#i think my migraine is both being sick and i got maybe half a hour of sleep last night

[martyrbat]

*clenching the sink* i need to suck on a man's tit

[hellyeahsickaf]

I can't stand that there are so many people in the field of medicine that shouldn't be

The concussion I experienced in childhood was the first case of medical neglect (debatably malpractice) that I remember experiencing. I was playing outside on a scooter, fell off, and landed face first onto the handlebar- hitting my eye. If it were maybe half an inch further it would've gone through the socket and well, you can imagine what would've happened then. I think I lost consciousness, but I felt the pain when I was conscious for sure. I was both dissociated from it and screaming because I mean my face hit the edge of a metal bar lol. Somehow my guardians didn't hear me screaming but lucky for me we had a beagle, and those guys are loud as fuck so he was howling and eventually got their attention.

I don't know how no one realized I had a TBI. It just feels so obvious to me now and I would immediately identify it as one. I was dizzy and uncoordinated, in and out of consciousness, vomiting, struggling severely to stay awake, had a wicked headache, sensitivity to light and sound, I felt like I was in a different dimension or high. They at least eventually realized it was serious enough that I should be taken to the hospital so I was.

They checked my vitals, said I was fine, and sent me to the waiting room with a bucket knowing I had injured my head so you'd think they'd put 2 and 2 together especially with my eye being swollen. I struggled to stay awake, fell asleep multiple times to blurry images of The Simpsons on their wall mounted TV. That was probably two hours. Woke up sick again and they took me home so they could try calling an ambulance and see if they'd admit me sooner. They did not. It was another 5+ hours (I think that's what I was told) in the crowded ass waiting room

When I saw the doctor they were rude as hell. Only checked my eye and vision for optical issues really. No imaging or neuro evaluations. I was scolded for not wearing a helmet which wouldn't have prevented the injury at all. They said I was irresponsible and should have known better (I was 8). I was told by others that saw me that I looked awful but I guess the doctor didn't think so. I couldn't eat much for days, was lethargic and confused. I passed out a couple days later and EMTs came in. They told me to drink Pedialyte

Fast forward over a decade later, I was maybe 19. I have intense migraines of an unknown cause so I have to get an MRI. They find what they believe to be a congenital defect if I had no history of head trauma to that part of my face. Fat had herniated into the injury but more importantly they noted that if not a defect it was clearly a fracture. So I broke my skull and was talked down to and told to wear a helmet next time. Even my guardians commented on me being a bit "dramatic" before it was bad bad. And it was the back of the orbital bone behind my eye meaning it was closer to going through it than I initially thought, which explains why it was swollen but not majorly like you'd see in an MMA fight or something. It just should've been clear. If not to my guardians then at least to the doctors and nurses who I'm sure see head injuries every damn day.

[sinner-as-saint]

we can’t stop, we’re enemies.

Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Reader AU

Run-through: After the events of the last battle against Thanos, you teamed up with Sam and Bucky to carry on your superhero duties. You got along with Sam just fine, he was a really good friend to you. Bucky however, was not. From constant banters, to unnecessary hand-to-hand combat, to purposely getting each other in trouble during risky missions, to being the main cause of Sam’s migraines; it was safe to say that you and Bucky considered yourselves to be each other’s nemesis. Although that soon changes when, courtesy of your silly banters, a certain mission goes slightly wrong - one which involves strong chemicals which, unbeknownst to you, were designed to mess with the brain and hormones, thus encouraging the need to breed and procreate amongst all those who inhale it...

Themes: enemies-to-lovers, smut, sex pollen trope, dirty talk, swear words, fluff

“How is it going up there Sam, talk to me.” 

You spoke, waiting to hear from Sam through the ear piece. 

The three of you were on a mission on unfamiliar lands. Rumor had it that some shady organization was conducting illegal experiments. The whole location was spooky, and you needed to be thorough and quick. So Sam decided to get an aerial view along with Red Wing, and see if there are any threats coming your way while you and Bucky decided to check out the underground laboratories. 

The whole place was shadowy and old, it almost seemed like no one had been here in a long time. But still, these people were criminals so you had to gather every evidence you could which would lead you their way. 

And so far, after exploring the place for the past half an hour, you found nothing major. Just weird laboratory glassware filled with liquids and what not. 

“Sam?” you called out again into the ear piece, keeping your gun at the ready. “Say something damn it.” 

His reply came. “There’s something sketchy about the building at the back, I’m gonna go check it out. But you have to promise me you won’t kill each other by the time I get back.” 

You and Bucky sent death glares at each other in disgust. He was on the other side of the lab, flipping through files and papers, while you were searching the cabinets and drawers. The two of you were separated by a steel workstation. Dark leather jacket, metal arm exposed; you’d find him handsome if he wasn’t so annoying. 

“Sure, whatever.” Bucky mumbled, being his grumpy self. 

You frowned at him, “Dude, drop your fucking attitude.” 

Bucky rolled his eyes at you, “Don’t tell me what to do.”

Sam roared through the ear piece, “Enough! Focus, you two are in the labs and we don’t know what’s in there. Just, maybe look out for each other. Okay? I’m going in.”

“Be careful, Sam.” You spoke, sending another dirty look at Bucky. 

“Yeah y-,” 

Sam got cut off. All you could hear was some static noises and then complete silence. 

“Sam? Can you hear us?” Bucky tried reaching out but neither of you could hear him. “This isn’t good.” 

“Damn it!” You cursed. “Maybe he flew out of range. Or maybe we’re too deep under.” 

For once in his life he nodded, agreeing with you. “Let’s just hurry up and see what we can find. We need to get out of here as fast as we can and get to the Jet.” He said, flipping through more and more files and papers, his metal arm glistening in the poorly lit room. 

You sassed in the same tone he used before, “Don’t tell me what to do.” And you earned yourself another glare from him. 

Fifteen minutes later and you two still had nothing to work with. 

“This is useless. There’s nothing here, this is just bullshit.” Bucky complained, slamming down a file on the workstation so hard that it made you jump. 

You were annoyed. You slammed a cabinet shut and turned to face him. “Oh I’m sorry princess, is work getting too tiring? Do you need a break? Hmm?” 

“Shut up, you’re the one who keeps whining all the time.” He wasn’t wrong. 

You stepped forward, grabbing the edge of the cold workstation. “Well maybe if you’d quit complaining and actually do your part of the job, then I wouldn’t have to whine about always doing everything on my own and you taking credit for it in front of Sam.” 

He leaned forward, his metal arm already denting his side of the edge of the workstation. “Maybe if you’d stop bitching about everything and everyone all the time then maybe we’d get along and actually get shit done.” 

You leaned in too. “Or maybe if just me and Sam teamed up, we’d work better. I still don’t know why he keeps you around. Take your metal arm away, what are you? Exactly, just a hundred year old, confused man.” 

He smirked. “And what are you? Just a spoilt, whiny brat who knows how to use a gun?” He knew just what to say to get the reaction he wanted out of you. 

In less than a few seconds you had your loaded gun out in front of you, aiming it at his forehead. “And guess what, she never misses a target.” You spat at him. 

You had done this before; aiming guns at each other until Sam comes to break the tension. But Sam wasn’t here this time. 

Bucky knew you would never pull the trigger on him so he gave you a handsome, arrogant smirk which only pissed you off even more. “Come on, shoot.” He provoked you. 

“Stop pissing me off.” You warned. 

“Or what? You’re gonna shoot me for calling you a whiny, spoilt brat? See, that’s exactly what brats do.” 

“James, stop.” Oh he was getting on your nerves. You were agitated. 

He just smirked and went on. “I actually believe that that might be your superpower, destroying people by annoying them to death with how much of a brat you can actually be.” 

You glared at him, unmoving, furious. You placed your forefinger on the trigger. “Say brat one more time and I will blow your fucking head off and when Sam asks, I’ll make it seem like an accident.” 

He leaned closer, aligning his forehead to the barrel of your gun. He stared at you with his stormy, ocean blue eyes; inciting you to just pull the damn trigger. He watched you with mischief in his eyes. “Brat.” He mouthed, smirking right after and waiting for your reaction. 

You clenched your jaw and shifted your aim just a little so that the bullet misses him but still shoots right by his ear. You pulled the trigger without hesitation, shooting at the shelf filled with dark red and brown liquids behind Bucky. 

Bucky maintained his calm and composure despite the loud sound of the shattering glass falling on the tiles right behind him. “Brat.” He said again, out loud this time. 

“I hate you.” You lowered your gun but then noticed something behind Bucky. Smoke, or some sort of vapor oozing out of the broken flasks and test tubes. You froze for a second. “Bucky, look.” You walked around the workstation and joined him on the other side. 

The vapor quickly filled the room like thick fog, reducing visibility and making your throat burn a little. You coughed; once, twice. You looked beside you and Bucky was standing there with a look of horror on his face. 

The moment his supersoldier sense got a whiff of the vapor, something in him ignited. No… 

“We have to get out of here. Now.” You heard his voice, then felt his cold fingers wrap around your wrists as he tugged you along, making his way out of the lab. He tried to hold his breath but he couldn’t hold it very long. He tried to find the door to exit the room but that was hard too because neither of you could see properly. 

“This stuff,” you spoke in between coughs, “will probably kill us, won’t it?” You held on tightly to his arm. “You need to get us out of here now.” The vapor was reducing your visibility more and more. 

He felt the side of the wall, looking for the metal handle of the door through which you entered the lab. “It won’t kill us.” He growled as he looked beside him. You were standing close to him, so close, holding on to his arm tightly, a thin layer of sweat covered your face. 

It was almost funny how you had your gun aimed at him just a minute ago and now you were relying on him for protection. 

“How can you be so sure? Do you know what this stuff is?” You asked. 

He sighed. He knew. “I have a hunch, but let’s hope I’m wrong.” He felt warm. Deep inside something stirred in him. Animalistic, primal, feral. It was there, pressing and burning. Guess he wasn’t wrong. 

He finally found the door and he pushed it open, letting the two of you out and you took off running at once. You tried to reach Sam. A couple tries later, he finally responded. “I got some names, I think we got what we’re looking for. Where are you guys?” 

“We found…. uh, nothing. We’re on our way to the jet, meet us there.” Bucky responded, running beside you. 

You were confused out of your mind, not to mention you felt feverish. Hot, and you were sweating more than usual in places you’d rather not think about. Something in you was yearning to break free. You felt chained, you needed release. You felt like something had awakened inside of you; a deep hunger. Aroused, you felt aroused. Or was it just the adrenaline rush? 

By the time you tried to figure out what was actually going on with you, you both had made it to the Jet. 

“I feel sick.” you mumbled, stumbling on your way inside the jet. “I think… I think that smoke poisoned me.” You placed your palm against the side of the plane to hold on so you don’t fall. You felt like gravity wasn’t pulling you down anymore. You were a little out of breath. 

Then you felt a cold hand on your shoulder. You grimaced as it only ignited the fire which you just found out had been burning inside you since you left the lab. 

“You’re not poisoned. You’re not sick, you’re gonna be okay. We just have to… we have to get home.” Bucky was worse than you were. His enhanced senses allowed him to feel everything you felt, times ten perhaps. 

His heart raced as he got a whiff of your fading perfume, mixed with the adrenaline pumping through your veins and your natural, raw scent. He could feel your arousal from here, and it pulled him in so easily. All he wanted to do was to tear your suit off, pin you up against the side of the Jet and fuck the living hell out of you, stretch you out and just rail you until you could no longer take it. 

Fuck. 

You looked up at him; heart racing, palms sweating and even your mouth was salivating more than usual. “You know what that thing was, don’t you?” You asked, ignoring the way his cold hand upon your shoulder made you want to lean into his touch even more. “What was it?” 

You saw the look in his hooded eyes. Bucky sighed, pulling his hand away from you and the loss of contact made you whimper ever so quietly. You felt warmer and more and more breathless with each second that passed by. 

“They used to make those substances, long ago back when I was with HYDRA. I didn’t expect to find those here. They were used to… to try and see if they could get super soldiers to procreate naturally.” Bucky explained and waited for your reaction. 

“Sex pollen. Correct?” 

He nodded, “Yes.” 

You were a little shaken, but relieved knowing that at least it wasn’t poison and you wouldn’t be dying a painful death. “That’s… I mean, it could have been poison.” You didn’t know how to react after you pieced it all together. “How long before it wears off?” 

“Twenty-four hours unless...” 

“Unless what?” 

“Unless you fuck it out of your system well enough.”

That had you surprised. “Oh. Well that’s just great, isn’t it? Fucking perfect. I’m screwed.” 

Bucky tried his hardest to refrain himself from leaning in and biting that sassy mouth of yours, shoving his tongue past your lips to shut you up, to hear you moan and gasp and cry out his name as he takes you however he wants to… 

“We.” He corrected you. “It’ll get worse every hour.” He replied. 

You sighed and moved away from him, unzipping your combat suit partly and removing the jacket because you couldn’t handle the heat. Bucky cursed as you stripped into just a tank top and tight pants, right in front of him. He felt his cock get harder. 

“Can you not?” He sounded pissed off again; frustrated. “This is all your doing. The least you can do is make this a little bit easier for both of us.” 

His words made you turn around and glare at him. “How is this my doing? I didn’t even know what was in that lab.” 

He stepped forward, instinctively. The sight of your exposed neck and your soft skin was making him think of unspeakable things that he wanted to do to you. As he advanced, you tried not to look down at his cock, straining against his zipper. Your heart raced as you took in the size of his bulge. Enhanced super soldier indeed. 

“Had you not been a spoiled brat who can’t take a joke, you wouldn’t have tried to shoot at me nor would you have shot those flasks!” He argued, feeling more and more warm as he got closer to you. 

You took a step forward as well, fueled by annoyance, lust and anger. “Who was it who provoked me into doing that because they couldn’t keep their fucking mouth shut, huh? That’s right, your annoying ass!” 

Bucky pushed you against the side of the Jet without a second thought. He grabbed your wrists and pinned them above your head with his hand while pressing his body into you, his metal arm circling around your waist and pressing you further into him. 

He hadn’t thought this through. He hadn’t thought about how your warm breath would feel against his skin, or how warm your body would be under his touch. You felt feverish, having him this close. His tall, large frame and his tight grip made your whimper under him. Your body reacted to him naturally. 

All you felt was warm, his body heat, his scent. The feeling of his cold leather jacket against your flushed skin. You wanted him. Or rather, your body did. 

“Don’t you provoke me now, you fucking whiny brat.” He whispered, menacingly into your ear. 

You tried to ignore the shivers his voice sent down your entire body. But he saw it. And you could feel his erection press against your crotch. Just to mess with him, you discreetly moved your hips against his, making him hiss loudly. 

“What are you gonna do about it, dipshit?” You sassed, knowing that given his intensified senses he must be feeling much worse than you. 

He groaned as you kept grinding against him, your pulsating core rubbing against the bulge in his pants. And that only made it worse for both of you. 

“Fuck…” Bucky swore, before quickly pulling away from you, but not releasing you yet. “You’re such a bitch.” His body was screaming for you, each nerve ending of his was on fire. A fire only you could douse. 

You were just the same, on the edge and wanting to reach out for him; knowing he would satiate your hunger better than anyone could. Your body was throbbing as you stared into his eyes, your gaze lowering down to his dog tags. How you wanted those dangling right above your face… 

You heard someone clear their throat. It wasn’t Bucky. 

“Something you two need to tell me? Or is this just your new way of trying to kill each other?” A deep voice asked from behind Bucky. 

“Sam! Are you okay?” You escaped Bucky’s grip and rushed to Sam. 

He seemed alright to you. He nodded. “Yeah, we just need to get home. I need to notify the team and see what we should do next. What was in those labs?” 

You glared at Bucky. His smug face alone was pissing you off, but God right now you wanted to ride that man until the sun came tomorrow morning. 

“Just a bunch of useless experiments. Nothing major.” He glared at you as he said the last bit to Sam. 

The ride back home was one of the most painful, annoying and frustrating situations you had ever undergone. Each time you felt like someone was watching you, you’d turn your head to the side and find Bucky staring; and his stares would make your body tremble in need. 

Meanwhile he was having a hard time too, in more ways than one. He could feel his blood rush south even at the brief sound of your voice whenever you sighed in annoyance or talked to Sam. Luckily the latter could not pick up on the thick, sexual tension. 

Once at the compound, you each hurried to your own rooms and that’s where you stayed until the evening. Sam found it weird that you both skipped dinner but he didn’t need another headache today so he went to bed, telling himself that he’d deal with you two tomorrow morning. 

Bucky was a mess. Even after an hour under the cold shower his body was still calling out for you. He tried taking care of his business on his own, but that wasn’t working. He was still so hard it was painful. Nothing could make this better, nothing could soothe the pain - nothing but you. He needed you so badly it was driving him insane, like he was an animal in heat being asked to suppress his feral desires towards his mate. Being away from you was painful. He couldn’t help but hate you for no reason at all usually, but he’d do what it takes to be inside you and make you scream his name right now. 

You were equally as troubled at the super soldier. You tried taking a warm bath and tried to think of other things you could focus on, but nothing worked. Your toys didn’t seem appealing tonight, you needed him, all of him. You shivered at the thought of his taut, virile body under yours, or above. His masculine scent, the sound of his moans, would he bite?… fuck. You could feel your arousal leak out of you every now and then, it was insane how aroused you were. You couldn’t look at him for long without getting unnecessarily annoyed, but you would do anything just to have him rearrange your guts right now. 

What made it worse was that neither of you could stand each other at all. Enemies, you called yourselves. But right now you couldn’t help but crave each other in the most salacious way possible. 

Fuck this. You couldn’t take this anymore. You decided to swallow your pride and make your way to his room and ask him if you two could come to an agreement on how to fight this thing because it would be impossible to go another twenty hours feeling like this. You were burning from the inside. This was unbearable. 

Just as you opened your bedroom door, you were slightly surprised to find Bucky standing right outside your door. His metal hand up midair, as though he was to knock on your door and you happened to open the door just in time. You almost drooled at the sight of him; sweatpants and a tight, white t-shirt. You swallowed and cleared your throat. 

“Hey.” You greeted him, not knowing how to deal with this situation. You felt so drawn to him in that moment, so damn restless and needy that it was hard to breathe right while looking at him. 

“I was, uh, about to knock…” He didn’t know how he got here, he didn’t remember. Maybe it was the chemicals messing with his brain and turning him into a hungry beast. He didn’t care that he was knocking on your door in the middle of the night, he wanted you. He was craving you and that’s all he knew. Also the oversized t-shirt, the only you were wearing at the time, was not helping at all. 

“Yeah, um…” you rambled then stopped talking the moment you found him staring into your eyes with a wild look in his eyes. 

That was it. 

You grabbed him by the waistband of his sweats and pulled him inside, shutting the door behind him. Before Bucky could process anything, you had him pushed against your closed door and your mouth was on his, kissing him hungrily. Your hands slowly slipped under his tight t-shirt and you lazily trailed your hands up and down his toned abs. 

His hands gripped your hips on either side as he kissed you back with just as much ardor as you did. His body ignited the moment he felt your lips and hands on him, yet the heat was weirdly satisfying; it stimulated him but calmed him down at the same time. It felt perfect. This was just what he needed, you. 

Your movements were rapid and passionate, fiery. Hands roaming each other's body, touching and feeling and exploring; making each other moan like you were both touch-starved. 

You let out a soft moan when you felt his tongue slip past your lips, stroking the top of your mouth while his metal hand slipped under your shirt. Your body was tingling wherever he touched you. His touch made you feel way better than you had felt in the past few hours and you were grateful. Your moans sent his mind straight to the gutter and he couldn’t wait to be inside you. 

“I need you…” you whispered against his lips as you pulled away to catch your breath. “I need you to fuck me… right here, right now.” Your demands made him smirk as he looked down at you with lust in his eyes. 

“Oh?” he managed to still find the energy to be an ass to you. “Why don’t you go on and beg for it, then?” 

You scoffed, leaning in to lick his lips while you hand dipped into his pants. You grabbed his erected cock and gave it a little, gentle squeeze. He moaned like he hadn’t been touched in forever. Like he was desperate for one thing and one thing only; you. You whispered, “You need me too, Bucky. I’m not gonna beg you, I’m doing you a favor here.” You slid your closed fist up and down his length and made him moan some more before you let go and watched him groan and clench his jaw in annoyance. 

He looked down at you, panting in need just as you were. His hand slid into your hair and he gripped it, tugging on it just enough to make you gasp in pleasure and pain. “Still a fucking brat with that annoying attitude I see?” He leaned in to bite your exposed neck, making your cry out in pain before he licked the spot, soothing it. “Don’t worry doll, I’ll fuck all that attitude out of you.” 

He let go of your hair but tightened his grip around your waist as he placed his mouth back on yours. Kissing you like there’s no tomorrow; biting your lip and bruising your already swollen mouth. He was wild, and you needed it and more. 

He pushed you down on your bed, and stood back to watch you for a moment. How did he never realize that you were so naturally beautiful? He looked down at you like a predator looking at his meal; fiercely, ready to ruin you and make you scream and beg and satiate his hunger. As well as yours. 

“Well, if you’re done staring…” you knelt on your bed and reached out for him, grabbing him by the neck and pulling him closer. “I want you in me. Now.” Your demanding tone riled him up. 

Bucky grabbed you by the hair and tilted your head back again. “If you wanna get fucked, you’re gonna ask nicely. Understood?” 

You glared at him, shooting death glares right at him while your hand palmed him through his sweatpants. “I fucking hate you.” You spat at him, whimpering as he pushed you back down on the bed, quickly climbing on top of you this time. 

“I hate you too.” He knelt on your bed, straddling your waist as he tore your oversized shirt in half and off your body, throwing the pieces of fabric somewhere on your bedroom floor. You laid beneath him in just your underwear and he growled. 

“That was my favorite shirt, you fucking idiot.” You whispered, breathless, shivers dancing down your spine as he traced your mouth with his two fingers, slipping them past your lips once, then twice then trailing his now wet fingers down your neck, till your belly button. 

“You think I care?” he leaned down and took one of your breasts into his mouth, kneading the other with his metal hand. The contrast of his warm mouth around one and his cold hand around the other was driving you crazy. He bit, and tugged and licked; making your back arch off the bed as you purred in pleasure. 

Your hips moved on their own, grinding against his erection again to try and alleviate the pain. You were desperate. Bucky pinched and rolled one of your nipples while he lightly grazed the other with his teeth, and you let out a loud moan. 

“Please… please, I need you. Please…” You muttered under your breath, knowing he could hear you. Bucky smirked as he pulled away from your chest, ignoring the way his cock throbbed. “What’s so fucking funny?” You grabbed him by the throat, pulling his face closer to yours. 

His metal arm reached down in between your legs and he ripped your underwear off. The fabric hurt just a little when it tore against your skin. “Just that it's the first time I heard you asking for something so politely. It’s not so hard after all, is it?” 

Now he was pissing you off. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders and flipped the two of you around. You got on top of him and straddled his waist, trapping him under you like he had you before. You had better control like this. 

You grabbed him by the jaw and leaned in to kiss his lips, fiercely. “Stop fucking playing, Barnes.” You whispered against his lips, grinding against his hard cock again. He closed his eyes and hissed in pleasure as you kissed down to his neck, nibbling on his skin along his throat. 

He moaned, hands gripping your hips and guiding you as you rubbed your bare core against his clothed erection. “No? I thought brats liked games?” He mumbled. 

You pulled away from his neck and looked down at his smug face. “You are so fucking annoying.” You reached down in between your bodies and lowered his sweatpants all the way down until he kicked them off. You grabbed his cock and stroked him gently, agonizingly slow. He moaned shamelessly, and eventually caught on that you were just teasing him even more. 

“Don’t tease me…” he sounded just as breathless as you were. 

“Why? Not so fond of games anymore?” you sassed, rubbing your throbbing core against his thigh while you stroked him so gently that he felt like he was losing his mind. 

He growled as he grabbed you by the waist and flipped the two of you around, him being on top again. “Enough,” he growled in your ear, “Spread those legs for me.” He ordered, settling in between them as you spread your legs to accommodate him. He grabbed your thighs and parted your legs even more as he aligned the tip of his cock to your opening. “Now stay still, don’t move.” 

You braced yourself for him, but nothing could have prepared you for that. His length stretched you open until he was seated deep inside you, filling you up entirely to a point where you couldn’t even think of anything else other than him being balls deep inside you. 

You moaned as he removed himself entirely and pushed himself back into you, and watched in awe how you struggled to adjust to his size. He lowered his face again, and leaned into your ear, “Fuck….” you heard him moan; panting and swearing under his breath as he rocked into you. 

You were a moaning mess under him in no time. He kissed your open mouth while he rammed into you over and over again, making your eyes tear up. The burning need subsided a little bit as his cock brushed against all the right spots inside you. “Buck… faster, please,” You whimpered. 

He chuckled into your ear, “Needy little brat…” he mumbled as he sped up into you, making you lose your ability to focus on anything else other than him and his body. He pulled away from your face to look down at you, his metal hand coming up to wrap itself around your throat. “This is what you wanted since we left that lab, huh? For me to fuck your greedy little cunt? Hmm?” He taunted as he stretched you out completely. You lifted your legs up and wrapped them around his waist; allowing him to thrust deeper into you. 

You felt tears escaping your eyes as he pulled you closer and pressed his forehead to yours fucking deeper into you. He was relentless; each moan which left your lips only encouraged him to get more and more rough. 

You felt a pressure form in between your hips, your body begging for release. “Bucky… please.” You moaned, begging. For something, anything. You’d take anything at this point. But right when your walls started clenching around him and when you were just about to come undone; he pulled out. 

“Please what?” He surprised himself with how he was able to tease you in this situation when all he wanted was to make both of you cum over and over again. 

“I need to cum, Bucky please,” you cried, with tears in your eyes. 

Bucky leaned in to kiss your swollen lips, not minding the tears. “Do you deserve it?” He asked, and you nodded immediately, your body shaking with how bad you needed to cum. “Oh you do, do you?” 

You nodded again. “Please…please...” 

“Well since you asked nicely…” Bucky flipped you onto your stomach and pulled you onto your knees by your hips and pushed himself inside you again. You felt his muscular body press against the curve of your ass as he filled you up again. 

He rocked into you from behind. His hand found its way to your front and he pressed the palm against your lower abdomen. He liked how he could feel himself deep inside you with each thrust. And he liked how that drove you insane, he could by the way your walls gripped his cock. 

“Feel that, little brat? That’s all you’re good for… to take my cock like a good little slut.” He whispered. 

You groaned at the sound of his raspy voice, his words making you milk him even harder. “You wish, you dipshit.” You moaned as he sped up when you least expected it. You whimpered, and he chuckled now that he had you at his mercy. 

His hand travelled all the way to your throat and he choked you gently as he bent down to whisper in your ear, “I can assure you that no one is ever gonna fuck you this good,” he boasted as he very gently squeezed the side of your throat. But hard enough to make you lose your mind.

You could only moan and whimper in response while he kept pounding into you incessantly. “Fuck… please....” you cried. 

You felt the pressure in between your hips grow until you couldn’t hold back anymore. You felt him quicken his pace as he chased his own orgasm. ��Cum for me. Now.” 

You didn’t have to be told twice. You came undone, hard and fast; moaning his name as you did. Bucky came right after you. 

You collapsed onto your bed, sprawled unevenly and not even caring. Your eyes were shut in fatigue, your heart racing and you could feel Bucky’s body heat right next to you. He was catching his breath too, mumbling something under his breath which you couldn’t catch. 

For the first time in hours, you felt at ease. Your body wasn’t yearning anymore, but the hunger was still there. So when Bucky got up to leave, you grabbed him by the hand and pulled him back into bed with you. 

He smirked as he fell helplessly onto your bed again, right next to you. “You want more, you greedy little brat?” 

You punched his arm before getting up and getting on top of him again, sliding your body down his cock. He hissed as you did. 

“Just another round.” You whispered, loving the sight of him under you. His tan skin against your white sheets, him moaning as you slowly lifted up and sank back down on his cock. Oh fuck… 

You placed your hands on his muscular chest to hold yourself up as you sped up, riding him like you’ve been dreaming of this whole time. His hands gripped your hips, guiding you up and down his cock until you both found a pleasurable pace. 

You weren’t going to last too long, but you just needed to have him buried deep inside you again. His thick, girthy cock stretched you open as you took him as best you could, moaning and whimpering desperately as he groaned and gasped under you. 

Your walls gripping him and milking him like they had earlier, not even a few minutes ago. You felt the pressure forming nicely in between your hips again. You let out a loud moan as you felt his cock reach places it hadn’t before, turning you into a mess. 

His grip on your hips tightened as he brought you down on his cock with force each time and thrusting upwards to fuck you deeper. “Cum for me.” He threw his head back, growling. “Cum for me again…” 

Your hand grabbed him by the jaw and you leaned in to press your lips against his, claiming his open mouth and muffling his animalistic growls as you came undone around him again. Your orgasm then triggered his. 

You fell limp on top of him right after and he instinctively cradled your head. “You okay?” 

You nodded, your sweaty bodies pressed against each other but neither of you minding it. “Yeah.” 

Bucky gently rolled to his side, letting you down on your side of the bed. You tried your best to calm your racing heart. Not to mention you felt much, much better than earlier. 

Bucky got up to leave again, and you grabbed his hand before he got completely out of your bed. He turned to face you with a smirk then groaned dramatically, “Woman please, I’m not a machine. The pain will subside now, I believe we’ve done pretty good at fucking it out of our systems. I can’t go all night, seriously.” 

You were in a haze so his words made you giggle. “You’re really leaving?” 

He looked down at you, sprawled on your bed. Your face was glowing, you looked ethereal. “You want me to stay?” He asked, wondering where the sassy brat in you went. 

You nodded. 

He smirked, getting back into bed next to you, “What, now you're obsessed with me?”

You rolled your eyes at him. “Shut up. I’m just saying since I might need you again in the morning, you might as well just sleep here.”  

He pretended to be hurt. “Wow.” He didn’t mind that at all. He got under the covers with you, “So… is it just the chemicals or are we…?” 

You snuggled closer to his side, he wrapped his arm around you, tucking your head under his chin. “Shh, I still hate you.” Your tired, soft voice reminded him of a sleepy kitten. 

He held you closer. “Of course.” He looked down at you and saw that you had already fallen asleep on his chest. He cracked a soft smile, whispering under his breath, “Brat.” 

[gumnut-logic]

Sick

Now I had two migraines today, but either side of them, I managed to churn out over 4000 words of completed sickfic. Why I wrote sickfic, I’m not sure, but I think it was sparked mainly by this post. Not any of the prompts in particular, but more a whole feel of them.

Also, I plead predictable and anyone who knows me and what I write can probably predict the entire plot, but I plead sick myself and poke my tongue out you anyway. So don’t expect amazing writing.

Many thanks to the amazing @onereyofstarlight​ for reading through and being the wonderful person she is ::hugs her tight::

All the warnings on this. I know we are in pandemic times and this fic involves a nasty bug and hospital scenes. While the content is lightish and not graphic or anything, it does focus on a flu-like bug. So, if that topic might trigger you or hurt you in anyway, do not read. I don’t know why I wrote sickfic in the middle of a pandemic. Maybe I’m just an idiot, but it happened and I wanted to warn you just in case.

Otherwise, I hope you enjoy :D

-o-o-o-

It started with Alan.

It often started with Alan. Of course, the poor kid blamed himself for what happened, but nobody else did.

Alan came home to the Island with a snotty nose. Within the day he had developed a fever and was down for the count.

Virgil, back from three consecutive rescues, ordered him to bed and went about monitoring him disguised as pandering his little brother.

They weren’t concerned, it was a cold, nothing more.

Until the next day when his fever spiked and Scott, who had been up all night with Tracy Industries business plus two of the same rescues Virgil had been entangled in the previous day, was found in the kitchen blowing his nose.

Virgil, who had taken five minutes for a bathroom break and a drink before going back to Alan - who he had dragged into the infirmary by this time - caught Scott red-nosed and glared at him until he joined Virgil with their little brother.

Within the hour, Scott was flat on his back with a fever climbing faster than Alan’s.

Virgil may have been heard to mention the words ‘overwork’ and ‘idiot’ in the same sentence, but considering they were both said with love and a bucket of worry, Scott let him have it.

Grandma, of course, was on the case, liaising with some mainland counterparts and the bug was quickly narrowed down the a very contagious flu…

That was merrily infecting half of Alan’s school mates.

Alan, being the youngest of them, was tough, and though his temperature stayed up and he felt absolutely miserable, he eventually stabilised and moved onto the hack up a lung stage which merely involved turning your body inside out trying to get the bug out of your system.

Not much sleep was being had by anyone at this point.

But Scott was older, overworked, and low on defences for all of the above and went down hard.

With a fever that bordered on delirium, he scared several shades of colour out of Virgil’s hair.

There was a moment where Virgil found himself speaking to Auckland Hospital and mentally prepping Two.

But there were mentions of quarantine and contagion and apparently the mainland was tackling this as a possible epidemic. Having been through one of those pandemic nasties as a child, Virgil decided that they had the supplies and the skillset to treat Scott where they were.

And ultimately, the thought of being kept from his ailing brothers was something Virgil just…couldn’t. So there were selfish reasons as well as medical.

Until Grandma wavered beside him and he had to move fast to catch her as she fell.

Reflexes.

Sure enough, she was burning up and as he cradled her in his arms, he got a very clear education as to why Scott was like he was, because Grandma had obviously been ill for some hours but had refused…

Goddamnit.

He lifted her up, carried her gently to a bed beside Scott, and she became patient number three.

A patient even more alarming than his eldest brother. Scott, whose fever finally broke that afternoon and he slipped into a disturbed sleep punctuated by the occasional coughing fit.

Virgil would have been relieved, but Grandma was obviously in the older age range, something that could be a major issue, so Virgil didn’t let himself relax, terrified their beloved matriarch might need more than he could give her.

Perhaps it was that and the fact that John was as Tracy as any of them, that is was Gordon who found John out cold in his observatory late that night.

As things would have it, this was one of the few times their spaceman had his feet on terra firma. He had been called down by Virgil, yes there was guilt for that, after those three long rescues because Virgil’s medic radar claimed his space brother was as exhausted as they were.

The words ‘downtime, now, John’ had bounced through the atmosphere and up into space.

Virgil had so many regrets.

Because, of course, his space brother was vulnerable and took it as hard as Scott. When Gordon yelled across comms, John was already trying for Olympic gold in the temperature department, initially spiking two degrees above Scott’s highest temperature and mumbling to EOS in his delirium.

The questions he asked Eos were all about his brothers, particularly Scott and Alan and a frantic AI was Virgil and Gordon’s company back to the infirmary, their now unconscious space brother in tow on a stretcher behind them.

There followed a sleepless night surrounded by so many worrying numbers.

It didn’t help that Scott decided he needed to check on John and climbed out of bed, took a step and then collapsed, hitting his head on the way down.

Virgil, who had chosen that minute to rush out and pee, came back to find Scott unconscious on the floor.

There went any hair colour he had left.

He ran vitals and scanned to make sure his brother hadn’t broken anything major. He hadn’t.

Lifting a limp Scott onto his bed had Virgil grunting with the effort, but he soon had him settled and the dent in his head dressed.

John continued to spike nasty temperatures, but he seemed to be stabilising and the advice from Auckland kept them on the Island.

Grandma managed to be the saviour of Virgil’s sanity. Yes, she got the fever, yes, it taxed her system, but being the toughest of them all (and not having spent half her life in space), her fever broke earlier than any of them and while she had a cough, it wasn’t anywhere near as bad as Alan’s.

Within two days, Virgil was confident enough to send her off to her rooms to rest.

Well, more order her, there may have been yelling as Virgil wasn’t at his best, but eventually she went.

He would apologise later.

One small part of his mind was doing a lot of yelling at himself – he had yelled at his grandmother for the first time in his life and that was…bad.

But John was not good. Scott…was awake, and goddamnit, Virgil almost wished he could knock him out again because he kept trying to get out of bed, worried about this, that and everything. But his body had been hit by a freight train and couldn’t deliver.

There may have been more yelling.

But again, he was distracted as a pale Gordon dragged in a paler Kayo.

There was lots of yelling after that.

Both of them had symptoms. Gordon wasn’t stupid and had been in the process of presenting himself at the infirmary when he came across a stumbling, but determined Kayo in the comms room.

The fact she was further advanced in the illness was the only reason Gordon had been able to wrangle her into submission.

Particularly because she could barely stand.

Kayo hated the infirmary almost as much as Gordon.

Of course, the moment the two appeared, Scott made a move to climb out of bed and it was only a scorching glare from Virgil that stopped him.

Gordon’s temperature stabilised at a lower level than all of them and broke reassuringly early within several hours. Kayo did the exact same as Scott and John and tried to be the highest, just missing by a point or two below John, the current record holder, who was now well into the horrific coughing stage with a body as weak as a kitten.

But they all stabilised eventually and Virgil was finally able to take a breath for a moment to find some food. Eos, who was recovering from a fret fest, but was still hovering, promised to keep an eye on them all while Virgil attended a little to himself.

He was exhausted.

Sleep had been sparse over the last five days, food scarce, and stress levels through the roof. He had a suspicion that if he stopped, he would fall on his face and then where would they be? All of them were sick and…he frowned. Where was Brains?

How could he have forgotten Brains?

Virgil swore. “Brains?” His fingers shook on his collar comms and he realised he hadn’t changed his shirt in two days.

There was no response.

Virgil’s heart climbed up his throat. “Eos, location on Brains.”

“Hiram is in his lab, Virgil.” The AI sounded almost herself.

But Virgil was running before she had finished the sentence.

A dash down to the lab revealed their genius engineer collapsed across one of his many keyboards.

Oh, god.

How could he have forgotten Brains? Guilt reared up and shook him.

Reaching his friend, he ran vitals.

No fever.

Breathing regular.

In fact, the only problem he could find was the fact the engineer was prone to electrocuting himself through drooling on the keyboard. In all appearances he was just asleep.

Virgil wilted on the spot, relief almost taking him out right there.

Scooping him into his arms, Virgil deposited Brains on the cot he kept in his lab for this exact reason. He immediately curled up in the light blanket Virgil draped over him and started to snore.

The fear of the moments before melted away into fondness. Brains was just adorable.

Virgil blinked. With adrenalin waning, exhaustion reared its head again. He really needed some decent rack time. But, turning towards the door, he was interrupted by the soft chime of Brains’ computer. “Hiram, you there?’

Virgil strode over and answered the call.

“Oh! You’re not Hiram! Where is he?”

The woman could have been Moffie except her hair was a lighter colour and she wore a name badge with the name Lily from Auckland Medical.

She looked as wrecked as Brains.

“This is Tracy Island, can I help you?”

“I don’t need you, I need Hiram. Where is he?”

Virgil sighed. “Doctor Hackenbacker is asleep. I’m Virgil Tracy. Can I help you at all?”

“Sleep is inconvenient at a time like this!” Virgil couldn’t help but mentally agree. “You need to wake him, tell him it worked, and we have a possible vaccine.”

His brain was slow, or maybe it just needed reassurance. “A vaccine for what?”

“The new epidemic! How can you not…” She peered closer to the screen. “Are you quite alright? Mr Tracy?” He could almost see the penny drop. “Virgil Tracy, pilot of Thunderbird Two????”

“Ah, yeah.” He did not have the energy for this. “Ma’am, I will inform the doctor when he wakes-“

“No, no, no! I need to speak to him now! We need his permission for the next step. This is his solution, we need permission-“

Virgil glanced back at his exhausted friend. So this was what he had been doing down here. Medicine wasn’t his main focus, but genius is genius, and Virgil had some vague recollection of Brains needing samples in the last few days. Seemed like eons ago.

Virgil poked at the computer and brought up what his friend had been working on. Diagram, numbers that blurred, but the science was there and as expected the solution was brilliant. He sighed again. While the Tracys were down for the count, Brains had been down here saving lives anyway.

She was still rambling, obviously stressed and at a panic. He cut her off. “You have it. I can speak for him. Do what you have to do.” He paused as she froze like a deer in headlights. “And get some sleep yourself. Lack of sleep leads to mistakes and that is something we can’t afford right now.” She was still staring at him. “Tracy Island out.”

Well, at least with some production time in play and ownership by Brains, IR could see to distribution to make sure this vaccine made it to all the countries in need.

Not like the last time.

Brains snorted and rolled over in his cot.

Virgil’s eyelids drooped.

Okay, food, check on his family, and then maybe some sleep of his own. At least now everyone was accounted for, he could relax a little.

He made his way back to the kitchen and managed about two mouthfuls of cereal before pushing the bowl away.

Ugh, just no. Pushing to his feet, the world spun a moment, but he steadied himself. He really needed some decent sleep.

Check family and go to bed.

He took the elevator instead of the stairs to get back to the infirmary where he found Gordon, John, Kayo and even Scott asleep, thank goodness. They were all on the mend. Readings were good. Scott was only still in here because Virgil couldn’t trust him out of his sight. The head injury had made for an excellent excuse to keep him in. But tomorrow they could all return to their rooms.

The coughing warranted it.

Gordon opened one sleepy eye and frowned at him.

Virgil shushed him quietly and tucked him in tighter. It was a sign that the fish was not himself in that he acquiesced without an argument.

All was quiet as Virgil slipped out to go check on his grandmother and littlest brother.

He made it halfway down the corridor before a wave of heat washed over him.

Oh shit, he did not feel good.

“Eos?”

“Yes, Virgil?”

“Do me a favour and check on Alan and Grandma for me? I need vital stats and health status.”

The AI rattled off some good numbers and reported that both family members were asleep.

“Keep an eye on them for me?”

“Always, Virgil, you know that.”

Yeah, he did.

“Okay, I’m going to bed. Let me know if they need me.”

“Yes, Virgil.” A pause. “Your vitals are elevated.”

“I know. I just need some sleep. I’m okay.” He was. Really.

“Are you sure?”

Her voice followed him into his quarters where he started shedding his shirt. “I’m good.” His flannel shirt landed on the floor and he reached down to pick it up.

And the world stopped.

-o-o-o-

Consciousness flickered and echoed a familiar roar as Scott yelled something.

For a moment he opened his eyes and found a flash of yellow swimming above him. “G-ords?”

“Virgil, hey there. No, no, stay down.” There were strong hands on his shoulders, far stronger than they had any right to be.

“You should be in bed.” The words fell from his lips with little thought.

A half-hysterical laugh was all he heard before everything washed away as the world took off and left him behind.

He surfaced again when other voices worried over him. A cool hand on his forehead, his grandmother’s voice reciting vital stats that were terrifying. One of his brothers? His brain brought up Scott and John and Kayo and how sick they had all been. Grandma? Grandma was at risk. Allie? Brains?

Worry chased him into darkness and heat.

-o-o-o-

He had no idea how much time had passed when the world finally came back and started making sense.

It was quiet, the only sounds were distant, beyond walls. He wasn’t on Tracy Island anymore, that was an immediate realisation as enough brain came online.

He was in a bed, but the sheets were not his own. There was something on his face. Irritably he tried to swipe at it and found all his strength missing, barely able to lift his arms from the bed.

A gentle hand caught his. “No, Virgil, you need to keep the oxygen mask on.”

It was John’s voice, one he was used to obeying, so he stilled.

“Can you open your eyes?”

Never one to ignore a request from his brothers, Virgil cranked open his eyelids to a darkened room.

“Hey, there you are.” John was looking down at him, standing beside the bed, holding his hand and ever so pale in the dim light. He blurred and Virgil blinked.

“Wha’ ‘appened?” His throat was raw and the attempt to speak set off a cough that had his head spinning and hands grabbing at him.

The world teetered and disappeared for a bit longer.

-o-o-o-

He woke to quiet singing. The world appeared steady and didn’t seem to want to attack him again. At least for the moment.

The voice was Scott’s. Ever so quietly, he was singing a song from a long, long time ago. Virgil realised his hand was being held against something warm, soft and vibrating with music. He opened his eyes to find that hand against his brother’s cheek. Scott’s voice was little more than a whisper, but the words and the tune travelled down Virgil’s arm and straight into his heart.

He dared not open his mouth, the oxygen mask reminding him of what happened earlier and his brain now capable of filling in the gaps.

It was obvious that he was sick with the bug. He cursed it in his head. His family had been so ill, and he had made it worse.

Because this wasn’t a room on Tracy Island. No, this looked more like a hotel, decked out in medical equipment. The ever so distant sound of traffic told him they were in a city. His brothers had had to launch to save him, no matter how ill they had been themselves.

Virgil felt the worst.

He must have moved because he was suddenly the subject of an intense pair of blue eyes. “Virgil? You with me?”

Virgil squeezed the hand in his.

“Oh, thank god.” And there was moisture in his brother’s words.

What the hell had happened?

“Hey, you stay still.” A hand on his shoulder. “No talking. Stay calm.”

Virgil stared at his frightened brother and felt fright himself.

“No, no, you’re okay, Virgil. You’re okay. You just need rest.”

The dim light was etching out Scott’s face in grey lines. He looked exhausted and spent.

“You need to rest.” It was repeated and Virgil wanted nothing more than to say the exact same words to his brother. There must have been something in his expression because Scott rebutted without needing to be told. “We are fine, Virgil. We’ve recovered. Yes, even me. That was two weeks ago. You, on the other hand…” Scott rubbed a hand over his face. “You’re okay. And you’re going to get better.”

A door opened and someone entered. Grandma appeared out of the darkness. “Honey, you’re awake.” Her hand landed immediately on his forehead, cool and kind. “We’re in Auckland. In the hotel across from the hospital. We’ve rented out the whole thing for epidemic victims.” She began checking him over, ever attentive and ever kind.

“Brains?” His voice cracked and for a moment there he thought his lungs were going to protest, but Scott shook his head in exasperation and offered him some water. The mask was lifted enough for a straw.

The liquid was ever so cool.

Grandma’s voice was quiet. “You scared us, kiddo. You collapsed in your bedroom. Eos woke half the house. It became very obvious that your immunity had been compromised by exhaustion and the bug really got its claws into you. Your fever spiked – you now hold the record, by the way, a dubious honour, I’m afraid.” She sighed. “We had to medivac you off the Island as your condition deteriorated. I wasn’t confident we had what you needed, honey. You needed a hospital. Unfortunately, Auckland is currently overwhelmed by this bug.” She turned to adjust his IV. “We’ve flown in some specialists and support staff, and you’re now in the penthouse of the Auckland Hospital Hotel Extension.” Her hand was again stroking his hair off his forehead. “With Brains’ vaccine and your brothers flying assistance, we are getting this bug under control.”

“What about-“ and his throat clogged. He spent the next minute trying to control the spasms of his diaphragm.

The world shook as his brother and grandmother held him. As the coughing spasm passed they let him down gently on the bed.

“Honey, no talking. You’ve been through a lot. Give your body a chance to recover.”

But the thought of his ill brothers having to airlift him to Auckland, probably in Two…his mind rattled. They had all been so sick.

“Now, now, young man, I can see the worry in your eyes. We are all fine. All of us have recovered. It is you who needs to rest.” And she was back to running her fingers through his hair and as always it was calming and he was so tired. His eyes closed without permission, his eldest brother and his grandmother looking down at him was the last thing he saw before sleep claimed him.

He drifted off with the reassurance that his family was well and that he could finally rest.

-o-o-o-

Each member of his family visited him as he regained his strength. No one would let him out of the bed, but they all came to see him. Scott had obviously set up camp in the room. There was a desk and comms that Virgil would occasionally wake to find lit up, his brother talking quietly and obviously directing rescue operations.

Rescue operations that involved delivering medicine and vaccines apparently. Gordon rocked up in full uniform at one point and there had been a suspicious roar from outside. His little brother was a ray of sunshine, spouting about saving the world and preventing spread and all that. The epidemic was contained, a pandemic prevented, and many lives had been saved.

Lives.

It was more than a flu. It was one of those nasty bugs that could kill, almost at random, and Virgil learnt that he had been the one member of their family who had come close to being a statistic.

He stayed in bed as he was told and took it all slowly.

He couldn’t afford to worry his family any further.

Alan was a mess. He knew he had been the one to bring it home. Sure, it hadn’t been a mission and he hadn’t needed decontamination protocols and, of course, how could he possibly have known?

But he was still upset because of what it had done to his family and eventually Virgil.

Everyone was hovering.

But as Virgil recovered, he managed to snag family members and draw them into conversation. Alan ended up on the bed beside him as Virgil drew him a caricature of Scott surfing on One to cheer him up.

Scott was not impressed, but did not seem to mind the caricature of Gordon Virgil handed him the next day.

That, of course, prompted some outrage and a John caricature in the hands of Gordon made it onto social media for a whole five seconds before Eos stamped on it.

Gordon claimed he only did it because he was testing Eos and it was the thought that counted.

John drew a caricature of Gordon being strangled.

Gordon drew John dancing on the outside of Five in his underwear.

Grandma thought it was all hilarious and commissioned a family portrait.

It took Virgil the rest of his convalescence to complete it on his tablet. It ended up being printed and hung below the IR portraits in the comms room.

John frowned.

Gordon grinned.

Kayo rolled her eyes.

Alan posed beside it and took a selfie to send to Brandon.

Brains failed to notice it existed.

Scott glared but for some reason could be caught staring at it when he thought no one was looking.

Grandma just smiled.

Because it was a picture of Virgil with massive arms giving his entire family the biggest hug possible, and they had all been caught squirming in various poses.

Virgil loved it simply because it said what he couldn’t say.

And eventually he got better. It took him a long time, hell, all of them a long time to get back to their former physical level. And his family hovered, checking up on him as much as he checked up on them.

Because that is what family does.

And if he hugged them more often than he should, they just had to put up with it.

-o-o-o-

FIN.

[willowbird]

For the prompt thing: Andrew/Neil, trope: sickness/injury, location: violently orange yacht. Have fun! Thanks =)

Ooh definitely!

Since no AU was specified I made it kinda intentionally ambiguous.

Also, so you know, I 100% sat down to write this as a cutesy seasick/comfort w/teasing sorta fic. Then, idk, i got a lil bloodthirsty. Just a little bit, though.

Warning for mentions of blood.

---

"Are you really going to hide down here for the whole time?" Kevin's voice was both tired and annoyed, and just for that Andrew didn't even bother to acknowledge his presence, let alone his words.

Instead, he pointedly turned the page in his book as if there was no one about to bother him at all. They had been out on the water for a whole six hours. Andrew had watched the shoreline get smaller and smaller as they pulled away and when it was just a fine sketch of a line along the horizon he'd gone investigating. Which was how he'd found this hidden little nook in the storage hull or whatever the big room of supplies was in the belly of the boat.

The monstrosity was technically a yacht. Which, by definition, is a pleasure liner - a boat intended for entertainment. This "yacht" was big enough to not only carry but fully house and supply a contingent of college athletes. It was suspiciously fortified and had enough supplies stockpiled away that Andrew was beginning to wonder if he hadn't been kidnapped because it seemed just a little bit excessive for a "weekend away".

Personally, he didn't think his problems were going to go away or even be at all eased by an attempted escape via ugly boat. But he wasn't the only one with those problems. He wasn't the only one hurting. And after almost a year... well, he would grudgingly tag along, but he didn't have to participate.

The damn thing was also the most grotesque shade of claw-your-eyes-out dayglow orange that Andrew had ever seen. Which honestly was one of the reasons he'd already gone inside, as of by hiding in the deepest, darkest corner of the vessel he'd save himself a migraine.

"And Andrew? The Lady Fox has luxury suites for each of us. You can't even hide in your room? You choose to come... here?" Out of the corner of his eye, Andrew saw Kevin give his choice of hideaways a disparaging look.

Without taking his eyes from the page, Andrew lifted one hand and offered Kevin his one-fingered opinion.

The next thing he heard was Kevin's annoyed scoff, followed by his retreating footsteps. Satisfied, Andrew snuggled down a little bit deeper into the conveniently-placed hammock he'd found already strung up when he initially explored the place. The book he was reading had a bit of a slow start, but at least three of the side-characters were interesting enough to carry him through until the plot picked up.

Except, he only got two more pages along when he heard a sudden and quite ominous thump that was accompanied by a muffled groan. The book in his hand was instantly replaced with one of the knives he kept tucked in the armbands he was never without. Some people might call Andrew paranoid for bringing weapons onto a boat where he was surrounded only by close friends and family, with a literal ocean between them and harm. Those people would probably be dead right now, gutted in their sleep by a murderous stowaway. Or maybe that thump was one of his family, being murdered by the murderous stowaway.

Maybe it was Kevin.

That thought put a spike of fear in his heart, but right in its wake came a surge of deep rage.

No. He would not allow it. He had already lost... Enough had happened. He refused to let Kevin be hurt as well.

Andrew got out of the hammock as soundlessly and gracefully as possible, searching the shadows of the only half-lit cavernous space as he inched toward the source of the sound. He kept the blade poised to attack with one hand and pulled out his cell phone with the other. Two thumb-swipes later the had the flashlight enabled.

It wasn't Kevin. Nope. Definitely not Kevin.

Not-Kevin was crumpled in a heap in front of a stack of supply crates that it looked like he'd rolled off of, thus causing the thump Andrew had heard. The groan of pain, however, was clearly not from the fall. Or, well, not just from the fall.

"Who are you?" Andrew demanded, shining the light right on the person's face. They looked like a guy, probably. Short-ish hair and made up of more angles than curves - though it was really hard to tell more than that because the blood-soaked clothes were a little bit distracting.

The injured man(?) on the floor let out a choked, broken sound that Andrew belatedly realized was a laugh. It was so rasped and mangled, he'd almost thought the stowaway was about to launch into their death-throes. Judging by the bloodstains and way the person shook and swayed precariously while trying to push up to their hands and knees, that actually might not have been that far off a guess.

Then the stowaway, the person, the man, said, "Nothing."

Andrew froze. "What did you say?"

"You asked who I was," the man said, and Andrew was sure it was a man now. Moreover, the rough edges around his voice may have been tight with pain and possibly disuse, but even without Andrew's near-perfect memory he would have knows the sharp slashes of that voice anywhere.

The man looked up and in the white glow of Andrew's phone light there was no mistaking how immeasurably blue his eyes were. Like the sky painted from an artist's favorite memory. Like the hint of eternity in a crystal sphere.

Neil smiled. His face was dotted with dried blood and marked with new scars, but the expression still somehow turned the whole world on its head to make it a softer, warmer, safer place.

Andrew wasn't sure what hit the ground first, his phone, his knife, or his knees as he skidded to the floor beside Neil, reaching for him. "Neil... Neil. Fuck. The blood. It's yours? FUCK!" He was babbling, but his own voice was distant to his ears as he touched Neil for the first time in almost a year, as he gathered him close and searched for the source of all that blood.

Shaky hands reached for him and Andrew didn't even think about batting them away. He leaned into their touch even as he turned his face toward the stairs and raised his voice to a shout: "KEVIN! AARON! SOMEONE! NOW!"

"H-hey now, Andrew. Andrew, shh, it's okay. I'm okay, it's okay. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I never meant to be away this long."

"Shut up with your fucking 'sorry's Neil, I don't want your fucking 'sorry' - I want you here and alive and not dying in my goddamn arms I am NOT doing this with you, do you hear me junkie?"

Andrew felt like his entire system was in overdrive, his mind moving too fast and his nerve ending firing off in matching cylinders. They looked for Neil for months. And when they finally got a breakthrough via that fucking miserable twat Jean Moreau, it was only to find out that Neil was likely dead.

Those hands cupped his face, and even though they trembled against his cheeks he still touched Andrew like he was holding something incredibly precious. Something that needed care and protection lest it drop or be crushed.

"I promise, Drew. I did not drag myself halfway back around the world just to die in your arms."

"Do not even attempt to give me that, Neil. That is exactly the kind of dramatic shit you would do."

"Nah," Neil protested with a rough laugh. "Definitely more Aaron's thing. He's such a petty bitch."

"Fuck you," Andrew spat out, but a bubble of what might have bene a laugh caught in his chest. There were running footsteps coming their way, thundering down the steps and into the room.

"Andrew?! Andrew what-- oh my God. Oh my God. AARON GET YOUR ASS DOWN HERE RIGHT NOW!" Kevin was still shouting as he came to land beside the two of them, and Andrew almost pulled another knife and stabbed him in the fucking eye as he reached for Neil.

In fact, he didn't even realize he had drawn a knife until Kevin jerked back so suddenly he fell on his ass.

"Jesus! Andrew it's just me. He is covered in blood he needs a hospital!"

"It's mostly not mine," Neil chimed in as Andrew struggled to rein in the half-crazed beast that had taken over the arm not holding Neil. The monster inside him was in fits, and its growl was rumbling in Andrew's throat - kept in check only by the slow stroking of Neil's fingers down his jaw.

"Mostly not yours," Kevin echoed, and even through the haze of Andrew's protective rage, he could hear how dumbfounded the other man was.

"Mhm. And I stitched myself up already."

"Stitched yourself up," said Kevin. Then he looked toward the stairs and bellowed: "AARON!"

Neil sighed and the exasperation in that sound was so fucking familiar that it knocked the beast far enough off its temper for Andrew to take control again. He took a slow breath, then another. When Neil looked up at him again, Andrew asked, "Why? How?"

Neil grimaced. The expression must have been painful, Andrew realized as he watched him - because now that he was really looking he could tell that those new scars on his face were less 'scars' and more 'barely healed torture wounds'.

All Neil said was, "It's a long story."

As Aaron finally came half-falling down the steps on wobbly sea-legs, Andrew decided he would leave it be - for now.

The important thing was that Neil was here, Neil was alive, and nothing - fucking nothing - was going to take him away again.

[destiniesfic]

132 Hours, Chapter 9

“Don’t kill Cardan.”

The Bomb cocks her head to the side. “I thought you didn’t like him.”

“I… don’t.”

Previous

Read chapter 9 on AO3, or read below:

The Bomb returns sometime later with a liter bottle of spring water and Tylenol. “Prescription strength,” she tells me, dispensing two pills into my open palm. “Good stuff.”

“Whose prescription?” I croak, sitting up. It feels like every ounce of liquid in me is squeezing itself out as sweat or something else. Masturbating only helps so much—the only thing that abates the worst heat symptoms is mating with an alpha. And since that’s not happening, it’ll just have to run its course.

Oblivious to my true suffering, she winks at me.

I throw the Tylenol back and wash them down with a swallow of cool water, then keep drinking. My mouth has grown so dry. But I wrench the bottle away from my mouth and say “Leave it” when the Bomb moves to take the pills back.

She gives me a look. “I’ll be back to give you more later, but I’m not leaving this with you. For all I know, you’d shut down your liver to make us take you to the hospital.”

I blink at her, wretchedly aware of the heat of my skin where my eyelids press together. I hadn’t even thought of that.

“Crap,” she says, fumbling in the plastic bag. “I should have taken your temperature first. Hold on, maybe we can still get it before the meds kick in.” She clicks her tongue. “Chemistry I like fine, drugs, sure—but nursing isn’t my area.”

“What is your area?” I ask. I don’t really feel like talking to anyone, but my curiosity is strong enough that I push through it. Anything to learn more about the people who’ve taken us.

The Bomb holds up her prize, a thermometer still in its plastic packaging, and grins at me. “I like blowing stuff up. I dabble in hacking. Basically, if there’s a wall, I want to bring it down.”

I shift in my blankets. It’s an endearing answer, but I worry that any positive feelings toward our kidnappers is budding Stockholm Syndrome. “This must be a boring job for you.”

“It was supposed to be, yeah.” She wrestles the thermometer out of the plastic and hands it to me. “You have a way of keeping things interesting. And Cardan’s a riot. I hope we don’t have to kill him.”

The beep of the thermometer turning on immediately after that statement makes me jump. “You said you wouldn’t,” I protest. “You said you’d take care of us.”

“I know. Our employer’s anxious about how much you’ve both seen and heard. But we can’t kill you, so there isn’t much of a point to getting rid of him. And between you and me, the Roach is very fond of him.”

“So—”

“Stick that thing in your mouth,” she says. “We don’t have all day.”

I glare but stick the cold tip of the thermometer under my tongue and wait for it to start beeping again.

The Bomb leans over, reading the lit-up display—red, already a bad sign. “One hundred point nine,” she announces. “No wonder you’re miserable.”

“No real danger though,” I sigh, pulling it out of my mouth and giving it a little shake. Would they really take me to the hospital if my condition deteriorated? Maybe I should consider trying to dehydrate myself. That’s the real danger of going through heat without a partner. I could do it, I think. “Forget” to drink, drive the fever higher. But our current circumstances are already precarious, and there are a million ways this might end badly for me. The headache is pulsing stronger over my left eye already, and the last thing I need is a full-blown migraine. I take a sip of water and silently will the Tylenol to kick in faster.

“We’ll keep an eye on you,” she affirms.

I wipe my hand on the back of my mouth, already feeling a little more like a person instead of a sweaty blob of hormones. “Don’t kill Cardan.”

The Bomb cocks her head to the side. “I thought you didn’t like him.”

“I… don’t.” I cap the bottle, looking down at my hands. My cheeks are hot again, which at least means some blood in my body has decided to circulate instead of pooling in my groin. “But I don’t think he deserves to die. He didn’t do anything.”

“Hmm,” says the Bomb, mulling it over.

I jerk my head up, but she’s smiling at me. Teasing. I flush again. “I’m just saying. I don’t see you guys as killers, anyway.”

Her voice has a dangerous edge to it when she asks, “You don’t?”

I shake my head to clear it. I may be sick, but I can’t allow myself to forget where I am and who I am with. The Ghost shot me already, and it’s easier than I’d like to imagine the Roach’s twisted features contorting further as he plunges a knife into someone’s back. “Maybe just you?” I offer.

“Well, you’re not far off. Murder is a messy business. I prefer to set the charges and wait at a safe distance. But we all do what we have to.” She shifts, and I must look worried, because she adds, “He’s probably going to be fine.”

“Probably,” I echo, and then sigh. “His family’s even more messed up than mine.”

“Well, your dad is Madoc.”

“My parents are dead,” I say.

“Oh,” says the Bomb. But no apology, no condolences. I kind of appreciate that. I learned a long time ago that no amount of apologies would bring my mom and dad back.

“And my sister—never mind.” I shake my head. I really must be addled if I’m spilling my guts to a stranger. Is this Stockholm Syndrome? Is this how it starts? “At least she’s not trying to kill me.”

“It’s another level of family drama,” she agrees. “The Kardashians have nothing on the Greenbriars.”

I try to work out why I feel comfortable around the Bomb. I think her frankness reminds me a bit of Vivi. She never bought into the pretensions of our new life—she wanted out as soon as she was in. And she talks about it like she really is outside of it. The Bomb is like that. She says what she means. She isn’t bowled over by anything.

“How can you do it?” I ask. “How can you do this kind of work for them? Is it really just the money?”

The Bomb blinks at me, her eyes large and luminous in the dark. Her brows draw together, and she looks past me. I seem to have struck a nerve, and for a moment I think she isn’t going to answer my question. Then, at last, she says, “It isn’t just that. The Roach and I—we owe them a lot. I think if… we might not be alive now, if not for what they did.”

“That’s worth kidnapping for? Maybe killing for?”

She looks back down at me. “I know you’ve had shit happen, Jude. I’m not interested in a competition there. But I think Madoc’s kept you from a lot of bad stuff, given you options. Some of us aren’t so lucky.”

“I know that,” I protest. How many Designation Equality Club meetings had Taryn and I attended in our time? Vivi was president for a little while, I think to spite Madoc. “I know it’s not all mansions and parties. And you know, bad stuff can happen in parties and mansions too.”

“Sure. We are the bad stuff.” She flashes me a grin, then says, “Just think about what could have happened if Madoc hadn’t been there to catch you guys. Where you might have ended up. What you might have done to get out of it.”

My stomach twists. I have, of course, thought about that, but it’s an alternate universe that I can’t look directly at, like a solar eclipse. It’s easier to think about two branching possibilities: parents alive, or parents dead with Madoc intervention. Thinking about Madoc never showing, about Taryn and Vivi and I getting put in foster care, maybe separated… it’s so dim and distant.

“I’m not interested in a competition either,” I tell her. “I mean, I am judging you a little for kidnapping us. I will judge you harder if you kill Cardan.”

“No one’s going to kill Cardan,” the Bomb says, patting my shoulder. “You should lie back down. I’m surprised you’ve been upright this long.”

I scowl, but my head is already beginning to feel swimmy, so I settle back into my blankets. “I’m really stubborn.”

“I got that.” The Bomb gathers up her things, but leaves the water bottle within reach. I am grateful.

Just before she can put her hand on the doorknob, I call softly, “If you kill Cardan, I’ll kill you.”

She looks back over her shoulder at me, looking oddly fond. Maybe a gang of kidnappers and thieves respects threats. “Yeah,” she says. “I got that one, too.”

---

Cardan somehow manages to con his way into spending a lot of time outside of the cell. I am not sure how long, because I am curled up toward the wall and barely notice the light from the window wax and wane. But as the day passes his scent starts to go stale and sour, and I pick my head up every time someone opens the door.

It’s always the Bomb, returning to give me more Tylenol or hand me fresh fruit—not fast food, therefore a luxury. It occurs to me then that they kept buying us stuff from a drive-thru or grocery store because they didn’t think they would have us for long and didn’t bother stocking up. But someone must have thought to buy one a bag of mandarins this time, because I am given a couple to nibble on after each dose.

“Boosts the immune system,” the Bomb says when she drops off the first one. She seems in a good mood, probably because the medication has managed to wrestle my fever down to a balmy ninety-nine. Achy and hollow, I just give her a nod. My hands shake when I peel it, but I can peel it, and I’m grateful for that. I have been so humiliated already, and I can probably take more, but I don’t want to.

I slip into a weird daze for the second half of the day. Even though the fever is gone and my cramps are easier to bear, I find myself cursing Cardan’s name. I am pretty sure his presence made my heat worse—just the presence of an alpha, a desirable one, has convinced my body that there’s a chance I might mate, so it’s punishing me worse for abstaining. The longer he’s gone, the more clearheaded I feel, to the extent that my head can clear. And I am angry, at him for intensifying my misery, and at myself, for being like this in the first place.

By the time he returns, any trace of sunlight is gone. He walks slowly, shuffling behind the Bomb. Even as she talks to me and I nod along, sticking the thermometer in my mouth, my eyes track his progress as he settles in his corner.

His hair is damp, his scent shot through with the floral soap from the bathroom. He showered before coming in. I am unreasonably jealous of him. My hair is plastered to the back of my neck with sweat, and my thighs are basically stuck together with dried—anyway, I haven’t left the room all day, not even to pee. I feel like a damp towel someone wrung out and left to dry over the side of a sink.

After I’ve taken the Tylenol, the Bomb hands me a paper napkin with two more pills folded in it. “In case you wake up in the middle of the night,” she explains.

“It’s night?” I ask.

“We sleep in shifts. If there’s an emergency, have Cardan pound on the door.”

“Why me?” Cardan asks. He’s assumed his usual posture, with his leg propped up and his arm balanced casually on his knee. I wonder if the Bomb notices the rigidity in his shoulders, the tension in the line of his mouth. I do.

“I don’t think Jude’s going anywhere anytime soon.”

I sniff derisively, which is a bad move, because I get a fresh whiff of Cardan and am forced to bury my face in my pillow to smother a whimper.

“Point taken,” Cardan says. “Night. Thanks…” I imagine the rest of his sentence curling up and dying at the novelty of him thanking anybody for anything, but he manages to continue. “Thanks for taking care of her.”

The Bomb dusts off her knees as she stands up. “No problem. If she dies, we’re extraordinarily screwed.”

“I know. Still.”

She nods, then leaves. This time, I hear her lock the door behind her. Cardan and I are once again stuck together, alone.

I turn over and curl toward the wall again so I don’t stare. It’s not like heat gives you night vision, but for a couple of seconds he seemed to be a crisp outline in the near darkness of our cell. I don’t want to be tempted. I don’t.

“How, uh.” Cardan clears his throat and tries again, awkwardly. “How was your day?”

“Sucked,” I mutter.

“Yeah.”

“Yours?”

“Sucked less, probably.” He pauses. “But still sucked. I, um, I wanted to check on you.”

“It’s okay.” I shift my head. There’s a twinge in my abdomen, but at least it’s not another full cramp. “Did you learn any neat card tricks?”

“Yeah, actually. The Roach says I’m a fast learner.”

“High praise from a career criminal.”

Cardan chuckles, and my heart jumps. I made him laugh. I don’t know why that affects me the way it does. It must be the heat, another weird side effect. “I should’ve brought the deck in. To show you.”

“If we get through this, you can show me another time.”

“Oh yeah?” I can tell he cracks a smile just by the way his voice picks up. “You’re still gonna want to hang out when we’re out of here?”

I press my lips together to keep from echoing a smile. “I don’t know,” I say to the wall. “Maybe I’ll be too busy with my cool new friends from college to make time for you. And maybe you’ll be too busy hanging out with the Roach. Although that’s honestly an upgrade from your normal crowd.”

“Ouch.”

“He’s not a douchebag alpha,” I point out.

“I don’t know what he is.” I can picture Cardan shaking his head. “I sat next to him for most of the day and I still don’t have a clue. He sounds like an alpha, but he doesn’t really look like one. He doesn’t smell like anything. He and the Bomb seem to have some kind of communication going, but I don’t know if that means they’re mated, or… just close, I guess.”

“I think the Bomb’s an omega,” I say. “Like me. We kind of had a moment earlier.” I screw up my face in thought. “It bothers me that I still can’t get a clear read on her scent, though. Especially now. That’s weird. What do they have to hide?”

“Maybe they’re all betas,” Cardan suggests. “They don’t give off the same pheromones we do.”

I snort. “That’s not possible.”

“Betas exist.”

“Yeah. They’re one in a thousand. The odds that there would be three in one place...”

“Impossibly low, yeah. You’re right.” He sighs. “Well, we’ve seen their faces, but maybe they don’t want to leave scent markers around so they can be tracked that way. That seems like a smart crime thing… to do.”

My lips twitch again. “A ‘smart crime thing?’”

“Oh, like you could do better.”

I snicker, but then the cell falls quiet. We have officially exhausted every subject that will keep us from facing our circumstances, and we know it.

“So,” Cardan says, “now what?”

I don’t know. I cannot imagine spending the night in this cell with him, like this. But I am supposed to be the one with the plans.” “Um, I guess we try to sleep.”

“Right, right. Will it hurt your foot if I take the pillow under it? I’d ask to borrow a blanket, but…”

“No, I get it,” I rush. The blankets are in no condition to be lent, but I’ve left him without any bedding and anywhere to sleep. “Definitely take the pillow.”

There is silence, in which I can imagine him nodding, then the rustle of his clothes as he crawls over to take the pillow propped up under my leg. His hand skims my foot, and it’s like an electric current zings up my body. I hold my breath, waiting for something else to happen, but I just hear him move back to his corner.

“Do you want, um, my sweatshirt?” I offer.

He scoffs, “I don’t think it’ll fit, Duarte.”

I roll my eyes. “You’re such an asshole. To keep your arms warm, because you don’t have a blanket.”

There’s a longer pause than the situation calls for, and then he says, “Yeah, toss it over.”

I make myself sit up so I can unzip it, then ball it up and fling it toward him as hard as I can. I am not feeling very strong, but the room is short, so it lands at his feet anyway. He picks it up and buries his face in it.

“Oh, you pervert,” I scold, even as my stomach does a flip. I am surprised to find I’m not mad. I’m not even annoyed. What had I thought was going to happen when I threw it over to him? It’s saturated with my pheromones.

And my scent. Which he’s supposed to hate.

“I just,” he says, taking another sniff. There’s a fuzzy edge to his voice. “I thought it would help. Since we can’t—I don’t know, I just thought it would help.”

I force myself to lie back down and turn around and not watch, even though I am unbearably curious. My face is hot, and heat gathers between my thighs again. It’s just the pheromones. It’s just the circumstances. If my mind were less addled, maybe I could make more sense of all this, but I cannot.

A minute or so later I hear him shift again. “Yeah, it’s a good blanket,” he says. “Thank you, Jude.”

“Sure.”

Then all is silent again, and I think he has fallen asleep. It seems impossible that he could. I am so weary, but my arousal is skewering me like a hot spike, and I keep listening for him on the other side of the room. There’s no way I can seek relief with him here, and no way I can sleep like this.

“Cardan,” I say, breathily. “Are you awake?”

He whispers back, “Yeah.”

I shift. It’s like parts of my body flare to life at just the sound of his voice. “What do you think would happen if you came over here?”

“You don’t—want that, right?”

I don’t know what I want. I think I am closer to wanting him—to wanting at all—and then the memory of Valerian using his knee to try and wedge my thighs apart comes back. I pull the blankets tighter around me. “This sucks so much.”

“Yeah.”

“Less for you, right?”

“You think so?”

“I don’t know. Aren’t you flooded with adrenaline or whatever it is that theoretically enables you to keep thrusting for days on end?”

Cardan chuckles. “Wow. You must really be far gone if you’re willing to put me and ‘thrusting’ in the same sentence.”

My cheeks warm. “I meant ‘you’ as in ‘alphas.’ Don’t be dumb. And aren’t you used to this?”

“From—oh. The O?”

“Uh-huh.”

“No, that’s different. They alter it somehow, on a chemical level. All of the euphoria and adrenaline, none of the, uh… the aches or the erections lasting longer than four hours. You know, stuff you want to avoid if you’re not in rut for real.”

“Right, makes sense.” I hesitate. “So, you are? I couldn’t tell.”

“What?” He sounds incredulous. “Yeah, yes, I am. Of course I am. There’s like no space between us and no ventilation. It would be impossible for me not to be.”

“Alright, alright.” I squeeze my pillow a little tighter. “You just seem so…”

“So…?”

“Clear,” I finish. “And calm. Calmer than this morning, at least.”

Cardan is quiet for a second before he asks, “Remember this morning, you asked if I was afraid of you?”

My heart thumps. “Yeah?”

“I’m not. I’m afraid of me. I’m afraid of… of...” He grasps for words. “I’m afraid of all the stuff I want to do. Because I’m coming to a realization that’s very painful and you can’t laugh, but I am, and it’s, it’s important—I don’t want to be like Valerian. Or like my brothers. Or even like Locke. I want to be different. I don’t know if there is a different, but I want to be it.”

I am so bewildered that I don’t reply. For as long as I have known Cardan, he’s never been anything other than a bully, a terror, delighting in other people’s suffering, reigning from the top of the food chain. He always seemed to enjoy being an alpha, relish it. I can’t make heads or tails of what he’s telling me now.

Is he saying he doesn’t want to hurt me? He’s never cared before.

But I think about him tucking the blankets around me, gingerly propping my foot up on the pillow this morning, and I wonder.

“It wouldn’t be like Valerian,” I whisper, but he must have fallen asleep, because he says nothing.

Next

[super-secret-sick-fics]

hii i requested the last fic and i loved it very much! excited for pt 2 :D

OH and it wasn’t even out of character it felt like exactly how they would react! you write suna especially well aquarius twins

Thank you!! I’m so glad you liked it :) Here’s part 2!! I didn’t proofread this at all, so I apologize for any mistakes. 

I tried to make it so that they could each be read independently. Also I am bad at endings sorry lmao. 

Sick & Delirious: A SunaOsa fic (part 2 of Sick at School)

Pair: Sick Suna, Caretaker Osamu

Word Count: 3,028

Warnings: Vomit, panic attack, swearing & fluff 

Part 1 Here 

___________________________

“Rintaro, you poor, poor baby!” Osamu’s mother cried as soon as she showed up to the front office of the school.

Shortly after the nurse agreed to let Osamu go home too, Suna and Osamu were escorted (slowly and with a small bin in hand) to the front to await Miya-san. They sat down and Suna almost immediately curled into Osamu’s warmth. If he wasn’t so sick, he’d be utterly embarrassed at how clingy he was being. Their hands had been joined since they left the classroom and Suna squeezed Osamu’s every time a cramp rolled through his body.

Now Miya-san was there, her hands immediately cupping Suna’s face and brushing back his hair.

“Geez, Ma. Give him some space. Bet ya won’t be that nice to me and I know you’re not being that nice to Tsumu,” Osamu scoffed.

“Well of course not,” she deadpanned, “yer both idiots. Rintaro is much nicer to your poor mother than her ungrateful children.” Osamu scoffed again.

“Thank you for allowing me to stay with you, Miya-san,” Suna interjected, undeterred by the Miya’s usual show. She looked over at him again and smiled gently.

“Of course. I’ve spoken with yer ma and she’ll bring over some clothes for ya when she’s off work. Now let’s go boys.”

***

“Shit, Rin,” Osamu woke up from his nap when Suna started heaving beside him. He sat up and rubbed Suna’s back as he leaned over the bed and threw up in the bin beside it. The crinkling plastic and splattering sounds reverberated painfully in Suna’s ears.

“S-sorry,” he spluttered.

“Don’t be,” Osamu whispered.

This was the third time in the last two hours that Suna and Osamu were awoken by Suna’s stomach. When they got back to the Miya’s house, Suna was directed to the guest room. Osamu leant him some clothes so he could change out of his uniform and brought him some water, crackers, and a bin. When he was getting ready to leave, Suna grabbed his wrist and asked him to stay. He wasn’t good at being sick and felt much better knowing Osamu was around to help.

When the fit let up, he rolled back into bed and wrapped his arms around Osamu’s stomach. He was shaking again, but this time it wasn’t because of the fever.

Honestly, he wanted to cry. He was so exhausted and his stomach ached so badly. His migraine was relentless. His body didn’t know whether it was cold or hot and all he wanted was to sleep for more than 30 minutes at a time.

It didn’t help that Atsumu had set up camp for himself in the bathroom that was shared between the twins’ room and the guest room. He said that he didn’t mind the sleeping on the floor as long as it meant he could flush the vomit away immediately, instead of having it sit mocking him in the bin beside his bed.

The two of them seemed to be on opposite cycles. Every time Suna thought he could get some sleep, he could hear Atsumu start puking in the bathroom. Then every time Atsumu had quieted down for a bit, Suna’s stomach attacked him. He felt bad, knowing that Atsumu felt just as bad as he did and had to deal with the same things. Never in his life did he think that he would ever feel bad for stupid Atsumu. His fever must be pretty high.

“Rin,” Osamu sighed. Whenever they were both awake, Osamu’s hands were on Suna’s body somewhere, comforting him with little touches and gentle pats. Suna’s favorite thing was when one of his hands was in his hair, the other moving, ghosting his fingers up and down his back. Right now, one of his hands propped him up in the bed and the other was lying dormant on Suna’s head.

“Rin, are ya crying?”

Suna nodded. Osamu sighed again.

Slowly and carefully, as to not jostle Suna’s stomach he was sure, Osamu wiggled himself into lying down and repositioned Suna so he was laying on Osamu’s chest. Then he started ghosting his fingers up and down Suna’s back and caressing the back of his head. Suna wondered if Osamu knew that was his favorite.

“I’m sorry, Rin. I wish I could help ya,” he soothed and something inside Suna squeezed. He whimpered pathetically and curled further into Osamu’s chest.

With that, the dam broke loose. Hot tears started soaking Osamu’s shirt as Suna sobbed quietly.

“I-I don’t f-feel good,” he cried. His throat hurt, from the bile or being ill in general he wasn’t sure.

“I know, baby. I’m sorry,” Osamu comforted. If Suna were more cognizant, he probably would’ve blushed at the pet name.

He was sure that he liked Osamu and that Osamu liked him back, but they had never addressed it. They were both content to let things happened naturally, not minding the little more-than-friend’s touches here and there or the less-than-platonic-flirting they did at practice and in class. Being in this situation though and having Osamu being the one to take care of him really solidified how Suna felt.

Osamu let him cry for a while before Suna started hiccuping dangerously again.

“Rintaro, yer gonna make yer self sick again,” he exhaled. As if on cue, Suna gagged.

“N-no,” he moaned. Osamu sat up, taking Suna with him and reached down to pick up the bin beside the bed.

“Ya gotta let it happen, babe.” He put the bin on Suna’s lap. Suna glared at it half-heartedly before he felt his chest tighten uncomfortably and a gag forced its way out.

“How is there even anything left?” Osamu lamented. Suna answered with a painful heave. He also wondered the same thing.

Suna’s stomach felt hollow and yet nausea continued to plague him. The room spun as he heaved. His throat was scraped raw. At this point, he was barely aware of Osamu’s presence behind him. Through the fog, he knew he was there though, and that was reassuring enough.

A gurgle came from his stomach and he moaned. Within a few seconds, a wet, crackling, burp brought up the blue sports drink Osamu gave him to try and keep him hydrated. A few more painful heaves brought up more blue tinted vomit before his stomach seemed to allow him a break.

He collapsed into Osamu’s side, panting.

“My poor Rin,” Osamu cooed, but it was muffled, like he was talking to Suna through a pillow. He pulled Suna into his side and kissed the top of his head. The movements were happening in slow motion though, and Suna was, for the second time that day, thoroughly confused.

“‘Samu?” He tried, but his tongue was heavy in his mouth and he wasn’t sure that he made any sound.

“Yeah?” Osamu asked, rubbing up and down Suna’s arm. And wow….no. He didn’t like that. It set all of his nerves on edge. He tried to squirm away from the unwanted touch.

“Rin?”

Suddenly, everything was Too Much. He pushed on whatever was wrapped around him. The soft fabric beneath his hand itched painfully.

“Rin? What’s wrong?” A loud voice boomed in his ears and he flinched away.

“Le’ go...” he gasped, his chest felt like it was on fire. He weakly pushed again. Whatever was encasing him did not budge. His eyes burned and his surroundings swirled alarmingly.

“N-no,” he choked on something hot and sticky.

Then he was released from the bindings holding him and he felt the world tilt forward for just a second. His chest landed on something and it stopped. He was forced upright, and his field of vision changed. A blurry figure appeared in front of him. Maybe a person?

Something captured his face on either side and his eyes blew wide. Cold. No. Scratchy? No.

“Rinta...he...loo..me...whas…ong?” The voice exploded through his brain again and he whimpered. What was happening? Why was he so hot. It was so hot.

“Ho-t…”

Why was he alone? Wasn’t someone helping him before? Where did that person go? He needed help.

“Shit,” a voice cut through his haze. Osamu?

“It’s….I’ve go….”

Too quickly, he was moving. Whatever caged him before was back around him and he tried in vain to break free.

“‘Samu?” A new voice. He whined.

“Move,” too loud too loud too loud. He was released from the bindings again for just a second before being captured again. This time they were hot. And wet. And they torched his skin. He wriggled in yet another futile attempt to get free. What was that roaring sound?

“Whas...on?” The new voice again. Closer. It hurt his head.

“Hi….feve...high…”

Suna was in a new space. Things were different around him now and the sudden change made him dizzy. He coughed and then his mouth was full. He dropped his jaw heavily and his mouth was empty again.

“Fuck!” A screech and he moaned in response.

He was moving again and then his entire body was being pricked with icicles. It put his surroundings a little more in focus.

“Cold!” He shrieked. He tried to get away from the ice, but was held down.

“Tsumu….sorr...ease..” Another force held him down. It wasn’t as strong, but Suna couldn’t get away from it.

“No no no no…” he repeated, his entire face felt heavy. Was that possible? He writhed in pain. It hurt it hurt he wanted out.

“I’m sorry, Rintaro, I’m sorry,” the first voice shook. It was clearer now. It still pounded in his skull.

“Please please please please,” he said and it hurt his throat.

“Rin, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” It was Osamu. He thrashed harder.

“I’m sorry, Samu, I can’t—“ oh that was Atsumu. One of the heavy things holding him down was gone. He fought against the last one. He almost won. It was gone for a second before there was a splash and something behind him grabbed him around his waist and held him down.

“No please it hurts please.” He begged. Someone was crying.

“Rin, it’s okay. Please calm down.” Osamu was behind him now. Behind him. Oh he must be what’s holding him down. Okay okay. That was fine. But why was he torturing him like this?

“Samu no…” he tried to push away. He was really really tired though.

“Yeah, Rin it’s me. I’m trying to help. Please let me,” Osamu said. But his voice was wrong. It was shaking and tight. Was he upset? He was trying to help? Okay okay. He trusted Osamu. He relaxed into Osamu’s hold. It got tighter.

Suna wasn’t sure how much time went by. He tried really hard to trust Osamu, even though the ice prickled and burned at his skin. Eventually, the pain lessened.

There was a soft whimpering sound and he couldn’t figure out who it was for a while. Then he realized it was him. Next, he felt the tears on his face and his entire body shivering.

Slowly, his environment came into focus. He was in the bathroom, more specifically a bathtub.

Finally, the fog in his brain cleared and he put two and two together. Osamu put him in a cold bath to bring his fever down.

“Osamu,” he said through chattering teeth.

“I’m sorry, Rin, I’m sorry,” Osamu said. His face was buried in Suna’s shoulder, but even still, he could tell hear his voice shaking from the cold. More than that, he sounded desperate. Almost defeated.

Suna hated it. He brought a hand up behind him and placed it on Osamu’s head, letting his own collapse back onto his friend’s shoulder. Osamu stiffened before whipping his head up.

“Rin?” He choked and Suna nodded lethargically.

“Can we please get out?” he whispered. Osamu nodded quickly. He got out and wrapped himself in a towel before helping Suna up. It was then that he realized he was still wearing his clothes. They clung to him and he grimaced at the feel. Osamu enveloped Suna in a fluffy towel and hugged him tightly.

Suna relished in the warmth for a second.

“C’mon, let’s getcha outta these wet clothes,” Osamu murmured and let Suna go. He lead him back to the guest room and sat him down in the desk chair. Suna’s teeth chattered noisily.

Osamu left, only to return a minute later with new clothes.

“Do ya need help?” he asked. Still unnaturally soft. It was starting to unnerve Suna. He nodded in response.

A little while later, Suna and Osamu were both sitting on the bed, dressed in dry clothes. Osamu sat in front of him, rubbing a towel over his hair, trying to get as much of it dry as he could. He was quiet. Suna was content to let things settle before he asked what was wrong. He knew Osamu would either talk to him when he was ready or if Suna pried a little.

His hands stopped moving and Suna was about to ask if he could lay down when Osamu bent forward and buried his face in Suna’s neck again.

Suna was a little lost, but put a hand on Osamu’s still damp hair anyway.

“Still too warm,” Osamu mumbled. He nuzzled his face into Suna’s shoulder. He was starting to get really worried and really agitated at Osamu’s weird behavior.

“Samu,” he demanded softly, “what’s the deal?” Osamu tensed in his hold then he sat up so abruptly it made Suna a little woozy. When the vertigo passed, he was face to face with a furious Osamu.

“What’s the deal?” Osamu seethed. Suna looked at him with wide eyes.

“Rin, you were gone!” Osamu shouted, making Suna’s head pound. Osamu stood up ferociously and started pacing the room. Suna wasn’t quite sure what he meant.

“Osamu, please I don’t feel good. Can you just be straight with me?” Suna complained. Osamu turned on him. His face was contorted and Suna was taken aback when he saw tears rolling down flushed cheeks.

“Osamu, what—“

“Rin, ya were gone. Ya were here but ya just weren’t. Ya didn’t know who I was or who Tsumu was and ya didn’t know where you were and fuck. It was terrifyin’. Ya screamed when I put ya in the tub. Saying that I was torturing ya and that ya were caged and shit,” Osamu sobbed. Suna’s chest twinged.

This was not his Osamu. He brought this man to this state?

“I was so scared and I didn’t know what to do. Ya kept throwin’ up but it didn’t seem like ya even knew it was happenin’,” Osamu continued. He fell to his knees.

“Yer fever was so high and it happened so quickly. Tsumu tried to help, but he’s still sick. My mom left to go get more medicine and I felt so helpless,” he whimpered before devolving into a fit of heart wrenching sobs.

Suna stared at the boy before him, shell-shocked. He eased himself onto the ground and crawled over to Osamu and hugged him. It wasn’t long before Osamu’s arms were wrapped around his middle and he started crying into Suna’s shoulder.

“I’m so sorry,” he soothed, “I don’t remember a lot of that. I remember being confused and cold and feeling like I was being held down, but I don’t remember anything else. I’m sorry, Osamu. I’m so sorry.” Osamu nodded, but kept crying and that was okay.

They stayed like that a little while longer, Suna shushing Osamu gently. Eventually, Osamu pulled back and wiped his face. Suna smiled softly at him and he chuckled sadly.

“Sorry,” he sniffled. Suna shook his head.

“I really need to lie down,” he said. He was starting to feel really heavy and nauseas again and it was getting difficult to keep his eyes open.

Osamu nodded and helped him back to the bed. He lay down and Osamu quickly followed, enveloping Suna into his chest. Suna nuzzled his face into the soft fabric of Osamu’s shirt. He felt Osamu place a kiss into the top of his head and give him a little squeeze.

“I’m sorry again,” he mumbled, half asleep already.

“It’s okay. I’m just glad yer alright. I’m sorry I freaked out on ya.” He stroked his hand up and down Suna’s back.

“‘S’okay. I’m just that important,” Suna yawned. Osamu chuckled and it warmed Suna’s heart and calmed his mind.

“Ya sure are. Go to sleep. I’m not goin’ anywhere,” Osamu said. With his blessing, Suna fell asleep.

***

Later that night, Atsumu would show them a picture of the two of them cuddled up and drooling on each other that he took when he mustered up the strength to come check on things. Osamu yelled at him but Suna asked him to send it to him. He may have set it as his phone’s home screen.

By the next morning, Suna woke up to the sound of Osamu heaving beside him. It was unpleasant and made his stomach turn. Before he realized what was happening, he was sprinting to the bathroom and pushing Atsumu out of the way and emptying his stomach into the toilet.

“Sunarin, please,” Atsumu choked before turning to the bath tub.

Miya-san ran into the room and surveyed the situation.

“My poor boys,” she sighed, “I’m gonna go set up the livin’ room so I can watch all three of ya.”

And so Suna spent the next few days camped out in the Miya’s living room. Soon enough, Atsumu was well enough to help out his mom here and there. And when Suna was feeling up to it, he returned the favor and rubbed Osamu’s back as he puked disgustingly.

“Ya can go home if ya want,” Osamu panted between rounds. Suna shook his head.

“There’s nowhere I’d rather be than with you, stupid.”

Osamu smiled gratefully before his cheeks puffed out and he turned back to the bin. Suna laughed and kissed the back of his sweaty neck.

Maybe they didn’t define their relationship with labels, but Suna was pretty positive that he wanted to stick with Osamu for the rest of his life.

[captaincravatthecapricious]

Painful Use of Powers

Tim and Jon are having a friendly discussion that is rather rudely interrupted when Jon accidentally Beholds something. They powers of the eye have faded after the world is back to normal, and it makes Jon very ill.

Cw panic (not detailed), vomiting (he vomits static so like.... not anything gross just weird), food mention, baby shark

This prompt is from the bingo on my tumblr, feel free to send a prompt, a character, and let me know if you want a drawing or a fic!  The starred ones I already have prompts for, the crossed out ones are ones I have already posted.  Bingo by @celosiaa​!

“It’s… been pretty strange.  About half the people I talk to remember everything about… well, you know.  And the other half don’t seem to remember anything at all.  Just remember before… and then remember after.  I have to wonder if it’s a trauma response thing or ….some weird eldritch thing.  But… not actually that curious, if you know what I mean?”  Tim is sitting on the couch next to Jon.  Once upon a time, they maybe would have been flush with each other.  But it had been a long time since they were that comfortable together.  Jon hopes that one day he will feel safe enough to lean on Tim again.  

Jon half swallows a partial laugh.  Not a particularly humorous one, just a huff of air, really.  “I’m curious… of course I am.  I just… try to avoid thinking about it.  Curiosity is a little dangerous for me…  Which is irritating because being a teacher is about Learning as well as teaching.  And apparently it is down to me to try to revive these children from the fatigue of rote memorization without an independent will to learn!”  

“Ha!  You inspiring people to learn!  Are you sure you don’t just give them that glare of yours and tell them when the homework is due after babbling to them for an hour about whatever.  Bet they don’t get a question in edgewise!”

Jon gives Tim that very glare.  And Tim laughs properly.  Which fills Jon’s chest with hope.  He shouldn’t hang on the every positive response he gets from Tim… but he does.  

“Actually I read something funny the other day!  I was on twitter and I found a threat that had a theory that one of those stupid kids songs brought about the Eyepocolypse!  One of those ones that you sing over and over again until every adult that ever met you just wants to clobber you…. I think it was the baby shark one…  Whatever the fuck that is.”

Static fills Jon’s mouth.  Buzzing through the air.  And he Knows the song.  The words.  The many many many versions.  

B̠̼̙͙̘͚̺̓̋̿͑̓͘͟͞ả̶͎̜̙̩̖̋̈́̆̂̚ͅḇ͕͓̘͖̦̫̥͂̊͂̀͂̇̇̂̚͜͢y̟̬̳̱̦̘͖̗͑͑͛̀̚͝͞͞ s̘̠̪̠͎̻̯̰̏͂̒̍̒̏͞ͅẖ̴̢͕̙͕̟̤̯͆̊͂͐̆͜ą̛̙̞͇̹̪̖͕͈͆̽͗̇͋̍͘͘͜r̡̛͍̹̳��͕̱̝͔̾̒͛͊͐̾̿̕͠ͅķ̯̼̀̉͒͆̌̈͜͢͡ d̷̪͙͓͔̞̗͂̋̀͆͆̕͜͞ơ̵̲̩̦͐͋̊̔̉̑͢͢͠ͅ d̜̳̜̺̣͓̟̿̽̔̽̑͜ͅo̸̙͈͇̠̣͐̿̾̂̏̇̚̚ͅ d̸͍̞̹̫̤̀̑͒́̒͊̔ǫ͚̮̳͇̤̰̦̖̀̋̋͂͌̋͑͢͡ d̲̜̹̤̘̝͖͗̀͑̆̽͢ǫ̴̛̤̤̗̝̯͒͆̂̿̀̐͝ͅ ḍ̶͈͇͖͔̫̯̥̄̃͋̄͌̀̇̑͛͋͟ö̢̖̥̯̹͙̱̓̀͋͗͟͡ d͔̬͚̤̩̯͛̽̏̈͘o̪̼̬̯̮̼͌̈̎̐́̕ b̷̢͙̮̱̹͓̎͑͂̊̋̋͛̊͋̇a̗̩͍̩̲̾̇̄͐̾b̮͇̖̣̭̫͎̂̽̅̾́̄͠ỷ̷͚̘͕̫̲̩̠̮̬͒͆̾̃̅͑̓̄ s̲̳̖̼̩̙̓̿͆̉͛̃͒͝͠͡h̴̡̺̯̮̼̙̜̋̓̋͐̿͢ͅa̴̳̩̲͓̱̞͊͊̓̑̄͢ͅṟ̷̨̛̬͎͕̮̖̣̜̎̌̂̎͢k̟͍̱͍͛̅̉̏̑͑͌͡ͅ d̸̥͓̻̗̩̮͖̓͛̀͒̈̉̀̕͞o̹̭͓͎̤̝͆͂͆̈́͗d̵̙͕̼̖͔̬͚͕̞͂͑̒̀͢͞͝͞o͖͕͉̘̠̹͑̂̂̽̌̋͜ḑ̢̟̙̝͋̈̾͌̆͐͋͂̓̌͜ơ̛͖͎͖̱̳̘̓̽̒̔͌͐̔͒͢ḑ̵͍̱͙̘̙̇́̃͡͞o̴̧͓̼͔̜̣̲̻̔́̓͒͗͂́͜ͅd̨͓͈͎͚͕̳̝̩̿͋̂̔́̔̈̇̓͜ȍ̷͕͙̝͎̙̼̣̃̍̏͘̕͟͞d̴̩̩͖̙̘͕͓̼̯̊̿́̾͋̄͘̚͞ŏ̞̤͉̱̝̯̔̄̅͊̑͟ w̴̰̥̱̲̦̤̘̠̑̅̉̓̀͢ę̶̛̬̗̗͓͍̟̏̀̓͗͑͢ṇ̙̟̳̅͑̾͆̈́̀͋͢͞t̵̠̯̫̙̘̺̳͋̋̍͒͂̍̌̐̋ f̸̻̭̫͚̮͐̑̉̄̍̓̂͝ȯ̢̨͔͍̥̲̌̅̋̂͋r̢͔̥͈͎̭͔̼̹̀̿̀̂̊̈́̊͜͠ ả̢̡̛͉̙͓͎̩̈̈̑̇̒͢ͅ ş̺̦͍̣̬͔̭̲̅̓͑̿͗̍ͅw̺̺͉͙̩͚̻̣̜̪̿̍̽͒̎̀̚͝í̢̺̥̩͖̹̣͖͚̈́̿̐̏͜m̶̜̯̺͙̯͒̔̈́̍͞͡͠ d̶̢̨̡̛͓̖̥̱̩̹͊͒̔̽̈̎̽̚ò̤̤̪͎͔̺̽̍̋̅̆̔͠d̳͎̥̟̺̰̰̘̿̌̐́̄̌ơ͔̣̝̱̪̟̪̑̒̿̑͆̂̓̍̃d̢͎͖͖̭͓̭́̌̇̊̇̀͗͛ơ̴͖͓̤̝̘̯͓̐̊̓̾̕͜d̷̤̺̫̙̠̜̬̈̆͐̽̚͟ő͕͚͖̳͙̭̞̜̓̊͊͘͘d̴͈̲̰̬̘́̈́̓̚͠ȍ̶̠͙̜͖͉̱̥̄́͛͌̌̈͟d̳̜̮͓̀̓͒̈̌̅͌͢o̺͕̙̺͔̫̍̾̾̍͊

.

The knowledge floods his senses.  Too many words.  Too many songs.  And he can’t stop it until he has experiences every annoying children’s song and rhyme and poem at once and he can’t take any of it in and he can’t thinkcantthinkcantthinkcantthinktoomanywordstoomanytoomany 

sharksharksharksharksharksharksharksharksharksharksharksharksharksharksharksharksharksharksharksharksharksharksharksharksharksharksharksharksharksharksharksharksharksharkDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDoDo

The static crackles in the air, and Jon’s vision goes dark.  

Jon wakes up and throws up.  Or would, if his insides hadn’t turned to static.  As it stands, static floods his mouth and echos around the bin that has been shoved hastily in front of his face.  

He thinks vaguely this must be an unpleasant experience for whoever is guiding him upright and holding back his hair.  

Even so, it is miserable for him.  

This is one of the least pleasant experiences of his life.  Which is saying something.  

It hurts.  It feels like he is being turned inside out and his head sawed in two.  

Once his body is done, his eyes are leaking static is well and he slumps further, head still in the bin, breathing hard.  He groans, pitifully.  

He allows himself a minute.  A minute to try to process the information overload that sent him into this state.  To try to feel more real and less like a manifestation of buzzing energy.  

He can’t drag his eyes open.  He doesn’t even want to try.  

Then he remembers Tim.  

Tim who is almost certainly the one rubbing his back.  

Tim who just witnessed Jon Behold something.  

Tim who thinks Jon has this under control.  

Jon is supposed to have this under control.  

But does he?  Does he really?  Because this Does happen.  Not too often anymore, but it does.  Jon can’t always.  

Sometimes a weak compulsion threads through his words.  Sometimes he something slips through into his subconscious.  And sometimes, the floodgates open like they just did, and Jon’s body is not equipped to deal with that now, if it ever even was.  (Which it wasn’t.  He remembers lying on his office floor… sick and shivering for hours before Basira found him at his desk, having finally found the strength to stand, plagued by a raging headache.)  

Tim wasn’t supposed to see that he is still like this… this… monstrousness that hasn’t gone away.  It hasn’t.  Just a bit weaker.  Still out of control and he should have this under control by now!  It’s been years!  

And he can’t think anymore because it hurts too much, and even the gentle hand on his back is too much like hitting.  Like scratching.  And he knows it is just oversensitive skin and he knows that touch is fine and grounding and good, but his brain can’t tell the difference anymore.  Not after years of hurt have been visibly pressed into his skin.  And not when merely existing is rending his head in two.  

He is breathing hard with a solid band of panic crushing his lungs.  And he’s gagging around more static.  And static is streaming down his face and he can’t let Tim see him like this.  he can’t.  He can’t!  He doesn’t want to lose Tim again.  He can’t do it again!  Not when things are so close to good that it hurts.  

He tries to get up.  To hide, but it sends him retching again.  

Tim is alarmed.  Not about Jon’s use of powers.  He’s… something close to okay with that.  Well… not Okay okay with it.  But it’s still… just Jon.  It doesn’t happen often.  And Martin warned him Long before allowing them near one another, the second conversation they had after Tim ran into him in the grocery store and had to go through the awkward business of ‘yes I’m alive, sorry I didn’t say anything, also here’s Sasha who you thought was dead.  What do you mean you almost got yourself killed because you were left with nothing to live for?’  That had been…. a conversation to remember.  

In any case, Tim knows that Jon isn’t entirely human.  Mostly human, at this point.  But… not entirely.  Sometimes things like this happen, although Martin hadn’t said anything about….. all the static.  Something about ink?  Something about some minor compulsion.  And that Jon is… not cagey about it… but skittish.  That he still expects to be punished for this thing that he clearly can’t entirely control.  He knows that Jon occasionally Knows things on purpose and gives himself migraines.  Much to Martin’s worry.  But accidentally Beholding… well it looks worse than a migraine to Tim.  This looks painful, and like it’s quickly devolving into a panic attack.  

Which… Tim has a sinking feeling is because he is there.  This would be…. the third one he’s caused.  At least that he knows of.  

There was the time that Jon was under the weather and compelled him by mistake.  There was the time when he’d finally gotten comfortable around Jon again and had started joking and something in the tone of his voice or the volume had sent Jon into a messy spiral.  And now this.  He’s been so careful.  He wants his friend back.  And they were finally getting somewhere with easy visits without Martin moderating.  Finally.  

And now Jon is sick and hurting and  afraid and Tim is probably just making it worse.  

Jon flinches away from his hands with a whimper, and his theory is strengthened.  

He stops.  Timothy Stoker takes consent very seriously.  “Do you want me to let you go?  Can you sit on your own?”  

Jon whines again, forehead resting on the edge of the bin.  Dreadfully pale and face crackling with a static that Tim guesses to be sweat or tears… possibly both.  

He would absolutely let go of Jon if he was sure he could safely do so, but… Jon looks as if he might just topple over as it is.  Best not to disturb him too much.  And if he looks uncomfortable with the arrangement, then Tim will try to fix it.  However he can.  

Until then, he ought to call Martin.  But he can’t get up without dislodging an unsteady Jon.  And Jon doesn’t look up for sitting in on a conversation.  

He sends a text instead.  

There’s been an incident.  We’re okay, but if you could come back here soon… Please come back soon.  

Jon cries.  And so does Tim.  Softly.  Briefly.  So many steps they have taken together, and there is still a journey before them.  

Martin’s home.  Jon would cry with relief if he wasn’t already crying.  Finally real tears instead of trails of static.  Every time he’s tried to move has made him sick.  He eventually gives up and leans against Tim.  Shivering slightly.  He wishes he could get some painkillers, but…. he can’t even sit up.  Not even far enough to let Tim get up.  

He did find it in himself to weakly sign for Tim to wrap an arm around him.  

It’s grounding.  And solid.  And warm.  And real.  

But now Martin is here.  Speaking in low tones to Tim.  Hands on his face.  Jon leaning into Martin’s warmth.  Martin wiping his damp face with a warm flannel.  

“Hey, sweetheart.  Jon, what happened?”  Martin.

Jon doesn’t want to open his mouth.  Insides still unhappy static.  He signs, “Baby Shark.”

Tim chokes on a laugh.  

It jostles Jon, which causes him to groan.  But… but.  A laugh is good.  It isn’t derisive.  It’s… just warm.  And very Tim, as he once was when they were together.  As he is, now.  

Tim stays for dinner.  It’s takeout.  And while Jon is still queasy, he manages a little bit of soup before falling asleep.  Still leaning on Tim, Martin cradling his legs.  

[actuallybarb]

The Aftermath ~ Part 4

Summary: y/n gets a card from happy hogan and vomits on the side of the road after telling off brad in the middle of an airport

Pairing: peter parker x reader

Warnings: swearing, angst, fluff, mysterio is the worst, trauma, it’s marvel what did you expect

Word Count: 1741

A/N: i know it’s reader insert but i’m emotionally attached to y/n... so, me

                                                         //////////

Let me tell you, getting lava to come out of the bottom of the Thames was pretty much the worst experience I’ve ever had in my life. And I thought Italy was bad.

Beck had a drone on standby, waiting to shoot me should I suddenly decide I’d rather die than destroy London.

I started destroying London.

It wasn’t easy. Beck told me I had to use all four elements to make it convincing, and it took all of my concentration. Listen, I’m damn good. I can make buildings crumble, I can make airplanes stop shaking in mid air, I know what the hell I’m doing. But all four elements at once? Let’s just say I’ll have a migraine for days.

I positioned myself at the very top of the monster so I could see what I was doing. I tried to do as much damage with as few casualties as possible, but I had to perform—Beck was watching.

I was waiting for Mysterio to come out and save the day, as planned, but then a red and blue blur dropped from the sky.

“You’ve got to be shitting me.” I smiled, a full-blown smile. Beck had announced at the top of his lungs that he had killed Spider-Man. I didn’t take it well. I mean, what do you expect? I’d known Peter for a full year of school, and I was actually starting to call him a friend (to myself, of course, I’d let him admit that first) and then Beck just had to go ahead and drop that bomb on me.

Peter dove into the water and —

Oh shit he thinks this is a projection.

I hollowed out the middle of my monster and pulled him all the way up to my makeshift platform. Then his jaw dropped when he saw me.

“Y/N!”

I punched him in the shoulder. “I thought you were dead!”

“You’re working with Mysterio?”

“No, fuck him, he’s forcing me to do this.” I knocked some people off of the sidewalk and into the Thames. “He said he’d kill my family if I didn’t do what he said.”

Peter was gaping at me. “You’re the Avatar!”

I groaned. “Peter! You’re missing the point! I’m being forced to destroy London until you can kick Mysterio’s ass.”

He sobered up quickly. In complete honesty, he looked like shit. His eyes were bloodshot, his cheek was scrapped, and he was standing heavily to one side. Shit, just like I said. “Where is he?”

I thrust my chin toward Tower Bridge as I let my sludgy fist come down on a coffee shop. So much wasted espresso.

I had been at it for an hour, maybe two, when Peter shot some webs into the air without swinging from them. I took that as my cue to cool it, and I let the lava sink back to the Earth’s core. The Thames happily returned to normal, and I deposited myself on the uneven cobblestones by the Tower of London. The moment I touched down MJ ran past me with a weapon in hand, straight for the bridge. Odd.

“Was - was that monster thing... you?” Flash’s camera was pointed at me. I wanted to take his phone and chuck it straight into the filthy water, but all I did was look at him tiredly.

“We’re all just full of secrets, aren’t we Eugene?”

“You okay, kid?” A man with a goatee was with Ned and Betty and he looked vaguely familiar.

“Dead on my feet,” I admitted.

He nodded. “Let’s get back to your class.”

I would’ve fallen flat on my face if Flash hadn’t stepped forward and wrapped an arm around me. “Thanks,” I mumbled as I wrapped my own arm around his shoulders. “Where did everyone think I went?”

“Uh,” he cleared his throat, “Harrington said he got an email from your mom saying you weren’t feeling well, so you were gonna stay behind in Prague with some family then fly home. Everyone else was really skeptical, especially ‘cause Peter used the same excuse, but it’s not like we could do anything.” We slowly made our way back to the rest of the class. “Good luck explaining to Harrington how you’re back.”

“Think he’ll believe the truth?”

Flash’s eyebrows scrunched together. “What’s the truth?”

“I was kidnapped by Mysterio and he made me turn into an Elemental so he could become the new Tony Stark.”

I wish I could’ve told him I was making it up. I wish I could’ve made myself believe I was making it up. But I wasn’t. Reality really is shit.

Flash just chuckled half heartedly. “No. But that doesn’t mean he won’t let you go back with us anyway.”

We rejoined the class eventually, Peter still missing, but MJ quickly joined my other side and whispered in my ear, “I just kissed Peter.”

My eyes widened and I whispered back, “Holy shit that’s awesome,” but my heart wasn’t in it.

They’re really cute, and obviously happy. But I was starting to get attached to him. And now he couldn’t be mine. Not that he was to begin with, but a small part of me was hopeful.

“Y/N! You’re back!” Harrington’s exclamation could be heard over all of the class, so they all turned their heads to look at me. Joy.

“Yeah, turns out my connecting flight was the same as yours. Crazy how that works out, right?”

“Well, we’re glad to have you here. Okay, let’s all get back to the airport, we still have a flight to catch.”

The rest of them started migrating, but I stuck back. I don’t have a ticket. I can’t get on a plane without a ticket.

“Hey, kid, you okay?” It was the same familiar guy from before.

“I- I don’t have a ticket. M- Mysterio was the one who got me here, and I never thought so far as a way home, and-“ I was on the verge of tears, and before I could object, his arms were wrapped around me and he was patting my back softly.

“Hey, you’ll be okay. I-“

But he was interrupted by none other than Spider-Man himself.

“Happy, hey- Y/N?”

Before I could really stop myself I launched myself into Peter’s arms and hugged him tightly. “God, he told me you were dead.”

His arms eventually reciprocated the level of tightness I was giving out. “It wasn’t a fun time for me, either.”

I let go eventually, mostly because I was starting to lose the feeling in my arms. I couldn’t even really say anything without tears getting in the way so I just stood there, awkwardly, sniffling.

“Let’s go home, yeah?” It was the guy, Happy, that suggested it. “Tickets, then showers, then clothes, then sleep. Both of you.”

“I could sleep for a lifetime,” I mumbled.

I don’t remember much else. I ended up between Flash and Brad, which wasn’t too bad considering Flash has comfy shoulders and the more I slept the longer I could ignore Brad. I kind of figured it was inevitable, Brad stopping me to finally have a talk, but I was hoping to avoid it.

“Why do you hate me, Y/N? I’ve tried to be nice to you, and all you’ve ever done in return is throw it back in my face.”

“Can we not do this right now, Brad? Or ever, for that matter?”

“No.” He grabbed my arm as I tried walking away. “I deserve an answer.”

I was exhausted. I was pissed. My mind was not in a good state. And I may have felt how real Brad was, but that didn’t stop my skin from crawling when his hand grabbed me.

I wrenched my arm out of his grasp. “I don’t owe you shit. Just because you deserve an explanation doesn’t mean I have to give you one.”

“You’re a first rate bitch, you know that?”

“And he finally drops the nice guy facade.” I probably shouldn’t have gotten so close to him, but I was not in the best state, mentally. Despite that little voice in the back of my head, I took a step closer and nearly bumped chests with him. “You’ve been trying to keep up this act so they can accept you, but you’re doing a real shit job at hiding the fact that you believe you’re just a scared twelve year old to these people. You’ve been letting their opinions about you control your life and it’s exhausting.”

“Like you’re any better.”

I took a step back and a deep breath. “If I let their opinions of me control my life I would’ve been dead a long time ago.” I shrugged. “I know what I am to them, and there’s nothing to change it. But that doesn’t mean I have to seek their approval. They’ve already made their decision about who I am - I have my whole life to make mine.” I shoved past him and finally made it out of the airport, just in time to see Peter give MJ a small peck before going to his aunt. Another punch to the gut. Reality: 1, Y/N: 0.

“Y/N! Sweetheart! We were so worried.” My parents, bless their souls, ran up to me and wrapped me in their arms. I would’ve burst into tears right there if Happy didn’t make eye contact with me and hand me a business card behind their backs. He lifted his hand to his ear and mouthed, ‘call me,’ to which I nodded simply for lack of a better response. “Let’s get you home,” they insisted. I was ushered into the car and driven straight home, but I didn’t hear a word they said.

My own parents don’t know what I can do. I could’ve died and they would never know I had abilities.

Holy shit.

I could have died.

“Stop the car.”

Dad looked back in concern. “Y/N, are you okay?” Of course I wasn’t okay, I was asking you to stop the car in the middle of the freeway.

“Dad, stop the car, I’m gonna be sick.”

He pulled over and I jumped out and emptied the trashy airplane food from my system. How could it be legal to serve that to people?

“Y/N?” Mom put a hand on my back and I almost lost it again. “Let’s get home and we’ll talk. Okay?”

Wow, did we have a lot to talk about.

tags: @eridanuswave​ @vampirestrawberries​

[hopelikethemoon]

used to be lonely (Javier x Reader) [MTMF verse]

Title: used to be lonely Rating: PG-13 (language) Length: 2,400 Warnings: Angst, sexism, pregnancy talk.  Notes: Based on a prompt by @youhavereachedtheendofpie​. All of maybe today, maybe forever can be read here.  Summary: A month after “maybe” Javier comes to a conclusion.  Tag List: @grapemama​ @seawhisperer​ @huliabitch​ @pedropascalito​ @thewallpapergoesorido​ @twomoonstwosuns​ @gooddaykate​(lemme know if anyone else wants to be tagged in these)

You felt like shit. The worst of the morning sickness had passed as you entered your fourth month, but that didn’t mean you magically felt good. You weren’t sleeping terribly well at night and not being able to drink coffee was torture. Work was… fine. 

You’d had to tell your superiors about your ‘delicate condition’ and they hadn’t taken it well. Their first reaction had been to send you back to the states — which had been your worst fear. If you went back to your states, you knew that whatever you had with Javier would come to an abrupt end. Every day was a give and take, trying to find your place together. It wouldn’t survive distance and you wouldn’t let him leave with you if it came to that. 

Luckily they came around and put you on indefinite desk duty. You could live with that, even if it meant spending less time with Javier in the office. You were like two ships passing in the night most days. You’d get into the office, just as he was heading out on assignment and he’d return as you were heading home. 

Sometimes he’d ride the elevator with you, even though he was headed in the opposite direction, just so he could steal a few minutes alone with you. Four stories was never enough time. He’d rest his hand on the swell of your stomach, press a kiss to your temple before the opening doors would force him to pull away. Fleeting moments that convinced you that this could be something. Something that would linger long after the baby was born. 

You pinched at the bridge of your nose as you rested your elbows on your desk. The caffeine migraines wouldn’t give you a break. Every time you caught the scent of a fresh pot brewing in the breakroom, your body craved it. And Chris seemed to make a fresh pot every hour — just to torture you. 

“Hey Peña,” Chris started, tossing a crumpled up paper onto Javier’s desk to get his attention. “How’s things out in the field?”

“Fine.” He lifted his gaze and gave Chris a questioning look. 

Chris shrugged, “You know I was just wondering if things might be easier for you now.” 

You frowned, but kept your focus on the report you were typing. 

“Why would it be easier?” Javier questioned. You glanced at him, catching the way his teeth were clenched together, his jaw set hard. You both hated Chris. Nothing good ever came from his idle wondering. 

“Well, you know.” Chris threw another piece of paper towards the garbage can against the wall, missing it by a mile. “Without having a chick in tow. No offense,” He offered disingenuously when you glared at him. “You get to deal with all Colombia’s finest informants and I can’t imagine having a female partner helped you.” 

You drew in a deep breath, counting to ten instead of picking up your stapler and beating him to death. Though the mere thought of it was wholly satisfying. You exhaled slowly, flexing your fingers before you continued typing. Chris’ sexism didn’t even warrant a reply from you. No one gave a shit and it wasn’t a hill you wanted to die on. 

“Fuck off.” Javier bit out. “She was a damn good field agent and a competent one too.” That dig made you smirk. He’d been paired with Chris a half dozen times since you got stuck on desk duty and he always looked pissed as hell when he got back. Chris was a decent agent, but he was only there because he had a drinking buddy among the higher ups. 

You glanced up again, catching Javi’s eyes on you. You could never quite tell what that look meant — sometimes it felt like he was looking into your soul and other times like he was looking straight through you. But you knew Javier better than anyone else knew him — save for Steve. You had spent the better part of your past five years in Colombia at his side, day in and day out. But sometimes you just couldn’t tell what he was thinking. Especially when it came to you. 

“Don’t waste your breath on him, Peña.” You remarked, pulling the finished report out of the typewriter. “He’s just jealous that he didn’t get my job.” Javier had been insistent that they hold the spot open until after you delivered. He’d have to work with Chris and Daniel, but neither of them would be his official new partner. 

“Damn straight I am,” Chris scoffed. “It’s not like you’re going to be fit to go back in the field.” He vaguely gestured to his stomach. “You’re already getting fat.” 

“I’m having a baby.” You snapped as you stood up. “What’s your excuse?” You didn’t give him a chance to respond, heading out of the bullpen and down the hallway towards the bathroom. You didn’t trust yourself not to cry. Your hormones were all over the place and the prickly burning in your eyes suggested that he’d struck a nerve. 

You stared at your reflection in the mirror, splashing a little water on your face to soothe the flush that was starting to spread across your skin. You looked as good as you felt, which was shit. There were dark circles under your eyes, revealing just how little sleep you were getting. 

Someone knocked at the door.

“Occupied!” You called back.

“It’s me.” 

Your brows furrowed together as you turned back to the door, you unlocked it and pulled it open a crack. “What are you doing?” You questioned as you stared at Javier, your eyes flickering up and down the hall to make sure no one else was around. 

“Just checking on you.” He murmured, his expression soft as he looked at you. “You okay?”

“Just trying to prevent a murder.” You quipped, letting out a humorless laugh. 

Javier reached through the cracked door and took ahold of your hand, rubbing his thumb over the back of it. “We could probably get away with it, if we put some effort into the planning.” He said lightly. “Can I come in?”

You nodded your head slowly, pulling the door open wider. “This is risky.” You warned him as he stepped inside and locked the door shut. 

“Just a man checking on his partner,” Javier chewed on his bottom lip with his hands on his hips. 

You frowned, resting your hand on your stomach. “That’s a ‘bad news’ look.” 

He gave a stiff nod, his jaw rocking as he stared at you. “I’ve got to meet with an informant tonight.”  

“Okay.” You said calmly, even though you felt your pulse jump in your throat.

“Okay?” Javier’s head cocked to the side, like he was expecting another answer out of you. 

“Yeah.” You shrugged. “It’s your job, Javi.” 

He blinked slowly, before looking away with an incredulous laugh. “You could at least tell me that you’re hurt.” 

“By you doing your job?” You shot back, staring at him. “I don’t know what response you were expecting.” 

“Yeah,” He shook his head, his voice cutting to the bone. “I don’t fucking know what I was expecting either.” 

“I’m not in a position to be jealous, Javier.” You told him, biting down on the inside of your bottom lip. “This,” You gestured between you. “Is held together with a shoestring and the allusion of trust. 

“The allusion of trust?”

“Javier,” You crossed your arms across your chest. “Can we not do this?”

“I trust you with my life.” Javier breathed out, his eyes darting over your face. “So fuck that.”

You sighed heavily, “I trust you with my life too, but I don’t trust you with my heart.” You admitted, your lashes fluttering as you looked away. “Look, I need to get back out there before Chris comes up with a conspiracy story that neither of us need right now.” 

“Wait.” Javier urged and you turned back around to look at him. “Can I come over tonight? After?”

You gave a faint nod of your head, “I’d like that.” 

 ——

 Despite your best attempts at falling asleep, you were still wide awake on your sofa watching late-night reruns of a telenovela well past midnight. Javier hadn’t shown up, which you weren’t entirely surprised about. Disappointed? Maybe. But you knew how things went. You hadn’t gone into this with your eyes closed. You knew Javier, you knew what being with him meant. You didn’t let it get under your skin. Or at least, you didn’t acknowledge it when it did bother you. 

Sometime near one, there was a knock at your apartment door. You hauled yourself off the sofa, wrapping a blanket around your shoulders as you went to open the door. “Hey.” You smiled softly as your gaze settled on his face. 

“I didn’t know if you’d still be up.” Javier stated, hands shoved into the pockets of his leather jacket as he shifted anxiously on his feet. “Can I—?”

“Yeah, come in.” You pushed the door open wider, stepping aside to let him in. You drew in a shaky breath, taking your time as you pulled the door closed, latching the security chain back. “How’d the meeting go?”

Javier pushed his fingers through his hair as you looked back at him. He shook his head, “I didn’t get anything out of her.” 

“Oh.” You pulled the blanket around you tighter as you walked back towards the sofa. “I’m sorry to hear that.” You curled up on the sofa, peering over the back of it at him. “Are you going to sit down?”

“Does it not bother you?” He questioned, staying rooted in one spot. 

You sank back against the arm of the sofa, rubbing at your forehead. “I just compartmentalize it, Javier. I don’t really have the privilege to be worried about it.” Your eyes flickered towards him, “I’d rather have you most of the time, than none of the time. If that’s my two options.” 

Javier’s shoulders sagged. “I see.” He rubbed at the back of his neck, before he moved around the sofa, settling down on the opposite side of it. He stared straight ahead at the T.V., but you knew he wasn’t watching it. His jaw was clenched, lips moving slightly like he was trying to formulate what to say.

The silence was smothering as it lingered between the two of you, oppressive like the thick heat of Colombia. 

“I didn’t fuck her.” 

Your brows shot upwards. You curled your feet beneath you as you sat up, staring down the length of the sofa at him. “Is that why you didn’t get the information?”

He shrugged a shoulder. “I don’t care.” 

“Javier, it’s your job.” 

“Fuck that.” He snapped, fingers curled into tight fists on his lap. “I’m done with that shit.” Javier turned to look at you, looking more wounded than you’d ever seen him before. “It’s not just work. Don’t you get that?” 

You blinked slowly, before looking away from him because you couldn’t take the pain in his eyes. “I do. But I also know…” You shook your head. “It’s not a game, Javier. This is our job, our livelihood. We can’t let whatever this is get in the way.”

“Whatever this is.” He scoffed, sinking back against the sofa and staring up at the ceiling. “You can be such a bitch sometimes, baby.” 

“Yeah, well you’re a jackass all the time so I think we’re even.” You bit back, throwing your blanket off as you stood up. “I’m going to bed. You can sit out here and sulk or whatever, be my guest.” 

“I love you.”

You stopped dead in your tracks. 

“What did you say?” 

“You heard me.”

“No.” You turned to stare at him. “What did you say?”

“I love you.” 

“Javier, we’ve been together for a month.” 

“No shit,” He dragged his hands over his face before he stood up and stalked towards you. “We didn’t just meet last month.” 

Everything felt like it was closing in on you. The telenovela sounded like white noise in the background, blending into the thrumming of your pulse in your ears, the steady flow of air through your nose. “You can’t just say that, Javier. You can’t just tell me you love me if you don’t really mean it.” 

“I do.” 

“How?”

“You’re all I think about.” Javier admitted, reaching out to grab your hands, holding you in front of him. 

“Is that why you couldn’t?” 

He nodded. “Yeah.”

You swallowed thickly, “Wow.” 

“I tried.” He admitted. 

“I figured.” You laughed a little, uncertain how to feel. “You smell like cheap perfume.” 

He chuckled. “I’ll shower.” 

You shook your head, “It’s fine.” You took a step closer to him, looking up at him with a quiet smile. “I swear to God, if you break my heart Javi.” 

“Are you going to say it back?”

You brushed your fingers along the curve of his jaw, “No.” You said lightly. “I’m going to make you wait.” Your hands settled at his shoulders as his own hands found your hips. “You’re going to have to work for it.” 

“I can live with that.” He smirked, leaning down to brush his lips against yours. His nose bumped against yours as he pulled back. “Just don’t make me wait too long” 

“You won’t.” You promised him, giving his shoulders three little squeezes. 

Javier inhaled sharply, looking down at you quizzically. You smiled a little more broadly nodding your head to confirm his suspicions. Your fingers found their way to the back of his neck and you drew him down to kiss him again. 

You let the kiss linger, your tongue teasing over his bottom lip. “I lied. Go take a shower.” You shoved him playfully in the chest. “I’ll meet you in the bedroom.”

He stole another kiss, before he headed for your bathroom, glancing back over his shoulder at you.

You were already half asleep when Javi slid beneath the covers beside you. It wasn’t the first time he’d spent the night since you’d started your relationship, but it was the first time it felt like that was where he truly belonged. He pressed his face into the crook of your neck, his arm wrapped around you, his palm spread out over your stomach. 

You used to be lonely too. 

But now, in Javier’s arms… there was a hope in your heart that maybe neither of you would have to feel lonely again. 

[theratopia]

Chronic defiance

Welcome back, Therapals,

Today I have to fully embrace anecdotal experience and take some pride in being able to share a part of my story with all of you. Please be kind as I indulge in this task.

It felt to me like episode 184 had an unintentional theme of life-long diagnosis from both the perspective of the patient and those who surround them. Through very specific and personal experiences we were invited to think about how living in sickness can affect one's behavior. It so happens that I am well versed in existing inside a defective body, I just have reached the point where I can wear a healthy disguise.

When I was 13 years old I realized that regular classes would cause me pain. At first, it seemed temporary, maybe I needed glasses or something. Maybe I was tired. At 16 I started avoiding going to the movies because two hours of enjoyment would bring another twelve of agony. By the time I was in college - the first time - I would schedule my day around how many times I was in pain. My backpack always had a supply of medication that needed to be refilled every week. I wouldn't go out much and all my close friends were somewhat accustomed to seeing me in pain. I even developed some signs to be able to communicate when I couldn’t speak - it's rare now, but extremely intense episodes will trap me inside, making me fully aware but unable to speak and/or move.

I went to several doctors, had years of exams done, got close to an addiction to painkillers, thought I was going blind. I also thought I was going to die, accidentally almost caused a fatal injury on myself, and very much wished I was dead.

It took me a few years to figure out I have chronic migraine, even though it runs in the family. It took me more than a decade to manage it successfully.

Looking back, I don't know how I did it, I just knew I had to do it. Daily life was miserable, limited and exhausting. The only way to adapt to it at first was to accept everything. I wasn't ashamed of my condition anymore, and that was who I had to be at that point. But that would not be what would define me for the rest of my life.

Years of treatment later, I say it is an everyday struggle. Today, for example, I woke up and there she was, weighing heavy over my right eye. But I won, I feel fine now. One day at a time, another lesson learnt on how to be the most comfortable me.

Chronic pain will often force you to learn how to live around it, and this is the only specific reality I have some familiarity with. It is an intrusive condition that will sit right in the middle of your existence, refusing to be ignored. And if you ever try to do so, it will just take more space until there is nothing left for you. More than half of my life has been defined by this battle of how to make myself exist around and larger than the pain I can feel at any moment. The triumph I seek is not absolute victory, but a peaceful cohabitation. On one side, my genetic blueprint lays down all the traps; on the other, my unshakable willpower finds its ways to navigate the treacherous terrain. There is no escaping how we were built, but humans are notoriously talented at adaption, the ultimate advantage that hardly ever fails us.

So, please, if you find yourself in similar conditions and your body seems to be actively working against you, be defiant, be courageous. Be stubborn for yourself. Use the survivor's bias to your own benefit. Think about how much you’ve done so far by being exactly who you have always been, how much you have overcome. I won't lie and say the journey is easy. You might not be able to do everything you dream of, sure - I can't wear anything on my head and face, for example. But it will be okay. You can adapt and find other ways of being fulfilled doing what you love. And you will do it your own way, which makes it unique. Perhaps you can pave the way for other people who also exist in a more challenging body.

This is how I like to see my unescapable neurological condition: a challenge that I am able to conquer. I do need a different set of tools, which I craft for myself with the help of those who understand my uncommon requirements.

Don't think you need to make yourself smaller to make others comfortable, no. Ask for what you need because that is what you deserve. There are no rules, you do things the way you need to do them. Somedays, I would wear sunglasses inside the office. Or take naps at a sitting position. Brush my hair for half an hour, brush my teeth for ten minutes, take a shower with a chair.

It is also important to note that it was never anyone's fault that I was suffering constantly, not even mine. The fact that I was in pain made me very irritable, of course, but that was not carte blanche to lash out at my family, for example. The migraine still affects my mood, my tolerance, my energy levels. However, my migraine cannot be used as a shield from criticism, as an excuse to hide from responsibility, or as a justification for recklessness. It is never acceptable to act like you are beyond reproach just because you are in pain. Everyone has their issues and should be held accountable for their shitty behavior.

After so many years of experience, if given the opportunity to tell my younger self anything, I would say it will get better. So that is what I would like to tell anyone facing a lifelong diagnosis. We mature, we adapt. The secret is to never stop, and never let yourself be stopped.

In the beginning, it feels overwhelming, but at some point, you will forget how bad it used to be. Finding balance won't feel so daunting. You will find the best possible version of yourself and feel proud.

Take good care of yourselves. You are worthy.

Triple hug,

The Mayor.

[janekfan]

aah i just sent this prompt but tumblr told me it didn't send so if it sent twice ignore this!! so prompt: how about early s2, where jon is pulling away a bit but the others are concerned about it more than angry, getting a horrific migraine. like "has to leave a team meeting early" horrific. and the others know he wants to be left alone and try to respect it, but eventually they can't just ignore it anymore. <3 if you don't like this i can try again!

Oof, migraines. Amiright??? This is based on a personal experience of mine I had in college :D

My whole floor thought I was dying and almost dragged me to the hospital.

Thank you @taylortut as always for giving me such great ideas! :D

Looking back, Jon felt incredibly foolish.

Insisting that he could persist through his day without taking medication for headaches when it resulted in the same outcome every time was the very definition of insanity.

But, in his flimsy defense, they never started out badly and he got so caught up in his work that by the time he realized what was happening, it was far, far too late to do anything but suffer it out until it ended. Which is how he found himself here, now, nearly completely blind in his right eye while Elias droned on about workplace safety and considering recent events it seemed laughably mundane because yes, back strain from lifting incorrectly certainly outweighed a sentient worm queen trying to devour your assistants.

Filled with a desperate desire to rub away the disorientating blind spot, Jon let his focus slip over his employees.

Tim: bored. Not doing anything to hide it and Jon supposed he was at fault for that too, because he was certainly not paying Elias any mind.

Sasha: attentive. Most likely thinking of something else entirely while she nodded along to the lecture notes at the appropriate places.

Martin: engrossed. Despite his suspicions, mostly due to the constant checking in with him about how he was feeling, and really, maybe that was on him because maybe that’s what coworkers did after bravely surviving an onslaught of supernatural entities together. Despite them, he found it. Pleasant? Pleasant. That he would commit the effort to pay such careful attention.

Jon: quickly realizing this meeting would not be finished by the time the majority of the pain struck him like an oncoming lorry. By his estimations, based on when he first noticed the aura as a funny spot in his peripheral he tried to see around, he had roughly three minutes left.

Elias continued to endlessly intone while the buzzing lights continued to beat down on him and Jon fought against closing his eyes against them both and their ceaseless stabbing. Two minutes. Probably less and the anxiety which accompanied knowing almost exactly when he was about to be incapacitated rose like a tide and threatened to drag him under. Jon began to shake minutely as the agony manifested like an icepick in the back of his head and spread its grasping, greedy fingers. It took the rest of his very limited restraint to stay silent and keep breathing; shallow and slow, controlled and careful because the nausea was beginning to set in and throwing up during a staff meeting was at the very least, unwise.

But oh he needed somewhere silent, somewhere he could hide in total darkness and not move until he was able to force himself to sleep, to sleep, to sleep because that was the only way he’d found to make it through to the other side.

“Jon?” He was standing, blinking unevenly, fighting with himself and his desire to shield his face with both hands. The sound of his name was too loud. So loud and the murmuring of the others in the room created a beautiful sensory nightmare and if they knew his head was about to split open would they really be speaking so loudly? Doubtful. Martin. Martin wouldn’t at least.

“I’m leaving.” Inadequate, but he didn’t have the wherewithal to elaborate even if in his right mind he wouldn’t. And this wasn’t even the worst of it.

Each step was a rung up the ladder of agony and he’d taken to trailing a hand against the wall, not trusting his quickly dwindling balance and equilibrium. Rudely, without his express permission, a sob snuck past his clenched teeth and he just had to make it down the stairs, into the archives. Into the dark. The cot was still in document storage and the room would be dim and quiet and he could sleep. Please, let him sleep. Trembling so badly he could barely work the door handle, desperation doing its level best to claw its way through his ribcage, Jon began to panic. Gently, gently, gently, he closed the door behind him, trying to breathe because not breathing would make it worse. The buttons at his throat were so tight, the vest, while comfortable this morning was strangling him and he fought his way out of it like a tiger before all but tearing open his collar.

Sh. Shh. You’re alright. Shaky. Ill. But alright and you will be alright. Jon collapsed to the cot, sighing at the momentary relief laying down provided but there was still so much light and it was like glass behind his eyes even though they were closed as tightly as he dared close them. The blanket that had been left behind was very contradictory, too much and not nearly enough, and when it brushed the bare skin of his arms it felt like sandpaper but he wanted more of it. More weight so he could relax without feeling as though he was going to drift away because who even knew which way was up anymore? If he hadn’t left the meeting, he could’ve asked.

Don’t cry. Do. Not. Jonathan Sims. It made it worse, so much worse so he kept his tears trapped behind a false calm. Each time he’d thought he would die from one of these or at the very least prefer it and each time he woke the next day groggy and sore and exhausted, useless for anything except more sleep. He dropped his glasses on the floor, hugged his middle with one arm and threw the other over his face.

Please, please, please.

Just go to sleep.

“I’ll thank the rest of you for continued attention.” Martin nodded absently, worried. Jon didn’t just walk out of meetings. And he’d been so pale, rubbing his temple and wincing. A bad headache? He got those sometimes.

Didn’t like to be bothered about them either.

He caught Tim staring at him over the table, done with his paperclip sculpture for now it seemed, and he nodded just slightly toward the door with a questioning look. Martin just shrugged discreetly, now too distracted to pay attention to whatever Elias deemed important enough to waste their time with after an attack on the archives. Needless to say, the rest of the hour passed excruciatingly slow and as soon as they were released, Martin headed straight for Jon’s office, momentarily confused when it was empty.

“Not there?” Martin shook his head and Tim frowned in concern. “The cot? Maybe he needed a lie down?”

“You’re probably right.”

“Still strange.” He nodded in agreement, already headed to check, knocking quietly on the worn wood.

“Jon?” Martin swore he heard something suspiciously like a whimper before his voice floated through the door.

“Yes, Martin?” It was strange, off, wavery? The tail end of a gasping breath.

“You just, you left in such a hurry.” He’d give anything to open the door and see for himself. “Are you feeling well?”

“I’m. Yes, Martin, I’m, I’m alright.” Jon was many things, a good liar was not one of them, but he was the type to lick his wounds alone, preferring not to show any vulnerability and Martin would respect it. “Bit tired.”

“Okay, I’ll. Check on you in a bit then. Bring some tea.”

“Yes, alright.” Despite his worry, Martin smiled at the tiny familiar spark of frustration.

When Martin spoke his voice seemed to echo in the hollows of Jon’s bones, reverberating into his head and only exacerbating the throbbing pain, not even really aware of what he was saying, just trying to get him to go away so he could be as still as possible in silence. The more he moved, the more it felt like his stomach was trying to turn inside out and the fear of moving, of being sick, of causing himself more hurt, made tears sting at the corners of his eyes, made him itch where they slipped down his face.

If it would just stop for a moment. If he could just fall asleep. Calm down. Stand to have anything against his skin right now.

He wanted to be alone and not be alone. Wanted Martin or Tim or Sasha to, to, he didn’t know, just wanted. The strange disconnect from his physical body was maddening, confusing, and he wanted so badly for it to please stop.

When Martin looked up, Sasha was so close to his desk he startled. He hadn’t heard her but she looked worried.

“I don’t think Jon is feeling very well.”

“I don’t think so either.”

“He’s been in there all day.” Tim joined them. “Maybe we should check on him again?” Martin looked at the clock. It had been hours since he’d talked to him and he had yet to reappear.

“You’re probably right.” This time, it was definitely a hurting sound and Martin decided it was for Jon’s own good to let himself in. He’d only just recovered from Prentiss, what if the stress had made him ill? “Jon?” He was curled into himself on the cot, clothes in disarray, vest discarded and half the blanket piled atop his face. When the door closed, Jon clapped his hand over his ear, the other tangled into his button down so tight Martin was afraid he’d pop the buttons. “You’re shaking.”

“Mmartin…” the barest exhale, pleading. “S’loud…so...so loud…”

“Okay, okay, what’s wrong?” He knelt beside him, resting his hand over Jon’s. “How can I help?”

“Jus’...jus’ need t’sleep.” Shuddering, his breath caught, was released, uneven, fast, gasping. “Can’t.” He decided at that moment that sound should never come from Jon again, not if ever he could help it and the fingers that had been digging into his greying hair were now clutching Martin’s.

“Okay. I’m coming back.” Jon seemed to collapse inward like a star and it was hard to leave him but he’d seen migraines before and it had been hours since what he guessed was the onset. “Tim, do you have any paracetamol?”

“What’s wrong?”

“Jon’s not well, of course.”

“Figures.”

“This time I really think it wasn’t his fault. These things sometimes come on suddenly.” Tim grumbled, digging through his desk and heading with Martin to the breakroom for some water, waiting while he brewed a strong black tea.

“He gets a pass. One time, Martin. This one time.” While the tea cooled Martin retrieved a few cloths from the drawer and a bowl of water.

“He needs quiet. Everything is really overwhelming right now. A lot of input and nowhere for it to go.”

“You’re the boss, Marto.” With a jaunty salute, Tim followed, staying calm and quiet, kneeling down to Jon’s level before whispering a greeting. “Hey. Gonna get you fixed right up.”

“Nnng…okay.”

“Jon? We’re going to help you sit up.” With no refusal forthcoming, Tim and Martin shared a look of alarm before lifting him as though he were made of spun glass and he buried his face in Martin’s soft, well worn jumper. “Good, Jon.” Martin pressed his palm against his forehead and found it cold and a little clammy, his clothes clung slightly with sweat and it seemed like he had trouble coordinating his limbs.

“Hur’s…” trembling, his muscles spasmed randomly, and Tim had to help hold his hand steady enough for a dose of paracetamol while Martin followed quickly with the bitter tea, washing the taste away with a sip of water.

“Okay, love. Doing such a good job. Almost done.” More tears. He went to nod, instead ending up with his head hanging, neck too tired to hold it up any longer and Martin eased him back down onto the pillow. “Let me know if this is too much.” He wrung out a flannel and smoothed it over his eyes, pleased when Jon groaned in slight relief. Tim stroked his hair, soft and slow, and together they waited, watched his shivering gradually stop and his breath deepen into sleep.

Sasha met them outside the door and Martin stepped further down the hall, just in case they were loud enough to wake him.

“Well?”

“He’s asleep, bad migraine.” Martin winced in sympathy, “and hopefully he’ll sleep through until morning.”

“That’s a relief.” Collectively, they agreed. Jon had been under a lot of pressure lately and while he’d never been one to confide in them often even those moments were becoming rare

Jon felt heavy, tired and slow, and when Martin opened the door with a mug of tea in one hand and a plate of toast in the other, he reasoned that he hadn’t dreamt the entirety of the day previous. Which meant he did sit through most of Elias’ dry speech about safety.

Embarrassing. To have walked out like that.

“Martin.” The memory of gentle hands and a soft voice made him flush.

“Jon, how’re you feeling?”

“Better, uh, much better. Thank you.” Sitting up was only somewhat a chore, the dizziness faded into the background for the most part. The fogginess was expected and would last a few days but for now he accepted the tea graciously, eyed the toast suspiciously, and settled on another round of painkillers and a few mouthfuls until he thought he might be pushing it. “Thank you, Martin.” He’d been in a bad way and at his wit’s end before he and Tim essentially rescued him. Passing back the empty mug and setting the remaining toast aside, Jon decided he deserved a lie in especially considering he was in that fragile inbetween where turning his head too fast would trigger another one. “If you see Tim before me, would you pass on my gratitude?”

“‘Course I will” Martin retrieved the dishes and turned back before closing the door. “Sleep well, Jon.”

[hypnoticwinter]

Down the Rabbit Hole part 29

The FBI agent reclines the front seat in the big black Tahoe and gives me a look like I’m a little girl being stubborn. My nose is still a little stuffy from all the crying I’ve been doing, and my leg feels swollen and crooked and wrong, but the time for all that is past now. I take a deep breath and let it out and refuse to meet his gaze, glare out the tinted window at the fading afternoon.

Outside there are two more FBI men in big baggy blue windbreakers, chatting casually. One of them is smoking a cigarette, and as I watch him bring it to his mouth I feel a little gnarled pang of want, for it really has been so long since I last had one, and after everything I’ve gone through –

“How’s your leg?” the agent in the SUV with me asks, and I look round at him but don’t answer. He’s a big, broad man, probably somewhere in his forties or maybe his late thirties. His tone is calm and mild but his voice is deep enough that it feels like it ought to be accompanied by a rumbling vibrato I can pick up in my bones.

My leg is okay. Makado knew exactly where and how to kick me, it seems; after the FBI agents picked me up and carried me out of the gondola Makado got them to take me straight to the infirmary where a small, stone-faced woman looked it over and tutted at how they were treating me, saying that it probably won’t heal right, but they got her to just shoot me full of painkillers and throw a boot on it. After that I was able to walk, at least a little bit; I found to my immense surprise that with the boot I was actually able to put some weight on my right leg without it folding under me or my calf snapping in half. I examined it as best as I was able on the walk over to the parking lot and discovered that instead of the mangled wreck I was half-expecting there was just a rough scrape from the cleats on the bottom of Makado’s boot and only the slightest misalignment of the broad flat bone there. I could feel, I discovered, the part where my bone melded into the synthetic replacement the autodoctor had put in, a little ridged scoriation dividing the two.

“I have some ibuprofen,” he says, reaching into the pocket of his windbreaker, “if you need it.”

“I’m fine.”

My voice is dry from lack of use. I lick my lips, make a little cough in the back of my throat. He shrugs, puts the bottle away. “Suit yourself,” he says.

Another five minutes or so go by. I pointedly ignore him. Eventually he clears his throat. “It’s going to be a lot easier on you,” he tells me, “if you talk.”

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

“Oh, I disagree,” he says. “We’ve got a lot to talk about. Ever since Miss Veret gave us a call and told us what you were up to, we’ve had a lot of questions for you. I think you’ll find that you’d prefer me to be the one asking them.”

“Is that a threat?” I ask him, and he laughs.

“It is whatever you make of it, Miss Dzilenski.” He stumbles over the frontloaded jumble of consonants, overemphasizes the ‘e’ sound in the middle. Duh-zil-een-ski. Almost makes me wince.

“Alright,” I say. “What did Makado say I had been up to, then?”

It would probably be smarter not to talk at all, but sitting here in the blasting a/c in the back of the Tahoe is making me sleepy. It feels like I haven’t had a chance to actually sit and rest for what feels like ages, even though just earlier today I was just waking up from a day-and-a-half nap after surgery. I’d gone through the pumped-full-of-energy phase and then the ballast had worn off and I’d gone through the splitting-migraine phase on the way up and now at this point I just feel hollow and brittle and empty. Even though it’s cowardly I try not to think of Elena and how I’ve abandoned her, I try not to think of Makado and what she’s done, but it’s futile. Rage and despair course over me in alternating waves and I haven’t a clue as to how to adequately deal with either.

The FBI man offers me a tissue and I realize with a start that I’ve nearly begun crying again. I wipe at my eyes as best I can with my cuffed hands and leave him there, hand outstretched, until he sighs and takes his hand back, tosses the wadded tissue on the floor. “How’d you end up here?” he asks me. I stare back at him. He reaches over, takes a slim manila folder from the center console, leafs through it. “Not a lot on you in here,” he says. “Except for that whole thing with your father.”

I stiffen.

“Must have been hard,” he says, neutrally.

I know I’m being baited and I ought to stay quiet but I can’t stop myself. “You don’t know the first thing about it,” I tell him, “so you should just shut up –“

“On the contrary,” he says smoothly, turning a stapled, glossy page and squinting at the next. The first page hangs over the edge of the folder and I can see through it to the other side, see the painfully familiar mugshot that’s been etched into my brain, little fourteen-year-old me, her eyes red from crying, trying hard to keep a stiff upper lip, staring defiantly into the camera, still wearing the lumberjack shirt she’d begged her dad buy for her as soon as they made it to Illinois and the nights started to get cold. “I know a lot about it,” the FBI man continues. “I’ve got the entire report right here.”

“If you read the report,” I say, trying to keep my voice level, “you know that by now it’s ancient history. It happened twelve years ago.”

“Yes,” he says, “and now twelve years later you’re in another mess. I suppose you’re going to blame somebody else this time as well?”

The words strike me with about the subtlety of a sledgehammer but I still stiffen in the backseat, my fists clenching so hard that my nails dig into my palms. “Fuck you,” I blurt. He continues on as though he didn’t hear me.

“I don’t know what exactly they’re planning on charging you with, but I know it’s at least a few dozen counts of manslaughter, and possibly a couple of murder charges. Then there’s all the human trafficking you and your partner Peter Caum were doing. Did you really think you’d be able to get away with that?”

My mouth dropped open about halfway through. “So that’s how it is,” I say. I feel like I’ve been struck by lightning; my heart is going about a million miles an hour and all the hair is standing up on my arms. I feel claustrophobic suddenly, here in the back of the SUV, my hands cuffed together, my leg throbbing in time with my heartbeat.

The FBI man’s eyes flash beneath his glasses. “That’s how what is?”

“Makado is trying to blame all this on me,” I tell him, knowing that it’s futile, that maybe it’s even actively detrimental to say anything, but I – I can’t just say nothing, I can’t just –

“Are you saying that she’s the one responsible for this?”

I swallow and nod.

“That Makado Veret,” he says, tossing the folder to the side and fixing me with his full attention, “the Chief of Security for the Permian Basin Recovery and Superorganism Containment Corporation, that Makado, has really been trying to smuggle people inside the Pit, with the help of a disgruntled ex-Park Ranger and mental patient, for…no real apparent purpose other than to fleece desperate people of their money?”

“Yes,” I say softly. It’s pointless. He isn’t going to believe me.

“And you are,” he continues, “the same Roan Dzilenski who has a documented history of lying to law enforcement authorities?”

“I was fourteen!”

“So you aren’t denying it? That you have lied to the police before?”

“I –“

“I mean,” he says, speading his hands, “it was a juvenile offense. And it was overturned. You got off scot free.”

“I did not get off scot free,” I tell him. “I’m tired of this. You’ve got the fucking report, you can read it. Either arrest me or don’t.”

“Fine,” he says. “If that’s what you’d like me to do.”

I lick my lips. “Look,” I say, trying to think of how to phrase it, how possibly I can tell him and get him to believe me. He gives me an expectant look. “Look,” I say, a little more softly, “this is all fine, but right now there’s someone down there inside the Pit who’s hurt. Someone who might die if I can’t get to her. And if you arrest me –“

The FBI man laughs, cutting me off, and rolls the window down to signal to the other two men in windbreakers. The tall, thin one with the cigarette tosses it on the black asphalt and grinds it out with his foot, and then he gets in next to me. I can still smell it on him. And then the other gets in the front seat and, after a quiet, murmured conversation with the man who’d just been grilling me, pulls us out of the parking lot and onto the curving road that reaches around the back of the ranger barracks and over to the main road back to Gumption. I feel as though I’m going to be sick.

The sky is terribly blue and for a long while I have a hard time recognizing it, I stare at the clouds passing by outside the window and wonder at them. The world feels strange when it isn’t pitch-dark and smelling of meat.

And, god, Elena –

I’m done crying. I can’t do anything for her now. I – I wasn’t good enough. I didn’t see it coming, I didn’t see that Makado was just using me.

I suppose I will process all of this later, in a jail cell somewhere. Right now I don’t have the ability to handle any more. I lean my forehead against the cool glass next to me and shut my eyes. I’d rather think about something else.

 * * *

 “Now remember,” my father is telling me, “it’s going to be hard to pull that trigger, but if you just squeeze it steadily it’ll be okay.”

“But daddy,” I start, but he just ruffles my hair like he always does and adjusts the revolver so that the two little legs stuck to the barrel sink a little deeper into the berm we’re both laying on.

“Now go ahead,” he tells me, his voice gentle, “and line up those two little bits there with this one in the front.”

I close my left eye and peer down the ridged metal spine of the thing. Just holding it makes me nervous, it’s like holding a power tool, like holding the big reciprocating saw he keeps down in the garage for his woodworking. It’s heavy and weighty and purposeful. “Okay,” I murmur.

“You’ve got them lined up? The one in the front should be in the middle of the rear two, and it shouldn’t be higher than the rear two.”

“Yes.”

“Alright, now, line the whole thing up with that beer bottle over there.”

“Which one?”

“The Blue Moon bottle over there on the left.”

I shift the gun over a little and then line it up again. “Okay,” I mutter. The little green bead in the front rests just above the label, but now it’s up too high, it’s poking above the line made by the back two bits.

“Remember to focus on the sights, not on the target. If you focus on the target you won’t be able to tell whether the sights aren’t aligned. Keep your eyes right here,” my dad tells me, pointing to the front of the pistol. I nod.

“Got it.”

“Okay. I’m going to move the cylinder now so that the hammer is over the chamber with the live bullet in it. When you pull that trigger the gun will fire. Got it?”

I swallow hard. I can see the back of the cartridge in the little cutout for it on the left side of the gun. My dad told me it was so you can see whether it had already been fired but I don’t know how that works. As I watch he reaches down and moves it so that it’s in line with the barrel. “Daddy,” I say, “I don’t know if –“

“Hey, it’s going to be fine. Now, it’s going to have a hard kick, but I’m going to be right here holding it with you, okay?”

“Okay,” I say again. Down there, maybe about fifty feet away or so, the sunlight is glinting off the darkened glass of the Blue Moon bottle. My father places his hands loosely over mine; his skin is calloused and rough. He is a carpenter but only during the day, at night he writes, holed up in the den with the door cracked open so if I want to I can sneak up and peek in, see him tapping away at the enormous computer with the cathode-ray screen, the big stuffed buck’s head on the wall just behind him, angled just like his, echoing his. I want to write like he does when I get older.

His hands are just over mine. They’re very warm, and so big compared to mine. I still have a band-aid on the ring finger of my left hand from where I tripped and cut it open on the ground outside the motel yesterday. Dad was proud of me for not crying about it but I wouldn’t have cried about something like that for a long time. Even this young I’m serious, more serious than either of my parents. Right now my father is being very serious and it isn’t something I’m used to. It makes me feel nervous, like I’ll do something wrong.

“Whenever you’re ready, keep the sights lined up and pull the trigger back slowly. It’s got a bit of a weight to it so you’ll have to squeeze hard, but it’ll shoot.”

And so I pull the trigger back slowly. My hand is shaking a little but that’s just from how hard I’m holding the gun. As the trigger moves the little metal lever on the back of the gun moves too, and I glance over at my dad. “Is that supposed to –“ I start, but he’s already nodding at me.

“That’s the hammer, that’s what actually hits the cartridge to make it fire. It has to drop down onto it to do that, so when you pull the trigger what you’re doing is bringing the hammer back and then dropping it. Go ahead and shoot, baby.”

I keep pulling and the hammer keeps going back and back and back and what I realize is going to happen is that there will be a point where it’s all the way back and then it’ll fall and the gun will go off and scare me half to death, and I keep anticipating it and it doesn’t come and eventually it’s too much and I ease off of the trigger. My dad stares down at me wondering if something’s wrong, takes his hands off of my hands and starts to lean over, and the thought of having to explain all this to him is far too unpalatable for me, so instead I squeeze my eyes shut and jerk the trigger back as far as it will go, and the gun roars so loud that for a moment I wonder whether I’m even wearing the big bulky earmuffs my dad handed to me.

The pistol leaps out of my hands and then something slams into my face and I cry out and clap my hands to my nose. The revolver is lying there on the berm, kicked over onto one of its little legs, and my nose is bleeding. My dad looks like he doesn’t know whether he wants to yell at me or cheer for me. Instead he just hugs me to him before I can start crying and points down at the beer bottles. “You did it,” is all he tells me, and when I look I see that the Blue Moon bottle, amber-hued and glossy, has disappeared, and even though I’ve gotten blood all down the front of my new plaid lumberjack shirt, I can’t stop staring at the place it would have been, can’t stop grinning at the knowledge that I did that.

 * * *

 The glass jostles against my forehead and my eyes flick open. I’d drifted away for a second there. Then the noise begins and the man driving slams on the brakes, sending us screeching to a halt. “What the fuck was that?” he cries.

I know what it is, of course – it’s the Pit. What else would it be? What else can open its gaping mouth and scream like that, scream from its belly, miles and miles and miles deep, channel the sound out into a pinprick-tiny orifice and make it shriek for kilometers? The noise is throbbingly deep, rattling into our bones and setting my teeth vibrating unpleasantly, but also somehow manages to screech upwards into a high keening wail that drags on and on and on…

The FBI men look shaken, at least. I’d heard groans and moans and shrieks like this down in the Pit, but none quite so angry, and definitely none as loud. It makes me wonder if there’s something different about this or if the sound is muffled, down there in the Pit, muffled by the flesh everywhere. Maybe it carries differently.

There is another low resounding thump and again the ground shakes. I freeze. If we can feel it here on the surface –

The FBI men glance at each other, and the one in the passenger seat, the one who’d been interrogating me, nods. “Let’s get the hell out of here,” he tells the driver, who puts the SUV back in gear and starts off again down the road, moving at a faster clip than before. He isn’t quite gunning it but he’s getting close. The one in back sitting next to me leans forward.

“Did they say anything about this?” he asks. “Is it like a test or something? I heard –“

I never hear what he heard, though, before the ground erupts like a bomb maybe two hundred yards to our left and a vast stream of – of something hurls upwards into the sky. The driver cries out in shock and for a moment all of us are just staring out the left side of the SUV, watching as a nauseatingly pale pillar of flesh hovers there, sticking out of the ground at an obtuse angle, quivering in the waning sunlight. It must reach a couple hundred feet into the air at least, and it’s as thick as a redwood, or maybe even a couple of redwoods, it’s hard to tell from this distance. It curls inwards on itself and slams into the ground and begins scrabbling around on the ground, splintering trees and bushes and rocks, crushing them beneath itself.

“Makado was right,” I breathe, watching the tentacle writhe like a blind, pale worm. “She was right, it is waking up.”

“What did you say?” the man in the passenger seat asks, but before I can repeat myself there is another echoing roar and another tentacle, a smaller one this time, bursts out of the ground just before us. The driver screams a profanity and tries to turn but the big fat SUV is too damn slow. We strike it at an angle instead and it is just enough to flip the car.

It all happens incredibly quickly. I’m very lucky that the man who got in next to me buckled me in; he neglected to do the same for himself and got tossed around the cabin like a ragdoll, slamming into the ceiling and then falling through into the back and rattling around back there like a roulette ball. The two in front are a little luckier; they both had buckled up but I see the one in the passenger seat strike his head hard against the window next to him, hard enough that the window cracks, and when his head reels back I see a flash of bright red blood mottled in his hair and dripping down his forehead. The driver is still tugging desperately at the wheel, his instincts screaming at him to do something at least, but it’s useless – we flip end over end three times before the car settles onto its side and comes to a halt.

Aside from nearly being strangled by my seatbelt, I come out of it okay. I knocked my leg against the front seat a few times but with the boot on it isn’t nearly as bad as it could have been, and then when the front windscreen burst inwards I did end up with a few cuts on my face, I think, and the same bruised spot on my cheek where Klaus struck me is aching like hell.

I think I screamed, that’s all; it’s like my brain shut down as soon as we flipped and I was simply running on automatic, no conscious thought required. I remember bringing my hands, still cuffed together, up to protect my face, and I remember clenching just about every muscle in my body tight enough to leave me with a lingering ache in my abs once we rolled to a stop, but somehow I haven’t done myself any lasting damage.

It takes me only a couple seconds to realize that this might be my big break, and then I spring into action, slamming my fingers down on the release for the seat belt and rocketing out of the SUV as quickly as I can. The driver yells at me, apparently still conscious as well, and I snap a terrified glance back at him, but he’s trapped – I can see now standing on the outside that his door is crumpled inwards and jammed into the frame, and what’s more it doesn’t look like he’s able to undo his seat belt, although I can’t tell whether it’s because it’s jammed too or because the man is injured.

Behind me the roars continue unabated. There is the faint ratcheting wail of a siren coming from the facility, over the lip of the hill, just there to my right.

The man with the glasses who cracked his head on the window, he has the key to my cuffs. I sprint around the back of the truck, tear the passenger door open as quickly as I can. He falls out, lands on his belly in the dirt, and then I am rummaging through his pockets; not here in the jacket, not on the other side of the jacket, not in the left back pocket…

I can feel my panic mounting as I rifle through his things, trying to ignore the angry cries of the man in the driver’s seat, telling me to stop, telling me that I’m going to be in really fucking big trouble if I don’t come around and help him get out of the damn truck. I shut him out, I don’t even look at him. Where is the fucking key? If I can’t find it, if it’s fallen out of his pocket somewhere when the SUV flipped –

There is a raw, wet noise next to me and I glance over. The tip of the tentacle, glossy with slime and bleeding from a dozen skin-deep cuts, from rocks and sticks and just abrasion with the ground, is nuzzling at the deflated rear tire of the SUV. It’s insane how normal it seems to me. A month ago I would have figured I was going insane if I had seen something like this grubbing around on the ground like someone trying to reach a potato chip they’ve dropped on the floor. Where is that fucking key? Goddam it –

I take a step, dragging the FBI man with me, or at least trying to, because the fucker is heavy, and immediately the tentacle jolts in my direction. I feel a scream catch in my throat but I manage to clap a hand to my mouth and stop it. The sound? No, that doesn’t make any sense, the thing’s skin is smooth and clear and bereft of anything close to being an ear. Vibrations then, that must be it.

I eye the thing. The end is blunt and about as narrow as a baseball bat but it widens out to about as wide around as a tree trunk a little further down. It’s obviously very strong; rippling bands of muscle shift beneath its thin skin. If it got wrapped around my leg –

“You fucking bitch!” the driver curses at me. He’s still yanking fruitlessly at the seat belt. I see the tentacle’s skin twitch with each word, and then it snakes its way under the SUV. “You bitch! I swear to god, if you don’t come over here - !”

I have one last pocket to search. Rear right. Wallet, what feels like a package of breath mints or chewing gum, a piece of paper…no keys. I shove my hand in deeper, all the way to the bottom, and then I find it, the tiny metal key brushing against my fingers. My heart jolts in my chest and I pull it out as quickly as I can and then try to unlock them myself, but it’s no use, I can’t reach it. “Fuck,” I murmur, out loud, and then glance carefully at the tentacle. It’s wrapped itself all the way around the SUV. At this point the man inside has seen it. It sounds like he’s having a panic attack.

I start to back away slowly, just as the tentacle flexes and lifts the SUV into the air. “Holy shit,” I murmur before I get a grip and shut up. The tentacle seems satisfied with its prize, though – it doesn’t pay any attention to me. There’s more commotion inside the SUV and then – I jump – a few gunshots. I see them slap into the tentacle’s flesh, puffing out sprays of blood, but it’s entirely futile. The tentacle flexes and crushes the SUV with the ease of someone crushing a can of Coke and then it whips back down into the dirt, still clutching the SUV, and then they both are gone.

My heartbeat is very loud in my ears. The enormous tentacle off in the distance is still scrabbling around someplace else, pointed off in the other direction from me. My hand have gotten very sweaty and I’m scared I might drop the key someplace, but I haven’t got anywhere else to carry it. I take a step tentatively, cringing in anticipation, waiting for another tentacle to burst out of the ground and scoop me up, but when none are forthcoming, I break into a hobbling sprint and make for the facility. I have to find someone who’ll be willing to uncuff me, who might be willing to help me get back down into the Pit so that I can find Elena –

The thoughts die in midstride. I crest the ridge and stare down at the wreckage below me. There are three more tentacles of roughly the same size as the first rooting around the wreckage of the administration building, which looks as though it’s been peeled open like a tin of sardines. Before me, down on the road, a Humvee speeds by, and then another. There are people rushing all about the sedative plant, and I wonder if they’ve done anything, if there even is anything they can do. Can they turn it up to 11, pump even more sedative into the thing? Would that even work, does it have a tolerance for it?

The exclusion plate, at least what I can see of it from this vantage, is cracked into three pieces, and beneath is just pale skin basking in the orangey sunset.

As I watch, one of the tentacles shudders and flops to the ground. I can feel the impact throb through my soles all the way from here. A dust cloud rises from beneath it.

I scan the line of intact buildings nearest me and then slowly, unwillingly, I grin and start to make my way down the slope.

For there, just down the hill and across the road, is the ranger barracks. And there, in the third window from the left, a light shines, and I can see Fumi’s unmistakable shaggy silhouette outlined in it.

 * * *

 When he opens the door after about five minutes of knocking I push in past him and scan the room. “Roan!” he blurts. “What the fuck are you doing here – “

“Fumi, there’s no time. Are we alone?”

“Well, yeah, but –“ he says, and then he breaks off. He’s glimpsed the cuffs around my wrists and I give him a little sheepish grin. “What’s going on?”

“I should be asking you that,” I tell him. “Why’s the Pit freaking out? And why are you in here and not -”

He blows his breath out, and glowers. “Firstly, Makado’s taken a Tunneler down to get that crystal. Those always piss off the Pit and I guess after 2007 it decided to grow some extra appendages near here that we weren’t aware of and now it’s putting them to good use. And secondly,” he shrugs, “I think they just forgot about me. I’ve had my radio on and I’ve been waiting to respond but I never got a call. Not really complaining.”

I hold up my hands. “Sorry – Tunneler?”

“It’s what they used to make a lot of the bigger tunnels in the Pit. You ever seen those big digging machines they use to dig train tunnels and stuff through solid rock? Think that but bigger and grindier. It’s got vacuums to suck away the dead flesh, cauterizes as it goes, the works. Pisses the Pit off like crazy, though, and now that it’s hungrier these days I guess it got mad enough to pitch a fit about it. They still have two or three of them in a hangar, sitting around from the old Anodyne days just in case they ever need them.”

“Jesus Christ,” I murmur. “And they – Admin or whoever – they let her do that?”

Fumi laughs. “I guess,” he says. “I heard she stormed into Admin and raised a huge stink about the crystal, told them this was their last chance before the Leechman vanishes with it, and they signed off.”

“Fuck her,” I growl. Fumi looks a little taken aback at how bitter I sound. He starts to ask something but I shake my head. “There isn’t time. Help me out of these. Please.”

Fumi mutters a curse under his breath and takes the key. The cuffs fall away from my wrists and clatter on the floor and I am so relieved I don’t know what else to do but hug him. He smells of sweat and cigarette smoke but at the moment I don’t care. His hands flutter, startled, before they close around me and he holds me gently. He pats me on the back after a moment, and I draw away from him. “I’m sorry,” I murmur, feeling suddenly embarrassed. “I was just –“

“I get it,” he says. “Look, why don’t you just get out of here? With all this chaos it’d be easy to –“

“No,” I tell him. “I can’t, I can’t just leave. I have to get back down there.”

“Roan,” he starts. Something about his tone puts pressure on some place in me that’s been bending and bending and finally I snap.

“Fumi,” I say, my voice harsh, “Elena is down there. Maybe she’s already dead, but if she isn’t, she needs me. Nobody else is going down to get her, especially not now.” As if to punctuate my argument, there is another crash from nearby as a tentacle slams into the ground. Fumi nods, explaining that they’ve probably upped the sedative dosage and it’s finally taking effect. His face grows more serious.

“Do you know if she’s still alive down there?”

“No,” I admit. “But if she’s dead I – I have to know. I just have to. Now you can either help me or not, but if you don’t, I’m probably going to end up dead,” I tell him. I marvel at the perfect calmness in my voice. “One way or another, because I’m not experienced enough, because I don’t know the landscape, whatever. But I’m going down there, and that’s final.”

I stand there staring up at him, my hands balled into fists on my hips, and am relieved when his shaggy face breaks open in an unwilling smile. “Alright,” he says after a moment. “But I hope you know a way down, cause there’s no way we can get in through the main orifice now. When the Pit bucked it cracked the plate and wrecked the gantry up here.”

I bite my lip. “Couldn’t we use whatever hole Makado made with the Tunneler?” I ask. Fumi shakes his head.

“No, it’ll be practically vertical. You could maybe rappel down it if you had a whole team to support you but we won’t.”

I utter a mumbled curse. I feel like punching something. If I’ve come all this way and I can’t go back down and get Elena because Makado bored a hole into the Pit and it threw a fit about it –

I stop. Fumi raises his eyebrows. I look over at him and grin. “Fumi, I know how we can get in.”

“Okay, but how - ?”

“There’s no time,” I tell him. I grab his hand and drag him over to the equipment locker in the corner. “Get a suit on and then help me with mine,” I tell him, crouching down to take the boot off. “We’re going to save Elena.”

Continue with Part 30

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[marvelousimagines]

I Wish I Never

Lena Luthor x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 3,003

Summary:

Warnings: Angst

Note: I hope this is what you were looking for.

You close your eyes against the incessant pounding of your head. Trying to abate the oncoming migraine before it began. You know that you should just call her but you couldn’t bring yourself to. You couldn’t bring yourself to feel that heart break again. Even if it meant that you would feel better in the long run. You know that you should at least talk to someone, but every time you tried you retreated back into yourself. 

No one would be able to understand what happened. Not without someone being the bad guy and you refused to have her be the villain in this. Not when she was the villain in so many other narratives already. 

Though that didn’t stop your heart from breaking every time you remembered the green of her eyes. The almost childlike innocence that had appeared in those emerald orbs when you offered for her to spend the night. You had been working on a new proposal for her company and hadn’t even noticed the hours slip by; until it was almost midnight. She had been adamant that it was okay and that she could just call her driver, but you had refused. You didn’t want her going out at night when she was clearly tired, but you know that she would never care about her own personal welfare. So you had gone with the driver’s. 

You remember the moment she caved because she didn’t want to make the man get out of bed so late. 

You still remember the triumph that you had felt worm its way into your chest at the sight. 

You only wish that feeling could have lasted. 

I know that I'm better off on my own

I wish I never let you sleep in my room

Been thinking 'bout a way that I could take back

The night I lost myself in you

You know that your guest bedroom’s bed wasn’t the most comfortable so you had offered her yours. Knowing just how much she had worked that day, and not wanting her to sleep on something that could keep her up all night. She had refused, of course, because she was Lena Luthor, and she wouldn’t be a Luthor if she wasn’t stubborn. (Really the only thing that she had in common with that namesake.) 

You had made a compromise instead. You would share the bed, which shouldn’t be that awkward because she was one of your best friends even if she was your boss. So, slipping underneath the covers, you turned off the lights and got ready to fall asleep. Very much aware of the warm body that was laying next to you. The warm puffs of air that were hitting the side of your neck, because Lena had shifted closer to you. Wanting to conserve body heat in the middle of National City’s winter. 

You wish that it didn’t affect you that way that it had. Maybe none of this would have happened if it hadn’t.

You know that everytime I hear your name I replay

Your fingertips against my frame and lose faith

Been praying for a way that I could feel saved

But I'll never get over you

Wish that I had never let you love me although you said you never did

Closing your eyes you try to forget the feeling of Lena’s hands on your body. You try to forget the feeling of her lips working their way down. You try to forget the love and warmth you had felt in her embrace. 

You try to forget the pain that followed in the morning. Even though you know it was impossible because one does not simply forget Lena Luthor. You know that you will always remember the sight of her retreating into herself. Her walls coming back up and scathing words leaving her lips. 

“It was a fun time and that was it. Why do you have to make it so complicated? We shared a bed and a few good hours together, nothing more. All right?”

You remember the numbness that had spread through your body at those words. Only allowing yourself to nod before retreating back into your room. Closing the door and ignoring the sight of the normally neat and orderly bed in a state of disarray. Because, if it meant nothing to her why should it mean anything to you?

The answer to that question was simple. It meant everything to you because you love her.

I wish you would've slept in the guest room

'Cause maybe I'd still feel alive without you

I'm pretty sure that all of this was my fault

I'm the one who kissed you first and took my clothes off

You know how to make me feel all alone

Ever since that day you had done your best to avoid her. Desperately wanting things to return to the way they were, but you know that they never would. There was nothing you could that would change what happened. Not that you would change anything in the first place. Because, at least, you got Lena in some way, and even though you weren’t able to keep her you were still able to have her.  

Which probably made everything worse in the long run, because you just couldn’t let her go. No matter how much your brain pleaded with your heart. It was like a dog with its favorite toy, refusing to give it up for even a moment. With each beat of your it you’re constantly reminded of what you gained that night.

And everything that you lost. 

Pressing your head against the pane of glass in front of you, you try to ignore everything. Your brow crinkling with the effort of the act, but you know it would be for naught. Everything reminded you of her. Your apartment was riddled with the memories of her. The phantom of her presence haunting every inch of the place. 

And it’s not like I can go outside to forget all my troubles either, you think bitterly as you stare out across the expanse of National City. She’s tainted everything.

Every safe place that you used to have would remind you of her presence, and the subsequent heartbreak she had thrust upon you. You were truly all alone in a city of millions. A feat that only Lena Luthor could have ever accomplished. 

But when I'm underneath your teeth it feels just like home

You said that we shouldn't make love and just fucking

Find another way to heal

You know you drain me of myself 'til I can't see straight

Been thinking 'bout your body in the worst way

Wish that I could remove you from my veins

'Cause I'm sick of feeling so betrayed

You know that the healthy thing to do would be to forget about her. To stop moping about your apartment and actually do something productive, but every time you tried something withered in you even more. It was like your body didn’t want to get rid of Lena and the memories you shared. 

Every time you started to move on your mind started replaying memories of past events. When you were about to throw away the coffee maker Lena had given you. Your brain provided you the image of her large smile as she presented it to you. Her emerald green eyes shining with excitement that she was able to get something for you. The first of many gifts that now littered your apartment, and only served to worsen your heart ache. 

When you were about to take down the many pictures that hung on your walls. Your brain reminded you of the happy moments that had happened to create such beautiful images. The happy memory of the picnic you both had shared in the park. Lena wrapping herself in her coat trying not to show you how cold she actually was. The short laugh you had given as you pulled her into your side. Your words were filled with genuine exasperation and affection. “You Luthor’s truly are stubborn aren’t you?” The glare Lena had sent towards, no heat actually behind it, and feeling of warmth you had felt when she only snuggled further into your side.

Yes, your mind liked to play tricks with you. One moment it was trying to convince you to get rid of Lena, and everything that you had shared, but the next, when you were actually doing, it desperately clung on to her memory. Maybe it wasn’t ready to give her up either. Wasn’t able to give up the memories that you both had made, and the happiness that had always been a constant.  Just like your heart wasn’t willing to give up the love you had started to feel for her. Love that was never given the chance to grow. 

Sighing, you drop your head into your hands. Rubbing your temples in agitation at your inaction. It was driving you mad that you couldn’t do anything. You couldn’t go outside because everything reminded you of Lena. You couldn’t go into your bedroom for longer than a few minutes because that reminded you of Lena. You couldn’t sit still in your apartment because everything within it reminded you of Lena. No matter how hard you tried nothing you could ever do would make you forget her.

Lena Luthor was in your veins and there was nothing you could do to get her out. Every time your heartbeat it was with the song of her laugh. Causing your entire body to thrum with life, because Lena was everything you could ever want. 

It wasn’t a surprise that she didn’t want you in return. 

And I thought I'd mean something to you

More than skin to put your skin on

And I thought I'd mean something to you

Hearing a sudden rapping on your day causes your body to stiffen. Your eyes staring at the door with something akin to suspicion. You were half convinced it was either Kara or Alex coming to check on you, but you quickly rule them out. Kara would have announced her presence all ready, and Alex would have just waltzed in like she owned the place. Then who could it be? 

You don’t think any of your other friends would have noticed your sudden lack in social interaction. After all you had done it countless times before when you were working on a project. The only exceptions being the Danver sisters, because they were freakishly perceptive when they wanted to be. 

Another set of knocking rouses you from your thoughts and, not wanting to keep whoever’s on the other side waiting, you stand. Making your way to the door you try to think of anyone it could possibly be. Maybe Winn? 

However, when you open the door your eyes widen at the person you see. Your back stiffening and your arm tensing on the doorknob. Lena Luthor in all of her glory stood before you. Out of its usual updo her hair spills across her shoulders. The raven locks shining underneath the hallway lights of your building. Though none of that truly surprises you, not even the fact that Lena was in casual wear. Having become fairly familiarized with her in such attire. 

What does surprise you, and causes you to pause, were her eyes. Eyes that you could let yourself drown in if you were allowed to. Eyes that were normally so stoic with a hint of adoration and mischief, were now completely open. All of the emotions that would have previously been hidden were laid bare for you to see. In a beautiful display of heat break and agony, all standing out against the green of her eyes. The beautiful emerald color standing out against the red rim surrounding them. 

Finally, after a moment, you clear your throat to speak. “Lena? What are you doing here?” You don’t mean for your tone to come out harsh, but it does, and you wince slightly at it. Though it had no comparison when in regards to Lena’s reaction. You don’t think you’ve ever seen Lena Luthor look so defeated before. 

“I know I’m probably the last person you want to see,” a short scoff interrupts her words. Her eyes flashing with annoyance, but you know that it wasn’t directed at you. “No. I know I’m the last person you want to see, but you’re the first for me. And I need to apologize to you. I need to make things right between us.”

Shifting slightly you aren’t sure exactly what to do. You know what your heart wanted you to do, but it wasn’t that simple. You couldn’t just bring Lena into your arms and forgive her. She had hurt you more than anyone ever has, but that also doesn’t mean you would leave her out on your threshold. So you square your shoulders and step to the side, permeating the CEO entrance. 

You watch silently as Lena moves through your apartment. The door closes softly behind her, but you stay next to it. Keeping the distance between the both of you. You know that if you get any closer you’ll fold faster than Kara does when you’re playing poker. 

Lena, noticing the distance between your bodies, moves closer to you. Not stopping until she’s standing in front of you. Until she’s practically touching you, and you have to fight every urge in your body from reaching for her hand. 

“What do you have to say, Lena?” you ask, trying to keep your voice unaffected. She didn’t need to know how much power she still held over you. Her being this close was already painful enough. 

“Oh, darling, I have so much to say but I will never be able to say it all in this lifetime,” she responds, a brief smile flashing across her face. Before her face becomes serious again, and you automatically miss the smile. It had been so long since you had seen it. “But one of the most important things I have to tell you is how sorry I am. The way I treated you after our night together is inexcusable, and I don’t think I will ever forgive myself for it. I have never felt more like a villain than when you turned away from me. I have never felt more like a Luthor than when I let you walk away from me. I pushed you away because I thought that was best. I thought you would be better without me, because of my name and everything that it brings. But I forgot one innate thing that every Luthor shares.” There Lena pauses to catch her breath. Her eyes search your face as she does, but you can’t do anything but stare. Trying to process her words as best as you can. Taking your silence as your confirmation that you were still listening she begins to speak once more. Her words came out almost cynical. “Luthor’s are selfish beings, and I will be the first to admit that what I’m doing is selfish. I tried to do the honorable thing and let you go, but I can’t. I can’t let the one person who looks at me like I’m there whole world slip away. I can’t, and I won’t, let you go, and if that makes me selfish? Well then I don’t want to be anything else.” 

You were pretty sure your brain wasn’t working anymore, and that you were about to have a heart attack. “What was the other thing?” Lena’s confused look at your question prompts you to keep speaking. “You said that saying sorry was one of the things you came here to tell me. What is the other?”

You aren’t sure what you’re expecting but Lena stepping forward and taking your hands certainly wasn’t it. Her soft gaze leveled onto your own, and you feel like you can’t breathe. Not when she was looking at you like you were the most important thing in the world. You watch, with bated breath, as Lena seems to prepare herself for what she’s about to say. But, after a moment, her smile grows into a breathtaking grin. Her eyes shimmering in the light because of her happiness. “Something that I should have told you long ago, but I was never brave enough to. I’m so sorry these are the circumstances in which I’m telling you this, darling, but I do not regret saying these words,” she says, her voice unwavering with its conviction. “I love you. More than I have ever loved anything.”

You didn’t know what you were doing but soon your lips were on hers, and it was so much different than the last time you had kissed. This time it wasn’t hurried nor was it with a frenzied passion. It was slow and it was the feeling of coming after a hard journey back. It was reacquainting two beings that were never supposed to be apart to begin with. 

It was everything and more you could have ever hoped for, and you weren’t surprised that Lena Luthor was the one to give it to you. 

I'm pretty sure that all of this was my fault

I'm the one who kissed you first and took my clothes off

Yes, it may have been your fault that all the heartbreak had begun. Maybe, not necessarily for it to have continued in the first place, but your decision definitely did have a part in the entire thing. If you hadn’t offered Lena your bed you weren’t sure you would be currently sharing hers. If you hadn’t kissed her first you weren’t sure her lips would be on yours ever again. If you had let her sleep in the guest room you weren’t sure you would have the love of your life in your arms. 

So, yes, it may have been your fault, but you are more than happy to take the blame. After all you were the one that kissed her first. 

So it’s only fair. 

[beelsnack]

Hey there! Love your Writing!! Can I request Some HC/Drabbles on the brothers and Diavolo comforting a Mc(GN) That Struggles with Migraines? (Thank you in advance if you do!)

Aw, thanks Nonnie!

I get migraines pretty frequently, so I’m pretty sure I’ve got headcanons lined up already, lol.

Content Warning: Mild description of vomit. Nothing graphic, but migraines be nasty.

(Side note: I guess these are kind of a mix between headcanons and drabbles, huh? Maybe I should combine them. Drabcanons? Headrabbles? I kind of like headrabbles.)

Lucifer: They hadn’t come down for dinner.

Usually, if they were planning on skipping dinner, they let at least one of the brothers know. But nobody had heard a sound from them after they had finished up their classes at RAD, and they weren’t answering texts or calls.

Lucifer climbed up the stairs leading to the second floor, already formulating a lecture. Tardiness would not be tolerated, neither at RAD or at home, it would reflect poorly on Diavolo if the exchange student suddenly developed a habit of skipping out of obligations, how dare they make him worry - 

He was just about to knock on their door when he heard a soft noise from inside. It sounded like a whimper.

He stilled, pressing his ear against the wood of the door. There it was again. Definitely a whimper, longer this time, laced with pain. His heart seized at the sound, and without thinking he stepped inside.

The human had burrowed beneath their blankets and had pressed a pillow over their head.If it wasn’t for the lights strung up along their headboard, Lucifer would have just assumed the human hadn’t made their bed.

They whined again, spurring Lucifer in to action.

He called out their name. “What’s wrong?”

A pathetic whimper was his only response, and he swallowed down the lump of panic that was beginning to rise in his throat. He crossed the room in three big strides before kneeling beside their bed. There was a small gap between the blankets and pillow, and he could see the way their brow was furrowed, how their eyes were squeezed shut, the thin sheen of sweat that shined over their skin.

As though they could feel his gaze, they cracked open eye and managed to groan, “Too bright.”

Lucifer flicked his gaze over to the soft lights strung up along their headboard. They were so low that even he had a hard time seeing anything in detail. If they thought those were to bright...ah.

“A migraine, huh?”

He didn’t bother waiting for the human’s strained “Mhm,” before reaching behind the night stand where the outlet was. Suddenly, what little light there had been was gone, leaving only the slight glow from the hallway.

“Better?” he asked softly, gently reaching beneath the pillow to wipe their sweat-drenched hair away from their face. 

“...Yeah...” they sighed, the crease in their brow easing slightly. “Thank you...”

“Of course.” Their eyes were already beginning to slip closed as he stood. “I’ll get you some water and let you rest.”

He was pretty sure they had passed out before he finished speaking. Which is why he allowed himself the small indulgence of placing a kiss on their forehead before he left.

Mammon: It seemed to come out of nowhere. One minute, they were walking through the halls at RAD killing time until their next class. The next, they were crying out like they had been stabbed, falling to their knees and clutching their head.

Immediately, he was beside them. “Hey, hey, what’s wrong? What happened?”

They were trying to respond, he could tell, but all that was coming out were short, staccato breaths that ended on a pained moan. He could see tears welling up in the corner of their eyes.

A crowd was beginning to form around them. Curious whispers and hushed gossiping echoed through the hall, and Mammon instinctively scratched his claws along the marble floor to attempt to keep his cool.

They had mentioned something like this before, hadn’t they? That sometimes they got these blinding headaches that left them completely incapacitated for at least the rest of the day? 

“Hey,” he took their face in his hands, rubbing his thumbs soothingly along their jaw. Damn all the demons that had gathered around them, he had his priorities. “It’s okay, I’m right here, I gotcha.” 

He vaguely remembered them saying something about light sensitivity. Honestly, this probably wasn’t going to do anything, but he plucked his sunglasses from where they were hung on his uniform and slipped them over their face. “I’m going to get you to the Student Council lounge, okay? Can you walk?”

After a few deep, shuddering breaths, they managed to stand. Mammon didn’t liek the way they were swaying on their feet, however, so, with a click on his tongue, he scooped them up bridal style. The buried their face against the column of his neck without complaint, and that was when he knew they were really in pain.

“Everything’s okay, your first man’s gonna take care of ya.”

Levi: It was obvious the human wasn’t feeling well. They had their right eye squeezed shut, just barely watching the anime through their left. Every time Luminous-chan started her transformation scene, they were cringe at the sudden flash. He swore he even heard them whimper a little bit.

“Why are you still here?” wait, no, that came out wrong. “I-I mean, like, if you feel sick or something, we can watch it later. You’re not even really paying attention!”

They winced at the volume of his voice, and Levi internally cursed himself. “Seriously, go lie down if you feel sick. I don’t want your normie germs.”

Another bright, intensely colorful scene started, and Levi belatedly realized that he probably should at least pause it. 

They slumped their head against the back of the couch. They seemed to relax just a little bit without the noise. “Being in your room helps.”

“Eh?” Levi looked at them incredulously. “Why would it help?”

“The blue lights don’t hurt as much, and it’s nice and cool in here.” they muttered. “But I can leave if you really want me to.”

“N-No!” this time, both of them winced at his volume.

“You can stay here.” his voice was barely above a whisper. “I’ll just...use my headphones or whatever. You take a nap.”

Satan: With all the things that can go wrong with the human body, the species should have died out a millennia ago.

They were currently holed up in their room, trying to stave off the throbbing headache with Excedrin and sheer willpower. Satan, feeling particularly useless, was doing what he did best - research.

Obviously there were no books on human medical conditions in the Devildom, so that had led him to the internet.

“Aura? Migraines can affect your vision?” he muttered to himself, scrolling down further. “They can cause nausea? ‘May last up to 72 hours?!’“ 

No wonder the human wanted to be left alone. He would be in a foul mood too.

Asmo: “You know, I’m usually thrilled when my partner wakes up looking like they spent the night tumbling around, but something tells me this wasn’t nearly as enjoyable.”

They were a hot mess. Their usually neat uniform was rumpled, and they hadn’t quite been able to get the last button done right. Harsh, almost bruise-like bags stood out against their skin, which had taken on a sickly pallor. 

Joking aside, Asmo didn’t like how the human looked. “What’s the matter, darling?”

They plopped down on Asmo’s bed next to him, letting him fuss with their hair. “I definitely feel a migraine coming on.”

His fingers paused in their ministrations before beginning to massage gently at their scalp. “Poor thing, why are you even up?”

“Because Lucifer will flay me alive and use my pelt to decorate his office if I skip classes.” they shot back, and Asmo was glad to see they still had their snark even though they looked dead on their feet.

“Darling, it’s not skipping if your brain in trying to escape your skull.” he stood, running his long fingers through their hair one more time and quite enjoying how they leaned into the touch. “Now, let me take care of Lucifer, you get some rest.”

“Can I stay here?” they asked, rubbing at their temple. Asmo giggled.

“Well, I’m certainly not going to turn you away from my bed.” he flicked the lights off on his way out. “There’s an eye mask in the drawer next to the lube.”

Beelzebub: The two of them had a routine. Friday night, Beel would go to the gym, come home, and they would hang out in their room and watch so-bad-they’re-good horror movies until they fell asleep.

Since this was an every week thing, Beel didn’t even think to text them and tell them he was coming over. They usually left their door unlocked when they were home anyway.

There was no answer when he knocked, which seemed strange. They were usually here at this point. Maybe something had come up? But they would have let him know, surely. A frown tugged at his lips as he tested the doorknob. Unlocked.

Slowly, he opened the door, calling out to them. “Are you in here?”

A few seconds of silence ticked by. Beel was about to call again when he heard a gagging noise coming from their bathroom. He peered a little farther in and saw the light from the bathroom spilling into the room. They hadn’t even been able to close the door.

Concern washed over him, but he was pretty sure barging into the bathroom while they were sick wouldn’t help matters. He carefully shut the bedroom door behind him. “I’m coming in okay?”

“N-No, don’t -” another gag cut them off. Beel winced in sympathy as he entered the bathroom.

The sight made him want to cry. They were clinging onto the toilet, half slumped to the floor. Their pajama shorts were all twisted around, and Beel could see red marks from where the human had been kneeling against the floor tiles. Tears were streaming down their cheeks as they took deep breaths in an attempt to fight off the nausea.

Beel knelt down next to them, and they didn’t even have the energy to protest when he swept some of their sweaty hair out of their face. “Did you eat something bad?”

They shook their head, then squeezed their eyes shut. “No...it’s a migraine.”

Beel frowned. “I thought migraines were headaches.”

“They make you nauseated, too.” they muttered, reaching up to flush the contents of their stomach down the toilet. “Sorry, I should have let you know...”

He placed a large hand on their back and they sighed, letting his presence stabilize them. 

“It’s okay.” he said, rubbing small circles along their spine. “Isn’t there a drink that helps with upset stomachs?”

“Ginger ale.” they supplied, voice going a bit hoarse. “I’m pretty sure they don’t have it in the Devildom, though.”

“There might be some at that convenience store near The Fall. I could go check.” he stood up, almost instinctively reaching down to scoop them up before pausing. “Do you still feel sick?”

“No, it’s passing. I’m just super tired.” they reached out towards Beel, and he proceeded with the scooping.

“I won’t be long.” he promised as he deposited them on the bed.

“Don’t get distracted by all of the yummy snacks, okay?” they teased, and he smiled a little.

“I make no guarantees.”

Belphegor: He could practically see the irritation rolling off of them.

Movie night was always a garbage fire, but tonight was particularly bad. It had been nearly an hour and they were still arguing over what movie to watch, Mammon and Asmo had nearly come to blows, and Beel was sitting on his own island of pop cans and empty bags of popcorn.

Usually, they found the brothers’ antics amusing, but tonight, Belphegor saw murder in their eyes. And as much as he would delight in seeing his big brothers get fucking wrecked by a human, dealing with the cleanup would be a complete hassle.

“Are you feeling okay?” he leaned in to whisper. They blinked hard a few times, trying to clear their vision.

“I already felt like I was going to get a migraine,” they gritted their teeth as they spoke. “But this definitely isn’t helped.”

Belphie hummed in agreement. “Yeah, I can’t imagine it is. Think they’ll notice if we bow out?”

There was the sound of glass shattering as someone threw a couch pillow and either missed horrendously or hit precisely what they were aiming at. It was hard to tell.

“I think we’ll be fine.”

Chuckling, Belphie grabbed their hand and led them out of the living room. Of course the only one who saw them was Beel, and Belphie merely made a shushing gesture and nodded his head towards the staircase. The older twin nodded and went back to his munching without any fuss, bless his big, fluffy heart.

The human trudged after Belphie, already worn out. They walked past their room, so they assumed they were going to the twins’ room. But they passed that too. 

“Belphie, where are we going?”

He stopped them at the base of the attic stairs. “Someone will just barge in if we go to one of our rooms. Nobody will think about up here, though.”

If their head wasn’t pounding, they would have asked if Belphie was okay going back into the room that had basically been his prison cell for a year. But, their head was pounding, and they didn’t have the energy to question his logic. So up to the attic they went.

It was blissfully dark in the attic. Belphie yawned as he made his way over to the bed and flopped down.

“Come on, I think we both need a nap.”

“It’s late, isn’t this just going to bed at this point?” they wiggled into bed next to Belphie anyway, snuggling deeper into the blankets as he hugged them close.

“The human doth protest too much. Shut up and go to sleep.”

Diavolo: It was irrational, he knew. The human had a migraine, not the Black Death. But still, worry and uncertainty chased each other around his skull like rabid beasts until he couldn’t take it anymore.

“Lord Diavolo?” Lucifer looked shocked to see him as he entered. “Did we have a meeting for tonight?”

“No, no, don’t worry.” he grinned. “I heard our little human friend had to leave RAD early due to a migraine, and I wanted to see how they were feeling, is all.”

Lucifer raised one delicate eyebrow, and Diavolo knew he was blushing. He had grown rather attached to the human, probably more than he should have, considering the circumstances.

“They’re resting right now.” he nodded towards the stairs. “I’m not sure it would be wise to disturb them.”

“Disturb who?”

Both demons turned to look as the human came out of the hallway that led to the kitchen. Aside from their sleep-heavy eyes and the occasional roll of their neck, they looked just fine.

“Oh, Lord Diavolo!” they smiled.

“Well, you look much better than this afternoon.” he hoped the relief in his voice wasn’t too obvious. Based on the look Lucifer shot him, it was.

They nodded. “That medicine you gave me worked wonders! Better than anything I ever took in the human world. Thank you so much.”

“Think nothing of it.” his grin softened into something warm, something he knew was professionally inappropriate to feel towards a human exchange student. “I’m glad I could help.”

[hockeylvr59]

Knight in Shining Armor || Seth Jones

Requested: [ ] yes [x] no

Authors Note: So I had this concept in my drafts to write for like a year for another player (coughcoughSeguin) but since he’s not on my good list right now and I’ve been wanting to write about Seth for a while, I decided that the concept would work great for him. This is mostly platonic but there’s kind of an underlying current of more so let me know what you think of it. 

Warnings: shitty ex-friends, lingering grief 

Word Count: 2,868

______

Most days you were in love with your job. Being one of the few female television broadcasters for a professional sports team was a major accomplishment and you tried to never take a day of it for granted. You were setting the stage for women in the future and that was a source of tremendous pride for you. You got to watch a sport you loved and see players that would someday be in the hall of fame take the ice. You got to travel to places that you’d probably never visit otherwise.

While the perks were numerous, there were also things that sucked. 

Though most of the time the travel didn’t bother you, sometimes you found yourself sick of climbing on planes, sleeping in hotel rooms, and living out of a suitcase. Then there were the emotionally draining things like constantly being criticized by male fans because of course, a woman couldn’t possibly be competent enough to do color commentary for a major sport. Finally, there were the late nights. 

Tonight was one of those days where you weren’t quite so in love with your job. You were two cities into a six-city road trip and it was that time of the month. In your haste of packing, you’d forgotten to replenish your supply of feminine products and so you’d had to rush to a drug store while praying that you didn’t bleed through your pants. After putting out that fire, you’d gotten yourself ready for the game before heading over to the arena with your co-anchor. Running behind had meant that you’d missed dinner, however, and press box food wasn’t your favorite. Setting into your seat after touching up your hair and makeup you waited for the puck to drop between the Jackets and the Sabres. 

By the first intermission, the lack of food and mother nature’s wrath had left you with a burgeoning migraine. You’d searched your bag for a bottle of Advil, only to find it empty. A quick inquiry with the rest of the media during a commercial break also turned up empty. While the roller of peppermint essential oil you did have took a little bit of the edge off, no matter how many times you had reapplied it you wanted nothing more than to go lay down by the time the final horn sounded. 

Usually, you stopped down at the locker room to congratulate the team, however, tonight you just needed to get back to the hotel while you still had the faculties to do so. 

Once back at the hotel you changed and crawled into bed, laying in the dark in hopes that a lack of visual stimuli and quiet would make the pain lessen. You’d been laying there for roughly half an hour when there was a knock on your door that caused you to groan. When the knock sounded once more, you pried yourself out of bed and padded over to the door, peering through the peephole. Standing on the other side was Seth Jones. Curious as to why the Blue Jackets defenseman was there you flipped open the security latch before opening the door. 

“Hey,” Seth whispered and your eyes furrowed both from confusion and pain. With the latter suppressing your filter words filtered out of your mouth. 

“What are you doing here?” You inquired, running the hand not holding the door through your hair. 

“Missed you in the locker room after the game. Saw the second intermission report and thought you could use these.” He mused, his eyes taking in your appearance more fully. It was only then that you glanced down to see the pill bottle in his hands. “Snatched these from the training room.” He admitted with a smile. 

“You’re a saint Jonesy.” You admitted, your body language softening at the prospect of actually getting enough relief to sleep. Taking the bottle from his outstretched hand you sent him as much of a smile as you could muster. 

“Anything for my favorite broadcaster.” He responded shrugging. “Need you back in top form for the next game.” He teased. “And migraines aren’t any fun and you look like you’re suffering pretty bad.” He added, his hands now drifting to the pockets of his suit. “Anyway...take those and get some sleep huh?” He instructed and when you nodded he turned to walk away. 

“Hey, Seth…” You started. “Thank you.” 

~~~~~~

After leaving Buffalo, the team had dipped up to Ottawa before flying down to Boston for a game against the Bruins. The team had a day off between the two games however and had decided to go out for the night, have a few drinks, and just relax before a tough game the following day. You’d been invited by a bunch of the younger guys and though the club scene really wasn’t your thing you’d agreed. 

Dressed in a pair of form-fitting jeans and a flirty blouse you made your way through the crowd to the bar for a bottle of water. You’d been dancing with Pierre but you’d sent him to chase after a woman who had caught his eye and now you were parched. It wasn’t until you were leaning against the bar trying to flag down the bartender that you noticed that someone you really didn’t want to see was just a few spots down. 

Ducking your head you prayed that he didn’t notice you, but of course, despite being short, he was suddenly at your side, calling out your name over the crowd. 

You’d known Jake in high school, had been close friends and something else that you could only describe as awkward. You hadn’t dated, he’d had other girlfriends at the time but you’d definitely toed the line of appropriateness regarding your conversations. He’d hurt you badly a few years ago and you hadn’t spoken since. Honestly, talking to him now was the last thing you were interested in. You’d known he was living in Boston but what were the odds he’d be at this club the one night you were in town. 

As he stood beside you, his hand fell to your arm that was resting on the bar and he was asking if he could buy you a drink. You wanted to tell him to go away, you wanted to shove his hand off of you, you wanted to insist that you were good and to go shove the drink but suddenly you couldn’t speak and you couldn’t move. In that moment you felt beyond vulnerable. 

And then suddenly a warm arm draped itself around your waist and you were tugged into the side of a firm body. The second the scent of his cologne filled your nose, you relaxed against him and glanced up to see Seth’s figure hovering over you. 

“Hey sweetheart, I have a bottle of water for you at the table.” He declared, tone soft as he directed the words at you but with enough volume that your unwelcome company was certain to hear it. “Josh has a story he refuses to tell until you’re there.” He added, giving you every excuse to step away from the bar. 

“Uh...yeah...coming.” You agreed, turning back toward your former friend for just a second. “Sorry gotta go...the gang beckons.” Not giving him a chance to respond, you let Seth lead you across the club to the table that your group had claimed as its own. Cam Atkinson was the only one present at the table, nursing a beer as he typed furiously on his phone. 

Pulled in beside Seth, you found that there was indeed a sealed water bottle waiting for you and you sighed feeling your body relax now that there was some distance between you and Jake. 

“Thank you.” You murmured. It was the second time on this trip that you’d spoken the words to Seth after he’d saved you. 

“Don’t worry about it.” Seth insisted. “You looked uncomfortable and no one deserves that. Do I need to go back up there and kick his ass?” He inquired and though you were certain Seth could indeed kick Jake’s ass there wasn’t any need for that. 

“No, it’s okay.” You assured him, relaxing against his body as his arm settled around your shoulders. “Just a former friend that I didn’t expect to see...nor do I ever want to see again.” You sighed. Seth didn’t pry into that statement, but his fingers tracing patterns over your arm expressed that he was willing to listen if you did want to talk about it. 

For the rest of the night, Seth didn’t leave your side, going as far as walking you up to your hotel room. Having Seth by your side made you feel safe and as you opened your hotel room door, you once again expressed your thanks. 

~~~~~~~

The last stop on your long road trip was Winnipeg. You’d arrived around 2 in the morning and had fallen into bed almost immediately upon reaching your hotel room. 

Around 4 in the morning you were jolted awake by a shrill piercing sound. Checking your phone you saw group messages from the boys saying that you all needed to evacuate the hotel immediately. With the timestamps being nearly four minutes earlier, your heart raced and you threw on the nearest clothing items you could find before sliding on your slippers. 

Of course, a Jackets hoodie, thin tights, and indoor slippers were no match for the Winnipeg winter. But you didn’t realize that in your panicked state until the harsh wind whipped right through them as you made your way across the sidewalk to where the rest of the team was standing. Tucking your arms around yourself tightly, you stopped by Torts to see if he knew what was going on and how long you’d have to be outside in the middle of the night. He didn’t have any answers to give you and you sighed nodding, a yawn slipping from your throat. 

Around you, all of the guys were grumbling, but you quickly noticed that they’d all had at least enough foresight to throw on more substantial clothing. And those who hadn’t...well they were Canadian and probably didn’t feel the cold anyway. 

Shivering, you tried pacing around to keep the blood flowing so that maybe you wouldn’t feel the cold but it wasn’t working well. Passing a group of the guys you felt an arm reach out and tug you closer and when you looked up, Seth was gazing down at you. 

“C’mere.” He mumbled, his voice showing that he wasn’t exactly happy to be woken from sleep either. “Someone forgot Winnipeg was cold.” He teased and a slight blush covered your cheeks. You could play it off as the cold though if anyone noticed, thankfully. Now stopped in front of Seth, you watched as he unzipped his coat and pulled your body against his before rezipping it as much as he could around two bodies. 

With your chest pressed to his and his arms wrapped around you along with the coat, you were suddenly filled with a comfortable warmth and you burrowed yourself into his body as much as you could. 

“Better?” He asked and feeling you nod he chuckled softly. “Good. Can’t have you freeze now can we?” 

Thankfully all of his teammates were too sleepy to even really notice your intimate position because if they had they certainly would have chirped both of you to no end. Standing wrapped in Seth’s jacket until the all-clear was given and you were permitted to return to your rooms you couldn’t help but notice the rhythm of his breathing, the sound of his heart beating, and the way your body fit against his in spite of the height difference. 

As the two of you parted, you moved to thank him but Seth just pulled you into a quick hug before retreating down the hall. It was evident that you were both too tired to say the words but that he knew you meant them all the same. 

~~~~~~

Arriving home from the road trip was such a relief. You were ready to sleep in your own bed, ready for a day off. Still, as the boys chatted about what they were going to do with said day off as a group of you walked across the tarmac to your respective cars, the significance of tomorrow’s date flooded into your head and you froze. 

“Y/N…” Boone stated, trying to snap you out of your haze. 

“Huh?” You responded. 

“What are you doing tomorrow?” He asked. 

“Um...probably just running some errands…” You said, your voice cracking as you spoke. “And a stop at the cemetery.” None of the boys knew much about your personal life, certainly not nearly as much as you knew about theirs. At your admission, no one knew what to say and you said goodbye to them as you tossed your bag into your car. 

By the time you’d gotten up the next morning, had cleaned yourself up and gotten dressed, had started a load of laundry, and placed a grocery order for pickup it was almost 11am. Since the forecast showed rain in the afternoon you knew that if you were going to stop at the cemetery that you needed to go now. 

Heading down to your car, you paused seeing someone leaning against the hood. Anxiously stepping closer, you let out a soft breath recognizing Seth’s frame and mannerisms. Beside him was a drink holder with two cups inside and you adjusted your purse on your shoulder as you approached him. 

“What are you doing here?” You questioned. Seth shrugged for a moment before shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans. 

“Thought you could use some company…” He expressed, reaching to grab a cup, handing it to you. “It’s hot chocolate.” He explained and though you weren’t sure why he wanted to tag along, how long he’d been standing there or a multitude of other questions, you took the cup from him, taking a sip and letting the warmth of the drink flood through you. 

Unlocking your car, you watched as Seth folded himself into the passenger seat. The drive across town was quiet, only the radio playing softly providing background noise. As you pulled your car into the cemetery, already you could feel your throat getting tight and you forced yourself to breathe, using the mental task of navigating to the right part of the cemetery to distract yourself. 

With the car in park, you opened your door, turning back to reach into the center console for a stray hockey puck. Though Seth climbed out of the car as well, he just stood leaning against it as you made your way down the hillside. 

It took a minute for you to find the appropriate plot, but once you had you knelt down on the cold ground, your fingers brushing over the lettering of the marker partially buried in the ground. No matter how many times you were here, this never got easier and tears quickly started streaming down your cheeks. With the ground solid beneath you, you settled to sit by the grave, your hands laying the puck down on it gently. 

For the next few minutes, you talked about work, the games on this latest road trip, how you’d gotten the puck you’d brought, and what you were looking forward to with the rest of the season. At some point, you started whispering about Seth and how he was slowly invading your life, questioning whether any of your family up in heaven had thoughts on that they’d like to share. 

Though you didn’t want to leave, you knew you needed to and so you said your goodbye, your until next times, and a soft ‘happy birthday’ before picking up the puck and pushing yourself to your feet. As you made your way up the hill, sobs racked your body and tears flooded your cheeks. Reaching the car, you barely even noticed Seth’s open arms as you stepped into them, his fingers tangling in your hair as he held you close. His other hand gently rubbed your back until your breathing steadied again and when you pulled back, he was offering you a handkerchief to wipe your tears. 

“Do you need me to drive?” He whispered softly, not trying to push you into it but needing to ensure that you were truly alright. 

“Can you?” You requested and after handing over the keys, you traded spots, sliding into the passenger seat. Seth had barely left the cemetery gates when his hand drifted down to wrap around yours and you couldn’t help but watch him as he drove. You’d never met someone who was so silently supportive, who always seemed to know exactly what you needed, and who made your heart skip a beat when he looked at you. 

He was your knight in shining armor and an angel in disguise, making all of the hard things a little easier and the good things even better. The future was unclear but you were quickly learning that you wanted to face all of it with him by your side.