you think of a funfair... spirals everywhere, from the tops of the stalls to the decorations on the rides, to the signs leading you around to those huge lollipops that tasted tooth-meltingly sweet. Happy memories, carefree, far away and non-solid but still wonderful. What were you doing? You couldn’t remember anything. You liked blue and purple, they were everywhere, all around you, such pretty colours. 

Pretty, pretty...

“... there we go. easy now.”

... You didn’t realise he was even there until he (somewhat cautiously?) spoke. Your senses were just colours. The voice was odd and a bit disembodied at first but slowly, slowly, you became aware of its source- a face hovering just over you. The awareness spread to your body, too... you were bent at an odd angle with your feet just barely lifted off the floor, your back flat on a rather uncomfortable table, gravity pulling your hair and cheeks. And he... he was just a few inches over you, pinning you by one of your wrists.

...

A tight and tense, cutting smile, clear signs of stress around his face and shoulders making it obvious that this was the smile of a man on the edge and not one of any particular joy. Deep sockets, so wide they looked borderline painful, glaring down at you with so much intensity...

... You could feel his body heat. And his breath against your face. Your heartbeat, your slightly itchy nose, how tight he was holding your wrist.

“... Mh... Huh?” You said, ever-so articulately, vision spinning in the same direction as the swirls emanating from his left socket. A similar way to how the world rocked when you were dizzy... except for you, it never righted itself. It just kept spinning and spinning and spinning. Everything was so bright, as you fell under a pleasant fuzzy sensation burrowed into your chest and mind, blanketing your thoughts as if you were just in the middle of a nice dream where nothing much mattered.

“shh...” 

When he gently closed his gloved fingers around something you had gripped in your pinned hand, you put up no fuss, loosening your hold and allowing him to take it... when did you pick up a scalpel? What an odd thing to have. The back of your head hurt and your knuckles felt the telltale aches of having been tense a few moments ago, even though they were now just an unwound coil like the rest of you.

... Dr. Baggs let out a long slow, breath. You could feel it against your nose and neck, he was that close... his mouth open barely a crack, the magenta hue of his tongue glinting against his fangs. 

“... alright.” He said, voice silky, gentle on your thrumming ears and head, sockets easing around the edges as he calmed down. The bluish shadows of sleep deprivation under them became more apparent as the tension in the room, face and posture waned. “that’s better.”

... Yeah. You thought, relaxed and calm. It is.

... He gave you the bare minimum of personal space, leaning back and helping you to sit, lifting you with the perfect combination of gentle but firm as if he knew you’d immediately feel so dizzy when you became upright. Your hands moved up and held onto his shoulders to steady yourself- the fabric of his lab coat was surprisingly soft, it was very nice to touch. 

... He was so close. Supportive but strict hands on your elbows, your knees on either side of him, he smelled like... the artificial flavouring they added candy that just wasn’t quite natural. And a specific, scented brand of antiseptic; clean and sterile and prepared.

“... well.” He hummed, reaching out of sight for something with one hand. Your forehead would bump his collarbone if you leant forward any more. His voice was so soothing and calming, especially since you were only a few inches from his clavicle... you were getting pretty close to shutting your eyes at this point, but a prick in your arm kept you from completely nodding off- you barely noticed it, too busy studying the aesthetically pleasing purple trim to his coat and enjoying the funny fuzzy sensation in your chest and temples. Oh, he suddenly had a full syringe in his hand that he was putting a cap on... where did he get that? 

“i knew from the start you’d be uncooperative, but... not that kind of uncooperative.”

He held something up to your face. You opened your mouth, (wait, why am I opening my mouth...) and he quickly placed it on your tongue. You swallowed, again, without knowing why... it was like your body was following a list of instructions that you couldn’t see or hear. Someone else had taken the wheel; tugging the right strings to make the right parts of you move when they were needed. 

... You didn’t think about it much. No panic, no confusion, no considering the implications. The thoughts were disconnected... just ships in the night, sailing by your muffled brain. All you could really think about was how whatever he’d given you was very strange and bitter and ew, you cringed, an odd acrid taste lingering in the back of your throat.

... Another prick in your arm. That’s weird, he keeps pricking me. Oh well. This time, you looked just in time to see him removing a now-empty syringe; he wiped where he’d poked your forearm with something very cold, then placed a little circular red band-aid over it.

...

There were six other band-aids on that forearm. Two green, three navy, one black... and now the red one.

Hm... I feel like I should be alarmed by that...

Again, all you could think about was how nice you felt right now. Dizzy, warm, safe. Like you’d had a little too much to drink, but now you were laying out in the sun with your friends... I miss the sun...

“most of my ‘patients’ are at least... consistent.” Baggs hummed, continuining to hold you carefully by the elbows, predicting your post-jab swaying. He didn’t seem to realise he was talking aloud, just a scientist observing his experiment, and you weren’t really paying enough attention to what he was actually saying- too many words to process, boooring. “uncooperative awake, uncooperative under. you’re always displaying aggression toward me... and yet as soon as you have no control, there’s an obediency so immediate it’s borderline subconscious. rather fascinating.”

Instead, you...

“... Sexy voice.”

...

...

“... what?” 

Apparently, that was enough to finally break him out of his thoughts. You glanced up at Baggs’ face, still only a few inches away, you kept forgetting where things were around you... the cushion around your soul never wavered but for a moment there was a little blip in the swirls. A slight interruption.

“Mmmhm.”

...

... His expression sort of... well, ‘melted’ was the wrong word. It was more akin to the sun peeking out from between two clouds. The detached, observational, scientific air to him thinned and began to evaporate... revealing something a little more warm.

The razor and unfriendly edges of his smile were rounding into something organic. Perhaps even, daresay, resembling forward. 

“my.” He purred. “how forward of you.”

“S’very nice. Very smooth...” Your tongue felt... eh. And your arm, where he’d poked you, was starting to itch. “And you have a nice face too... handsome man. I think so.”

...

His smile started growing even more, and he leaned back an inch or two as if to look at all of you and make sure you were really the same person he’d brought into this examination room less than an hour ago. “... oh really?”

“Yeah...” ... Your hands had been just holding onto his coat... but, spurred on by your sudden drunken confidence, you properly looped them around his neck.

... He blinked, but he only let himself appear taken aback for a moment or two. Despite how ominously his magenta eyelights glowed in his dark, shadowed sockets... you could tell he was enjoying himself, and this sudden turn of events. “i’m flattered.”

You laid your head on his chest. It was getting kinda hard to stay upright. 

... Your nose scrunched.

“Funky smell, though.”

That was enough to get an actual laugh out of him- albeit shortlived, his skull cocking like a curious mirthful bird. “are you... genuinely telling me that i smell, darling?”

“Yeah. Because it’s true. You’re gremlin.”

 “i’m... gremlin?”

“Mhm.”

“stars. i wish i could tell pap about this.”

Your body shifted, enough to make you lightly squeak- things were spinning so much that it took you a minute to realise Baggs had picked you up, an arm hooked under your legs and another around your back.

“you’re all done for the day, pet.” His eyelights had become a thrumming, almost amethyst colour as he looked at you, a far gentler shade of purple than his previous headache-inducing magenta. You weren’t sure what’d caused that but you weren’t complaining. You weren’t sure what’d caused him to carry you either, considering he usually just brought someone to collect his ‘patients’ for him... but, again, not complaining. “it’s time to get back to your room.”

“I feel funny.” You mumbled.

“that’s normal.”

He started walking. The halls all looked the same, as he moved through them, blending into one another... white and sterile, a few doors dotted inbetween if you were lucky but mostly just the exact same tiles and patterns and lack of anything that would clue you into the fact that people had actually (at some point) existed in this area. 

“Hm... is this where you work...?”

A little chuckle. He was sounding further and further away. “yes. this is my job, dear.”

“It’s so g... ug-ly.”

“oh? you think so?” Baggs’ tone had become... light? Perhaps a little teasing. 

“Jus... put up some nice posters, or something.” Your head was so heavy. Since when was it this heavy? You had to rest it against his chest, feeling that nice fabric against your cheek, hearing an equally nice humming sound from inside his ribcage. “Paint the walls. It’s so... white. Clini... ...clinicic... Calic...” 

“clinical?”

“... Yeah.Tthat.”

A gloved phalange touched your arm. It was probably an attempt at a comforting gesture- stroking the skin. “good to know. i’ll make sure to pass that eloquent advice along to the decorating team.”

“Good.”

He brought you to a cell-like room. It was... vaguely familiar? A bed with one pillow, thin white sheets... some strange posters and a window with bars over it. You felt like you’d spent a long time in there, but it was impossible to think straight enough to actually muster up any memories.

Baggs laid you down on the bed, slowly, handling you like you’d fall apart at any moment. You made a little noise- it wasn’t a very soft bed... but it was good enough. And your body felt so strange and tired that any soft surface honestly was nice enough to lay down on forever.

“comfy?” He asked. Since when did he inquire if you were comfy?

“M... no. S’whatever.”

...

You peeked at him, crouched by your bed... and you reached out, pressing your inexplicably heavy finger against the top of his nasal cavity in a booping motion. You mumbled a little victorious “Silly skeleton.” 

...

He took your hand in his gloved one, gently, before it could go limp and flop down. You couldn’t really make out his expression at this point.

“don’t tell the other subjects...” He murmured... he sounded amused, at least. “but i think you’ve become my favourite.”

“Course.” You shut your eyes. “I’m... m’amazing.”

“... yes. course.” 

A feeling, like a kiss on your hand, before he placed it by your side.

“... go to sleep.”

...

And just like that, your body obeyed him before your head could even process what he’d said, and you were asleep.

[misha-moose-dean-burger-lover]

destiel, 2.4k, mild hurt/comfort, happy ending. for @wormstacheangel who wanted a fic with anemic!Cas <3

"Cas?"

Dean hears a flump from the direction of the bedroom right as he finishes shaving his left cheek. It takes him about five seconds from there to dashing out of the bathroom, sink hastily turned off and half of his neck still covered in white, wearing an expression of worry that doesn't quite go with the foam beard.

Cas seems to hold the same opinion because his face splits in a wide grin the moment Dean enters the room.

A grin almost distracting enough for Dean to not notice that Cas is back on the bed, and suddenly wearing a blanket.

Almost.

"Goddammit, Cas." He sighs, huffing as panic slips away to make room for exasperation. He walks up to the bed, sets about righting the blanket around Cas.

Cas lets him.

"I should've known -"

"- Dean, I forgot -"

"- you were going to ditch your meds the first night after I stop bugging you 'bout them." Dean mutters, ignoring Cas completely as he makes weak attempts at protesting when Dean tucks one corner of his blanket all the way round at the other side, effectively turning him into what he mentally likes to call a Cas-burrito.

He doesn't like to call it anything at the moment though, cause right now, it's just proof of how Cas doesn’t listen.

Friggin' ex-angel of the lord, billions of years old, with libraries worth of stories and history in his head — but taking his meds when they're supposed to be taken, he forgets.

"It wasn't on purpose." Cas insists in a small voice, and Dean shoots an annoyed look at him before stepping back, finally finished with the blanket routine.

If you could call it that.

Well, Dean does call it that.

Because it happened often enough times after Cas's return from the Empty, human as the day Dean was born, to prompt both a title, and a reason to investigate why in the first place.

And not a lot of road to cover from typing in Cas's symptoms in a search engine — headaches, spells of dizziness, fatigue and feeling cold in general (things Cas had dictated to Sam who was typing, while Dean seethed from the next chair at not having been priorly informed of most of those things that warrant being informed about) — to ending up at the conclusion of a few billion (but actually just the first four) results, just minutes after.

Cas had anemia.

(The doctor Dean took him to the very next day, and Sam's completed research on the Novaks' medical history by the time they got back, confirmed it.)

Now, as far as the Winchesters were concerned, that was practically a relief — especially since their next place to look would've been old, tired books of curses, and the meekest of those would've been several times more worrying than the awfullest case of anemia one could possibly get - and Cas's, thankfully, wasn't even that bad.

However, curses are reversible. Or at least, equally as destroyable as their curse-rs are — who, usually, tend to be pretty destroyable when it comes to Sam and Dean.

Mineral deficiencies, on the other hand, are neither.

So supplements it is, as the doctor said and then prescribed — or so it should have been anyways, except for how the love of Dean's life was a giant baby when it came to taking pills.

"Sure it wasn't." Dean rolls his eyes, continuing in his exaggerated 'Cas' voice. "You just forgot."

Cas squint-frowns at Dean with all the ferociousness of a tired, cold and anemic four-weeks-old human, and Dean perches next to him on the edge of their bed with a sigh, the exasperation wearing off too.

(If he hadn't already wrapped them up, this would've been about the time Dean would've taken Cas's hands in his own.)

"Cas," He says, softer now.

Truth be told, Dean can't imagine what it must be like to go from being a - a being, that can heal itself and everything else, to a human who gets shivery and lightheaded cause of things inside of him he can't even control.

It's got to be terrifying, and obviously awful, and Dean's proud of Cas for the way he's been handling all of it — but dammit he's supposed to do the things that make it easier.

Just like he's supposed to let Dean take care of him.

"Dean," Cas replies, looking sideways at him with most of the stubbornness melted from his expression as well. "I'm a little cold but it's okay. I'm fine." He says, like he can still tell exactly what Dean needs to hear.

What he needs Cas to be.

There's a pause and Dean looks down at his hands. He can't help his next question, it's been on his mind for some time.

"What about the first time you were human?"

Cas noticeably withdraws into himself on hearing him, and Dean feels immediately a pang of guilt. It may have gotten easier to read him since he became human, but an accidental display of emotion was still a novelty. (Being difficult to read was apparently more of a Cas trait than an angel feature.)

"What about it?"

"Shouldn't you, uh," Dean pauses. "Shouldn't you also have been anemic then?"

Cas turns away from him, slow enough that Dean knows he's not taken offense, deliberate enough that he's thinking.

He finally answers, facing the wall ten feet away instead of Dean.

"I guess I was."

"But," Dean frowns. "I thought you had no idea you had anemia until last week."

"Dean, I didn't even know there was anything wrong with me until last week." Cas returns, his tone steady. "And back when I was human for the first time, I didn't either, because I'd never known what healthy felt like before, so I had no idea if I was or wasn't it. Of course I knew in an objective sense, say, the ideal temperature of the human body, but the ordinary amount of chilly one should feel on the streets in winter, or how hard or easy falling asleep is supposed to be, I couldn't have told you."

"Oh."

"And I still wouldn't have been able to," Cas turns back to him. "Had you not been the one to point it out."

Dean scoffs.

All he'd done was ask why Cas had been shivering in the middle of the day. That was it. Honestly, how could he not have seen it sooner?

"So you just," Dean lets out, afraid of the answer. "You just thought the cold spells and the, uh," he falters. "The being tired all the time — you thought that was part of being human?"

Cas smiles wryly. "It is for a lot of people."

"But —"

"And it was, Dean, anemia or not, for a lot of the people I lived with back then."

Dean's stomach bottoms out. He knows Cas is right. Six years ago, he'd been living on the streets, living in a bus. Dean remembers him — homeless, cold, sleeping on the floor of a Gas 'N Sip in his only set of clothes, Cas. And he knows he's responsible for it — knows he deserves to be hated for it, and it messes with him everyday that Cas doesn't — but did Cas really not even know what Dean had done to him? What Dean had — and Jesus, he detests himself — made him go through?

"You really thought all of us were going through that," Dean blinks. "And none of us was saying a thing?"

Cas doesn't look away this time and Dean goes on.

"I mean, I know you put humanity on a pedestal it doesn't deserve, and you think we're all capable of things you're capable of, but Cas, I can't believe you associated being human with being cold and tired, and —" Dean scrubs his face with a hand. "Goddammit, Cas! How could I have let you go out there on your own when you — h-how did I not see it, and — and you should never have had to deal with it all alone, I should've —"

"Dean."

It's not until Cas interrupts him that he realizes he's been rambling. Ranting, really, because it's not fair that Cas only got to see the worst of humanity, and it's not fair that Cas was so used to feeling awful that he just figured everyone felt that way all the time. That Cas was all alone at a time Dean should've been there for him, should've been at his side, been there to make sure he was warm, and make sure he ate spinach and seafood and whatever the hell else is rich in iron — hell, Dean should've looked it up sooner — and Dean should've been able to tell that Cas was sick, even if Cas couldn't, because that's his job.

He hasn't felt this way in a while — this particularly familiar fear of failing Cas, and losing Cas, entwined horribly, returning to him; seeping back in through his skin, and settling on his bones like the vast sediments of guilt and loss he's been carrying for most of his life.

Cas is supposed to be okay, and Dean's supposed to make sure he is.

But so far as upto here, turns out Dean's just been failing in more ways than he'd even known.

"Dean," Cas repeats, pulling him out of his reverie with determination in his voice, and a hand on Dean's left arm, his blanket now hanging off of one shoulder.

Dean immediately reaches to make it right but Cas holds him right where he is. Physically and not-drowning-in-his-own-head wise, and he's the only one who can do that.

"You're not listening to me."

Shit, Cas had been speaking this entire time, hadn't he? "Sorry, I was -" Dean looks Cas in the face to apologize, and lets out a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding, cause thank god, Cas isn't that pale. "Sorry."

"It's okay." Cas smiles, and it's not lopsided anymore, it's just Cas.

(Dean wonders if he should try to mirror it.)

"I was just saying that now I know that that's not the only part of being human."

"What do you mean?"

"The pain and the suffering, Dean. That's not all." Cas says. "There's also love, and kindness, and worry of the non-lifethreatening kind that dissipates with a smile, and warmth."

Dean stares at him.

"And sure," Cas shrugs. "I knew those things before too — I've read books, I've watched you and Sam — but now I've felt them as humans do, for the very first time, so it's a different kind of knowing."

Cas takes Dean's hand in his, and Dean's the one who squeezes.

"I believe the human expression is 'knowing it in my bones'."

Dean lets out a strained laugh in spite of himself. "Dunno, man. I don't think that's exactly what that means."

"But I do know it in my bones." Cas says simply, and Dean's heart does that thing where it feels too big for his chest. How Cas could go through so much, and still be so full of kindness and good, is one of the mysteries of life Dean's never going to solve — but it doesn't stop him from falling a little bit harder every time it happens.

"You should've gotten to know it the last time too, Cas." Dean tells him, sighing again. "I'm just — I'm sorry I wasn't there."

"Well, you are now." Cas tilts his head. "And I prefer the things I'm learning this time over the last time anyway, and I believe it's you who's always taught me that the present is what matters the most. I'm just glad you're here this time."

"And I'm not going anywhere." Dean squeezes their hands tighter, and Cas's smile grows. God, he deserves the world and he keeps settling for Dean, doesn't he — and Dean hates it, and loves it, and couldn't live without it. He puts his other hand on Cas's face, gloving his cheek. Cas leans closer.

"I love you."

Dean's throat constricts. "You're too good to me."

"I think that's the point."

Dean can't help but smile, and he really can't help the tears.

"I'm okay." Cas says, once more. "Are you?"

There's only one answer, and nothing to fight this time.

Dean closes the gap.

"I love you too."

It's not their first kiss, nor is it the first time they've ever said it — but it feels more significant than anything's felt before. It's more them, too — not sickly-sweet or angry and fighting, just them, coming around to the end of a hard talk, falling into each other's arms with an ease they reserve for each other only, and sinking into each other, slow and perfectly synced, like they're made for it.

When they pull back, a moment later, Dean leans his forehead against Cas's and licks his lips. Breathes.

"There's so much more to being human," he hears himself saying. "Than you'd ever find out just living here in the bunker with us."

"Dean," it's Cas's turn to sigh. "I've already found everything I need."

Dean's cheeks heat up. "I thought it was never too late to learn."

"It isn't." Cas leans back, hands falling back to his sides from where they were wrapped around Dean's neck. "But sometimes, practising old things is more important."

Dean immediately dissolves into laughter. "Yeah, no, great going. Call me old before you go to town practising on me."

Cas ignores him save a twinkle in his eyes. "And some things, I'd like us to learn together."

Dean grins.

"And some things," Cas concludes, with a wide smile. "Aren't taught anywhere else in the world."

"Yeah?"

Cas shrugs.

"Why so?"

"Well, rumor has it the teacher's afraid of flying."

Dean freezes for a moment, silent, and then snorts — because yeah, that's funny, Ha Ha, but okay, if Cas is fit enough to make jokes, then he's fit enough to take his meds now, and Dean tells him that gleefully, resulting in Cas's grin immediately turning upside down as he tries to scoot away from Dean, except Dean's kinda expecting it so he's prepared to launch himself on the bed if he has to — and he does have to, cause Dean might love him for his heart, and his courage, and his kindness, but remember how Cas is just a baby in a trenchcoat?

Yeah.

(And that is just a regular morning in the Winchester household.)

[wesawbears]

Happy summer exchange season! This is for @autumnalpalmetto, who asked for Andrew friendship with the rest of the Foxes/Andreil for the @aftgexchange event.

I hope you enjoy!

--

At first, Andrew suspected it was just a bad day. A heaviness in his head, a fog that made him pay less attention to practice than normal. He brushed both Neil’s concern and Kevin’s anger off in equal measure, just wanting to get back to his room and sleep for the rest of the day.

Neil didn’t comment when he burrowed beneath his blankets and didn’t talk for the rest of the night. The junkie eventually left him to sleep and watched games with Kevin in his room, but Andrew could feel his eyes on him as he walked away. At the moment, he was too tired to muster up the energy to feel bad about pushing him away. Neil could handle Andrew’s moods.

His bad day theory was proven wrong when he woke up with a throbbing headache. He sits up, only to find the world was tilting a little bit. Groaning, he lays back down. “Fuck.”

Neil, insufferable morning person that he is, is already up and back from a run. Andrew can hear him rummaging around in the kitchen. The noise is for Andrew’s benefit; he knows if he wanted to Neil could do his whole morning routine in near silence, so used to being unseen. But he doesn’t want to startle Andrew. It’s as annoyingly considerate as it is unnecessary.

 He also knows without seeing that Neil’s getting two mugs of coffee, one for Andrew to wake him up before Neil goes to his 9:00 class, like he does every Thursday. “Don’t bother,” he tries to yell, but his voice comes out a thin, papery rasp.

Neil comes into the room then, before stopping short at the door. “You look like shit.”

“I’m not sick,” he says immediately.

“I’ll make you some tea,” Neil answers, turning on his heel and heading back into the kitchen.

“I don’t like tea,”

“Can’t hear you. I’m in the kitchen.”

Andrew wants to scream, but can’t muster the energy, so he just settles back against the headboard and closes his eyes.

A few minutes later, Neil is there, handing him a thermos of tea. He can barely taste it, which is ideal, but he can tell Neil put a truly obscene amount of honey in it. His throat still feels like it’s been shredded when he swallows, but he hides his grimace. 

At least, he thinks he does. Neil’s face says otherwise. Or maybe Neil is just obnoxiously good at reading him.

“Shut up,” he rasps.

“Didn’t say anything,” Neil quips back.

“Your face speaks volumes.”

Neil smiles like it’s a love confession. “I’ll tell Coach you won’t be at practice.”

“Letting me play hooky, captain?”

“It’s a liability if you pass out. Lots of paperwork.” His face softens then. “I’ll come check on you later.”

“You don’t need to.”

“I know.”

Andrew doesn’t know if it’s being sick, or the discomfiting feeling of being...looked after that makes him feel like heaving, but he shuts his eyes in an effort to make it leave. He hears the click of the door shutting as Neil leaves and breathes out.

--

Kevin gets back from his own class about an hour later, and Andrew wakes at the sound of the door opening.

. “Neil was right- you do look like shit.”

“Unlike with Neil, I will throw this thermos at your head.”

Apparently it didn’t come across with the bite Andrew had intended, because Kevin just scoffs and throws something at him.

“Cold medicine?” 

Kevin shrugs. “You’re too stubborn to take it on your own. So I’ll just stand here until that happens.”

He swallows the pills with the last drops of tea, wincing as they scrape his throat. “Did Neil put you up to this?”

“You think Neil would think of using medicine? I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s never heard of cold medicine.”

Andrew grunts in assent, turning the thought over as Kevin retreats into his bedroom. If Neil didn’t put him up to it, Andrew doesn’t know what sparked Kevin’s sudden concern for his wellbeing. It was a cold. He wasn’t dying. 

He had half convinced himself it was all a fever dream when he heard a knock. “Who’sit?”

The person didn’t bother answering, opening the door where Kevin had left it unlocked. 

Andrew purses his lips. “I didn’t know a cold would turn my room into fucking Grand Central.”

“Relax. I’ll be gone in like two minutes.”

He watches as Aaron walks past him to the kitchen. “Nicky got you ice cream, even though I told him that dairy just makes sore throats worse. He wanted to bring it himself, but I told him the last thing you would want was him buzzing around.  Here are some crackers if you get hungry.”

He was gone as soon as he’d arrived, and Andrew settles back under his blankets for a nap. When he wakes to a soft knock at the door, he glances at his phone and sees it’s close to dinner time.

“It’s me,” he hears, and recognizes Renee’s voice. “I’ll only be a minute.”

He thinks he mumbles, “Come in”. 

“I brought you some soup, when you’re feeling up to it. And Dan, Allison, and Matt offered some of their DVDs in case you get bored. Allison says that bad movies are the best cure for a cold.”

He hums at that. “I think most doctors would disagree.”

Renee chuckles lightly at that. “Yes, well. They’re trying.”

He doesn’t know whether he wants to ask why. It seems a pointless question. “They know I probably wouldn’t do the same for them.”

Renee smiles. “They know. But I don’t suspect that that’s why they’re doing this.” She pauses at the door, evidently not expecting an answer. “Feel better, Andrew.”

--

Neil makes his reappearance shortly after that, once he’s done ending his day running drills with the freshmen strikers. 

“You missed quite the parade in here,” Andrew greets him.

“Oh yeah?” he asks, making his way up to the loft.

“Yes. Kept me from taking the nap I wanted.”

“I don’t know. You looked pretty dead to the world when I came in earlier to check on you.”

“Well, I didn’t have to keep up with you running your mouth. That preserves energy.”

“You like my mouth,” Neil smirks, leaning in and stopping short of his mouth. “Yes?”

“You’ll get sick.”

“I don’t care. We have plenty of provisions.”

Andrew closes the gap with a short kiss. “I’m not sharing my soup. Or my ice cream.”

“Rude.”

Andrew doesn’t have the energy to deal with the look on Neil’s face, so he pushes his face away lightly. “That’s it for tonight.”

“Do you want me to sleep in my bed?” 

From anyone else, it would come across petulant, but Andrew knows Neil means it. He also doesn’t have the energy to parse through the jolt that goes through him at the idea of Neil not being next to him.

Instead of voicing that, he shrugs. “Don’t whine when you get sick.”

Neil doesn’t answer, simply settling in next to him.

Andrew closes his eyes. “And don’t keep me awake with your staring.”

“Go to sleep, Andrew.”

He drifts off to the feeling of Neil’s hand in his hair, and the warmth of his body next to him. He knows the comfort won’t last, and he won’t always be okay with this,  but for now, it’s enough.

[vvienne]

SANGCHENG FIC RECS

flight of a one-winged dove by bloodletter

Talking at someone is only fun for so long. That's all being a sect leader is: talking and talking to people bound by courtesy to listen to you. It's so fucking dull. A relief, then, to face one’s equal, and no less an old friend who is inclined to interrupt you whenever you ramble. He likes it. It’s one of Jiang Cheng’s best qualities.

In the years after Guanyin Temple, Nie Huaisang attends to unfinished business.

whipped by reindeercolin

Jiang Cheng blinks. “Dammit, they do think you’re dating one of us! I hate it when Wei Wuxian is right.” “Excuse me?” Nie Huaisang gives him an incredulous look. “First of all, they think I’m dating you, and if anything, they’re getting more aggressive!”

(or, the one in which Jiang Cheng has too many relatives, not enough patience, goes through a brother-divorce and finds out he has a boyfriend - in that order, more or less.)

Ponder the Manner of Things by Pip (Moirail)

It's not that Jiang Cheng can't do a quadruple flip followed by a triple toeloop. It's that his mother seems to think that's still not good enough.

Jiang Cheng is grateful that Huaisang doesn’t have the same kind of family life that he does, all - messy with expectations and cravings for closeness and nothing but vague filial piety where love is meant to be.

a matter of time and organ donation by nev_longbottom

This is it. The call he’s been waiting for. His brother had ‘an accident’ or ‘died in his sleep’ or some other lie to cover up the murder.

“Please, Mingjue is missing. He got into one of his moods and he was gone when I came back from grocery shopping. He’s not answering his phone. I don’t know if he left or was kidnapped or if something else happened. Huaisang, please, if you’ve heard anything,” Meng Yao begs.

Nie Huaisang hunts his brother's killer.

no tip necessary by tattletold

With all the nervousness of a virgin in a whorehouse, Jiang Cheng closes the door behind himself and enters, sitting on the low seat across from the escort. The pretty young man keeps his face hidden behind the delicate fan, and Jiang Cheng thinks for a moment that he recognizes the design painted onto it now that he’s closer.

It’s only when he lowers the fan and opens his eyes, wide, does Jiang Cheng paralyze with realization.

They speak at the same time in equally horrified tones.

“Jiang Cheng?”

“Nie Huaisang?”

Your Place in the Family of Things by raisedbyhyenas

No matter what happens, no matter the circumstances, Wei Wuxian will always leave and Jiang Cheng will always get stuck trying to rebuild from whatever’s left.

*************

In which Jiang Cheng makes friends; gets a cat; begins to rebuild a relationship; and maybe, possibly, potentially, learns a little bit how to be happy.

sigh yourself to sleep by merthurlin

“Let me take care of you, A-Cheng.”

No one—no one has ever said that, not to Jiang Cheng. He wasn’t a very sickly child, true, but the few times he remembered being sick it was never—he had a-jie, and later on he had Wei Wuxian, for what it was worth, but he never—

halcyon days by serein

They're in a forest, it seems just the two of them.

"You have to be patient," Nie Huaisang says, "I once waited for three days to catch a sparrow."

"Three days?" Jiang Cheng replies, sceptical. He can't imagine Nie Huaisang having the attention span for that.

"It's not that hard," Nie Huaisang says, "if you know what they want, and find a way to get it for them."

[JC stumbles across an array and gets physically de-aged to be 16/17. NHS kindly offers his help to an old friend, but things... escalate.]

To Distraction by isozyme

It’s the third night of Yunmeng’s kite festival celebrations. Nie Huaisang has come visiting, eager to partake in the food, the arts, and Jiang Cheng.

-

Jiang Cheng wants to forget. Nie Huaisang has some new lube and wants to see if he can put his whole fist in somebody’s ass.

Lights, Camera, Kiss by MissMagus

When Nie Huaisang gets paired with straight porn star Jiang Cheng for a five-part series, he’s sure it will be an utter disaster. Until the cameras start rolling and their chemistry alights like wildfire.

(Or, the five times Nie Huaisang and Jiang Cheng have sex for their job, and the first time they have sex outside of it.)

Only the Shallow by hamburglar

When Nie Huaisang gets bored and convinces Jiang Cheng to make out with him, he’s probably not expecting to still be dealing with the guy 16 years later.

OR the story where Jiang Cheng goes into: the Cloud Recesses, denial, some bushes, the private porn library at the Unclean Realm, and subspace.

Blind for Love by manamune

Jiang Cheng is poisoned with an aphrodisiac and needs to orgasm repeatedly in order to flush it from his system.

The first person he thinks of going to for help is Nie Huaisang, who does what any good friend would do: he shoves his three decades worth of feelings for Jiang Cheng deep into the recesses of his mind, locks them up so he can pretend they don’t exist, and then fucks him so hard that he passes out.

Descending by lightningwaltz

“I want to… to not be embarrassed.”

“To not be embarrassed during what?”

“During sex.” There. Jiang Cheng can say it. “In general. Also with you right now.”

“Very good.”

“When did you become so authoritative?” Jiang Cheng wants to sound irked, but can’t quite manage anything beyond nervous curiosity.

dark water by Morgan (duckwhatduck)

There are words, somewhere, for this. Words that would put a shape to the thing that sits between them, would seal their understanding. There are words for sympathy, for friendship, for understanding, for that touch, for this feeling.

Jiang Cheng can feel them, somewhere, fluttering formless at the back of his throat, squirming under his ribcage, but he cannot grasp them. They swim beneath the surface, fish in muddy water - and like fish, they will dart away if he grabs for them incautiously, and leave him nothing but cold splashes and grit.

Or: Why talk about things when you could fuck about it instead?

never knew i was a dancer by isozyme

“What’s a stone butch and why aren’t they real?” Jiang Cheng asks, too buzzed to care too much about not being up on lesbian culture.

Huaisang pats Jiang Cheng on the no-man’s-land between her boobs and her shoulder. “You’re so useless, Jiang Cheng. A stone butch is a fictional hottie who doesn’t make you do any work at all, just wants to give head and fuck you stupid on her strap.”

“Fictional?” Jiang Cheng echoes, having - not a moment, per se, but sort of a problem where her thoughts are going too fast for her poor drunken brain to keep up with.

“Nobody actually wants to fuck a chick who’s too lazy to eat you out after,” Huaisang mumbles.

-

After leaving Wei Ying and Lan Zhan’s bachelorette party, Jiang Cheng and Nie Huaisang decide to experiment with some outdated stereotypical lesbian sex roles.

lights out by rynleaf

“Nie-zongzhu makes the most sense,” Sect Leader Yao nods sagely, to murmurs of assent across the Jin Sect’s gold gilded banquet hall. Jin Ling, clad in opulent robes that look somewhat comical on a boy of sixteen, inclines his head as his scribe makes a notation, and the noise rises as sect leaders pat themselves and each other on the back for a decision well made.

Jiang Cheng groans and downs his cup of wine in one go.

-

In which the Sect Leaders elect a new Chief Cultivator.

shadow eternal by rynleaf

“You want me to distract the Chief Cultivator from the Annual Cultivation Conference, so you and other sect leaders can… what. Sign contracts without adult supervision?”

“If Jiang-zongzhu is amenable,” Sect Leader Ouyang repeats with a nod.

Jiang Cheng pinches the bridge of his nose. The pressure he felt building behind his eyes all morning is swiftly coalescing into a bitch of a headache. “Just what do you all think I’m capable of?”

Sect Leader Ouyang bows with a cheerful smile. “We have utmost faith in Sandu Shengshou’s abilities.”

-

In which a night hunt ends in disaster, Jiang Cheng catches a glimpse of Nie Huaisang's heart, and feelings are discussed after a certain fashion.

Four Days in Lanling by halotolerant

Nie Huaisang looks at him. ‘You are confusing me, Clan Leader Jiang, perhaps I misunderstand, but…’

‘You didn’t misunderstand. You don’t misunderstand. You understand all of it.’ For six months Jiang Cheng has been mulling this over, and now with Nie Huaisang in front of him he can’t figure out if he most wants to knock him down or kneel at his feet. What he does is try and breathe. Clench his hands at his sides. ‘And now I am going to ask you to do something for me. You have to do something for me. You have to help Jin Ling.’

Lean for Love Forever by Pip (Moirail)

Having a crush on your roommate is really embarrassing, except that's apparently the opposite of a problem. Jiang Cheng can't deny that's pretty convenient.

Wei Ying holds it up, a series of straps and buckles and velcro and wow, really a lot of leather. It has absolutely no conceivable form beyond tangled.

Nie Huaisang opens the door at exactly the moment that Wei Ying holds the thing up to Jiang Cheng’s chest, as if he’s trying to imagine how exactly it would fit onto a person, and it falls into a tangled pile between them while they stare at Huaisang in mild mortification.

acquired momentum by mongrelmind

Had Madam Yu known that this is where her son would end up, she would have gouged his eyes out with her bracelet before he made the grave mistake of looking in the direction of Nie Huaisang.

-

in which Nie Huaisang has an art show, Jiang Cheng is begrudgingly topless*, and there are. Shenanigans.

*Nie Huaisang excluded.

[tatooedlaura-blog]

Shadowed Grey Eyes

the continued rollercoaster of the cancer arc ...

Our Moments: Chapter 1: Five Words (post-Leonard Betts) Chapter 2: Sidebar Nonsense (post-Memento Mori) Chapter 3: Interim (floating somewhere around Unrequited) Chapter 4: Max 2.0 (post-Tempus Fugit/Max) Chapter 5: Shadowed Grey Eyes @today-in-fic

&&&&&&&&&&

He heard her cough in the next room. He’d been spending more nights there, claiming whatever the hell he wanted because she was getting thinner, quieter, slower. She was looking at him with pale eyes that counted the minutes until she could go to sleep. He carried her luggage for her, even though she insisted she could do it but then left him to put it in the car while she settled in, head back, eyes closed before the engine had time to warm.

He heard her cough in the next room and silent footfall sneaking down the hall, he saw her sitting up in bed. Not wanting to scare her, he knocked lightly on the bedroom doorframe before, “you okay?”

Sliding off the bed, she stumbled past him, the blood showing plainly on her shirt, smeared across her neck, “can you deal with that, please?”

Mulder looked in the room, seeing the dark spot on her pillow. Closing his eyes briefly, he took a deep breath, then went to work, stripping the sheets, presoaking them in her washing machine while he dunked the pillow in her now filling bathtub, invading Scully’s own cleanup efforts in the bathroom. Neither thought anything of it at this point, having shared the burden of vomit, blood, tears, and fear in equal measure. Back in the bedroom, he replaced the linens, fluffed a second pillow, then found her clean pajamas, handing them to her while she sat on the closed toilet, bringing herself back to some semblance of quiet center amongst the chaos.

Settling himself on the edge of the bathtub after he turned it off, water leeching the blood from the pillow, he played with the hem of the clean shirt he’d just handed her, “need some help?”

And instead of a ‘yes’ or ‘no’, she simply banged her fist against his thigh in frustration, standing, dropping the clothes to the floor, pounding her still clenched hand now on the bathroom counter, rattling soap and toothbrush. He stopped her as soon as he could, grabbing her arms, “hey … hey!”

“What?! Let go of me.”

“No. Come pound the mattress or a pillow or something but you keep doing that to the counter and you’re going to crack the shit out of your hands.”

She fought him for another second, then caught sight of herself in the mirror, Mulder behind her, agonized look clear on his face. The fight left her instantly and holding his reflected gaze, “I’m so tired.”

Enveloping arms around shoulders, gentle for fear of breaking her frail bones, he pulled her back against his chest, head dropped down beside hers, “your bed’s ready so let me help you change and you can go back to sleep.”

Both knew that wasn’t the tired she was referring to, “I can change if you wouldn’t mind getting me some juice, please?”

Some days, she did need his help but he never pushed, “back in a minute.” She was just slipping her clean shirt over her head when he returned, Mulder dutifully ignoring her white back and the ribs he could see as she stretched, “apple is all we have left. I can go shopping for more tomorrow, if you’d like.”

Thinking only of her bed at this point, she didn’t answer, noticing the towel he’d spread over her pillow in case it happened again. She stood there, shoulders hunched, looking at that towel until Mulder asked quietly, “would you like me to take it off?”

“No. That’s the problem.” Turning, she regarded him, brute force honestly the call of the night, “I’ll need it again and I don’t have enough sheets and pillowcases to do this more than once a night.”

Her hair limp, her eyes shadowed grey, her skin a sallow cream, he handed her the juice box, straw at the ready, as he leaned in and kissed her cool temple, “I’m going to bunk in here tonight, all right?”

Barely a nod, he retrieved his pillow and quilt, waiting until she had climbed in bed before turning out the light, moving to his side of the queen size mattress. The washing machine hummed from the hall, every so often a car would swish past through a puddle, and a steady rain tatted the windows. He wasn’t tired, years of sleepless nights preparing him for the next eight hours. Reaching across the bed to her, he gently set his thumb on her forehead, rubbing lightly in circles, “this okay?”

His palm warmed her cheek and shutting her eyes, “yeah … yes … thank you.”

He rubbed another minute or two, then scooted himself carefully closer, “I’m cold. Keep me warm.”

“Mulder.”

“What? It’s freezing in here.”

“It’s May.”

“What’s your point?”

She did love him so completely at times, it was almost funny, “I apparently don’t have one. Come here.”

Receiving the green flag for approach, he invaded the rest of her space, “you should roll over. My breath is going to kill you.”

He’d brushed his teeth right before bed but this was their way as of late so she rolled, soon painted on him, feeling small yet perfect instead of small yet dying … at least for the moment. He was warm, though, God, he was warm.

It didn’t take long to slip into half-sleep, perpetual dull headache moving to the background for what she hoped was the rest of the night, “if we could take a drive right now, where would we go?”

He wanted to cry at the prospect of her being too sick to wander with him, be it down the road, across the country or around the world, “I’d like to drive through Ireland. There are at least 10000 shades of green and air so pure it would probably scare the hell out of my lungs. We’d look for leprechauns and rainbows and drink beer and eat fish and never come home.”

“Would you find a nice Irish girl to settle down with? Have eight or nine kids?”

Kissing the back of her head, “I’ve found a nice Irish girl already and I don’t need kids, just her.”

“What if I find a nice man in a kilt?”

“That’s Scotland.”

“Sorry. I think I’m almost asleep. Would you wear a kilt if I asked you to?”

Knowing they were about to stumble into nonsense territory, he let himself enjoy it, “I’d have to go authentic. Nothing underneath.”

“Except maybe … your nice,” her words slurred sideways, “Irish girl.”

He had to stash that one away for another time, “where would you go?”, anything to keep her talking to him for one more second, anything to hear her voice one more time before she fell asleep.

“A quiet farmhouse with a wraparound porch and chairs to rock in. Maybe a birdhouse and a welcome mat and a dog to sit on it. We’d have a long driveway and a gate at the end and your couch and my bed.” Turning in his arms, she slipped her hand over his side, leg in between his, “it’d be perfect.”

Praying to a God he didn’t believe in for the healed soul of the woman he did, he moved his head to find her lips, pressing them tightly to his, whispering into her mouth, “I love you.”

She was already asleep, however, dreaming of an unremarkable house in a healed future that was rapidly slipping away, one cancerous cell at a time

[toraodwaterlaw]

Taken Apart

Law has made his way from Minion to Swallow, where he has a fateful meeting with Bepo, Penguin, and Shachi. Now he has these three to deal with on top of trying to remove the deadly lead that riddles his body.

This is Pt 2 of a two part AU story where Cora survives Minion. Pt 1 can be found here. 6.4k, more of Law dissecting himself, so a warning for that. Otherwise, a happy ending after all that angst.

-

Law awoke much the way he had in the past few weeks— in pain and with a desire to keep his eyes closed and let it end at last. Just as he had all those times before, he dragged his eyes open regardless.

His brain felt fuzzy and his eyesight was fuzzier still. His cheek was pressed to cold earth, which played a sharp contrast to his burning skin. The familiar flicker of a fire painted his surroundings in shades of orange while the even more familiar scent of smoke filled the air. Was he still on the road with Cora? Was everything else just a horrible nightmare? But no, now that he was more awake, he could hear quiet voices. Voices that he didn’t recognize until suddenly he did.

A bear. Blood. Snow. Two gangly, cocky teenagers with bats in hand.

Law tried to scramble to his feet but he couldn’t find the strength. Instead he managed to slump against a rocky cave wall and mustered up his best glare for the pair of boys at the mouth of the cave.

“You’re awake!” the redhead said.

“We, uh, we were a little worried you might be dead,” penguin hat added.

They both took a step toward him. A growl from over Law’s shoulder stopped them dead in their tracks. The bear… Mink… Bepo was huddled at the back of the cave, teeth bared. He managed to look equal parts like he wanted to fight and flee. Despite his apparent fear, he’d edged enough forward that he was looming over Law.

It made something rare shift in Law’s chest. He didn’t understand. Bepo was bloodied and beaten, they barely knew each other, and yet the Mink was trying to protect him.

Law shook his head. He didn’t need protecting. He reached for his knife but it wasn’t there.

“Is this what you’re looking for?” redhead asked, knife held up hilt forward. Law made to grab it only to be outmaneuvered. “Not so fast. I’d rather be sure you aren’t going to stab us with this first.”

“I don’t need that to put you both down,” Law snarled.

“We know.” Penguin hat stepped forward and put his hand on redhead’s shoulder. “That’s why we want you to train us.”

Law blinked and shook his head, certain that he was hallucinating. “You— what? I don’t even… why would I…?”

He rubbed at his temples. He could feel a headache forming. None of this made any sense and he wasn’t in a mood to figure it out. The two loud boys weren’t deterred by his reaction.

“Look, I get it. You don’t even know us and we don’t know you. Well, I’m Shachi and this is Penguin.”

“Your name is…” Law dragged his hands over his face. “You have your name on your hat?”

He didn’t know why that stood out to him as the most absurd point of all of this. Apparently they didn’t think that was absurd either.

“What else would I have written on my hat?” Penguin asked.

Law opened his mouth and then snapped it shut again. It wasn’t worth it. He turned back to Bepo instead. “They didn’t hurt you more, did they?”

Bepo looked to the others before he shook his head. “No. I’m okay.”

Law very much doubted that. The bear looked fine the way Law was ‘fine’ whenever Cora asked how he was doing. “I can help but…” He wondered how far his medical expertise would help him in this particular case. “You’re a Mink, right?”

Bepo small, black eyes widened. “How did you know? Everyone else thinks I’m just a monster.”

Law scowled. He thought of a city turned into a graveyard and of hospitals on fire. “I’ve seen monsters. I know monsters. You’re not a monster.” He grabbed his pack, glad that at least hadn’t been taken from him. There were some basic medical supplies in it but nothing for the wounds Bepo had sustained. “My— someone told me stories about Minks but I don’t know much about their physiology. I can only treat your superficial wounds.”

Bepo squirmed in place. “You don’t have to.”

Law ignored him and turned to the others. It was almost comical how much they perked up under his gaze. “You.”

Shachi pointed at himself. “Me?”

“Both of you,” Law replied. “You look like you know how to take care of yourselves. If you really want me to train you or whatever, you need to get some stuff for me first.”

“Whatever you want,” Penguin agreed quickly.

“Good to hear,” Law said. He held up his fingers and ticked off the list of things he needed. “I need a pot and water. Or snow. Whatever is easiest. Also bandages or a clean sheet. Clothing. Really any fabric you can get your hands on that I can make into bandages.”

“Anything else?” Shachi asked.

Law tapped his chin. He considered natural pain relievers. Many were dangerous in the wrong quantities and he didn’t have anything to measure. He also wasn’t sure he trusted these two meatheads to grab the right stuff. It wasn’t worth the risk.

“Food,” he said after consideration. “Whatever you can get. But no bread.”

Shachi and Penguin grabbed their bats. After a moment’s thought, Shachi grabbed Law’s knife as well. “Mind if I take this? For hunting. We’ll give it back.”

Law would have rather kept it but the possibility of meat was pretty compelling. He felt unusually hungry. He couldn’t think of when he’d last been actively hungry instead of simply willing to eat to placate Cora.

“Go ahead,” he said. “I can fight just fine without it, remember.”

Shachi smiled broadly. He was too easily impressed. Idiot.

“Alright,” the redhead said, “we’ll be back before you know it.”

“Yeah, we’ll only be gone a second,” Penguin said. “So no running off.”

Law glowered and waved them off. As soon as they were gone, he sank back onto the ground. He wanted to operate and try to get at least some of the lead out, but he couldn’t imagine finding the energy to form another Room. With any luck, food would help with that. He wished he’d ever bothered to ask Cora how using his fruit affected him.

“Why are you doing so much to help me?” Bepo asked.

Law rolled his head to look at him. “I dunno. It was just a whim, I guess. Maybe I just wanted to put those idiots in their place. Don’t think too much about it.”

Bepo stared down at his paws. He looked at Law, his eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “Can I do anything to repay you?”

Law groaned. He didn’t want repayment. He didn’t want idiots following him around, begging to be trained. He didn’t want any of this. He just wanted Cora back and he wanted sleep. Which…

“On top of my pack, there’s a bedroll. I’d get it myself but…” He gestured broadly. “So if you could spread that out for me, you can consider us repaid.”

“Right!” Bepo near shouted, suddenly energetic.

He undid the clasps that held the bedding in place and very carefully unrolled it by Law. Law got up on shaking legs. He barely needed to take half a step but it felt quite suddenly like a mile. When Bepo offered a helping paw, he was too tired to protest. He took it and lowered himself down with as much dignity as he was able, given the way he was trembling.

“Are you okay?” Bepo asked.

“I’m fine,” Law snapped. When the bear winced, he sighed. “It’s… don’t worry about it. I’m sick but it’s not contagious and I’m working on treating it.”

“Okay.”

Bepo didn’t sound so sure but Law would take mild disbelief over the shrieking he usually received. Come to think of it, Penguin and Shachi hadn’t seemed to notice the white spots either. Maybe he was just more lead than healthy skin at this point. It had been a while since he’d looked in a mirror. Fine by him if they assumed he was just that pale. Saved him some trouble when he had more important things to worry about.

For one, why was it so cold? There was a good fire going but he couldn’t stop shivering. He tugged the blanket around him and edged a bit closer to the flames. He knew from experience with Cora just how close to a fire was too close. He would still be safe at this distance, even if he decided to close his eyes for a moment.

He woke up without any memory of having fallen asleep in the first place. He must have, though, because Penguin and Shachi were back and the smell of cooking fish had filled the cave. The world was blurry again when he opened his eyes and he felt even worse than he had before. No matter what, he needed to start removing lead. If only he could so much as lift his head.

“You’re awake!” Penguin said.

“We saved you some,” Shachi added, holding out a skewered grilled fish for Law to see. “And there’s some other stuff, too. No bread.”

Logically, Law knew he needed the energy. Protein would be good for him if he was going to get anything done but the world was spinning again and he couldn’t get it to stop long enough to sit upright. To make matters worse, when he put the back of a hand to his forehead he found that he was running a temperature. That might explain the headache. Either way, those two idiots were being too loud.

A gentle hand at his back helped him sit up. Bepo. Law might have even thanked him if it didn’t hurt to so much as breathe at the moment. Instead he gave him a nod and took the fish from Shachi without a word. When Penguin offered him a canteen, he took that as well. His stomach threatened to revolt over both, so he squeezed his eyes shut until he was certain he would keep it all down.

“We got bandages,” Shachi said with obvious pride.

Penguin’s smile shone from beneath the shadow of his ridiculous hat. “And a pot of water, like you asked. Well, snow, but we melted it by the fire while you slept.”

They had indeed gotten bandages. Good ones, along with some other medical supplies Law hadn’t asked for, like a bottle of pain relievers. He didn’t know how they’d managed in the middle of the night but he wasn’t about to push the matter. He swallowed a few pills dry before portioning some out for Bepo.

“Take these and I’ll work on patching you up,” he instructed.

Bepo did as told. He sat entirely still despite the fact that his injuries must have stung as they were cleaned. Really, he was a much better patient than Cora was. The bumbling blond spent far too much time protesting that he was fine any time he was clearly not and he tended to fidget. It would have been ideal conditions, if not for the fact that every pair of eyes in the cave was watching him work.

“What are you looking at?” Law growled.

“Sorry,” Bepo murmured.

“We’re learning,” Penguin said.

“We said we wanted you to train us,” Shachi added.

Law paused to consider them. “I thought you wanted me to teach you how to fight?”

“We’ll learn anything you’re willing to teach,” Penguin replied.

Shachi nodded. “We’ve gotta make it on our own, so anything that helps with that, we’re down.”

Law opened his mouth to argue and then thought better of it. If they really wanted to learn first aid skills, good for them. He didn’t really care what they decided to spend their time on. He wasn’t about to waste his own time actually training them. Once Cora came for him, they’d be nothing more than a confusing memory.

He sat back and considered his work. He’d done what he could for Bepo. As it turned out, things had looked worse than they were. Blood was an alarming sight against the white of fur. Once it was cleared away, most of the injuries came down to cuts and bruises that would heal well enough on their own. That was a weight off Law’s already burdened shoulders. He might not care what became of Shachi and Penguin, but he’d have felt bad if he’d done a poor job tending to a patient.

He eyed the three of them and came to a decision. “If you want to really learn something, give me my knife back.”

Shachi took the knife from his belt but hesitated to hand it over. “Shouldn’t we have weapons, too?”

Law snatched the knife away before the redhead could react. “It’s not for fighting. I need to operate.”

“Woah, woah, woah,” Penguin said, throwing up his hands. “Are you sure you should use that? It seems like a good knife but not for something like an operation.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Law replied as he pondered where to start. “I don’t even really need the knife, I think, but it helps me focus. I could probably just use my bare hands if I wanted.”

The two older boys looked aghast. It was enough to shut them up for the time being, which was all Law wanted. He decided his earlier instincts had been correct and that he would be best off starting with his feet. He most needed to remove the lead from his lungs and heart but he wasn’t about to start practicing somewhere so potentially lethal. Once he had a better grasp on his abilities, he would move onto the more vital regions of his body.

He started by removing his socks and boots, placing them aside, and then rolling his pant legs up to the knees. It was likely all unnecessary but it made him feel more like he was doing things the right way when he actually did something to prepare for surgery. Expanding the bubble of his Room also made him feel like he could really do this. Of course he needed its powers in order to operate but he also felt a sort of ease inside its confines. Everything around him was under his complete control. He could sense it all, from the small droplets of nervous sweat on the back of his neck to the unseen deposits of lead in his flesh.

With fresh confidence, he made the first slice and cut off his left foot at the ankle. His concentration was immediately shattered by a wave of shouting and flailing. Law sighed.

“Oh relax.”

Penguin and Shachi were both standing just at the edge of the Room’s border, as though afraid to let it touch them. He couldn’t see Bepo but he could hear a high pitched whine from behind him.

Shachi pointed accusingly at the disembodied leg. “Relax? You cut off your foot!”

Penguin emphatically nodded his head. “You’re gonna bleed to death and I don’t know what to do with a dead body. Wait… why aren’t you bleeding? There should be blood, right?”

Law rolled his eyes. He picked up his leg with his free hand and reattached it to the clean cut stump. “See? Fine.” He wiggled his toes once to prove his point before cutting it off once more. “I have a Devil Fruit.”

“Oooooh,” Shachi said. “I get it now. How’d you get it? That makes sense, though. That’s how you were able to kick our asses so easily.”

Law rolled his eyes. “No, that’s because you two are pushovers. Now shut up. I need to concentrate.”

Immediate silence followed and Law quickly forgot they were there at all. Now that he’d had a bit of food and rest, he didn’t feel as dizzy. It would be easier to enjoy what his new powers offered him. He felt so aware of everything that he likely didn’t even need to cut himself up… but where was the fun in that? He further dissected his leg so that he could better see the muscles and veins within. There was the soleus and the gastrocnemius, the posterior tibial vein and perforating veins. He could have examined it all for the rest of the day if not for the rapid depletion of his stamina.

Later. Someday after he was healed, he would experiment with it all to his heart’s content. Funny to think that finally felt like a possibility while he was sitting in a damp cave with his limbs chopped to bits before him.

First things first, he needed to cure the Amber Lead before it made the future an impossibility. It would be easier said than done. While he could sense it, the lead particles were too small for him to clearly see. He put the rest of his leg together so that he could focus just on his foot. His ability to manipulate things at will did little for him if he didn’t have the fine control to remove what he wanted from his body. He wished once more that he had time to obtain a specimen to practice on instead. Maybe the remaining fish? Or they might be able to catch something. The problem was, he was already so close to the edge. As had been the case for his entire life, time was his enemy. He needed to use what energy he had to start curing this thing.

He sucked in a breath to brace himself and closed his eyes. Despite all the trouble he’d gone through to see what he was doing, he could only focus well enough if he shut out everything else. He envisioned every bit of lead in the foot, ignoring the rest that lay in deadly wait in the rest of his body. Then, as he’d made the stick dance about earlier and as he’d tossed Penguin and Shachi aside, he moved it. Just one easy flick of his fingers and the lead in that foot was now on the ground.

It might have been easy to do, but it wasn’t so easy to endure. A sudden chill washed over him. He felt winded, as though he’d taken a sharp blow to the gut. He opened his eyes again and reassembled and reattached the foot before he lost his ability to keep up the Room. The sphere of blue stuttered, shrank, and then vanished. Law fell back onto the heels of his hands. He let his gaze slip to the side. Where he thought he’d put the lead, there was a small puddle of blood. That was probably bad. He’d need to work on his control.

“That was intense,” Shachi gasped.

“Are you okay?” Bepo asked as he extended a reassuring paw.

Was he? That had taken far more out of him than he’d expected. He was lightheaded and his arms shook as they held him up. “I’m fine.”

He couldn’t recall dropping his knife but he must have. He picked it up again. He raised it over his other leg and summoned the Room again. Before he could cut down, a gloved hand found his wrist and stopped him. He mustered his best glare— the one that would always send Baby 5 running— but Penguin didn’t shrink back.

“Look, I know we don’t really know each other or anything, but I’d really rather not watch you kill yourself, kid. Maybe you don’t need to be in such a hurry to make your blood exit your body?”

Penguin’s hand was trembling. Despite the front he was putting up, he’d seen what Law could do and he was scared. Good. Law jerked his arm free.

“You see all the white splotches on my skin?” he demanded. “You know what that is?”

Penguin only shrugged. When Law turned his glower on Shachi, the redhead shook his head as well. For a moment, Law was too taken aback to say more. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d met someone who didn’t know, let alone didn’t shrink back in terror when they saw.

He looked back at Bepo. The Mink simply stared back blankly.

“Really? None of you?” Law could hardly believe it but there wasn’t so much as a flicker of recognition in any of the faces pointed at him. “It’s…”  He almost didn’t want to tell them. He never thought he’d enjoy the freedom of being surrounded by people who didn’t know. “A poison. Lead. I was born with it in my blood and it meant I was never going to live to adulthood. I still might not if I can’t remove it. Soon.”

Penguin and Shachi looked at each other.

“Soon…” Penguin said.

“But not immediately,” Shachi finished.

Law sighed. The crackling dome of blue that surrounded them was banished. He had to admit it was a relief to stop. He was nearly spent. He was certain he could push on but less sure he would be able to work effectively with these three set against him.

He crossed his arms, unwilling to cede ground just yet. “Well, what do you suggest then?”

“You should sleep,” Bepo said. “If, uh, you need to.”

Shachi nodded emphatically. “And I can keep guard.”

“And if you’re in such a hurry, I’ll make sure you don’t sleep too long,” Penguin offered.

They sounded so earnest. Law didn’t get it. They’d only just met him. He could handle himself. And if he couldn’t, people died all the time. Maybe that wasn’t the way things should be but that’s the way they were. Flevance had gone before him. It would be so easy to follow. But… Cora wanted him to survive. He was so sure Law could live and be free and be something more than what fate had handed him.

“Fine,” Law grumbled. “If you’re all so set on it, I’ll rest for a bit. But only for a bit. There’s someone important to me who went through a lot of trouble to get me this chance and I’m not going to let him down.”

The three other boys bobbed their heads happily. So damned earnest. Law only just resisted rolling his eyes. He might not have resisted at all but as soon as he’d agreed to their terms, Bepo’s eyes had really lit up. No matter what they might think of him by now, Law wasn’t a monster. He wasn’t going to crush the young bear’s hopes.

“Actually, speaking of that someone,” Law added, “keep an eye out for a giant blond idiot lumbering around out there in the snow. He’ll be impossible to miss. He has a stupid black coat and can’t take two steps without falling on his ass.”

That raised a few eyebrows but they agreed. With that settled, Law kicked some dirt over the blood he’d spilt. It wouldn’t do for Cora to come back to him and see that. He also moved his bedroll to the other side of the fire. From then on, he’d be sure to try to cure himself in one place and sleep in another. An irrational part of him worried that the lead would leech right back into him if he got too close to it.

It didn’t seem like the others needed warning twice to do the same. With all that settled, he laid down and closed his eyes. Despite his exhaustion, he hadn’t expected to sleep. He must have gone deep under, though, because the next thing he was aware of was being shook roughly.

“Hey! You’re not dead, are you?”

Law groaned and rolled over. “You keep saying that.”

“It keeps being true,” Penguin countered.

Law stretched out his limbs. When he sat up, he took a look at the foot he’d operated on. The skin was still extremely pale, with only small patches of tanned skin. It wasn’t white, though. Maybe that was hope. Maybe he really had gotten it all out and could someday start fresh. Maybe. But Law wasn’t one to hang his hat on possibilities. He was going to do what he could right now to remove every speck of lead, if he had to carve it all out.

He was feeling a bit stiff so he walked a short circuit around the cave to keep his muscles from getting too tight. That started a routine. He would move around, maybe take a step out to breathe the crisp, cold air, and then sit to operate. Each time he tried, he was able to get slightly better control. It meant he lost less blood in the process but it sapped away more stamina. Between that and the ravages of the Amber Lead, he barely had the energy to protest when the others would insist he stop to take another break.

He was able to get through three rounds of this— rest, stretch, operate, and repeat— before he passed out cold. He’d expected to awaken the way he had whenever he’d dozed off, with a shake from one of the others, but it was the bright light of day that woke him instead. He groggily rubbed the sleep from his eyes. When he looked around the cave blearily, he saw that the fire was down to flickering coals. Despite that, he was surprisingly warm and he realized it was because Bepo had snuggled close sometime in the night. Penguin and Shachi were also snoring next to each other near the mouth of the cave.

Law wiggled his toes and flexed his legs. He might not have gotten as far as he’d meant to, but he’d managed to remove the lead from both of his feet and calves. They felt a bit odd. Without closer examination, he could only speculate. Likely the feeling was a mix of his powers, which seemed to bestow a bit of numbing, and of whatever damage he’d done in his rough job excising the poison from his veins.

“Oh, you’re awake,” Penguin said. Law couldn’t tell if the other boy had already been awake himself, since the bill of his hat hid his eyes. “Sorry. Would have gotten you up but you seemed pretty out of it. I was a little worried one of these times you really would be dead.”

Law clicked his tongue. “It’ll take a lot more than any of this to kill me.”

Penguin let out a soft laugh. “I’m really starting to believe that.”

Their conversation awoke Bepo, who snuffled lightly in his sleep and then yawned wide enough to show off every one of his sharp teeth. His ears twitched and his nose wiggled as full wakefulness returned to him. His ears flattened back when he saw Law looking at him.

“Sorry. You looked cold.”

“No, it’s…” Law frowned. He had no doubt he’d slept so long because Bepo was there. He’d felt as safe and warm as he did bundled in Cora’s coat. That was a hard feeling for him to capture. “Thanks. You did warm me up.”

Bepo blinked as though he was as surprised by Law’s open gratitude as Law himself was. After a moment’s puzzlement, he smiled brightly.

Shachi was the last to wake up. He stretched broadly enough to knock Penguin in the side of the head. “You were supposed to get more wood for the fire.”

Penguin bumped him back with his shoulder. “You could have done it.”

“I was keeping guard.”

“Yeah, great job with that.”

Their bickering and the small scuffle that followed almost made Law miss Buffalo and Baby 5. They hadn’t been friends, exactly, but the closest Law could claim in the last few years. Then there was Cora, who wasn’t a friend but something else. Something good. Something he could maybe put a name to, like family, if he was given the time. If Cora came back.

Law had been so focused on figuring out his new abilities and curing the Amber Lead that he’d forgotten his fear for a time. It all came back at once and hit him hard. His chest tightened. His heart squeezed. He couldn’t just wait any longer.

“I’m going out,” he announced.

“Wait.” Shachi had his eyes glued outside while he fumbled at his side for his bat. “There’s someone out there. On the ridge. Someone is coming.”

Penguin looked out as well and then yelped. “Holy shit.”

He scrambled to grab his own bat. They stood, bats raised, in the mouth of the cave. It was hardly an imposing sight but the fact that they were shaking really undercut any strong face they might have put up. A hundred possibilities flew through Law’s mind, none of them good. If it was any member of the Family, they were dead. 

“What do you see?” he asked.

Maybe they were dead but if he could get a good idea of what they were up against, he could at least put up a fight.

“It’s Doflamingo,” Shachi hissed.

Law’s stomach plummeted. Even if he wasn’t at death’s door, he wasn’t ready to fight Doflamingo. And what did that mean for Cora? Had he escaped so Doflamingo was forced to hunt for him? Or was he…?

Law couldn’t even think it. He shoved himself up onto his feet, collapsed, and got back up. Screwed or not, if Doflamingo had done anything to Cora, Law was at least going to get one good hit in. If there was an afterlife and they were lucky enough to meet up there, Law would have to apologize to Cora for dying so quickly when he’d promised he would survive.

His legs were still slightly numb from the surgery he’d performed last night. He did his best to ignore it as he stomped out of the cave, knife in hand. Shachi and Penguin scrambled after. They looked like they sort of wanted to puke but they were ready to fight. Maybe Law had underestimated them.

Up on top of the ridge ahead a massive, feathered figure was silhouetted against the morning sun. Fear and anger warred inside of Law. He was smart enough to know he was no match but he would fight until his last breath to avenge Cora. He used both emotions as fuel to summon up a Room. Then his eyes adjusted to the light so that he was finally able to see the figure clearly.

“Law!”

It was Cora-san. Law couldn’t even bring himself to respond. All the fight went out of him and with it, his energy. The Room vanished as he collapsed to his knees. Cora ran, then slid, then tumbled down the snow covered hill. Law let out a breathless puff of laughter despite the hot tears that welled up in his eyes. He couldn’t believe it. He’d hoped but hope had felt like an impossible, foolish thing for so long. To have it really happen, he could barely believe it.

Shachi and Penguin, bats held aloft, formed a barricade that stopped Cora from reaching him.

“Don’t move another step,” Shachi warned.

Penguin tightened his grip and nodded. “You might kick our asses but not before we take out your knees.”

Cora seemed to have only just noticed the other two boys. He looked at them, looked at the blood that still stained their bats, and then looked back down at Law. “I saw the blood in the snow back there. Did you hurt him?”

Cora’s voice was a low and threatening rumble. Law knew from experience that he at least wasn’t above throwing children. He probably wouldn’t hurt them but Law knew that he should probably interfere. He had to admit, though, that he was kind of interested in being on the other side of that for once.

“We didn’t do anything to him,” Shachi said quickly.

“I mean, we tried to,” Penguin added. “But he kinda kicked our asses.”

“Tch, you don’t have to tell him that.”

“What? I don’t wanna die for something we didn’t do.”

They’d completely taken their eyes off of Cora now and were busy bickering with each other. Law was almost embarrassed for them. Cora, for his part, just looked confused. Law decided it was finally time to intervene. He quickly dashed away the tears still pooled in his eyes and got to his feet once more.

“Look at his clothes, you idiots. That’s not Doflamingo.”

His feathered coat was not the vivid pink that Doflamingo notoriously wore but charcoal black. If that wasn’t evidence enough, sometime in the night Cora had traded in his bloodied outfit from the day before for a marine uniform. He’d also wiped his face completely clean, which admittedly did make him look more like Doflamingo rather than less, but that was the most shocking detail for Law. Even on the road, Cora had kept it up, perhaps with some vague intention of staying undercover.

“What kind of Marine wears a coat like that?” Penguin asked.

Shachi’s head perked. “Oh wait… blond. Tall. Black coat. This is the guy you said you were waiting for. He even fell on his ass like you said he would.”

Cora ignored the part where Law had apparently been insulting him and lit up at the rest. “You were talking about me?”

Law groaned. “Of course I was, you idiot. I was worried about you. Last time I saw you, you were full of bullets and off to fight Doflamingo.”

Cora blew past Shachi and Penguin, who at this point were too shocked to do anything about him anyway, and swept Law up into his arms. He hugged Law hard enough that it actually hurt, but Law didn’t care one bit.

Big, stupid tears were already streaming out of Cora’s eyes. “I’m so glad you’re okay.”

Law sputtered out a wet laugh. He was crying again despite himself. That idiot. That monumental idiot. He was actually back. “Me? You’re the one who went to fight the Family alongside a bunch of stupid marines when you were already half dead.”

“Well, as it turned out, after they had their fill of the Barrells pirates and that cage came down, they ended up getting chased off by Tsuru. I think she’s still hounding Doffy as we speak. So I think I spent more time convincing them I was a marine than fighting. And I got patched up by some field medics. That’s part of what held me up in coming after you.”

Law frowned. He knew who Tsuru was but only because she’d so often chased the Family off one island or another. It was still weird to think Cora was working alongside someone like that. Weirder still to think he was probably the reason old Tsuru had always been on their tails. It was one thing to realize Donquixote Rosinante was a marine and quite another to have all the implications of that laid out for him. He would ponder all that later. There was only one part that concerned him at the moment.

“Marine medics? That’s who looked you over?”

“What? What’s wrong with that? I’m a marine, you know.”

“Let me look you over. I could do a better job.”

“I have no doubt you could but you were barely keeping conscious last time I saw you. I don’t want you pushing yourself, kid.”

“Yeah, well, I spent most of the night working on removing lead, so I’m fine.”

Cora held Law out at arms length, leaving Law dangling nine feet in the air while he faced down a radiant smile. “You did it? You figured out how to cure yourself? I knew you could!”

“I only started. I might have gotten it all out if it weren’t for these guys.”

Law jerked a thumb at Shachi and Penguin who shrank under the returned weight of Cora’s attention. 

“He was going to bleed to death,” Penguin argued.

“We were trying to help,” Shachi insisted.

Cora pulled Law back, snug against his chest. He raised an eyebrow that disappeared underneath his shaggy bangs. “Is that true?”

Law scowled. “They’re oversimplifying.”

“It seems pretty simple to me,” Cora countered. “Was the blood inside or outside of your body? You don’t need to be a medical prodigy to know that.”

“Some blood. I had some very minor blood loss when I started to remove the lead. I’m getting better at it each time, though.” He doubted the second part would matter much to Cora but he refused to let it seem like he was some incompetent hack. Cora only hugged him more tightly. It was enough to make his ribs ache but it felt good after thinking he’d never get to see Cora again. Not that he would say that out loud. “If I’m in danger of anything it’s that you’ll crush me to death.”

Cora ruffled the top of his head so that his hat was left askew. “Good to see you’re doing better, brat. Have you eaten anything?”

He posed the question not just at Law but at Penguin and Shachi below. This question more than anything else that had happened left them looking baffled. They looked over their shoulders as if expecting to see someone else there. When they saw no one, not even Bepo, they turned two blank faces up at Cora.

Shachi gestured between them. “Us? Have we eaten?”

“I don’t see anyone else,” Cora said with a soft chuckle.

“There’s also a polar bear Mink. Bepo,” Law supplied.

“Ah, well, he can come along too, if he wants. But yes, you two. I figured if you all spent the night in a cave, you might want something warm to eat. Then,” he said, turning his attention back on Law, “we can discuss just how much blood loss did or did not happen.”

Law resisted the very strong urge to flip him off and settled instead for sticking out his tongue. “Fine, as long as we don’t leave Bepo. He’s still my patient.”

“I’ll go get him,” Penguin offered.

“And I’ll get your stuff,” Shachi said, already on his way back to the cave.

As soon as they were out of earshot, Law squirmed in Cora’s grip so that he could really turn the full power of his scowl on the clumsy marine. “Don’t leave me like that again. We’re supposed to be doing this together.”

Law almost missed the stupid clown makeup. Cora’s big, dopey smiles almost seemed too bright without that dark edge around them. “I’m sure you’d manage without me. You’re a remarkable kid, you know.”

“I don’t care.” He couldn’t imagine what that would have been like, doing this all on his own. He knew he’d survived worse but he didn’t want to go through more. He wanted Cora with him, alive and safe and smiling. “Together.”

“Alright, alright. I won’t argue with you there.” Cora rested his chin on top of Law’s head. “Together.”

[starkeristheendgame]

If you are okay with it, I was wondering if you could do a body switch soulmate au. When you first make eye contact with your soulmate you switch bodies. You stay in each other's bodies for 24 hours. I feel like this could cause some shenanigans on both sides. Tony hasn't had to be taught anything in awhile and Peter doesn't know how to run a company.

I was a little apprehensive about this idea at first but honestly? I adore it. I am afraid, however, I took this away from the ‘humor’ pathway and plopped it straight down into ‘light angst’. Please accept my apologies for that - And I’d be happy to write something more lighthearted if this doesn’t hit the spot. Keeping your own emotions and mindset out of what you write is hard sometimes. 

Slight AU in that they meet differently to CW. 

TW: Light angst | Slight hurt 

He was going to lose his fucking mind. He could feel each one of his IQ points disintegrating as he stared at the board (an actual digital board, what fucking year were they in? 2015?) and tapped his pen restlessly on the desk. He hadn’t been to school since he was eighteen. The last time he’d been in a classroom was January, giving a motivational speech to Princeton graduates. 

He felt too small and too stifled and if this woman pronounced Epinephrine wrong one more time, he was going to launch his desk at her and snap that stupid board in half. 

Because he could do that, now. Displays of sheer power. Because Peter Parker had been bitten by a genetically modified spider and Tony was currently occupying Peter’s body. 

Soulmates were so, so overrated. 

“Hey, wonder kid. Tap that pen one more time” the girl to his left whispered, and Tony shot her a cool side-eye. MJ quirked a brow at him, equally unimpressed, and nodded to the board. Tony scowled but knew the effect was ruined by the soft, pretty baby-face he currently wore. Curse Peter and his lopsided brows and his huge eyes. Curse soulmates for existing. 

MJ was thus far the only one who’d noticed The Switch. It was only sheer coincidence that Peter and Tony both had brown eyes of a similar enough shade that the telling switch of eye colour between soulmates hadn’t given them away. MJ, however, was astoundingly attuned into her best friend, and it had only taken three minutes in her presence for her scowl at him and ask who the fuck was wearing her friend’s meatsuit. Tony had to begrudgingly admit that he could see why her and Peter were good friends. She’d looked unimpressed at his claim until he’d pulled out his (Peter’s) phone to show the frantic texts from that morning, and then she’d huffed, rolled her eyes, and dragged him to first period. 

He thought lunch would be a reprieve when it came, but instead he found himself staring with growing dismay at a tray of food that he’d refuse even if he was a prisoner, blanching in disgust when a sloppy excuse for a mac’n’cheese was dumped into one of the slots. “I’m going to die” he complained, ushered along by an unsympathetic MJ. “This is cruel. This is inhumane. Dogs don’t even get fed this”. 

“Yeah, well. You’re a billionaire, so. Put up or shut up. I have no sympathy for capitalist elitists”. And, wow, rude. But understandable. He sank down onto one of the bench seats and tried to stop his stomach from rolling at the way the meal wobbled when it was set down. He’d been poking at it for several moments, largely ignored by MJ, when a shadow fell over his table. He looked up and stared with disinterest at the sneering figure above him, before he sighed. 

“Which one are you, then? Neb? Flake?” 

“Flash” the form above him frowned, and Tony waved a dismissive hand. 

“Yeah, whatever. Class killed off half my IQ points and I’m not wasting the rest on you. Off you pop”. He turned back to his pitiful excuse of a meal, prodding the macaroni distrustfully with his fork. The boy besides him gaped, flustered, before turning on his heel and stomping off. When Tony glanced up, the girl was looking appraisingly over her book at him. 

“Maybe you should leave your balls behind. Peter could do with them” she noted, before dropping her gaze again. 

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

“How much money does he actually have?” 

“Sir’s total net worth including assets, liabilities and investments are currently estimated at just short of a trillion, Mr. Parker. In terms of ‘real time currently’ Sir has £515,268,385,012 as of the current hour”. 

Peter was gonna pass out. He was wearing the body of a man with five-hundred billion in the bank. He’d known Tony Stark was rich, obscenely and un-necessarily so, but that was a whole other level. Vaguely unsteady, he sank down on the plush couch, feeling a little green. It had already been a few hours since waking, but he had yet to get used to the fact that he was, for all intents and purposes, Tony Stark. 

“Does that bother you?” The artificial voice asked after a moment, sounding impossibly curious. Peter hadn’t thought AI of this level possible, but here he was, talking to a voice that was more realistic than some of the living people he knew. 

“Its...A shock, I guess. I mean, it does bother me, I suppose. Nobody needs that much money. That much cold cash alone could eradicate homelessness in America. But...I don’t know. Its his money, he earns it. He saves the world and stuff. I don’t know how you could put a value on some of the things he’s done”. 

The AI was quiet for a moment, pensive. “Sir’s ‘profession’ is high cost also, Mr. Parker. The worth of the Mark IVII alone is £6,000,500,000”. Peter thought about it for a moment, then gave in, humming softly. He supposed in that sense, having that much money kind of didn’t matter, then, when a huge chunk of it was consumed by saving the world. He’d seen how often that suit got dinged up, and had no doubt repairs and replacing parts was costly. 

“Am I allowed to get something to eat?” He asked after a moment, stomach rumbling a little. He’d spent so much time this morning freaking out and being consoled by JARVIS that he’d missed breakfast and lunch had slipped him by. 

“Of course, Mr. Parker. Several components of the kitchen are automated, but I am capable of guiding through any recipes or devices you are unfamiliar with”. 

JARVIS had apparently activated something called ‘Romeo and Juliet Protocol’ when it had been revealed that Tony had been Switched, and a large majority of the Tower was closed off and protected. Peter couldn’t leave the penthouse and JARVIS had strict control of everything, even down to the doors. Peter was happy enough to just sit there and wait it out, though. As amazing as being here was, snooping was rude, especially when what he could find could potentially compromise the entire world. 

He chose to make a simple, small sandwich which involved nothing more than a single knife and plate, marvelling at the giant fridge and the ridiculous amount of food within. Apparently Mr. Stark had a chef that stopped by once every other day with prepared meals, and was on-call for whenever he required a fresh meal without having to cook it. The produce was organic and far different to the sad, wilting lettuce that could be found at the local Cheap Fresh. 

Technically, if it was plausible, when you Switched you were supposed to follow a specific protocol set up by the Government, but Mr. Stark had ultimately lost his entire mind at discovering his soulmate was fourteen and had immediately demanded Peter stay locked up like Rapunzel while he pretended to be him for the day to throw off suspicion. Peter couldn’t deny that had hurt a little, but he understood it. Soulmates or not it would be the scandal of the century - Tony would be called all sorts of things at best and investigated at worst, and the nature of their age difference meant a lifetime of interference and monitoring by the Government and protective services. He knew it was easier to pretend it hadn’t happened, to hide it from the world. Tony had suggested a private agreement, a ridiculous sum of money in exchange for Peter’s silence. 

He realised he’d been staring morosely at his plate when JARVIS prompted him softly, and he sighed, taking a bite. There was no physical remote for the TV but JARVIS helped him to access a cache of movies and he settled on Inception, his weakness for Tom Hardy and Leonardo DiCaprio soothing the ache of his new reality. 

“Am I allowed to ask what running a business is like?” He asked after a while, head balanced on his palm. 

“In what regard, Mr. Parker?” 

“Well, I don’t know. I mean, I’m fifteen. I don’t know how to run a company, let alone run a company and be a superhero. What kinda stuff does he do? Does he attend meetings? Does he fly around the world on company retreats like in the movies?” 

JARVIS sounded lightly amused when he replied. “Sir has delegated much of the daily company operation amongst several trusted employees, but he is still the namesake, owner and CEO of Stark Industries. He does attend frequent meetings, but most of Sir’s ‘flying around the world’ is done for leisure or Iron Man related activity”. 

“Sir spends most of his time in the lab, conducting important work for both his priorities. Sir also does a respectable amount of charity work, investment work and supportive work. I believe his latest venture is funding the entirety of MIT’s PhD graduate projects”. 

Wow. That was...That would be a lot of money. And being supported by someone like Tony Stark was bound to be something to boast about, something that would fluff up your resume a little. 

“Does he enjoy it?” Peter asked after a moment, fingertips raising absently to the arc reactor in his chest. It ached constantly, a low-level background pain that never quite faded out of touch, the odd sensation of a gaping maw in his chest something that had made him heave earlier that morning. Mr. Stark was tired, burnt out, but still going. It made Peter want to spend his twenty-four hours just sleeping, to try and soothe the man’s headache. 

“Sir finds great gratification in his duties” JARVIS replied quietly, though he did not specify which. Peter gave a hum and succumbed to the desire to nap, curled up on the corner of the couch with Inception fading quietly into the background. 

He ate again when he woke up, and blinked when he saw the time. Mr. Stark’s phone had been heavily locked down, but he could still access the message channel between this number and his own. The messages there were disheartening. 

Told your hot Aunt I’m staying at that Nate kids house tonight. I’ll be coming to the Tower, but you won’t see me. I’ll stay on the level below.

Sorry, kid. Seeing someone else wearing me like a Givenchy suit is just too head-spinning. 

JARVIS will keep you safe up there. We switch back at midnight, so try and get some sleep. You’ll wake up as yourself and I’ll get the plan in motion. 

“JARVIS, when was the last time Mr. Stark cried?” He asked timidly, and the AI was silent for a moment. 

“Four years ago, Mr. Parker”. 

“Oh,” he breathed out, vision blurring. “I’m sorry. I’m afraid I’m about to ruin that” and he let the teardrops fall.

[cotncandyboifics]

The Bidding of the Prince Twins: Chapter 1

AO3 Link

Masterpost

Chapter 2 ~

Pairings: (vague/qpr) Loceit, eventual Analoceit

Word count: 2,977

Story summary: Virgil finds himself being held hostage in an unknown location. His two suspected captors seem to care for him more than any strangers should, especially strangers who kidnapped him. But were they really the ones who kidnapped him? That aside, Virgil also can't shake the feeling that there's something familiar about them. He just can't pin-point what it is. As time passes, the layers of lies the three of them are caught in are gradually peeled away, one by one.

General CW: U!Roman, U!Remus, food, kidnapping, implied Stockholm Syndrome, moderate to severe amnesia, swearing, sexual innuendos, graphic descriptions of gore/violence/scarring, minor character d-aths, anxiety attacks, panic attacks, non-graphic descriptions of needles (will be added to as I write more)

Chapter CW: food mentioned, minor amnesia, kidnapping hostage, swearing, non-graphic description of anxiety attack, non-graphic description of a needle (let me know if i missed anything please!)

Author Notes: <none>

...

Virgil winced, squinting sharply as a blinding white light was trained on his face. A giant light getting forced into someone's face would be jarring under any circumstances, but it was especially so considering he had previously been engulfed in an almost equally jarring darkness. He'd also just awoken from an unexpected stint of disorienting unconsciousness.

He felt a presence behind the light, and the edges of hair tufts caught bits of light from behind the cone of death that was focused on him. The figure was clearly tall, and though Virgil was seated, he could easily tell that if he weren't, this person would probably be a head taller than him at the very least. He tried to twist his wrists in the several zip-ties that had them bound together behind his back, as well as to a rod running up the center of the back of his chair. He clenched his jaw, looking down as the light sent a shock-wave of pain through his eyes.

"Virgil Black." A stern monotone voice came from where he'd seen the shiny bits of hair before. It's familiarity wasn't striking, but it had a relatively calming effect on Virgil's nerves, so his mind didn't feel the need to follow that train of thought.

"That's me, man," He tried, voice coming out slightly hoarse. "Mind explaining why the fuck you've got me tied up in this interrogation basement? Last I checked I'm not involved in any CIA bullshit," He sneered. Suddenly, he heard the sound of someone pushing a chair out and standing sounded somewhere to his right, behind the first figure. Someone else was there too. A step or two sounded as the second entity vaguely came toward Virgil. Great, two assholes to shake off.

"Very funny." A deeper voice came, much snarkier than the first. Virgil felt his spine tingle. This voice was oddly familiar as well, but he was still too out of sorts to try and figure out why.

"I apologize for the unsavory conditions, but it is imperative that our identities be kept classified for the time being. All we need is a minute amount of information, and we will be on our way." The first voice again. A very small clacking sound of plastic came from near the figure's face.

"Imperative to what?" Virgil hissed between clenched teeth, looking back up at the mysterious person. This time, he was able to pick out another feature; the light also caught what appeared to be the rim and lens of a pair of square prescription glasses. That explained the plastic clacking, he guessed. Virgil doubted they could be any other sort of glasses; it's possible that this person was a constantly-wearing-sunglasses type, but based on his brief time interacting with them, Virgil didn't really buy that. As well, some part of his intuition told him they were most certainly prescription, the same part that had noted the familiarity of both voices.

"That will also have to remain classified for now. But enough." The voice grew firm. Virgil tried to keep himself from swallowing audibly. "What are the most recent events that you remember, Virgil?"

He tried to think. "Well it's awful hard to recall anything with that giant light in my face, so can I have a minute to think? On top of that my memory is shit anyway because of my anxiety. Is that cool with you, thing 1 and thing 2?" A scoff came from Thing 2, seemingly off in the corner. Virgil hoped the half-hearted remark would keep them entertained as he tried twisting his ankles. They were tightly and securely duct taped to the legs of his chair, which was slowly cutting off his circulation. He felt his toes starting to grow cold and tingly. That meant he'd only been secured like this for a short amount of time, a couple minutes at most.

"By all means. Take your time." Still the first figure's voice, dripping with sincerity. Virgil detected what seemed to be a hint of remorse in their voice, as if they genuinely felt sorry, or at least uncomfortable with what they were doing. Virgil wondered why the second person was so evasive. He figured he'd try to provoke them into speaking again soon.

But for now, he had to think. What was the last thing he remembered? Before a throbbing headache, before the pitch black, before the sound of heavy rusty doors whining open and closed, and two sets of footsteps approaching him. He hadn't really registered them at the time; he'd been too disoriented, he guessed from some sort of anesthetic.

He tried to think back further. He pulled basic facts from his mind, hoping to jog his memory. He lived in New York, in a one-bedroom apartment with his roommate and best friend Patton. They'd fit two twin beds in their little bedroom. They were both Seniors at NYU. That started things off, at least. He spent a lingering moment recalling the cat they both took care of together. Her name was Natalie, and she was pitch black, each and every hair on her body a rich raven shade.

He knew Patton had planned to have a little get-together with some Psych major friends he had, and encouraged Virgil to bring some of his Techie buddies. They'd gone shopping for snacks last night.

He figured he'd start with that.

"Well, I remember Tuesday night for sure. Me and my roommate went grocery shopping. Getting snacks for a little get-together we were having. Not my idea, of course. I'm not a huge fan of parties, or-"

"We asked for your most recent memories, not your life story," drawled the second voice. Virgil smirked behind his bangs. "Will you get on with it already? Unless Tuesday night is really your most recent memory."

"As much as your- contributions - are appreciated, J, I am conducting this interrogation, and I'd prefer if you'd keep your snide comments to yourself for at least the first session," The first voice came again, hushed and sounding strained. Virgil clung to what little information he got from the comment. The second voice belonged to someone who could be identified as "J" apparently, and this was the first... session? Virgil had to set his mental notes aside for the time being though, since he had evidently not yet produced an adequate response. "My apologies, Virgil. My colleague is... rather, anxious, to... move things along. You may continue."

"No sweat. Sounds like J just needs a bit of a chill pill." Virgil smirked in the general direction he'd heard J's voice coming from. He was met with an almost disturbing silence. As expected. "Anyway. I remember shopping, and heading home, and... eventually sleeping. Ah, I guess I woke up a little late Wednesday morning, because I was rushing around and shit. My roommate looked kinda worried about it, but that's just how he is." Virgil paused for a moment. He wondered if these two mysterious figures knew about Patton and NYU and where he lived and everything, and considering he knew nothing about them or what they wanted from him, he wouldn't have been surprised. Regardless, he figured it would be best to keep things as anonymous as possible for the time being. "...Hmm. Then I think I rushed onto the bus. I think I caught it just before it was leaving. I got to, where I was going, and did what I was meaning to do, and then... I guess I headed home? I remember the thing I had to do, and finishing it, but... after that things get kinda foggy. I dunno." He paused again. A beat of silence. "Then again, I'll probably remember more in a few minutes. Especially if I'm not being literally slowly blinded." He finished, looking up at the figure behind the light with as large eyes as he could manage. The figure cleared their throat.

"Thank you Virgil. As well, there is no need for anonymity. We are fully aware of your roommate Patton, and the Economics lecture you nearly missed on Wednesday. However, your attempt at omission was... if nothing else, entertaining." Virgil scoffed under his breath. Even if his anxiety had predicted this just moments before, he was getting really freaked out now. It's never the same at all, imagining worst case scenarios and actually living them. The initial shock of this whole situation was wearing off, giving way to panic.

"At this time, in return all I can offer you is this. You are aware of the second man in your presence, I'm sure. For now you will know him as J, as you clearly caught on to rather quickly."

"He loves the witty ones," J's voice came this time directly from Virgil's left, and much closer than before. It took all of Virgil's self control not to flinch away. "So you'll entertain him well. He's L, by the way."

L cleared his throat. "Yes, thank you J. I shall be addressed as L. You will likely only see both of us at once. Perhaps on rare occasions we will each come in alone, but J and I are partnered, so that would likely do little more than impair our... performance."

"Partnered? Performance? What am I, a high school science project?" Virgil snickered bitterly. "My wrists are starting to hurt pretty fucking bad. This is pretty sketchy, L. I didn't fucking do anything wrong. Why am I here?" Virgil tried not to let the shrill breathiness overtake his voice too much, but the anxiety rising in his chest was far from merciful. He tried to calm himself internally, but that wasn't exactly working out.

"I can understand your frustrations," L replied, and the glint of his glasses shifted, the small plastic clacking sound coming again with it. Virgil realized it was just L adjusting his glasses, likely out of habit. "But, for your safety, I cannot give you a direct answer to any of those questions yet. Ah, except; no, you are not a high school science project." Virgil could practically taste the smirk on L's face. He wanted to spit at him. He wanted to tear himself out of the fucking zip ties and duct tape. He felt his heart pounding in his chest.

"Listen, I get that you two are having a jolly good time fucking me up, but I'm," Virgil struggled, each word becoming harder to force out of his trembling mouth, "I'm kinda freaking out here." He hated the way his voice cracked then.

Virgil could see the glint of L's glasses shifting again, the tall man turning to look at his sarcastic counterpart. A short nod, and with a small clicking sound, the light was shut off.

Somehow, the room seemed darker than it had before. The change was so disorienting that Virgil couldn't pinpoint just where the sounds of shuffling of feet around him were coming from or going. No screeching metal door sounds came though, so he knew J and L had to be in the room with him still. His breathing was becoming very labored, and it overwhelmed him as the only sound he could hear. God, how he hated anxiety attacks.

"Virgil." J's voice came from directly in front of him - J was likely crouched to be on Virgil's level - and it was uncharacteristically silky smooth. He flinched that time, but was able to keep himself from hissing. He was only sure it was J's because of its specific inflections; there was no way this could be L, and there was certainly no fourth person in the room (he hoped). "I understand you are very disoriented right now, but the last thing we want to do is cause you an anxiety attack. My sincerest apologies for triggering the beginning of one. That aside, I need you to focus on your breathing. Nothing but your breaths and the sound of my voice."

His voice felt like butter melting, gliding across a hot pan and leaving a silky trail. Or maybe like warm honey running down flushed skin. Virgil was captivated, and thank fuck, because if it weren't for Fuck Face #2 over here, he doubted he would have been able to get out of this one so easily. So he focused, focused hard on the labored breaths he was huffing.

"Now, I need you to try to slow down. Just a little bit. Slow down for me. Feel the air filling and retreating in your lungs. Let it stay a little longer. Then, let it leave in a gentle skip instead of a frantic sprint." God, if Virgil wasn't Fucking Freaking Out right now, he'd probably be trying to flirt with Mr. Butter-tongue, considering the shivers going up his spine weren't only thanks to his panic disorder.

Gradually, he managed to slow down. It wasn't a straight path, but eventually he got there. J continued cooing sweet nothings to him as he came down before any sort of climax. He thanked the darkness for hiding his horridly hot face from his captors. He heard a slight creasing of fabric.

"All better?" J's smile was practically visible with the way he almost sweetly sneered those words. His voice came from higher up, so Virgil knew he must've stood once again. He just scoffed in a half-assed cover up.

"Sure, Fuck Face Number two." He tried rocking himself side to side in his chair, but it seemed to be attached to the floor. He groaned.

J tsked a few times. "Is that any way to talk to someone who just kept you from what would surely have been a horridly exhausting anxiety attack? Honestly. You ought to be more grateful, Virgil." Virgil was beginning to passionately hate the way J talked; so sassy and drawly, as if he thought he was some serious hot stuff. Virgil wanted to smack him something awful.

He heard soft receding footsteps, feeling J's presence recoil.

"So how does this work? Is someone gonna have to whip out my dick for me when I have to pee?" Virgil prodded at the void around him.

"Very funny, Virgil. No, you will soon be... enlightened, regarding your temporary living situation, so to speak." L's voice came again, finally, from slightly to the right. It was a lot less variant in tone than J's, and Virgil greatly appreciated the constancy.

He couldn't respond soon enough; he felt something pierce his skin on his left outer thigh. Warm breath teasing at skin behind his left ear was the last thing he remembered. "Go to sleep, V. We'll see you again very soon."

"Night night, J," He whispered, before the lights really went out.

...

Logan sighed, shrugging off his navy pinstriped suit jacket as he shut the door behind him. He held it by the collar in one hand, turning to survey the disheveled mess that the observation room had become over such a short period of time.

Piles and piles of paper were stacked high on the wall-to-wall desk, and stacked higher on the floor. The interrogation light - just an industrial Flashlight with a cone of metal wrapped around it's end to amplify it - had been discarded lazily in one corner. Janus was seated at said desk, slouched over himself on a fold-out metal chair, resting his chin on his palm as he looked out through the false mirror at a peacefully sleeping Virgil.

His hat was resting on a corner of the back of his chair, along with his gold-encrusted swallowtail coat. He looked a bit of a mess. His hair was fraying and splaying everywhere. His eyes looked tired, even if Logan could only see his one blind eye from this angle. The jagged scars that crept up his neck and covered the side of his face seemed paler than usual.

"Are you okay, Janus?" Logan inquired as neutrally as he could manage, sitting beside his friend.

Janus merely side-eyed Logan, in his all-knowing way. "I think you and I both know the answer to that question."

"Look, I know this method is-- well, disconcerting," Logan's words rushed out of his mouth as if they were being chased, "but we do not have another choice right now. We will get this over with soon... we will find a way to get through this." Logan cleared his throat and fidgeted with his tie. Janus considered rolling his eyes and responding snidely, but he knew Logan wasn't taking kindly to these new... circumstances either.

"We will." He settled on an attempt to be reassuring. Janus had always been good at that, or at least he'd been told so. He only wished it worked on himself too, especially now. Logan offered a small smile.

A long silence overtook them. They both simply sat side by side and observed their unconscious hostage. He was sprawled rather inelegantly across a deep grey satin bed, one arm wrapped in a death grip around a plush pillow. His leg stuck out haphazardly over the edge of the bed, and his hair was in worse shape than Janus' - which was saying something, since Janus' hair was notoriously wavy and curly and constantly out of sorts, while Virgil's was just straight. His mouth was slacked open, but he didn't snore. His eyebags were somehow visible under his black eyeshadow.

Logan broke the silence first. This normally would have dismayed Janus, but again, these were... unusual circumstances. "Well, he seems figuratively out cold for the time being. Shall we seek out some sustenance?" Logan shrugged his suit jacket back on. Janus didn't move a muscle.

"I'm not hungry right now. You go ahead, I'll make sure he doesn't wake up and start tearing out his hair or something." Janus' somber tone stole his voice's usual sarcasm. Logan rested a hand on his shoulder with a great softness.

"I'll grab you a little something. Try not to stress yourself out too much." With that, Logan set a water bottle on the desk beside Janus' elbow and left in near silence.

Janus heard a faint receding clicking as Logan walked away down the hall.

[xenolithium]

Morning Sickness (Prussia & America)

Alfred awoke when the room grew oddly silent. Silent enough that he could hear a pin drop or listen to the spider in the corner of his hotel room spin it's web. Which was strange, because he most certainly had fallen asleep next to Gilbert of all people last. He remembered because neither of them had been in anyway drunk for a change after having a bit of fun out and about. Eating and drinking to their heart's content before finally making their way back here to play a few games and then pass out on the bed together. However, they made sure not to drink too much this time, because they both had a meeting to attend today. And a meeting hungover was just an extra headache added to the one you normally got attending sober.

Alfred suddenly heard the faucet in the attached bathroom turn on. Which gave him an idea of where Gilbert went to, if he wasn't snoring louder than a jet engine beside him. So Al closed his eyes, realizing his friend was okay and attempted to sleep again. However, when the bathroom door opened and Gilbert didn't immediately join him in bed again only to attack him with surprisingly cold feet, he peeked over through his lashes.

What he saw immediately had him sitting up and sliding out of bed. Concern clawing at his mind as he witnessed the much older nation clutching both the doorframe for support and his stomach in pain. "Gilbo, what happened? You okay?" He couldn't help reaching out and steadying the other man, even if it got him a scathing glare. The proud Prussian was never one to accept help, or have Al clinging to him, because currently his urge to protect the albino was too strong to ignore. Protecting Gil from anything was apparently an insult to the war born nation. And one he made well known every time Al did it. But the amount of shits Al gave was equal to zero, he didn't just sit back and let shit happen to his loved ones.

"I'm fine, this is nothing," he said through grit teeth, sweat dotting his brow. "The awesome me doesn't get sick."

Alfred frowned and looked him over, gently moving a hand to press against his stomach, only to get a startled yelp in response. "I'm not doubting your awesomeness here but I think you should get some rest, my dude."

"I'm fine! I'm going today and that's final!" Gil argued which Al honestly expected as he sighed, glancing around the room.

"I think I have some stomach medication in my suitcase."

"Are you listening to me, arschgeige?!" Al received a swift kick to his lower leg for his troubles. Which he normally would've pretended did something to him, just to boost Gil's ego. But he wasn't in the mood for ego boosting, he needed to get Gil to bed before he got any worse standing around like an idiot.

"Stop calling me weird things and get some bed rest."

"I said I'm fine!"

Al was just about done arguing with him when clearly it wasn't getting them anywhere. So he dragged Gil's ass to bed regardless. Ignoring his protests and how he would throw a fit similarly to a child the whole way there. Finally bundling him up under a few blankets before experiencing possibly the cutest glare ever, just beyond the thick sheets. Gilbert openly calling him random insults in German, which didn't sound too insulting if he were being honest.

He grinned at him, which got him another kick from under the sheets as he moved to retrieve a hot water bottle for his companion's stomach as well as the stomach medication he promised he had laying around earlier.

"Ya, done insulting me?" He teased as he placed the hot water bottle against Gil's stomach and watched him take the medication.

"No. I told you I'm not sick. I don't get sick, this is completely useless." Alfred couldn't help but snicker at the blush painting Gil's cheeks and the bridge of his nose. Which caused him to look away in embarrassment.

"Food poisoning happens to the best of us. Besides I can be your totally awesome and good looking nurse while you recover!"

Gilbert gave him a long and hard look. "Great, now I'm sure to die."

"Hey! I'm a great nurse and you can't even die from this!"

"I'm sure you'd figure out a way," Gilbert huffed, turning away from the American and grumbling into his pillow.

Alfred shook his head and rolled his eyes, staring at Gilbert for a good long while as he decided what to do next. He settled on something that always turned Gil to putty in his hands. Reaching out and gently popping every sore spot and knot along his back. Chuckling at the surprised moan he got, the grumbling from earlier shifting to demands to go lower or higher. Which was then accompanied by another moan. It seemed his complaints would be forgotten, for at least the time being.

[sevryx]

A Partnership, of Sorts

Fandom: Star Wars/The Mandalorian

Pairing: Mandalorian/Reader

Rating: M

Summary:

“Let me ask you something.” He said, more as a statement than a request. “Who am I to you?”

"A business partner. And a trusted companion.”

The Mandalorian simply stared back at you. You cleared your throat. He turned away. It was a seemingly endless stretch of time before he responded.

“Is that all?”

READ IT ON AO3

He was quiet when you first met him.

“Am I mad? Mad doesn’t begin cover it!”

His voice was still husky, smooth and handsome even through the modulator. But this time, he was yelling at you. The sounds of gunfire faded into the distance, or maybe that was just your ears failing you.

“Broken a few windows, maybe fatally wounded a few patrons – that’s mad! You set fire to establishment and almost blew up our asset! And ourselves! What the hell were you thinking?”

You couldn’t help the laugh that wheezed out of your lungs, cut into fragments between your pained gasps and being jostled in his arms as you were carried back to the ship.

“And now you’re laughing about it!?”

You couldn’t see very well, but the familiar hissing sound of the door of the Razor Crest alerted you that you were now aboard the ship.

“I know y-you’re upset, Mando… I can see it from – ah!” You grimaced as another stream of hot blood leaked from your side, the taste of copper and burnt debris on your lips bitter in your mouth. “From the  – the look on your f-face!” You laughed, deciding your joke was good enough to be worth breaking into another coughing fit.

He threw you onto a bed, a little rougher than warranted. He apparently did not find it humorous.

“You’re lucky we still got the full bounty! And I have half the mind to keep your share for the trouble you caused!”

Gloved hands began to tear away at your charred armor, exposing the gnarled flesh on your torso to find a dark gash full of ashes and shrapnel. For once, you couldn’t find the words to speak in the midst of the searing pain.

“This is going to hurt. A lot.”

He sounded almost apologetic, anger giving way to something softer, yet equally urgent. Something fearful.

The last thing you heard before losing consciousness was the sound of the cauterizer turning on.

*          *          *          *          *          *          *          *          *          *          *          *          *

You woke up to a throbbing headache and the sound of anxious pacing. You took an experimental breath in, feeling a sharp aching in your torso and a heavy creaking in your limbs. Swallowing hard, you clenched your jaw, collecting your observations with eyes still shut. You weren’t wearing any of your armor – you were not wearing familiar clothing at all, but clothing that seemed much too large to fit you. You were not covered in a thick layer of blood and dirt and grime. And you were not in your regular sleeping quarters on the ship, but in someone else’s bed covered by someone else’s blankets. This equaled three discrepancies to your typical disposition and brought a wrinkle of concern to your brow.

“You’re awake.”

You grunted in a blunt agreement.

“… Are you okay?”

You opened your eyes. “I’m not dead, so I’m fine.”

“I appreciate that your standard is ‘not dead’.” Heavy footsteps approached your bedside. “That’s good. Let’s keep it that way. ‘Not dead’ makes for a great bare minimum.”

There was a beat of silence before you spoke again. You were used to his sarcasm, but not like this. Not with such a bite. With such unfiltered grief.

“I’m sorry.” You offered.

Another beat of silence.

Then the Mandalorian laughed at you. Even through the muffle of the helmet, it was a deep, rich kind of laugh despite the pang of pain behind it, the kind that made people smile involuntarily and bite their lower lip in response. Or maybe that was just you. You smiled softly.

“And here I thought your ‘way’ didn’t allow you to have fun?”

You stared at the reflective helmet that was angled directly towards your own face. Though his expression wasn’t visible, it was clear that there were countless thoughts running through the man’s head. He seemed relieved.

“I could have lost you.”

It was uncharacteristic. The pain in his tone plucked effortlessly at your own heartstrings and you felt guilt wash over you. The Mandalorian sat on the bed beside you, careful not to cause you any more discomfort that the previous night had.

“I appreciate your concerns, Mando, but -"

“Din.” He interrupted you. Clearing his throat awkwardly, he turned away for a moment before staring back at you. “Din Djarin.”

You stared with your mouth ajar for a second too long before pursing your lips. “I appreciate your concerns, Din,” you repeated, “But I wouldn’t doubt that you can find another crew member even if you had.”

He was silent for a moment, and you swear you could almost hear his brow furrow in what was either guilt, anger, or something more.

“Let me ask you something.” He said, more as a statement than a request. “Who am I to you?”

You mulled over the bold inquiry with a heavy sigh. An acquaintance? No, your sentiment was much more deeply rooted than what would be appropriate for such a title. You’d been traveling together for ages it seemed, coming up on what was going to be about a year now. Partners? Of the sort, yes. Two bounty hunters who partnered up on jobs, who traveled together, killed together, escaped dramatically together, lodged together – your face began to flush.

“A business partner.” You said, as if it were obvious. “And a trusted companion.”

The Mandalorian simply stared back at you. You cleared your throat. He turned away.

It was a seemingly endless stretch of time before he responded.

“Is that all?”

Traveling with this man was something that required you to develop a very sharp sense of intuition, which included reading not his unavailable facial expressions, but his voice and occasional body language. Most times, his voice was flat and even, all business and no emotion. Sometimes he would yell, urgent or snappy, typically in combat. Or sometimes he would whisper, either when sneaking about or when the child which he claimed as his foundling would have just been put to sleep.

But now, his voice was positively dripping with disappointment.

Taking a risk, you moved your hand towards his gloved one lying on the blanket draped over you. You were in his quarters, underneath his sheets, clad in his clothing. You draped your hand over his, the leather feeling warm under your hands as if he had been wringing them. He didn’t move his hand, but turned to stare at it. Who was he to you? That was a loaded question.

“Where is this coming from, Din?”

Static emitting from the helmet reflected a heavy sigh.

“You are… a valuable companion and warrior. I am grateful to have you fighting alongside me.”

You pursed your lips. “... Thank you?”

It was quiet for a moment, and a breath that sounded like it would precede a thought erupted from his helmet before a crashing in the other room resounded.

“I wonder who’s awake now?” You asked, amused despite the heaviness of the tension that hung around the two of you like smoke. Curious cooing in the next room confirmed your suspicions.

He stood quickly, and your hand felt cold again.

“I should let you rest.”

He was gone before you could get another word out.

*          *          *          *          *          *          *          *          *          *          *          *          

It was only a day later when you found yourself able to walk again, albeit slowly, carefully, and very painfully. The wounded flesh of your stomach strained with every movement, and tempted you to sleep longer simply to forget about the pain. But you needed water, and Mando – or Din, you corrected yourself with a small smile – hadn’t come in to see you since leaving food for you that morning as you slept.

Tossing the sheets from your body, you shuddered slightly. You felt heavy and immobile, numb in protest but moveable all the same. Clad only in an old long sleeve shirt that was clearly fitted to Din and not to you, you felt exposed and cold, your skin prickling with sensitivity that was visible through your top. You noted absently that you were wearing your own underwear, but not the same kind on the night of the accident, and chuckled wondering what Din must have looked like rooting through your belongings in the search for undergarments.

Your reflection in a mirror-like panel on the wall confirmed that while you felt rather horrible, you were healing quite nicely. The scars across your torso were dark and obvious, but clean and improving quickly, likely to leave a lasting mark, but already ignorable from underneath a shirt. Bruises littered your legs and arms, cuts of different lengths cleaned and bandaged up by someone who clearly had experience doing such things. Your face was left with a shallow scrape up your cheek and a bruised lip, something that would likely be nothing but a memory within the month.

“You look good.”

Any other voice would have had your reaching for your blaster. But you knew his now, and it registered faster than what you would like to admit. You didn’t turn to face him when you responded.

“Oh, this old thing?” You asked, coyly.

He snickered softly, but failed to hide the hint of sheepishness that seeped into his wandering stare and twitching fingertips.

“Your wounds. They are healing well, I mean.”

You laughed without contempt. “Don’t you know how to make a girl feel special.”

There was silence, but it was comfortable.

“We’ve landed. Food and better lodging for the night. Maybe a medic, if you want.”

“The first two, yes.” You answered, turning towards him. “I think you’ll do just fine for the third.” You felt self-conscious as his stare locked onto you, helmet clearly tilting up and down just enough for you to gauge that his eyes were raking over you. You crossed your arms over your chest, which was likely a leading cause for his stare with the coldness of the room.

“Can you walk?”

You nodded.

Approaching him, you braced your arm on the wall for support.

“Where are my things? As much as I appreciate the clothing, I might want to be more sufficiently covered if we are entering a city.”

He cleared his throat. “Right.”

Leaving the room for only a moment, he came back with a leather bag that held everything you owned. The latch was undone, and it was clear he’d gone through it, just as you’d thought. Your stare did not go unnoticed.

“I had to find some… things for you. I did not take anything.”

“I believe you.” You smirked. You wondered if he was the type to blush. Waiting a moment, you looked over him from the corner of your eye as you grabbed a pair of trousers and an undershirt from your bag, soaking in the seemingly rare yet currently repetitive shy and almost clumsy behavior the Mandalorian was exhibiting.

“… May I get dressed now?”

Silence. An audible swallow from beneath the helmet.

“Do you need any help?”

“Getting… Getting dressed?”

He shifted back and forth on his feet, as if in uneasy. You would smirk again, but you were too shocked by the cheeky remark that your mouth simply hung slightly open.

“You’re, ah – You are injured.” He simply said. “I don’t mind helping you if you require assistance.”

Who am I to you? The question rang in your head from the previous night.

“Yes.” The agreement was out of your mouth before you could think. The beat of silence that followed told you that he wasn’t expecting it either.

“Sit.” He directed. For once, you listened wordlessly.

Kneeling before you on the bed, he pulled the trousers over your legs carefully. You felt the blood rush involuntarily to your face. His gloved fingers worked the clasp shut with deft hands, and you wondered if his heart was racing just as yours was.

“Lift your arms.”

You grasped the bottom of your borrowed shirt loosely before hesitating. “You won’t look, will you?”

His breathing was audible in the quiet room, but you weren’t sure he could tell that you could hear him, too.

“No.”

You lifted the shirt over your head and set it aside, crossing one arm across your chest in an automatic defense and watching as he fumbled for your undergarments. Whether he was acting to convince you that he wasn’t looking or simply keeping his word, you weren’t certain. Sliding your arms through the straps of your bra, you stared directly at his helmet, searching for any signs of him paying attention. He seemed to be angled directly above your head – a good sign. That was until he reached forward to get around you and clasp the article shut, missing slightly and instead grasping at your left breast.

You had wished you hadn’t made a sound, but you did. An embarrassing mix between a gasp and a moan at that one. It had been a long while since you had been touched like that, on accident or not. That was when his helmet jerked ever so slightly down, and you could quite easily tell that even if his eyes had been shut, they weren’t any longer.

His hand didn’t move, and you found yours resting atop his wrist. You looked down, and then back up at him to meet his gaze. His head snapped dramatically further up and away.

“… I apologize for –“

“Don’t.” You said, not in a reprimanding fashion, but soft and forgiving. Hopeful, even.

He let out a breath before awkwardly clasping the device shut and reaching towards your shirt. Pulling it gently over your head, he helped guide your arms through the sleeves before sliding your socks and boots on over your feet.

He was lacing up your shoes when you laughed softly.

“You looked, didn’t you?”

His fingers fumbled with the strings.

*          *          *          *          *          *          *          *          *          *          *          *          

The food was decent, but the drinks weren’t much better. The lodging, however, existed as the most pressing issue. You leaned against the bar, your bruises throbbing in protest but better than before, regardless.

“What do you mean there’s only one room?” You asked, incredulous.

“One room. One bed.” The innkeeper looked less than amused, his English broken, but stern. “Take or leave.”

Placing your credits on the bar, you swallowed hard and returned to the booth which the Mandalorian occupied. He hadn’t eaten or drank anything he'd bought, but you knew it would be taken to your room and gone before the night was over. Din was currently crooning silently over the child, green fingers grabbing excitedly at gloved fingers above his head.

“Small problem,” you said, finishing the remainder of your drink before setting the glass down on the table casually. He turned to face you. “One room left, and one bed. I don’t mind sleeping back on the ship if –"

“Okay.”

You paused, shutting your mouth quickly and knitting your brow.

“Mando – Ah, Din. There is one bed.”

“Yes.” His hands were clasped shut, posture astute as if he were talking business.

“There are two of us.”

“Yes.”

You tapped your fingers against the table.

“There are two of us and one bed.”

“Yes.” He sounded insistent. He leaned forward slightly as he spoke, helmet lurching ever so slightly with the force of his affirmation.

You waited for an explanation you weren’t sure he was going to give to you. After a while, he retracted his hands and stood.

“The Razor Crest is under repair until tomorrow morning.” He said bluntly. “Where are we staying?”

*          *          *          *          *          *          *          *          *          *          *          *          

The room was small, the bed and a small dresser and table occupying the majority of the space. The bathroom was clean enough, and when you emerged in the same shirt which had been lent to you the night before, nothing was said by the Mandalorian sitting on the edge of the bed in full armor other than a quiet cough. An empty plate and cup sat on the table, your bags taking residence on the floor. Your damp hair was slicked out of your face, clean of the deep-seated filth that you never exactly enjoyed but always tolerated in your line of work.

“How long are we staying here?”

“No more than a few days.” He answered, standing nonchalantly and making his way towards the other room. “I'll find work. You and the kid can stay here.”

You would argue, but for once, tiredness and the ache throughout your body subdued your urge to resist. You sat on the edge of the bed.

“He’s asleep.” You remarked, admiring the soft snoring emitting from the carriage before shutting the top. Kicking your legs slowly over the top of the bed, you were grateful that it was a decently large piece of furniture.

He didn’t respond, but stood silently for a moment before disappearing into the restroom.

You had been traveling with Din Djarin for months now, almost ten to your count. You had met when you both received tracking fobs from the same client, and found working together came almost as naturally as breathing. Not that either of you would admit that to the other. Neither of you were exceedingly loquacious, to say that least. That is to say that the entire first month aboard the Razor Crest was filled with silence, occasionally uncomfortably long stares, and the sound of the Child fighting for the attention of at least one of you at any moment it was awake. The latter you didn’t mind at all, but the lingering stares left a kind of weightlessness pooling in the bottom of your stomach that the literal lack of atmosphere in space couldn’t take credit for.

During your second month together, he had walked in on you coaxing the Child back to sleep in the middle of the night, humming a soft tune from a life that had been taken from you as a child. It held no trace of regret, but a gentle sort of nostalgia that any onlooker would notice, one that Din, in particular, appreciated. He stood and watched from the shadows of the entrance of the Razor Crest until you has laid the baby’s sleeping form into his little nook, only stalking away once you stood, back still to him, and asked quietly with a sly grin: “Trouble sleeping, Mando?”

The third and following months were layered with idle chatter, hard-won battles, and long sessions of deep conversation as you helped with each other’s wounds. He knew your name, your past. What you’ve left behind and what you’ve sought until reaching this point. He knew your favorite drinks and the way your stare lingered on trinkets and such in the bazaar before you were later shocked, finding them laying on the small cot you took as your sleeping quarters on the ship. But you knew him as well – you knew his name, what he’s lost. You understood his Way, his love for the Child and his dedication to the creeds he lived by. You knew how he was feeling by the tilt of his helmet, the volume of his breath and the way his fingers twitched in his gloves.

He wasn’t your lover. That explicit thought shattered your daydream, and you tucked a damp strand of hair behind your ear. You looked at the Child’s carrier longingly, wondering what exactly this Mandalorian meant to you.

Who am I to you?

The question still rang in your head. You turned the lights out and laid silently in the darkness. Chewing your bottom lip, you rubbed at the back of your neck in thought.

“What’s wrong?”

You flinched, wanting to turn around but resisting, simply because the voice you heard was incredibly familiar, with the exception of the static filter that you knew so well. It was pitch dark in the room, and you wondered if he would turn the lights on. Without the helmet, no. You closed your eyes, but didn't move.

“Thinking.”

The weight on the bed shifted behind you and you felt him settle beside you. You swallowed hard as the scent of soap and him invaded your thoughts, the slight brush of what was unmistakably the warmth of his hand brushing your back.

“About…?”

His voice was tinged in curiosity and fatigue. You sighed.

“You.”

You expected a response, that was true. You didn’t expect it in the form of his hand, much larger than yours and warm on your cool skin, to run up your exposed arm and rest on your shoulder.

“What about me?”

His breath was hot on your ear, and you shuddered faintly. You answered after a moment.

“You asked me who you are to me.” You explained, slowly so as to not trip over your own words. Only his hand was on you, but you could feel the heat radiating from his body. “And I’m afraid I might have withheld the entire truth from you.”

The hand on your shoulder squeezed, and you felt Din shift behind you.

“Is that so?”

There was a kind of certainty in his tone that made your body go alight. His voice was deep, rugged and tinged with a predatory sort of rumble that did nothing short of make your mind go blank and your lower stomach twist with excitement. He knew was he was doing, but he wasn’t going to let you go without an answer.

“Yes.” You choked out, sounding more strained than what you intended. His hand traveled lower, finding purchase underneath your shirt and at the curve of your waist. His thumb stroked along the smooth skin that contrasted so heavily with the scars there that were still tender, but you sighed at the contact all the same.

“Then by all means,” he leaned impossibly closer, lips brushing your ear, “Please explain.”

“You are a very trustworthy business partner, and an inarguably skilled bounty hunter.” You shifted slightly, feeling your hair fall over your ear and exposing your neck to the man behind you. You heard his breath hitch. “But I will admit that our… relationship. It has exceeded what I – ah.” Your breath faltered as he thumbed at the waistband of your underwear as if asking for permission. “I-It is… I am…” You fought for the words as impossibly gentle hands grasped at your rear, his deep sigh sending heat across your neck and resetting your thoughts. “I am afraid that I feel things for you that exceed the realm of our professional relationship. Things that could easily compromise your opinion of me.”

A sharp huff of breath left Din’s nose, and although he couldn’t see you, you raised a brow in confusion. Your expression melted into one of sheer arousal when his grip on your waist brought his body flat against yours, what hardness of what was unmistakably his erection pressing insistently against your rear.

“Does this compromise your opinion of me?”

It was teasing, both his tone and his words. A soft moan escaped your lips.

“I see the way you look at me. I hear you at night, sometimes.” Grinding his hips into you, you bite your lip to hush the whimper that bubbles in your throat. “Oh, those nights are my favorite. For someone as stealthy as yourself, it’s like you want me to catch you. Those fucking sinful noises, I can hear you writhe. And when you say my name, like a god damn prayer…” He trails off, his hand traveling carefully up the skin of your torso to trace the sensitive skin of your breast. His lips are on the rim of your ear. “It’s enough to make a man go positively mad with lust.”

You never want him to stop talking. But when he shifts you the center of the bed, suddenly looming over you with your legs around his waist, you feel what little resolve you have left to preserve your dignity crumble away, and you are content with whatever he chooses to do in the moment. You can’t see his face at all in the pure darkness – you can barely make out his silhouette in the room. But you feel the hardened pads of his fingers trace your thighs around him, feel him lean down to press kisses to your neck that make your skin vibrate with need.

“I know that you want me. And I want you. I want to hear you moan my name when I’m inside you.” His hands skate up your chest, pushing your shirt up as his lips travel lower still.

“Then have me.” You hear yourself say, before you even realize the weight of your words. It doesn’t matter, though, because you would have said them months ago. You would have said them yesterday. So of course, you had no hesitation to say them now.

He groans, heady and dark with need, and his lips come up to capture yours. You swear you’ve never felt this intoxicated from anything the galaxy could offer, that the desperation and the lust brings your heartbeat to your skin and you’re sure Din can feel it, too.

Your shirt is over your head and somewhere on the floor, and the rest of the minimal clothing between the two of you follows. Your hands are tangled in his hair, softer and longer than you imagined, leaving only to follow the sharpness of his jawline, grasping at his broad shoulders before his body sinks lower. You whine with the loss of contact, your breath only hitching in your throat when you realize –

His fingers trace over your sex gently before you feel his tongue push into you, and you can’t hide the whine that leaves your throat. Your hands find purchase in his hair once again, pulling carefully as your body arches into his mouth desperately. His tongue is nimble, and threatens to push you to the edge far sooner than you would prefer. As you fought to voice this, however, two thick fingers sink into you, pumping in and out with the intent to have you teeter right over that ledge.

Only minutes have passed when you feel dangerously close, grasping at his locks and moaning his name between muttered curses.

“Fuck, Din – I’m, ah!” You can’t make the words out, and he seems to understand, but instead of stopping, you find another finger threatening your hold onto reality, and he doesn’t slow down at all, instead increasing his pace with a force you can only handle for a moment before you arch dangerously into the bed with an embarrassingly loud call of his name.

He comes up to kiss you, and you can taste yourself on his lips. It doesn’t bother you.

“I was right. It sounds so much better up close.”

You were already flushed, but you were glad he couldn’t see your face nonetheless. There was a moment of silence as you felt him reach towards the ground, the rustling of objects on the floor and his clumsy grip nearly shaking your from your suffocating bliss. You released a shaky sigh, as you felt his fingers at your cunt yet again, replaced momentarily by the thickness of his length sliding against your wetness, a nearly undetectable layer of what you believe is a contraceptive. You wonder where he got it, but you resolve to mention it when you can moan anything other than his name from your lips.

“Please.” You whine, and although you can’t see him, you swear he’s smiling.

It doesn’t take long for him to hike your legs up carefully around his waist once more, lining himself up to your center and pushing into you with one languid thrust. He moans in appreciation, whispers your name and how good and tight you feel around his cock. It’s only a few more breaths before he pulls out, thrusting in slowly but with enough force that you feel like you were never whole until he was entirely sheathed inside of you. He speeds up, lifting your leg over his shoulder and fucking into you at an angle that absolutely shatters your grip on reality. You can’t feel the injuries on your stomach, and you realize that even in his rut of passion, he leaves that side of your body to the gentle and sparing caress of his other hand before he trails down and grabs at the flesh of your ass with reckless abandon.

You could stay like this for hours, either of you. But the tension and desperation in the room was far too much and you found yourself at that same edge you faced earlier, Din himself falling just as fast.

“Wish I could – ah, could see you.” He says it aloud, but you’re just as guilty for thinking it. You know it can never be so on your part, but you are satisfied knowing that he lets you see him through touch. You see him every other way, in truth. Through his words, his emotions. His actions. Deprivation of sight doesn’t deter you from loving him—

And you realize that’s what he is to you.

Your fingers cup his jaw, shaking from both your own instability and the pace of his hips snapping up into you at an unforgiving pace. Your lips meet again, fueled with discoveries that you’ve both made, but neither has voiced.

Din crescendos in pace as you do in volume, the sound of skin on skin and joined moans of pleasure enveloping all of your senses, turning every thought you have into static. When you both climax, it’s like heaven on Earth. Like you found peace in a shabby little inn on Tatooine and it’s better than anything you’ve ever experienced in your life.

After a bout of shuffling, Din retreats to the restroom and returns with a wet cloth, gently wiping the residue of your passion and leaving a trail of kisses across your skin. You wonder how he navigates so well in the darkness, but leave it to another day to question. When he returns to bed, you feel your breaths slow and you find yourself lying against Din’s chest, who it seems is also piecing together his thoughts.

“I think I love you.” You say it before you realize it’s left your lips.

Din laughs, a hand brushing your hair behind your ear gingerly.

“You think too much.” He says, a smile in his voice. “But I believe I love you, too.”

*          *          *          *          *          *          *          *          *          *          *          *          *

You wake to an empty bed, light flooding into the room through the window that has now been slightly opened and faint noises echoing from the restroom. You stretch your hands above your head, turning towards the window and the floating carriage which the Child –

The Child.

You shot up in bed, scrambling out from underneath the covers.

“If you’re wondering if we woke him up, then the answer is no.” Din’s voice piped up from behind you, filtered by the modulator in his helmet. “He’s slept through much louder, much more dangerous things.” Even in full armor, he seemed more relaxed than usual, and you couldn’t help but take pride in the realization that it was likely because of the events of the previous night. “Although, you were very, very loud last night.” He tagged on, a smirk in his voice.

Though the blood rushed to your face, you ran a hand through your hair and stood, pretending not to notice the way Din’s eyes raked over your body. A new collection of hickies stood out among your previous scars, a collection of purples and reds that you were proud of. Heading for the restroom, you heard the softest of whines coming from the enclosed contraption, signaling that the baby was awake.

“Looks like someone’s up.” You yawned and slipped past the Mandalorian, brushing against his side for a moment too long. Instead of letting you past, a strong arm looped around your waist, the cold beskar of the underside of his helmet resting against the top of your head as he trapped you.

“We have a few days here. I know someone trustworthy who can watch the little one.”

You raised a brow. “Don’t you need to find work?”

“We have a few days.” He repeated.

You smirked, and you swear you could feel those handsome lips curling into a sly grin underneath that helmet.

“A few days, huh?” The beskar of his chest plate was cold under your touch. “Works for me, Din.”

“Good.”

You didn’t know, of course, but he had been smiling at you when you had first met him, a silent grin playing at his lips underneath his helmet.

He was smiling now, too.

[in-tua-deep]

I haven't interacted before but I love all your aus and your writing! Reading them a while back got me back into the umbrella academy. I just read your ben saves the day au and everything about it is amazing and also makes me very sad. Do you think Klaus was there or ever manifests himself with his powers or something? It's wonderful where it ends but the whole family together would make it so much happier...

!!!!! thank you!! and thank you even more for asking me about the ben saves the day au bc I actually did have a vague idea on how to get Klaus back in the au and even though your idea with him managing to manifest himself with his own powers is probably way more valid my brain produced a slightly. stranger option lmao

(ben saves the day au can be found right here)

So it’s after everyone has gone home. Ben is left in his apartment with his two cats and also Five who, Ben is discovering, is super super messed up about everything. 

(every day Ben thanks god that Five is living with him and not in the manor where there are about six hundred different triggers floating around)

Ben tells his coworkers that, with his father’s death (which they know about bc of his time off work) he gained custody of his 'nephew’ who Ben would have stolen years ago if he’d even thought that he was in the house (truth) and that Five has multiple issues

his coworkers are very supportive

Ben calls in a few favors and manages to get Five’s existence legalized by claiming that Five is his own son who Reginald managed to get his hands on after the death of the original Five. 

(“I would have been sixteen, Ben.”

“People have had kids younger, and you were a teenage runaway. People would absolutely believe you made bad life choices.”

“Ben!”)

And Ben has friends, okay. His coworkers are all super supportive and swing around with extra food and hand me down clothes from their own teenage kids and other supplies that Ben might need as the sudden guardian of a teenage boy. 

And Five doesn’t even have to do anything to sell the lie, because he’s wary of all of them, flinches at loud noises, and they all see him pocketing extra food when he thinks no one is looking. Five tends to retreat to the bedroom (it’s a one bedroom apartment - him and Ben are sharing right now) when people come over and since Ben has politely asked Five to Not use his powers around his friends until he tells them he’s the Horror on his own terms, Five can’t even sneak to the kitchen or anything

They worry about Ben’s financial situation, taking on a kid on such short notice, but Ben assures them that he’s fine and that he can just use his father’s inheritance money.

(Reginald was a billionaire. They are all legally his children. None of they are actually going to be wanting for money for a good long while.)

So everything is settling down and smoothing out. Ben has custody of Five. Allison is in negotiations with Patrick and is being allowed supervised visits with her daughter. Luther and Vanya are both in therapy. Diego is grudgingly using Reginald’s money to buy a new place that isn’t a boiler room that’s big enough for both him and Grace (and of course to get her charging station to a portable state) and last Ben heard he was looking at somewhere pretty close to where Ben and Five live, which is a nice thought. Ben’s trying to convince Luther to move out of the manor as well and get his own place, and he’s at least thinking about it so - progress.

That’s around the time when Ben goes to sleep and has a really wild dream.

The dream is desaturated, and there’s a little girl on a bicycle. She looks very aggrieved. 

“Are you Ben?” She demands to know.

“Uh,” Ben says very intelligently, because he was not expecting to be interrogated by a little girl in his dream. This is probably Five’s fault because the little gremlin convinced Ben that ice cream for dinner was necessary. Are ice cream dreams a thing? “Yes.”

The girl tosses her hands up in sarcastic triumph, “Wonderful! Then he can be your problem! I have held on for as long as humanly possible, but I’m done. He’s constantly badgering me and I can’t handle it. You idiots already mucked around in the time stream, this shouldn’t cause reality to collapse. Probably.”

“What?” Ben asks blankly, because reality collapsing sounds a little bit concerning. 

“You’ll see.” The little girl promises darkly, waving her hand.

And then Ben wakes up, and he wakes up wheezing because what the fuck, was Five jumping on his stomach like an actual five-year-old right now? He opens his eyes, and meets startled green ones and a mop of curly hair that definitely does not belong to Five. 

“Ben!?” The boy who is definitely Klaus who is dead yelps loudly, startling back and waking up Five who startles bad enough to roll completely off the bed and scramble to his feet.

Klaus looks exactly the way he did when he died. Sixteen years old with a wild mop of hair that Reginald had been threatening to cut for weeks. 

(He looks like Nathan Young in Misfits, y’all. That’s it.)

“Klaus!?” Five yells, making Klaus swing around to stare at Five with equally wide eyes. 

“You can see me?” Klaus asks, incredulously, patting himself down. He’s in the umbrella academy uniform and Ben allows himself a moment to close his eyes and swallow his grief because he is apparently the responsible adult in this situation. 

“Klaus,” Ben says gently, and both boys attention go to him, “Does God happen to look like a little girl on a bike, by any chance?”

“Uh,” Klaus manages, which Ben takes as confirmation.

He pinches the bridge of his nose to hold back the headache (and the tears because Klaus is here and he’s not dead anymore except he was dead and Ben doesn’t have the emotional capacity to deal with this at ass o’ clock in the morning). He pulls off the covers and swings himself out of bed, quickly crossing the room to open some drawers. 

Klaus and Five both watch him warily, but it’s unfounded. All Ben does is grab an old t-shirt and some sweatpants and toss them at Klaus. 

(Klaus doesn’t even lift his hands to catch them, just looks alarmed when they hit him in the face. Ben does not apologize, because he might laugh and if he laughs he will cry)

“It is,” Ben glances at the alarm clock, “Three twenty six in the morning. I am going to call off work today so we can deal with... whatever this is. But that’s not happening at three in the morning. Klaus, get changed, you aren’t sleeping in that. The bed might be a squeeze but at this point I don’t care.”

Klaus is wide-eyed and Ben’s heart aches but he gives a quick shaky nod and just starts peeling off his uniform there and then. Ben crawls back into bed, scooching over so he’s in the middle and impatiently gesturing at Five, who still has his back to the wall like a cornered animal. 

Without taking his eyes off of Klaus, Five slowly creeps back over to the bed. Usually Ben gives Five his space on the bed, but that’s not going to work tonight with three of them so when Five crawls in Ben wraps an arm around his still tiniest brother and presses a kiss against that dark mop of hair. 

Five’s face pulls into a scowl but he doesn’t protest the actions, allowing himself to curl into Ben’s warmth. 

Klaus hovers at the edge of the bed once changed, looking uncertain. Ben’s sweatpants are a bit short on him - even at sixteen Klaus is lanky, but serviceable. 

“Come on then,” Ben says, reaching out a hand because he has two arms. Klaus doesn’t need more of an invitation, rocketing into the bed and crashing against Ben’s side, making the bed sway and Five yelp a protest. 

Klaus’s skin is ice cold (Ben had forgotten his brother’s unfortunate circulation issues) but Ben doesn’t shove him away. Just tucks his arm around Klaus’s bony shoulders and reels him in closer, because his bed really isn’t that big and he doesn’t want either of his brothers to fall out. 

Klaus sniffles wetly, and Ben leans over to press a kiss into Klaus’s curly mop of hair. Five makes a small sound of protest - his need to be an attention hog temporarily overruling his dislike of being treated like a child. 

“Go to sleep,” Ben tells both of his boys sleepily, “We’ll figure things out in the morning.”

He gets some vague confirmation noises from both sides (though Klaus still sniffles) and Ben really is tired because he barely closes his eyes before falling back into the void of sleep.

His last thought before he falls is - Please, god, let this not be a dream.

He wakes up in the morning feeling heavy. This is because Klaus has rolled in the night to be pretty much bodily on top of Ben, his curly hair tickling at Ben’s nose and his elbow kind of digging into his stomach. Five is on his other side, plastered against him. Their legs are all tangled enough that Ben can’t actually tell which foot belongs to him, Five, or Klaus. 

A quick check of the time reveals that he still had a few minutes before his alarm goes off. 

On one hand, Ben never wants to leave this bed. He’s a little bit afraid that moving will make the magic vanish, and Klaus will disappear again, but he also really needs to call work and tell them he can’t come in today. So reluctantly, he shifts to free his hands from the pile and in doing so manages to wake both boys.

It’s a sleepy slow waking up, Five grumbling in a way that Ben will never tell him is adorable and Klaus giving a while as his limbs straighten in a big stretch. They both open their eyes, see each other and Ben, and blink in alarm.

Ben does not want a repeat of the early morning and just shrugs them both off of him, “Good morning.” He greets them as he peels himself out of bed with a yawn. “Give me a minute to call work. Five, show Klaus where the bathroom is - ”

“I know where it is.” Klaus cuts Ben off, and then proceeds to look surprised when Ben actually pauses at the interruption. 

“What is going on.” Five doesn’t even asks, because he seems to have accepted that this is their lives, their cosmic punishment for having superpowers or something. He just looks between Klaus and Ben like one of the will make the world make sense again.

Ben sympathizes. He can feel a full blown freak out building up in his chest - he just needs to call work and then call the rest of the family to come over as well before he can have it. 

“Hold that thought.” Ben says, holding up a finger as he scoops his phone up and walks to the kitchen to make his call.

And he sends the bat signal to the family is a succinct “hey guys please come to the apartment asap klaus showed up in my room last night, five can confirm” which absolutely sets that cat among chickens as the group chat BLOWS UP but ben can’t bring himself to read everything so he just. starts making breakfast.

five and klaus emerge from the bedroom and five has his hand clamped around Klaus’s elbow and Klaus is sort of boggling at the connection and isn’t protesting and five’s face looks tight and ben can see that freak out waiting to happen as well

and that’s how klaus ends up back with the family. God kicks him out because she doesn’t like him, Ben gets the shock of his life, Five is very concerned, and the whole family ends up freaking out

Ben ends up getting a bigger bed because Klaus ends up staying with him and Five

Ben ends up finally coming clean to all his friends about being the horror and that Five is not his nephew but is actually his time travelling brother and also his brother who had powers to do with the dead has come back from the dead

(and yes, these brothers are also the very same brothers he named his cats after - at least Seya and Brat take Klaus’s presence like champs. it’s almost like they’re used to him being around already...)

ben should really consider getting a bigger apartment considering there are now three of the living in there but honestly?? Five doesn’t sleep well alone (which they figured out when Ben tried to take the couch in the early days) and Klaus is an absolute octopus who is constantly marveling at being able to have human contact and Ben really doesn’t have the heart to kick them out of his room so.

(they’re both so touch starved, and they both break Ben’s heart)

but also the bigger apartment consideration might be necessary because every single sibling seems to trot through Ben’s apartment with great frequency. it’s a thing. they all want to spend time with Five and Klaus.

(there’s a heartbreaking moment where Five thinks that because Ben had Klaus back he’s going to kick Five out which they both hug it out over)

they all have to figure it out together and it’s a big mess but at the end of the day

what’s family for?

[desdemonafictional]

The morning after the wedding party

Banners from the Turrets au

Despite all muddled hopes to the contrary, Deadlock woke up with a very solid, very real hangover. It was his own fault, he couldn’t argue; he’d drunk enough engex to corrode a steel beam. When he came stumbling out of his room and into the only other room in this cramped little flat, hand clutched against helm, he’d nearly tripped on the body laying across his floor.

“Oh slag,” he said, optics fritzing in and out, “did I kill somebody?”

Blue light blinked on at his feet. “I’m alive,” the body said, “thanks so much for the concern.”

Deadlock relaxed marginally. “Thank Primus,” he said, “I didn’t want to go back to jail.”

The body levered itself upright, with a wheeze and a grind of straining mechanisms, just about the same time it dawned on Deadlock what had happened.

“You stayed,” he said, with an involuntary smile that made his left optic start to ache.

“Said I was gonna,” Ratchet said, brushing dust off himself, now fully upright. “Anyway, I was just answering memos most of the night. No recharge hookup.”

“…You didn’t have to sleep on the floor,” Deadlock said. He frowned. This hurt less. “My berth could fit two.”

“I specifically said,” Ratchet told him, “we were not going to frag, make out, or touch each other. How do you think sharing a berth would have ended?”

Deadlock gave him a long, serious once-over. “So you are interested,” he said. “I wasn’t sure.”

Ratchet snorted. “Seemed pretty sure last night. I think I’ve still got drool in my gears.”

Deadlock flashed his fangs, to make up for the fact that he could feel his biolights flushing with a hellish combination of arousal and embarrassment. “I meant, I thought maybe you weren’t into fragging around. You don’t seem like the type. Everyone knows you and Pharma were practically conjunxed for like, a million years. And you don’t hook up with anybody at the hospital.”

That was actually the first thing Deadlock learned about Ratchet, after coming to the hospital for his work-sponsor parole. It was weird, kind of a shock to the system—he couldn’t help wondering if they’d still been together that one time, when Deadlock-then-Drift had ended up on Ratchet’s table in the Dead End. This much he’d actually picked up from Pharma, who was comfortable enough in his bitterness to remark on that shared history in front of apparently anyone, including the mech he’d called Rung’s little pet sparkeater.

Didn’t bother Deadlock. He liked it when autobots wrote him off as a rabid berserker. Usually.

The point was, Deadlock had pretty quickly taken apart the facts as he knew them and come to the conclusion that Ratchet was probably a serious commitment type, a wine-and-dine type, not the kind who’d be interested in the patented Deadlock brand of “get over here and sit on my spike, and I’ll eat your valve after”. If that wasn’t the problem, then Deadlock couldn’t make heads or tails of why Ratchet hadn’t wanted to frag him last night.

“I don’t hook up with anyone because I’m at my job,” Ratchet said, “am I the only one at this institution who knows the meaning of inappropriate workplace relations?”

Deadlock’s plating flattened. “Is that why you don’t wanna ‘face me? Because we’re coworkers now?”

Ratchet blinked at him a couple times. “Now hey,” he said, “I didn’t say I didn’t want to—I wasn’t trying to—” He dug two fingers into his chevron and then said, “I’m gonna go get out breakfast for us.”

Several kliks later, with two cubes of basic mid-grade set out between them on the top of the cold-box, which was the only flat surface in Deadlock’s flat, Ratchet said, “I’m not against us interfacing. I just want to know what you’re getting out of it, before I agree to anything.”

Immediately, Deadlock relaxed. “Oh,” he said, “yeah, sure. Okay so what I’m offering to do is spike-and-valve, in a berth,” he started ticking off fingers, “maximum foreplay, aftercare, I’d rather top but if you wanna spike me I’m willing to ride. I don’t do insults, blow jobs, or bondage.”

Ratchet blinked again. He took a sip of his cube, holding it between the two of them like a barricade.

“Wow,” he said, at last. “I heard ‘cons were cold, but—”

“Cold!” Deadlock sputtered. “I just offered to let you spike!”

“Uhuh,” Ratchet said, and took another sip of his drink. “What it sounds like you’re offering me is a side hustle that’s gonna cost me a couple thousand shanix at the end of the night.”

“I’m not—I don’t do that kind of thing!”

Ratchet just looked at him, over the edge of the cube.

Deadlock set his jaw and then amended. “Anymore. I don’t do that anymore.” He knocked back half his cube in one go, and then said, “If I was trying to sell you something, you’d know it.”

What he didn’t say—what he wouldn’t say—was that if the version of him who had peddled spike services in the backstreets hadn’t been anything close to this kind of picky about boundaries. And he certainly wouldn’t have bothered to list his own preferences to a prospective buyer. Despite the mileage he’d gotten back before the war, Deadlock hadn’t actually learned how to frag and like it until after becoming a ‘con.

Before the war, he’d been a drifter himself—an addict, a leaker, a sciv. He took odd jobs. He did dirty work for cheap. Never had the focus to build himself a clientele base and stick with it, not the way Gasket had. Robbery, smuggling, day labor, sex. He’d sucked spike occasionally in gutters without art, mind already on the next fix, just trying to get it over and done. Courtesan he had not been. It hadn’t seemed possible to him then that fragging could be anything but a chore. Why bother trying to please a partner when you could get yourself off faster and for free? He’d preferred the comfortable warmth of laying curled against the side of a friend, teeth embedded in an exposed wrist-line.

His gaze lingered over Ratchet’s thick wrist, the clean white paint gapping to reveal hints of black cable underneath. What he wouldn’t trade to get his teeth in that.

Oblivious to the scrutiny, Ratchet sighed and set down his cube. “I’m sorry,” he said, “I’m not being fair to you. I’m just trying to figure out the… the angle. What it is you want from me.”

Deadlock eased up, but less than before, wary now. “Well it’s—if that’s how autobots do it, I can list what I want from you, and you can list what you want from me? Is that how you do it?”

“What.”

Deadlock flexed a set of claws, frustrated. “I don’t know, I’ve never fragged an autobot before! Primus, I’m gonna have to call Aglet. He’ll know how this works.”

“Do not call Aglet,” Ratchet ordered, “nobody else needs to know about my sex life.”

Deadlock made a frustrated noise and then clicked his claw tips on the top of the cold box. “Okay, he said, “okay. Then—how do you normally do this? When you wanna frag somebody, what do you tell them?”

Ratchet pursed his lips. He gave the corner of the ceiling a complicated look. “Actually, I’m having trouble remembering. It’s been a few thousand years.”

Deadlock frowned. “You mean, since Pharma.”

“…Yeah,” Ratchet said. “Since Pharma. Five times burned, twice shy, as they say.”

“Well if you were a ‘con,” Deadlock said, and then abruptly found that he liked this idea. He brightened. “—If you were a con medic, on a ship with me, and I wanted to hook up… First I’d get you alone somewhere. Then I’d tell you how sexy I think you are, and I’d offer you some of the things I’m good at. Then if you were interested, you’d tell me what kinds of things you’d do for me, in exchange.”

“What is this, a barter system?”

Now it was Deadlock’s turn to blink. “I mean yeah, technically,” he said. “You get something you want, I get something I want. Equality.”

“But,” Ratchet said, looking lost. “How do… but don’t you…”

Deadlock waited, finishing off his drink, while Ratchet shifted helplessly from one abandoned sentence to another.

Come to think of it, he’d heard autobots call ‘con culture cutthroat, cold, and calculated. Everything had a cost, they said; nothing came free with ‘cons. It was all about the exchange rate.

Well (and he wouldn’t admit this to just anybody) maybe it could be. When you had that many drifters and lowlifes and scoundrels all piled in the same place and equally armed to the teeth, you worked with what you had. And Deadlock had liked it. Right up until Turmoil.

But the less said about Turmoil, the better.

Deadlock considered Ratchet for a moment, feeling the last of his headache recede into a manageable buzz. Sweet Primus he really was to die for, with that jaw and those shoulders.

“Alright,” he said. “Tell you what. You get on the berth back there, warm your pussy up for me, and I’ll give you the routine they liked in the Darkmount medical bay.”

Ratchet’s brows went way up. For a second Drift was sure he’d made the wrong call, steeling himself to be graceful about it when Ratchet started shouting, but after a second, the doctor turned his gaze with some interest on the open bedroom door.

“I’ll stop at any point you want me to,” Deadlock added in a rush, vaguely remembering some chatter he’d heard from autobots before. “Cons aren’t all like that, with the no-means-yes rustwash. I like you, Ratchet. I’m not gonna hurt you.”

Ratchet gave him a considering look. Deadlock tried to shift himself into an appealing pose, without making it obvious he was doing so.

“Alright…” Ratchet said. He held up one stern finger. “But only because I deserve it, after a night like that.”

--

Afterward, a little sticky and hot under the engine cover, Ratchet touched two fingers to his mouth, where Deadlock had kissed him in the moment of overload. Deadlock lay beside him, foggy with afterglow, cheek pillowed in the crook of his elbow.

“This is only until you find somebody you really wanna be with,” Ratchet said. He looked at his fingers, not at Deadlock. “Find yourself something steady, and we’ll go back to being coworkers.”

Deadlock frowned, a pang in the otherwise blissful glow, but didn’t argue. If that’s what Ratchet wanted, then that’s what Ratchet could have. Five times bitten, twice shy, after all. It wasn’t as if Deadlock didn’t know how to make the best of whatever scraps he was given in life.

[spookyrobbins]

don’t go (where i can’t follow)

pairing: catra x adora 

description: 

following shadow weaver’s escape, catra’s future looks doomed. but with the appearance of her past self and adora, maybe catra can save them and herself.

chapter two. 

even children get older 

links: ao3 || chapter one

Night fell as they entered the Whispering Forest, long shadows creeping around them. Catra suppressed the urge to quiver in fear at them. She wasn’t afraid of shadows anymore. (At least that’s what she kept telling herself in the dead of night.) 

Unfortunately, the same could not be said for the two little girls. Little Catra flinched at the shadows that seemed to reach out for them, turning her face into little Adora’s shirt. Little Adora seemed to be equally afraid of the strange noises around them. 

Catra fought to keep a straight face when a flock of birds burst out of the tree and almost hit her in the face. She settled for a threatening hiss that seemed to drive them away. 

“So like, you’re me, yeah?” The little version of her piped up from her place wrapped in little Adora’s arms. 

Tamping down a strange feeling of jealousy at the sight, Catra replied, “I guess. Honestly, all this magic shit gives me a headache.” 

“Magic?” Both girls gasped, their eyes wide with terror. 

Catra shrugged halfheartedly as she navigated them further into the forest. She vaguely aimed them towards where the princesses’ palace was. They’d be better equipped to help two little kids than Catra. Catra didn’t even like little kids. At least, Adora did. “Yeah, magic seems to explain everything.” 

“Like Shadow Weaver’s magic?” came her small voice. 

“I don’t think Shadow Weaver’s behind this, considering she was locked up at the time. But there’s a lot of this magic stuff going around these days. All sorts of weird princess stuff and magic swords and everything.” 

“Shadow Weaver’s locked up?” 

“Princesses?” 

Catra focused on little Adora’s question first. “Yup, all sorts of princesses. There’s Sparkles and the flower chick and the one who does freaky things with water.” Catra shuddered at the thought. 

“You’ve fought princesses?” Little Adora asked, her mouth falling open in awe. “That’s so cool! Catra, d’you hear? Fighting princesses!” 

Catra chuckled to herself at little Adora’s excitement. This was the Adora she knew, the one who wanted to share the world with her and didn’t have time for all the princessing and whatnot. This Adora held her close and tried to protect her. Present-day Adora couldn’t give a shit about Catra these days. 

“I’ve fought all the princesses. Even beat ‘em a few times.” The sight of Adora in all her glowing glory hunched over after having her claws imbedded in her back flashed before her eyes. That counted as beating her, right? She definitely didn’t feel like she was going to be sick afterwards. She definitely didn’t cry herself to sleep for a month afterwards. 

“What about Shadow Weaver?” Little Catra asked in a soft tone, almost trembling. 

Catra squeezed her eyes shut. She hated how scared she was at that age. At least she had grown out of that. Kind of. At least Shadow Weaver was gone. 

“She was locked up. I locked her up. But she escaped. That’s why Hordak sent those people after me. But I’m the one who beat her.” Her hands shook slightly on the rudder, but she managed to keep it steady. “I was the one who was strong. And she still…” Her throat seized up painfully. “She still didn’t choose me.” The last words came out so softly she doubted either of the kids could hear her. Or rather, she hoped her younger self didn’t hear it. 

“You, uh, I mean, I beat Shadow Weaver. Holy Hordak! I beat Shadow Weaver!” Little Catra leapt to her feet, flinging herself at her older self’s legs. Catra laughed loudly, the sound echoing in the quiet forest. “This is the best day ever.” Catra glanced down at her little face, those heterochromatic eyes alight with joy. She wasn’t sure if she had ever been that happy in her entire childhood. Maybe this was the one good thing she’d ever do. 

Her eyes strained to see much further than a bit in front of the skiff, as if the forest was making it darker so even her eyes couldn’t make out what was in front of her. 

“How about we set up camp for the night?” she asked as she slowed the skiff in front of a tree with spindly branches almost forming a ceiling. Helping both girls down, she set about making a little campsite for the three of them. For a moment, she debated having them find firewood, but thought better of it given what happened the last time they had separated in these woods. She tossed her pack to little Adora. “Set up some beds with those. I’ll grab some wood.” 

She crossed the small clearing in search of fallen branches, trying to suppress the painful ache in her chest. 

She had finally left the Horde. There was no going back now. She’d be shot on sight. There was nothing for her there. To be frank, there was nothing for her anywhere. Maybe she’d just live in the woods, finally acting like the feral animal everyone always told her she was. Or she’d go to the Crimson Wastes and disappear. 

But for now, she needed to take care of those two and get them to people who could fix this situation. And the best person for that, unfortunately, was Adora and her princess friends. 

She cast a glance to the little kids who were giggling happily as they made a nest for themselves. Stars, she missed not sleeping alone. Until Adora left, the only times Catra had slept alone were during Shadow Weaver’s punishments when she slept in the cells. And even then, she was in too much pain to really know she was alone. 

But now, she just tossed and turned, always seeking a warmth that wasn’t there. 

As these thoughts ran through her mind, she gathered an armful of sticks. A screaming peal of laughter startled her. 

Little Catra sat on top of little Adora’s chest, her hands on her hips. The two were giggling happily, little Adora tickling at her sides. 

“Hey Catra!” Little Adora called to her as she reached the skiff. “Are you still ticklish?” She wiggled her fingers threateningly even as little Catra kept her pinned to the ground. 

“If you come near me, I will claw your face off,” replied Catra evenly, dropping the wood on the ground. “Split a ration bar if you’re hungry, but I don’t know how long we’ll be in the woods.” 

“I’m not hungry,” little Catra declared, shoving a ration bar into Adora’s hands. 

“Yes, you are, dummy. Just eat the bar. I don’t wanna have to carry you around all day tomorrow.” The pair of them stared at each other, but the older one won in the end. 

“Aren’t you hungry?” asked little Catra through a mouthful of ration bar. 

Her stomach twisted at the thought of food, but not from hunger, but from anxiety. And anyway, she was used to being hungry, the little one didn’t have the same years of practice. Little Catra’s brow furrowed, but she didn’t ask any more questions. 

As the two girls ate, Catra began to build a fire, fishing an older lighter out of her bag. 

“Whoa,” hummed little Adora, her eyes fixed on the flames, “it’s so pretty.” 

Little Catra, in true form, reached a hand out to touch it, yelping as a spark landed in her fur. 

“Don’t touch it, it’s hot,” said Catra, monotone. “Now, go to bed, you two. We’re walking tomorrow.” 

“We’re not taking the skiff anymore?” 

“They’ll be able to track it that thing anywhere once Entrapta’s on it. I’m not taking any chances. Seriously. Bed, now.” Little her looked like she wanted to argue until little Adora brushed her fingers gently. 

Each girl settled into their own pile of blankets, just far enough that they weren’t connected, but close enough that they could almost press their fingers together. 

Memories pressed at the back of Catra’s eyes of how many times they had been punished (or rather, she had) for sharing a bed. Shadow Weaver’s figure looming over their bunk, cold fingers curling around Catra’s wrist, pulling her from Adora’s side. 

“Hey,” her voice cracked unfortunately on the word, “you guys can share if you want.” 

The hope that bloomed in their faces would’ve been adorable if it wasn’t so tragic. 

In seconds, little Catra piled all of her blankets in with little Adora’s. The two girls burrowed into the blankets, little Catra’s head tucked against little Adora’s chest. Little Adora fell asleep almost instantly, but little Catra’s eyes remained half open even as little Adora sleepily petted her ears. 

“Aren’t you gonna sleep?” 

“Somebody’s gotta keep watch. Go to sleep, kitten.” 

Little Catra watched her intently until her eyes couldn’t stay open any longer. 

Once the little ones were both asleep, Catra let herself relax back and stare up at the empty sky. She couldn’t remember the last time she felt so alone. In the Fright Zone, there was always noise, guards chatting or the rumble of bots moving through the halls or just the weird noises all the pipes made. The Whispering Forest certainly lived up to its name. It felt like something was about to sneak up on her at any moment. Wind whistled through the trees, amplifying every noise. 

Catra had no sense of how much time had passed, just waiting for something to spring out of the woods. The moon had shifted a bit, but Catra never had any formal forest survival training. Apparently it was covered in Force Captain training. 

“Hey Catra,” hissed a voice right next to her ear. Catra started, swinging out with her claws. Luckily, little Catra had good reflexes and ducked in time. “Ha! I’m faster than you.” 

“No, you’re not, I just didn’t want to hit you.” 

“You’re not a very good watch then, huh?” 

“What do you want?” Catra groaned, pushing herself into a seated position. 

Little Catra folded in on herself in front of Catra, her arms curled around her knees, her tail looped around her arm. “Um, was just wondering….” 

“Wondering…? Just ask what you wanna ask. I don’t want to have to carry you all day tomorrow.” 

Little Catra stared intently at her knees. “Where’s your Adora?” 

“She’s not my Adora,” Catra all but hissed, tension surging up her spine. And as it turned out, she never was. Little Catra shrunk back at the harshness, tears springing to her eyes. “It’s complicated. Life’s not fair.” 

“Is she dead?” 

Catra’s heart stopped. Even the thought of Adora dead hurt. Sure, she had tried more than most. But it had never succeeded. Was that because Adora was just better than her? Or, or, was it because Catra could never actually kill Adora? A traitorous voice whispered in her ear, sounding an awful lot like Adora. 

Her claws dug into her forearm, the pain grounding her. 

“No, she’s not dead.” 

“Really? I just thought… ya know, if you’re a Force Captain, then something musta happened to Adora. Shadow Weaver always, always said…” 

“That Adora was special, that she was destined for leadership.” Catra finished the thought, a strange prickling in her fingertips. “And I’m cannon fodder…” 

“Just an animal,” murmured little Catra, a few tears spilling down her cheeks. 

“Hey, hey, kid, don’t listen to her. She’s wrong about me, er, us.” Catra reached out tentatively for her younger self, pausing when the little girl flinched. “It’s okay. I’m going to take care of you. I promise.” At those words, little Catra let her touch her, desperately pressing into it. “I promise,” she repeated as little Catra moved to curl into her side. 

“So if Adora’s not dead, where is she?” 

“You’ll see. That’s where we’re headed.” 

“Are you not friends with her anymore? We said it’d always be the two of us. I don’t want Adora to leave. She can’t leave me. I won’t leave her!” 

A sob bubbled in her chest, but she tamped it down. “Take it easy, kitten, your Adora’s still here.” Catra brushed her fingers over little Catra’s head, letting them tease gently over her ear tufts. “It’s okay. I’ve got you.” A small purr rumbled out of little Catra’s chest, vibrating against Catra. She surprised herself by letting a returning purr. 

“What’re you two doin’? ‘m cold.” Both looked up abruptly to find little Adora rubbing at her eyes as she stood to her feet. “Kitty, you left,” Little Adora said with a pout. 

The nickname tore at Catra’s chest, leeching into her broken heart. Not long after they were this age, Adora had stopped calling her that. Her own terrified screams at Adora after an overnight session with Shadow Weaver as Adora had tried to hold her and calm her down before someone found them echoed in her head. She hadn’t done anything wrong. She hadn’t. But Shadow Weaver had held her with her magic, calling out to her, “Here, kitty, kitty.” Adora had called her kitty once more as she let Catra cry and Catra lashed out, catching Adora’s chin. Shadow Weaver stole her away again and Adora never called her kitty again. 

As Catra sunk further into memory, little Adora had crawled into her lap next to little Catra. The added weight and warmth jarred Catra out of thoughts of that dark magic coursing around her. 

The little girls wrapped themselves in a blanket, their fingers entwined together, pressing back into Catra’s body. 

As their breathing evened out, Catra couldn’t help but sink into the warmth of the contact. It had been so long since someone touched her for longer than a moment. 

xx 

Frequently, Catra wondered how her life had gotten to where it was. Most of the time, that thought came as she fought Adora, or more specifically She-ra. 

This time also had to do with Adora, sort of. 

“Hey! Watch the ears!” Catra yelped as a chubby hand pulled on one of her ears. With one hand, she pulled little Adora off her shoulders, dangling in her in front of her. 

“Sorry, Catra,” drawled little Adora, her eyes bright with mischief. With an eye roll, Catra set little Adora on her feet. 

Catra cast her gaze upwards to check where little Catra was playing in the trees. She could hear her, but not see her. Eh, she was probably fine. 

Little Adora fell into step beside her, almost automatically reaching for her hand. Catra hesitated for a moment, her ribcage aching, before letting their fingers slot together. 

The pair of them walked in silence through the woods, the only sounds the occasional creak of a branch as little Catra lept from tree to tree. 

After what might have been an hour of walking, little Catra dropped from a tree a bit in front of them, scaring little Adora enough to send her scrambling behind Catra’s legs. 

Little Catra grinned at them with bloody teeth, feathers and sticks embedded in her hair. “Hey, ‘Dora.” Her eyes flickered to her older self momentarily as a blush covered her cheeks. “I got you somethin’.” Catra then noticed the way she was holding her hands behind her back. “And you too,” she addressed her older self, her cheeks turning almost red. 

Catra let go of little Adora’s hand as little Catra bounded over to them. Hesitating for a moment, little Catra then held out her hands for each of them, a dead song bird in each. 

Catra choked on air for a moment before schooling her features. “Uh, thanks, kid.” 

“They taste soooo good, Adora! You’ve gotta try.” 

Little Adora began to reach forward, but Catra stopped her. Both girls stared up at her with wide eyes. “Er, kitten, that’ll make Adora sick.” 

Little Catra’s face crumpled, tears appearing in the corners of her eyes. Without another word, little Catra turned on her heel and sprinted back into the woods. 

“Crap,” hissed Catra. She turned to little Adora, grabbing her shoulder. “You stay here. Do not move. Do not make a sound. If something comes, then scream as loud as you can. I’ll go get, uh, Catra.” 

“But I can help find her! I’m good at finding her.” 

“I know, kid, but she’s probably up a tree now or something. This’ll be faster.” Catra almost let little Adora come with her after she pouted dramatically, but now wasn’t the time for her soft heart. 

Catra squeezed her shoulder tightly once more. Then, she sprinted after little Catra, praying the girl hadn’t gotten too far. She kept her ears pricked, desperate for a sign of the little girl. 

“Catra, please. This isn’t safe.” Catra scaled a low hanging tree in an effort to increase visibility. “Kitten, come back. You can’t just run away here. It’s not safe.” 

A broken sob came from one of the trees in front of her. 

“You said I was gonna hurt Adora.”

Catra lept up to the tree, hanging on a branch below her little self. Little Catra sat with her back against the trunk, curled into the smallest ball possible. Her tail whipped back and forth anxiously. 

“Kitten, that’s not what I said.” 

“I don’t wanna hurt Adora. She’s my friend.” 

“I know that. I’m you, remember?” 

“You don’t have an Adora. That’s what you said.” 

A shot to the chest wouldn’t have hurt so badly. Her younger self had managed to find that old, festering wound and hit it hard. 

“Yeah, well, life isn’t sunshine and rainbows, is it?” She snarled, only catching herself at the end. She knew the kid was just scared, but god, did her heart always hurt like this? She pulled herself up onto the branch so she was facing herself. Little Catra hissed at her, which Catra easily returned. “Settle down, kitten.” 

“Adora loves me. We protect each other. I’m not hurting her.” 

Catra sighed heavily. This was a favourite tactic of Shadow Weaver’s when she was small. Punish her for every mistake she or Adora made and then tell her she was hurting Adora, that she was dragging her down. Stars, Catra couldn’t even be good enough for herself. Was she so broken that she couldn’t help herself? 

“I just wanted to give her something,” mumbled little Catra into her knees. 

Catra let her tail rest between them, almost brushing little Catra’s toes. “I know. You bring her that mouse yet?” 

“Mouse! Where?” 

“Eh, I’ll tell you later. But I get it. I used to bring my Adora presents too. But thing is, you and me, kid, we’re different from Adora and the others. One thing Shadow Weaver’s not wrong about. Eating that bird tastes good to you, but to Adora, it’ll make her sick. It’s part of being a hybrid. Our bodies are different. Like Scorpia loves eating bugs because of her whole scorpion thing.” 

“You know a scorpion, named Scorpia?” 

Catra scoffed, “You do realize, we’re a cat hybrid, and our name is Catra, right?” 

“Whatever,” little Catra grumbled, rolling her eyes dramatically. 

“Look, I know you weren’t trying to hurt Adora. And kid, don’t listen to Shadow Weaver. You’ve always been a good friend to Adora. It’s not your fault.” 

“Then where is your Adora?” 

“She’s-” An ear-piercing scream cut off Catra’s fumbling reply. “Oh fuck, Adora.” 

“You left her?” Little Catra screeched. 

“You ran off! It doesn’t matter, we need to go.” The pair of them scrambled down the tree. Without a word, Catra slung little Catra onto her back. “Hold on tight.” 

Catra took off at full speed towards the spot she had left her. They burst through the trees to find little Adora facing off with one of Entrapta’s robots. A series of scorch marks lined the ground where little Adora must have been. 

“Fuck, go get Adora and hide, I’ll deal with the robot.” Little Catra dropped off her back seamlessly while Catra moved directly towards the robot. “Hey, you there! Over here!” She waved her arms about, desperate to get the robot’s focus away from the girls. The robot turned slowly, the light blinking rapidly. 

Out of the corner of her eye, she watched as little Catra pulled little Adora into a bush. She hoped they’d actually stay put this time. 

Almost a moment too late, she lept out of the way as the robot firing a shot at her. 

“Identification: Force Captain Catra. Code: Sierra-Papa-Tango 3138!” She yelp as she slid under the robot, tearing at its underbelly. 

“Identification accepted.” 

“Stand down!” Catra yelped as she jumped on top of it in an effort to dodge its projectiles. “Stand down!” 

“You do not have authorization.” 

Catra let out a long curse as the robot tried to buck her off. She drove her claws into its top to steady herself before shoving her hand into the vulnerable camera area. She pulled out as many wires as she could until the robot collapsed on the forest floor. 

“Sorry, Entrapta,” she muttered as she tossed down the mass of wires. “Kids, you can come out now.” 

The two little girls emerged from the bushes, little Adora looking a bit worse for wear. A long scrape crossed one cheek while her trousers were covered in grass stains. Little Catra hovered protectively over her shoulder as Catra checked out her cheek. 

“Might have a bit of a scar,” Catra said, cleaning it best she could with her meagre supplies. “But you’ll live.” 

“Scars are so cool, Adora,” little Catra added, pressing a brief kiss to the wounded cheek. Little Adora’s entire face turned a familiar shade of pink. 

“Thanks, kitty.” Little Adora returned the kiss on little Catra’s cheek and Catra was 100-percent convinced her face had never been that red in her entire life. (Other than all of the other times with Adora, the traitorous voice in her head whispered) 

Catra busied herself with repacking the bag as the two girls whispered. While her back was slightly to them, little Adora snuck up on her and kissed her cheek. “Thank you for saving me.” 

“Uh...sure thing, kid,” managed Catra, only slightly, completely embarrassed by her reaction. “We better keep going. We’re still probably a day or two out from where we’re going. Especially considering this freakin’ forest hates me,” she added under her breath. 

She motioned with one hand and the two little ones fell into step with her easily. Absently, she supposed there was some benefit to military training for seven-year-olds; at least it made them easier to wrangle in a magic forest. 

“Cap’n Catra,” called little Adora from one side, “why does the forest hate you?” 

“Uh, ‘cause it’s the Whispering Forest.” 

Both girls yelped in fear. “But, aren’t there princesses in here?” Adora asked, shifting closer to Catra nervously. 

Catra winced slightly as little Catra climbed up her body, claws digging into her side. “We have the might Force Captain Catra to protect us!” Little Catra settled on Catra’s shoulder, her hands buried in her hair. Catra bit into her cheek as her younger self pulled hard on her hair to maintain her balance. 

Little Adora giggled, tugging on Catra’s arm until their fingers were interlaced. 

“I know that you’ll protect us.” 

“Always, kid.” 

xx 

It had been nearly four days since they had fled the Fright Zone and it seemed the forest was neverending. In particular, it didn’t like Catra or even her younger self. Little Adora, on the other hand, seemed to have a way with the forest and kept correcting their direction. Of course, even without the stupid magic sword, Adora was special. 

Catra tamped down the bubbling resentment that had taken up residence a year ago. She didn’t have a problem with a seven-year-old. That was pathetic. That was weak. She had a problem with nineteen-year-old Adora. She had a problem with She-ra. She didn’t have a problem with a seven-year-old who didn’t know what she’d do at a later date. A seven-year-old who looked at her best friend like she was the whole world and held her hand and made sure she was safe. That was the Adora Catra was mourning. That was the one Catra missed like someone had taken a piece of her. 

She hooked her thumbs into the straps of the rucksack, watching the two girls running slightly ahead. They had made up some sort of racing game that morning and somehow weren’t completely tired yet. Carta simultaneously looked forward to and dreaded that point. Her entire body ached from the hike through the woods plus the fact that she had been carrying each of the girls on and off and she felt like she could sleep forever. 

“‘Dora, I’ll give you a headstart! Betcha can’t even beat me then!” Little Catra yelled as she hung from a low hanging tree branch. Without a word, little Adora took off, but stopped just before she passed a massive tree. “If you stop, you can’t win, dummy!” 

“There’s something up there! Like a shiny building!” 

Catra jogged to catch up with little Adora and sure enough, there was Bright Moon in all its stupid, shiny, princessy glory. Almost involuntarily, a sharp exhale fell from her lips. Never thought she’d be thrilled to see the headquarters of the Rebellion, at least not without an army at her back. 

“Whoa,” little Catra gasped behind her. “Is that where we’re going?” 

“Yup. But we’ve gotta wait a bit. It’s almost dark, then I’ll go and get who we need.” 

Little Adora wandered back towards them, her little face glowing with wonder. “It’s so big and shiny.” 

“Why do we have to go there?” 

“‘Cause I said so,” snapped Catra, wincing at her own tone. The anxiety in her stomach made her want to throw up or run away or anything but what she needed to do. “Do you think that you two can stay safe on your own? I can’t take you with me.” 

“Uh, duh, we’re like the best fighters ever,” replied little Catra, setting her fists on her hips. “And we have knives. Nobody ever gave us knives before.” 

Little Adora looked a bit more reluctant. “What if a bot finds us?” 

“They don’t come this far out. The only thing you two need to keep an eye out for is princesses and Rebellion soldiers.” 

“And we’ll stab ‘em and claw their faces off!” Little Adora cheered, nudging little Catra, who bounced up and down next to them. 

Catra let out a chuckle. “I like the enthusiasm, but no, no clawing anyone’s face off or stabbing.” Both girls groaned and rolled their eyes. “If a princess or a Rebellion solider finds you, tell them you need to talk to She-ra right away. Got it?”

“Yes, ma’am. No hurting the Rebellion and ask for She-ra.” Adora echoed back, but her face was scrunched up in distaste. 

Catra glanced around, looking for a hiding place. “Alright, you two are spending a night in a tree. Kitten, you’re in charge,” Little Catra whooped loudly, cutting Catra off. 

“What? But I’m….” Little Adora’s lower lip trembled slightly. 

“Look, what I was gonna say, is you’re in charge of making sure you two don’t fall out of the tree. Now, c’mon, I’ll help you guys up.” Catra passed her rucksack to little Adora, who looked incredibly thrilled by the responsibility. Only little Adora took her help while little Catra scrambled up the tree to help pull little Adora up. “Stay put until I come back. Only come down for me, okay?” 

“Can you do any birdcalls?” Little Adora yelled down. 

“Birdcalls?” 

“Or whistle? We need a signal. I read it in the Horde Manual.” 

Stars, she forgot what a dork Adora was. “Sure, I’ll whistle when I come back. Try and get some rest.” 

The two little girls called back their goodbyes as Catra slunk off into the tree line. There was a ridge that jutted out to the back of Bright Moon without many guards. That would have to be her best bet. If all went to plan, she’d be able to find Adora’s room without much difficulty and then convince Adora to help her, which would be infinitely more difficult. 

She stuck to the edge of the forest as she worked her way towards the back of the castle, eyes fixed on the troops training below her. One misstep and she’d be dead. So really she hadn’t improved her overall place in the world these days. Everyone wanted her dead and probably wouldn’t hesitate to kill her. As long as she got the girls to safety and then fixed from whatever weird magic this was, it would be fine. And anyway, execution at the hands of the Rebellion would be nicer than whatever Hordak’s twisted mind could come up with. 

As the world fell to complete darkness, Catra positioned herself in a tree that would allow her to watch the castle with ease. Luckily, Bright Moon lived up to its name and every room was brightly illuminated, so anyone could watch the inhabitants with ease. 

Resting her chin on her knees, she watched the rooms, waiting for Adora to appear. 

Maybe death wouldn’t be so bad. It couldn’t be the worst. Maybe then every minute of every day wouldn’t feel like something was clawing its way out of her chest, leaving the remains of her heart. 

A door to a balcony cracked open and Adora’s laugh echoed across the chasm. That was something that hadn’t changed over the years. 

Catra focused in on the room the sound came from. Adora was there along with the two idiots she had left Catra for. 

She had spent too many nights awake wondering what was so special about them. The answer Catra had finally landed on was it was that they were special and Catra, as everyone had always told her, was not. 

She pushed down that pain, leaving the old wound to fester. 

And so she watched as Adora and her new friends laughed and chatted and stars, when did this start hurting again. 

After what felt like a lifetime, Adora and the boy left the room after a long good night with lots of hugs and kisses. 

Catra waited for Adora to reappear in a room. Once she had her target, Catra dropped out of the tree, shaking her aching limbs. 

She was going to have to jump it. If she missed, she’d probably shatter both of her legs. For Hordak’s sake, she needed to stop getting into these sorts of situations. With a running leap, she landed on a window sill a whole floor below Adora’s room. 

Not ideal in any way. Despite the screaming in her muscles, Catra pulled herself up, balancing precariously on the arch. 

“Huh, could’ve sworn I heard something.” A droll voice floated up. Catra pressed her body as flat to the wall as possible. A head and shoulders emerged from the window, but only looked right and left, not up. Catra exhaled shakily when whoever it was flicked off their light and fell silent. 

She scaled the way up to Adora’s balcony. Of course, she had a balcony, fancy princess and all. Once she was on the balcony, she moved around quickly to curl into the shadows against the wall formed by the window. 

The light was already off and Catra was just mustering up the courage to speak to Adora, a loud knock sounded inside the room. 

There was a shuffle of feet and then, “Uh, hey Adora, I just got a weird report from the forest. One of our scouting teams found a couple of Horde-issued ration bars and a Horde bot totally torn up.” 

“What? Do you think the Horde’s attacking?” Adora sounded more panicked than Catra was used to. 

“No, no, nothing like that. But the bot, it looked like it was torn up by claws.” 

“A lot of things in the Whispering Forest have claws, I guess.” 

“This seemed more deliberate. I’m not sure what could cause this kind of damage, but I’ll keep looking into it.” 

“Wait, Bow, what do you mean? Deliberate how?” 

“Most of the damage was in the ocular centre. It was torn out pretty cleanly. So I don’t think it was some animal.” 

“Hm, strange.” 

“Like I said, I’ll keep an eye out for any more weird reports. Sleep well, Adora.” 

“You too, Bow.” 

Footsteps came closer to the open door and then stopped. Catra held her breath. She could just barely hear Adora mumbling to herself about something, but then slowly she stopped. 

Catra waited until her joints began to ache. She strained to listen for the familiar sound of Adora’s even breathing. 

After a long while, Catra moved in front of the door, slipping in easily. For a kingdom at war, there was very little security around here. 

Adora lay curled on her side, facing the window. Moonlight illuminated her face, her blonde hair ethereal under the light. 

Now wasn’t the time for Catra’s fascination with Adora’s hair though. She inhaled shakily, trying to stop the trembling in her fingers. 

She approached the bed silently, waiting for Adora to move or open her eyes or something. In all the years she had known her, Adora had been a light sleeper. But as with everything, she’d gone soft. 

Catra crouched in front of Adora’s face, resting one hand on her shoulder. She shook gently, waiting for Adora’s eyes to open. 

Those blue eyes flew open. 

“Hey, Adora.” 

[fallen029]

Tricky

The kitchen counter was littered with a concoction of assorted ingredients and cooking utensils, enough so that just looking at it gave the Slayer a headache. It was as he stood there, staring in a bit of disbelief at the mess that had befallen his poor kitchen in what felt like no time at all, that a frown began to tug at his features. He growled then, just a bit, as he finally found the exact word he wanted to fall from his mouth.

"Demon," he whispered hotly, but it was loud enough, apparently, for the woman to hear over her own humming.

It was her, of course, the demon Mirajane, who saw it fit to destroy his kitchen in such a way. She stood there, in one of her standard dresses, happily bent over the stove only moments before, but did look back at him then with one of those bright grins of hers.

"Dragon," she tried to growl back, but to came out as a laugh and, just as quickly, she was turning back to the pot she was stirring. "Finally decide to get up, sleepyhead?"

"What are you doing, woman?" he questioned in the most unwelcoming of ways. "Huh? A man shouldn't have to worry about waking up to a disaster zone just because... Why are you here, exactly?"

"Well," she began with something of a sigh, "as you know, there's gonna be a big party at the hall tonight. You know, to celebrate the start of spring?"

"Since when is that a thing?"

"Since I made it one."

Of course.

"And," the woman was going on as, abandoning the pot, she went over to start chopping some vegetables on the counter top, "there's not really enough space in the guildhall kitchen for me to get the beginning preparations ready because, well, you know, Kinana is already so busy making breakfast and lunch orders, so I needed to get the early prep stuff started somewhere else."

"You ever try your own damn house?"

"I did," she offered with a nod."But my kitchen is just so small and, well, my house is really, especially with Elf and Lisanna lurking around too, so-"

"So," the Slayer finished for her, "you decided to break into my place and wreck my kitchen instead."

"It's not breaking if you have a key."

"Tell it to the constable."

"Awe, dragon, I know you've been laid up recently, but it's super cute that you have to rely on the city patrol for protection."

This finally seemed to draw real ire out of the man as, instead of making an off-handed remark, he literally turned away from her, a sour look replacing his put on annoyance. It hadn't been a good time for him, was all, recently. He'd gotten hurt out on a job and, well, he was taking some time to recuperate and train up before going back out again. The Thunder Legion, the best publicists a guy could ask for, played this up for the man to others, claiming his hiatus and seclusion just showed how clearly superior he was to the rest of them. Yes. Obviously. He had enough jewels to take a few months away from work while their pathetic, lowly mage selves couldn't scrape together enough jewels to survive a rough week.

Still, Laxus knew, obviously, the real reason that he was hiding out in his apartment, wasting his days away. Before, in the earlier ones, it was to hardly get out of bed, far too laid up for much else, but as he was feeling a bit better now, he mostly brooded around the apartment. When she wasn't working, which wasn't often, he could expect the demon to drop by, ever the doting girlfriend, and he was usually welcoming of this.

Usually.

When he'd first noticed her presence, only a few minutes before, it had been with groggy recognition of not being alone. Rather than panic, however, as the woman's scent hit his nose, he was intrigued originally. He didn't know her to be off that day and, well, if she was showing up to spend time with him, that was a welcome surprise. But after shoving out of bed and stumbling into the kitchen, he hadn't found her scrambling him up some eggs or frying some bacon. Rather, he'd stumbled upon this nonsense and, well, he couldn't exactly say he was surprised, but he also wasn't too pleased.

That had more to do with the fact she was teasing him though.

"Oh, Lax," Mirajane sighed when she took in the man's sour expression. "I was just kidding. You know that if you need someone to protect you, I'm always available."

"No one," he told her crossly, "needs to protect me."

"You...have bodyguards though. I mean-"

"Shuddup." Sulking, he came further into the kitchen. "And we're going to be going over personal boundaries."

"If it's that big of a deal," she told him with a frown over her shoulder, "then I'll just leave. Is that what you want?"

"No." He slammed down into a chair at the kitchen table then, glaring at her as he said, "But you're going to make me breakfast."

"Oh, I am?"

"Yeah," he told her icily. "You are."

Laxus wasn't sure why he didn't realize this would result in cold, soggy, bland cereal, but then again, he never claimed to be omniscient.

Things felt rather tense, which was rare between the two of them. While he was prone to disgruntled rants, it was rare for her to respond with anything other than her typical pleasantries. When she was equally as angry at him, they could have a stalemate for hours.

But that was the thing. Mirajane, the demon, she could live with it. Him being upset with him. No matter what the duration. But Laxus didn't like for his girlfriend to be mad at him (even if he didn't feel like he was the one in the wrong to begin with) and eventually the tension seemed too much for him to take.

"Is there anything I can do?" he asked after mostly pushing his cornflakes around in their bowl. Getting to his feet instead, he refused to apologize, in any situation, but did find himself asking while nodding at some still unchopped vegetables, "Demon?"

And she still had a bit of a glint of annoyance in her eyes, but did mutter something about him helping out and, well, Laxus might not know how to say sorry, but he definitely knew how to get back on the woman's good side. And, slowly, this came to fruition as Mirajane could never hold out for long, once he'd already broken, and soon enough she was back to singing, loudly now, rather than the low hums she'd had before, when he was sleeping, and Laxus just had to admire her, he always had to admire her. Imagine being worked like a dog and still finding it within yourself to be pleased by this fact.

His woman was something else.

She was though, his woman, which is why when the time came where she began bowling things up with the intent to transport it all back to the hall, where she'd finished food prep, Laxus had to let out a ragged sigh before offering his assistance.

"But Laxus," she asked with a sly smile, "you haven't been down to the guild in over a month."

And it all made sense now.

Glaring at her once more, he growled all the way to his bedroom, intending to get dressed regardless of his aggravation.

"You," he accused as he tugged on his clothes regardless, "planned this, didn't you? Huh?"

"I don't know what you're-"

"Just to make me go back there?" He looked at her in exasperation as the woman joined him in the bedroom. "Why, Mirajane? You dirty, lowdown-"

"Loving, thoughtful, caring-"

"You," he finished with a heavy finger of averment, "are tricky."

"I," she challenged, not used to getting a finger waved in her own face, "am helping you, dragon."

"Bullshit."

"You have to go back eventually." She dropped her shoulders some then, as well as her tone. Softly, she said, "Everyone fails sometimes, Lax."

He sneered and really thought about it then, just kicking the woman (and all her half finished dishes), out in the cold. But there was just something about her. There was always something about her. It sucked the most, honestly, when she began to smile only seconds later in response to the long, drawn out sighing groan he let out, releasing everything inside of him that could, honestly, probably murder the woman in that moment.

"I," he told her as, finally, he tugged on his coat and they went back into the kitchen to divvy up the pots and bowls to carry, "hate you."

"You love me," Mirajane challenged with a look. "And I love you. I wouldn't force you to go back if I didn't."

"Force. You heard that, right? What you just said? Do you listen to yourself? Force. Fucking force." Laxus could be led to water, he could even be made to drink it, but damn it if he wasn't going to bellyache about it during. "You're forcing me to do this. And that means that whatever psychological affects this has-"

"You're so dramatic."

"-are your fault." He even shook his head. "You're evil. Vindictive. A tricky-"

"Demon." She was headed to his front door then. "Now come on. Everyone will be waiting."

"Every- You told them I was coming?"

"What do you think the party is really for, Laxus?"

"Mirajane, I'm not a fucking child! I-"

"Then quit throwing a tantrum and hurry up." She grinned at him over her shoulder. "All your friends are waiting to pick you right back up."

"My friends," he told her sourly, "are going to get their heads slammed together. All three of them. For going along with this."

"Your other friends then."

"I don't have any other-"

"Most people keep that to themselves, Lax."

"Mirajane-"

"When I told everyone we were having a party to get you back out of your shell," she insisted, "they were all supportive."

"Yeah, because you said party," he challenged. "And they just all wanna go and drink and hear you play your guitar and eat and-"

"And remind you why you're so special to us."

"I'm special to you."

"Awe."

"No, I meant… No one's going to give a shit about me," he griped. "This party, it wont' have anything to do with me. This is one of your dumbest ideas-"

"Is it? Huh?" They were out on the street now, arms loaded up, but she was still all grins about their lengthy walk to the hall. "Everyone already knows you're coming out of hiding, so they won't gawk and gossip about it; they've already done that. And by the time we show up, most of them will already be too drunk to care about you. So you can just fade right back into the woodwork if you want. If you ask me-"

"I haven't. At all. In fact, I don't want to hear from you again all day."

"-this is the best idea I've ever had."

When this only got stony silence out of the man, Mirajane titled her head back to stare up at him for a moment before grinning quite openly. And damn it, fucking hell, he wanted to be so mad, so angry, so...so…

"You're a demon," he muttered softly, trying to fight a grin from spreading across his own mouth. "You know that?"

"Most people can just say thanks, you know, dragon."

Yeah.

As he kept completely silent, much to the giggles of the woman, he knew.

[amyscascadingtabs]

you’re all that i’ve been yearning for

bonus chapter to i’ve been waiting for you, told from amy’s perspective. 

read on ao3 here. 

Amy broke her right arm when she was six years old.

She still remembers the day in crystal-clear hypermnesia, recalling every bit of it from the way the sun had basked through her window when she woke up, to the way Luis had insisted she’d come with him and Julian to climb trees in the woods right by their house. She’d been reluctant, not at all itching to let go of her new child encyclopedia, but he’d teased her with a what, are you scared we’ll be better than you? and his implication had been all it took for her to both race him out of the house and win. Always eager to prove her toughness, she had let her older brothers guide her higher and higher in the tree while their parents busied themselves in the garden trying to solve a fight between the younger twins. Eventually, she had climbed higher than both of her older brothers, leaning her weight against a seemingly stable branch. Then she remembers falling.

It had taken twenty-seven minutes between the fall and the arrival of the ambulance. Amy knows because she counted them. She had gritted her teeth while she lay in the grass, never screaming until the ambulance personnel reached her and a man with cold fingers reached out to feel the place where her arm had grown swollen, and she had counted the seconds and minutes of ruthless, vehement pain to keep herself sane.

She used to believe the pain she’d felt in those twenty-seven minutes had been the worst pain she’d ever have to endure. No physical pain could ever be worse.

Three hours after getting the contraction-stimulating drip, Amy knows better. This pain right here, the one coursing through her body every two to three minutes making every muscle in her body want to tense, the one making her unable to do anything but breathe and groan and mumble muffled curses until it eases up, is the worst pain she’s ever felt. The broken arm from years ago is a gentle tickle in comparison.

“I want to go home,” she whispers when a particularly brutal contraction calms down and Jake, feeling her grip on his hand relax, hands her the glass of some strawberry-flavored sugary drink she’s drinking with a straw for some energy. “I don’t think I want to do this anymore.”

“Mm,” he hums, tucking a sweaty strand of hair behind her ear. “Remember the goal picture? Next time we’re going home…”

“It’s with our baby sleeping in their car seat wearing their going home-outfit,” she fills in on reflex. “I know, I know. It’s all going to be worth it, I was made to be able to do this, other dumbass motivational crap - oh, fuck.”

“Another one?”

She groans a positive.

It’s not even a full minute in between them this time. The pain builds, concentrated to her lower back and stomach but shooting down into her pelvis for extra torture, and she falls back on her side in the hospital bed with a new string of curses. She’s squeezing her eyes shut, but gets a glimpse of Jake’s concerned expression before she closes them. She must be bruising the bones in his hand by now, but if she is, he’s not saying anything about it.

“You’re doing great,” he just whispers in her ear, and she wants to wheeze easy for you to say but doesn’t, trying to save her last remnants of energy.

There's not a lot of energy left after eighteen hours of this. The sleeplessness didn't bother her as much in the beginning, she was jittery with excitement, contractions were fairly short and she could breathe through them okay back then. Now, on the other hand, she's getting bitter.

It’s laughable, of course, that their kid is already displaying the mixed Santiago-Peralta genes by saying yeah, I’d like to come out early, but I’m going to take my sweet time with it, but Amy thinks she might just have found it funnier if she’d had any sleep in the last day and a half.

The pain eases again. For who knows how long, but it eases, and she draws a breath of relief and lets go of Jake's hand for a while, opening her eyes to see him massaging it with a focused expression.

“I’d say sorry about the hand,” she mumbles, “But I’m not.”

“Eh. Bones heal,” he says with a half-hearted grin. Amy shoots him a threatening look, and he quickly resumes a serious face. “Sorry. Hand’s unimportant. How are you feeling?”

“Like I hate this. The pain is getting worse and worse, I’m exhausted, and this isn’t even the end of it. I still have the worst part to go, and I still have to be awake and conscious for it.”

“Can I do anything else to help?”

“Hit me real hard in the head so I fall unconscious?”

“Yeah, I’m still not going to do that.”

“Then no.”

He snorts, giving her another sip of the strawberry drink.

In all fairness, Amy doesn't actually know what she would have done without Jake being there. He's being her biggest supporter, offering everything from encouragement to massages to distracting commentary on the birthing suite’s design choices, coaching her through deep breaths and making sure she's hydrated. She's grateful and appreciative, but she's also in way too much pain to let him have that satisfaction. Later - after - she’ll compliment him, but only when it no longer feels like she's having menstrual cramps on steroids radiating like a burning feeling from her core.

They're a minute long now, so she focuses on that thought - one minute, one minute, one minute - and tries to count the seconds again. She gets to sixty and takes a deep breath when the pain lets up.

Finally a break, she has time to think in the ten seconds before her body betrays her and a new wave follows right after the first one.

The pain level is even worse this time. For the first time in these eighteen hours, she can’t stop herself from crying out in pain - it’s all-encompassing and agonizing, and it’s terrible, terrible, terrible.

In the beginning, she was trying to distract herself with happy thoughts, the reasons she’s doing this, how it’s a limited time of pain for a lifetime of happiness. Now there’s no point in distracting anymore; all she can do is sink into pain, try to breathe, try not to scream again.

“You’re killing it,” she hears Jake tell her, and maybe she is, but it’s not what she feels like.

“Stop talking.”

“Ah-kay.”

Amy’s not sure how long it takes before this contraction subsides. She can’t count in her head anymore, can’t do anything but breathe and try to ignore the nausea that’s joined the pain now, because apparently, she wasn’t suffering enough as it was. She makes a mental note in her head when the pain finally ebbs to say a sincere fuck you to her mom, who insisted that birthing eight children had been a walk in the park and no more painful than a headache. Although it did make her go in with a positive attitude to the whole thing, Amy has never related less to a comparison.

She loses track of time after a while. There are more doubles as if her body is deciding she wasn’t suffering enough as long as she had the breaks to look forward too, and every now and then the wave repeats a third time just to throw her off her game. She tries new positions in a desperate attempt for a sliver of relief, tries standing and leaning and weird ways of sitting, but it all equals to the same burning, contracting pain which isn’t going anywhere.

Their midwife checks her somewhere in the midst of the torture. Amy prays to some heavenly power that she’s going to say seven or eight centimeters or something that means she’s actually making progress, but she says four, maybe five and Amy wants to give up. She tells her so, receiving the well-meaning advice that she could reconsider pain relief for a bit of a break, but she can’t give them an answer in the moment and is asked to press the button when she’s certain. For now, the midwife leaves and the pain continues.

“I love you,” Jake whispers when he finally sees her relax after a third repeated wave, ignoring the previously issued talking-ban. He’s drawing circles on her scalp with his fingers, though, and it feels really nice, so she forgives him. “This is getting worse, huh?”

“So much worse.”

“It’s your decision, but - are you sure you don’t want to rethink pain relief?” He asks with zero judgment, all genuine worry and care in his eyes, and she bites her lip when she still doesn’t know what answer to give him. “Since they’re suggesting it and all.”

Unmedicated as long as possible had been her plan, based mainly on what her mom had recommended to no end and also a long list of overly inspirational birth vlogs on YouTube. It had felt right, and badass, and like something she should be able to do, but after eighteen sleepless hours of pain and too little progress, she’s not as confident.

“I don’t know,” she whispers back. “Maybe.”

Jake nods, opening his mouth as if to say something, but he doesn’t have the time before yet another contraction hits and she clenches his hand so tight her nails must be leaving marks.

This one is worse again. It’s like they’re on a ladder, ascending in pain level for each one, and it feels like a miracle when she manages to wheeze a warning of I’m going to throw up just in time for Jake to hold a plastic bag to her chin, not commenting but simply holding her hair back.

Considering how momentous a day it should be in their lives, it certainly feels like one of the least romantic.

“Okay,” she breathes when the pain subsides. “You know what? I don’t think I can do this anymore.”

“I am convinced you could do anything,” he corrects her. “But the point is you don’t have to. You could get that sweet, sweet pain relief, learn all about what it’s like to be on drugs, get some proper rest before you literally push a human out of you.”

“That does sound nice. I mean, not the last part, but the other points you made.”

“Seriously, Ames. You’ve been doing amazing,” he says with a kiss to her forehead. “But this is hard, and maybe it’s harder than you thought it would be. No one is going to judge you if you need some help or a bit of a break. You’re still going to have done it.”

“I read too many positive stories,” she sighs. “Not enough people warned me of this.”

“I mean, I think some did. Gina scared you pretty good.”

“Yeah, but I was confident, you know? I was convinced it wasn’t going to be that bad.” She has to pause the conversation for another contraction, feeling the irony. “Feels like I was wrong, huh?”

“Doesn’t matter whether you were wrong,” he says, rubbing his thumbs against one of her wrists. “Matters if you’re okay.”

“You promise you won’t think I’m less badass?”

“Not in the slightest.”

“Okay,” she mumbles, feeling a morsel of relief even as she decides the words in her head. “Then I want the epidural.”

It’s a sting of a needle in her lower back, barely noticeable in comparison to everything else, and then five minutes later, there's blissful relief.

There’s still pressure, but not even in the proximity of what she felt just ten minutes earlier, and the relief of seeing a contraction happen on the monitors without feeling any pain herself is the best thing she’s felt so far today. A nurse plays their baby’s heartbeat for them for a while, assuring them everything’s looking great, and then they’re left alone to get some rest. Jake drapes a blanket over her when she starts to shiver, and before she even asks him to, he’s climbed up in the bed with her to hold her while she takes her well-deserved break.

The realization hits again when her mind is no longer occupied trying to survive the nightmarish pain; they’re meeting their baby today, and they’re meeting their baby soon. It’s a maximum of hours away before they’re parents for real, and it’s the craziest, best, and most nerve-wracking feeling.

She whispers this to Jake with a tearful smile, and he responds with a goofily excited grin on his own as he traces a heart all over the skin of her bump.

Today.